I heard a sniffle and a cough. There was a low wailing sound coming from the stall. “This won’t wait until Sunday,” Nicole said. “This bitch knows what happened to my son.”
“I don’t, I swear to God, I swear to God. Please.”
“If you don’t walk out with me in five seconds,” I said, “you’ll be arrested. That call tonight may be legit. Let’s not have anything to muddle plans.”
“She lost him,” Nicole said. “She’s trash. She knows.”
I looked to Hawk. He turned his neck from side to side, relaxing his muscles. He checked his watch. “Tick, tock,” he said.
“Maybe,” I said.
“I’m not leaving until she tells me what she knows,” Nicole said.
“I don’t know anything. I swear to God. Spenser, please help me. She’s crazy. She has a gun. She says she’s going to kill me.”
There was more crying coming from the stall. This time it sounded like both women. One of them was even more feral and harsh. I tried the door. It was locked. I knocked softly. Hawk stared straight ahead and waited.
“You’ll want to hear the call, Nicole. We need your help. We need you.”
“What about her?” Nicole said. “She’s lying. I know it.”
“We’ve been checking her out. Just like you said.”
“And she’s a part of this,” Nicole said. “Right?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “But I need you to allow me to do my job.”
More crying. More wailing. The door lock snicked open. Cristal rushed out. Nicole lay in a fetal position by the toilet. A small automatic poked out from her purse. She was crying very loudly now. Hawk walked out of the restroom with Cristal. I helped Nicole to her feet.
“Not like this,” I said, whispering.
“She knows,” Nicole said. “The bitch knows.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But we won’t find out like this.”
Nicole cried hard. I held her close. With my free hand, I reached for the purse and extracted the gun, placing it in my hip pocket. We walked together out of the bathroom with as much dignity as was allowed at a Cheesecake Factory. People stared. Employees glared.
In the parking lot, Hawk stood by his Jaguar. “Nicole followed Cristal,” he said. “Didn’t know I was following her.”
“I just wanted a fucking drink,” Cristal said. “We were out of booze at the house. I just wanted a fucking drink.”
I nodded to Hawk. Hawk helped Nicole toward the passenger side of the Jaguar. She had a deferential air toward him as they walked side by side.
“I’ll get you a drink,” I said. “And drive you back to your house.”
“I can’t take it there anymore,” Cristal said. “It’s like being in some kind of crypt. God. No one talking. Everyone crying and whispering.”
Hawk’s Jag started up and motored fast out of the parking lot. Lights refracted off his windshield and obscured their faces as they passed.
“She would have killed me,” Cristal said, watching them go. Her face was a mess of makeup. I found a handkerchief in my glove box and handed it to her. “She’s gone absolutely crazy. She hates me. She really thinks I took her son.”
I had nothing to say.
“Did they really call?” she said. “Or did you just say that so she’d leave me alone?”
“There was a caller,” I said. “Tomorrow. I guess we’ll find out.”
38
The Washington Square Tavern in Brookline stayed open late. They also served Harpoon Maple Wheat on draft and small plates of very good food. Although I felt bad for Z, I knew he wouldn’t want me to suffer.
The bar was big and warm, low light, with dark wood and colorful liquor bottles around a large beveled mirror. I ordered the beer and a tequila with lime for Cristal. While the bartender poured, Cristal glanced at her reflection and quickly looked away. “Oh, God.”
“Me or you?” I said.
“Me,” she said.
On the ride over, she’d dabbed on some makeup, smoky eye shadow and pink lips that went with her jewelry. She wore three necklaces and four rings. The wedding ring glowed pink and was roughly the size of a golf ball. She had on an aqua halter dress that showed off a wealth of cleavage and a lot of leg. Her legs were long and spray-tanned, impressive on a pair of high-heeled gold Roman sandals.
The bartender set down her tequila. She drained half of it in one gulp.
I sipped the Harpoon.
“My nerves are shot,” she said.
“If it’s any consolation,” I said, “I don’t think Nicole would have shot you.”
“How the hell do you know?”
“Crime-fighter intuition,” I said, tapping at my temple.
I drank some beer. I considered Hawk’s plan to see how things would evolve. At the very least, Nicole had proven herself to be a very good bad cop. The tequila might prove to be an even better cop.
“How could I have stopped them?” she said. “They blocked in my car. They put a gun in my face and took Akira.”
“You’ve had a lot of guns pointed at you lately.”
“Damn right,” she said. She drained the rest of the tequila. I lifted my index finger to the bartender. He salted the glass and poured her another, topped with a lime slice.
“She would’ve done the same,” Cristal said. “Nicole wouldn’t have let herself get shot.”
I nodded.
“I couldn’t have done anything.”
I sipped some beer.
“Why does she hate me?”
I shrugged.
“I mean, I’ve made some mistakes in my life,” she said. “But this is not my fault.”
“What can you tell me about your relationship with Kevin Murphy?”
“Oh, fuck,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Holy fuck,” she said.
“He was your boyfriend.”
“You’re doing it,” she said, drink held high. “You’re on her side.”
“I’m on Akira’s side.”
“Let me tell you something,” she said.
“Sure.”
She continued to hold the tequila high. She held the pose, as if it was something she’d seen once in a movie. “My life before Kinjo is none of your damn business.”
I nodded. I took another sip. Seeing that I sipped, she sipped. Cooperation. Cars zoomed by freely along Washington Street. As I waited for her statement to sink in, I ordered the house charcuterie plate with seasonal pickles.
“You understand?”
I nodded. Cristal stared at herself in the bar window. She shook her head, disgusted. “I look like a fucking raccoon.”
I was pretty sure raccoons did not have purple eyes. But I kept my mouth shut as she excused herself and I sat at the bar. Even at nearly midnight, the bar did a healthy business. Lots of couples talking among candlelight. Young professionals discussing matters of the young and professional. Cristal reemerged from the ladies’ room at the same time my charcuterie arrived from the kitchen.
“Why didn’t you tell me I was a mess?”
“I hadn’t noticed.” She looked exactly the same as before but smelled of more cologne. It was not an unpleasant fragrance, only too much of it.
“We were talking about Kevin Murphy,” I said, adding some prosciutto to a slice of bread.
“No,” she said. “You were talking about Kevin Murphy.”
She gulped down the rest of the second double tequila. Cristal subtly turned the glass upside down and stared at the bartender until he took the empty glass.
“If Kevin is involved,” I said, “it doesn’t mean you are involved.”
“Kevin is not involved.”
I chewed my food. I swallowed and raised my eyebrows. Doing both at the same time took some skill.
“Why not?” Cristal said. “Because he’s a fucking dumbass. He loves doing what he does. He’s not about money, he’s into making himself famous.”