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  "Anything that distances you from the human fact of them," I said.

  "Doesn't mean I liked it," Z said.

  "Good," I said. "Stephano would have liked it. But it's worth remembering about yourself that you are the kind of guy who can stick a knife into someone in the dark."

  "Are you like that?" Z said.

  "Yes," I said.

  "You wish you weren't?"

  "No," I said. "But I keep it in mind."

  "Why?"

  "So I won't be that way when I don't have to be," I said.

  Z nodded.

  "You took Stephano out pretty nice," he said.

  "I'm supposed to," I said.

  "Yeah."

  We didn't talk for a while. We finished our drinks at an easy pace, and made fresh ones. I could hear, faintly, the sound of the rain outside my front windows.

  "Whaddya gonna do now?" Z said.

  "I'm going to tell Quirk that I don't think Jumbo killed Dawn Lopata."

  "You believe Jumbo?"

  "Yes."

  "Remember," Z said. "He's a lying fuck."

  "Of course he is," I said. "But it's a plausible story, and nothing any of us knows contradicts it."

  "Okay," Z said. "Then what?"

  "Then Quirk does what he does," I said. "The DA does what he does. Jumbo's people do what they do."

  "Can Quirk keep him out of jail?"

  "Maybe," I said.

  "What if he doesn't?" Z said. "What if they send him to jail?"

  "I did what I could. I did what I said I'd do. That's all there is to do."

  "Would it bother you?" Z said.

  "Some," I said. "But I'd get over it."

  "He probably should do time, anyway, for being a creep," Z said.

  "Probably," I said. "Maybe he can make a deal."

  "Swap Nicky Fellscroft for a light sentence?" Z said.

  "Might," I said. "If they press charges."

  "They might kill him," Z said.

  "Also possible," I said.

  "Easier than killing us," Z said.

  I nodded. I could hear the rain outside my front windows. Z looked at his half-full glass.

  "Ain't a lot of happy endings here," he said.

  "There often aren't," I said.

  "That's how it is," Z said. "Isn't it."

  "'Fraid so," I said.

  He nodded and sipped his drink and kept nodding slowly, as if in some kind of permanent affirmation.

  "That's how it is," he said.

  I don't think he was talking to me.

  62

  I SPENT THE MORNING with Quirk and a black woman with wide-spaced eyes from the Suffolk County DA's office. Her name was Angela Ruskin. I told them what I knew, and what I thought. They listened.

  When I got through, Quirk said, "I don't think there's enough."

  "We can't prove it didn't happen the way he said it did," Angela Ruskin said. "We might be able to get him for trying to pretty up the scene."

  "How much time would he do?" Quirk said.

  Angela shrugged.

  "Not much," she said. "Probably none, if Rita represents him."

  "I don't want to arrest him," Quirk said.

  "Because?" Angela said.

  "Because I don't think he did anything. Unless being a creep is illegal."

  "And you believe Spenser," she said.

  "Yes," Quirk said.

  She nodded and scanned the notes she had taken. Then she closed the notebook and stood up.

  "I'm inclined to believe him, too," she said. "Despite all the publicity, this isn't a winner for us. We don't prosecute and we're giving him a bye because he's a big star. We prosecute and don't convict, it's because we're incompetent, and probably giving him a bye as well. We prosecute and convict and he's sentenced appropriately, we're all soft on him because he's a star."

  "Only way to win is to get him convicted of something he didn't do, or get him a sentence that won't stand on appeal," Quirk said.

  Angela smiled.

  "I'll consult with my colleagues," she said.

  After she left, Quirk leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head, and looked at me for a while.

  "Heard there was three people killed at a construction site in Somerville last night," he said. "Two of them killed with a knife. One with a .40 caliber handgun."

  "World's going to hell in a handbasket," I said.

  Quirk nodded.

  "Guy shot to death was Stephano DeLauria, who is the husband of Jumbo Nelson's agent."

  "Tough on Alice," I said.

  Quirk nodded.

  "He was a button man," Quirk said. "For an L.A. Mob."

  "Really?" I said.

  "Had a big rep, I'm told," Quirk said.

  "Well," I said. "I feel bad for Alice."

  Quirk looked at me some more.

  "I'll bet you do," he said.

  I stood.

  "We done?" I said.

  Quirk nodded.

  "Nice job," he said.

  I said, "Thanks," and left.

  I had one more thing I had to do.

  63

  TOM LOPATA'S OFFICE was in a converted storefront in Malden Square. There were several desks. Tom sat at the one closest to the door. The others were unoccupied.

  He stood when I came in, and I could see him flipping through his mental Rolodex until he matched my face with a name. Then he stuck out his hand.

  "Hey," he said. "Mr. Spenser, excellent to see you."

  I didn't shake hands with him.

  "I've stopped by to tell you what I know," I said. "I'm not telling anyone else. But I want to be sure that you know that I know."

  "Sure," he said, and sat down. "Sure. I'll help you any way I can."

  He gestured toward a chair. I stayed on my feet.

  "You drove your daughter in to hook up with Jumbo Nelson," I said. "We know that. What only you and I know is that you did it because you hoped it would help you sell a big policy to him and the movie company."

  "What are you saying?"

  "I'm saying you pimped your daughter to a notorious pig. For money, and it got her killed."

  "Why. . . What good does this kind of talk do now?" Lopata said.

  "It doesn't do the kid any good. And I won't tell your wife or your son. I won't tell the cops. I won't tell anybody. But I want you to wake up every morning of every day and know what you did," I said. "Every morning."

  "This is crazy," he said. "There's no way you could know this. I didn't do anything wrong."

  I looked at him.

  "I didn't," he said.

  I didn't answer.

  "I spent my life, for crissake, feeding them and buying them stuff I couldn't afford, and sending them to schools I couldn't afford. My fucking son is at Harvard. All I wanted was for her to put in a good word for me, just once. Is that fucking evil?"

  "Yeah," I said. "In fact, it is."

  "Come on," he said. "That's bullshit. I didn't do nothing so bad."

  "Think about it," I said. "Every day."

  I left.

  WHEN I GOT BACK to Boston I changed into sweats, put some clean clothes and a shaving kit in a gym bag, and went down to the Harbor Health Club. I lifted weights. I hit the speed bag. I hit the heavy bag until the sweat was all over me and soaking through my shirt. Then I went to the steam room and sat for a long time. When I came out, I showered and shaved and put on my clean clothes.

  It was still raining when I came out of the club. But it seemed to me that it was getting a little lighter in the west. Over Cambridge. Where Susan lived.

  After the rain lifted, the world would probably seem as freshly washed as I was. The cleanliness was almost certainly illusory, or at best short-lasting. But life is mostly metaphor, anyway.

  I got in my car and drove west.

  THE SPENSER NOVELS

  Painted Ladies

  The Professional

  Rough Weather

  Now & Then

  Hundred-Dol
lar Baby

  School Days

  Cold Service

  Bad Business

  Back Story

  Widow's Walk

  Potshot

  Hugger Mugger

  Hush Money

  Sudden Mischief

  Small Vices

  Chance

  Thin Air

  Walking Shadow

  Paper Doll

  Double Deuce

  Pastime

  Stardust

  Playmates

  Crimson Joy

  Pale Kings and Princes

  Taming a Sea-Horse

  A Catskill Eagle

  Valediction

  The Widening Gyre

  Ceremony

  A Savage Place

  Early Autumn

  Looking for Rachel Wallace

  The Judas Goat

  Promised Land

  Mortal Stakes

  God Save the Child

  The Godwulf Manuscript

  THE JESSE STONE NOVELS

  Split Image

  Night and Day

  Stranger in Paradise

  High Profile

  Sea Change

  Stone Cold

  Death in Paradise

  Trouble in Paradise

  Night Passage

  THE SUNNY RANDALL NOVELS

  Spare Change

  Blue Screen

  Melancholy Baby

  Shrink Rap

  Perish Twice

  Family Honor

  THE VIRGIL COLE/EVERETT HITCH NOVELS

  Blue-Eyed Devil

  Brimstone

  Resolution

  Appaloosa

  ALSO BY ROBERT B. PARKER

  Double Play

  Gunman's Rhapsody

  All Our Yesterdays

  A Year at the Races (with Joan H. Parker)

  Perchance to Dream

  Poodle Springs (with Raymond Chandler)

  Love and Glory

  Wilderness

  Three Weeks in Spring (with Joan H. Parker)

  Training with Weights (with John R. Marsh)

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63