Not yet. But it should have some damage on the front.
Hit him at high speed, I said.
Body looked it, Belson said. MES guys say so.
What other cards he have in his wallet? I said.
Belson took out a notebook and opened it.
Well, he said. He didnt have the Popes card. Or Puff Daddys.
Can I look?
Belson handed me the notebook.
Absolutely not, Belson said. This is a confidential police investigation.
I read the list of names and businesses that Belson had copied off the business cards of the late Brink. I recognized maybe a dozen names, but none that meant anything to my case. I gave Belson back his notebook.
He was Nathan Smiths broker, I said. Mary Smith said he managed her finances.
So you went and talked with him.
Yep. Thats how he got my card.
And?
And Brink told me nothing, even though I asked really nice, and after I left his office, two guys assaulted me in the parking garage.
An assault you reported immediately to the proper authority, Belson said.
I told Susan, I said.
Belson nodded. These guys say why they were assaulting you?
They wanted to know what Id talked with Brink about.
And you, being you, probably didnt tell them.
Client confidentiality is job one, I said.
Sure, Belson said. You know who these guys were?
Theyd been following me around since I took the case.
And you didnt mention it, Belson said.
I wanted to see what got their attention.
Belson nodded. Maybe this guy got their attention.
Maybe.
And maybe hed be alive now if youd felt like telling us about him.
Maybe, I said. Or maybe its just an accident and the driver panicked and left the scene.
Didnt some broad you talked to commit suicide?
Thats what you guys are calling it, I said.
And didnt somebody try to hit you the other night over on A Street?
Yep.
And you talk to this guy and hes accidentally run down at five in the morning, at the intersection of two empty streets?
Seems to be the case, I said.
That bother you? Belson said.
All of it bothers me, I said.
Maybe this wasnt an accident, Belson said.
And maybe Amy Peters wasnt a suicide, I
said.
And maybe you told us a little more about what youre doing, some of these people might not be dead.
I dont know what Im doing, Frank. If I did Id tell you in a heartbeat.
I owe you, Spenser, Belson said. But I dont owe you everything there is all the time. You know something about a murder, you tell me.
You dont owe me a thing, Frank. I know anything, youll be my first phone call.
The uniform that Belson had been talking to when I arrived came back to Belson.
Found the car, Frank. On Charles Street, a block up from the circle. Black Chrysler. Front end buckled. Phony plates.
Belson looked at me. Wasnt there a black Chrysler involved in your shooting in Southie?
Yes.
Had phony plates, as I recall.
I believe so, I said. I put a couple bullets through the roof.
Belson looked at the uniform.
Got that, Pat? he said.
I got it, Frank.
Go down there yourself, Belson said. I want Crime Scene all over that car.
Okay, Frank.
Belson turned to me as the uniform walked toward his car.
This thing reeks, he said.
It does.
I got things to do here. Come see me tomorrow.
I nodded.
And think about whether this guy might be alive if youd told us what you know.
I do what I can, Frank.
Belson looked at me for a time and nodded slowly.
Yeah, he said. I know you do.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Mary Smith wouldnt talk to me without Rita there, and apparently she wouldnt talk with Rita unless Larson Graff was present. We met for lunch at Aujourdhui in the Four Seasons Hotel. It felt like a double date.
Most of the people and all of the men watched Rita walk in. She was dressed for success in a dark green suit with a short skirt and a V-necked jacket. Her smooth tan looked healthy even though it wasnt, and her thick red hair was in perfect shape. Susan had told me that red-haired women needed to make up with particular care, and Rita appeared to have done it just right.
In her beige pantsuit and careful blond hair, Mary looked a little pallid next to Rita. Larson looked like Larson and I remained dashing and ineffable. Mary had a champagne cocktail. The rest of us sipped Perrier.
Why didnt you authorize me to see your husbands investment statements? I said to Mary.
Whaat?
Brink Tyler called you from his office and asked you if youd authorize him to show me your husbands investment statements, I said.
He did?
I nodded.
I dont remember that.
Last week, I said. About three-thirty in the afternoon, on a Tuesday.
I get so many calls, Mary said.
Rita was sitting to my right at the table. She was sort of sideways to the table, half facing toward me with her legs crossed. She smiled when I looked at her and carefully hitched her skirt hem up another inch on her thigh.
I was there when he called you, I said.
I dont remember, she said.
I looked at Rita again.
Mary, Rita said, were all on the same side here. If you can help him, you should.
Oh, Rita, I know. I know that. I really, really do. But you wouldnt want me to lie about something. I absolutely cant remember Brink Tyler calling me up last Tuesday.