Hawk already left, Henry said.
I know.
You working on something?
I am.
Henry looked down through the window. The black Volvo tailing you?
Un-huh.
What kinda crook tails somebody in a Volvo? Henry said.
Hawks going to tell us, I said.
I get it, Henry said. You ditch them here and Hawk picks them up and then youve got a tail on the tail.
Pretty smart, I said. For a guy who got whacked in the face as much as you did.
Never got knocked down though, Henry said. You gonna work out?
Maybe later, I said. Isnt it sexist to have a women-only weight room?
I think so, Henry said.
The Volvo waited for two and a half hours, into the rush hour, until a cop pulled his cruiser up behind it and gave a short wail on his siren and gestured them to move the car. Which they did.
I looked down at the evening commuter traffic trying to jam past the Big Dig construction for a while and then went to the snack bar and had a turkey burger. Healthful.
I called Frank Belson while I waited and asked him to check the plate numbers on the Volvo. I ate another turkey burger. Belson called me back. After two hours and twenty minutes, Hawk came into the snack bar and slid onto the stool beside me.
Went down to Braintree, hawk said. Shopping center right there where 3 and 128 fork off the expressway. Parked in the lot. Got out, got in another car, drove back up the expressway to a place called Soldiers Field Development Limited.
Would that be on Soldiers Field Road? I said.
Howd you guess that? Hawk said.
I smiled modestly and looked at the floor.
You get the plate number? I said.
You didnt tell me to get no license plate number, Hawk said.
I was being racially sensitive,
I said. I didnt want to sound patronizing.
Yassah, Hawk said and recited the plate number. Hawk never wrote anything down. As far as I could tell he never forgot anything.
You get anything on the car they dumped? Hawk said.
Stolen car, I said.
They being careful, Hawk said. Tail you with stolen car. Dump it. Swap cars.
Not careful enough, I said.
Course not, Hawk said. How they gonna be careful enough when they up against you and me?
They didnt make you? I said.
Hawk looked at me without speaking.
No, I said. Of course they didnt. They actually go in the development company?
Un-huh.
And didnt go right on through and come out the front and get in a waiting car and drive off? I said. Leaving you confused and uncertain?
Un-un.
You got a good look at them?
Un-huh.
So youd recognize them if you saw them again.
It wasnt a question, I was just thinking out loud. Hawk made no response.
Okay so we know who, I said. Be good to find out why.
It would, Hawk said. Maybe next time they follow you we can stop and ask them.
Well see, I said.
CHAPTER TEN
I was in my office tilted back in my chair with my feet up drinking a cup of coffee and eating my second corn muffin while I reread the list of Mary Smiths closest friends. The sunlight sprawled its familiar light across my desk. Behind me I had the window open and the pleasant traffic sounds drifted up from the point where Berkeley Street intersects with Boylston. There was nothing new. Still no names with asterisks indicating a possible murderer. Just a bunch of mostly Anglo-Saxon names with mostly business addresses. One of the business addresses was Soldiers Field Development Ltd. Oh ho! I had taken to saying Oh ho! in moments like this ever since Susan had suggested that ah ha! was corny. The address was for someone named Felton Shawcross, who was listed as CEO. I took a bite of corn muffin. Its hard to think when youre hungry. It is also hard to think when you dont have anything to think about. Something might develop out of the clue. But right now it was just a clue.
I finished my corn muffin, drank the last of my coffee, washed my hands and face, and headed off down Berkeley Street toward the South End. By the time I crossed Columbus Ave. I knew I was being followed again, on foot this time. A dark curly-haired guy with a big mustache had gotten out of a black Chrysler sedan as soon as I had come out of my building. The sedan had been double-parked in front of FAO Schwarz on the corner of Boylston and Berkeley, and pulled away down Boylston right after Curly got out. He was so conscientious in paying me no attention that I spotted him almost at once. Though in his defense, I suppose, I was looking for him. Berkeley Street was one way the other way, so I knew that if they were tailing me again, it would have to be on foot. Larson Graffs place of business was a red brick row house on Appleton Street. The office was on the first floor. Graff lived above the store. Graffs desk was in the bow window of a room that was probably once the dining room. It was a vast pale oak piece, with thickly turned legs. The window behind it was punctuated occasionally with panes of stained glass. Through it I could see Curly standing innocently across the street talking on his cell phone.
Graff was immaculate in a double-breasted blue blazer, a yellow silk tie, and a starched white broadcloth shirt. He stood to shake my hand.