We crossed a little footbridge over the lagoon and walked near the water. If anyone noticed that Kate was pushing an empty carriage they didn't show it. Bostonians are so reserved. There were a number of dogs being run by their owners, and a number of babies being strolled, and then there was a stalker. I didn't see him approach. He was just there all of a sudden, beside Kate, a big man wearing a tank top. His hair was in a crew cut shaved high on the sides. There were tattoos on each bicep. He took her arm. He was loud. And intense. As I closed on them I could hear him.
"I don't give a fuck about that. I need to see you. I love you."
I stopped beside them. He looked at me.
"Who the fuck are you?" he said.
He was fair-skinned and sunburned. He'd never tan darkly, but you could tell he was out-of-doors a lot.
"I'm with her," I said. "We need to talk."
"You need to take a fucking walk, pal."
He was sober, which was good news, since it was about eleven in the morning. There was no smell of booze, no slurring, none of the look around the eyes that drunks so magically achieve.
"Nope," I said. "The three of us. We'll sit down over there on that bench and we'll sort everything out."
Beside me Kate was like a rabbit, very still, quivering with-what? Expectation? Fear? Readiness? The guy was big and strong and had probably won most of the fights he'd had. But if experience made him confident, it also gave him perspective. I could see by the way he looked at me that he wasn't sure.
"You a cop?"
"Private," I said.
He snorted. I took it as an expression of contempt.
"Sort what out?" he said. "It's that bitch she works for that needs sorting out."
"How so?" I said.
"How so? Bullshit how so," he said.
Anger got the better of perspective, and he took a swing at me. It was a pretty good swing. He didn't lead with his right. He didn't loop the punch. But he got out in front of his feet, and it made him put too much arm into the punch, and not enough body. I picked it off with my right forearm. He followed with a right that I picked off with my left forearm. It didn't deter him, so I feinted at his belly with my right. He flinched, his hands came down, and I nailed him on the jaw with a left hook that turned him half around and put him on the ground.
Kate screamed "Stop it!" and jumped in front of me and wrapped her arms around my waist and tried to push me away from Kevin. Bells were ringing for Kevin. He got halfway up and sat back down.
"He'll be all right," I said. "He's just been jarred a little. But it would be better if we left it at this. Why don't you talk with him."
She turned toward Kevin, who was sitting upright on the ground, blinking his eyes. She dropped to her knees beside him, and put her arms around him.
"Stop it, Kevin. Please," she said. "For me. This man doesn't want to hurt you, or me. He'll help us, I know he will, if you'll talk with him. Talk with him, for me."
Kevin looked confused, but he let her help him to his feet and he walked pretty steadily with her toward the bench. When they weren't looking, I rubbed my knuckles. Every time I hit somebody my knuckles hurt. Tomorrow they'd be a little swollen, and a little sore. Occupational hazard. I couldn't go around all the time with my hands wrapped. The two of them sat on the bench. Kevin's eyes began to focus.
"Okay," I said. "We'll be friends, and I'll ask some questions, and you'll answer them and maybe we can work something out."
Neither one said anything. The hinges of Kevin's jaw were going to be very sore tomorrow.
"Don't feel bad," I said to Kevin. "You're a tough guy, but there's always somebody tougher."
"She didn't beg me," Kevin said, "we'd still be at it."
"Sure," I said. "Now, do you, Kate, love him, Kevin?"
"Yes."
"Do you, Kevin, love her, Kate?"
"For crissake, what's it look like? Of course I do."
"You ever hit her?" I said.
"Once."
"Hit her once, or on one occasion hit her a number of times?"
"Just once, total," Kevin said.
He didn't want to look at me. He didn't like me knocking him on his kazoo in front of his girlfriend.
"That right, Kate?"
"Yes. He hit me on the arm, up near the shoulder."
"I was drunk," Kevin said. "And she was driving me crazy."
"About what?" I said.
"About her freakin' job. That bitch she works for doesn't want me around her."
"I need that job," Kate said. "How'm I going to eat, I don't have that job?"
"I'll be working again, goddammit, I'm just between right now."
"What do you do when you work?" I said.
"Heavy equipment. Company I worked for went outta business. I'll hook on someplace pretty quick."
"That the way you understand it, Kate?" I said.
"Yes. I know he'll get another job. But we need to eat now."
"We?"
"Kevin and I," Kate said.
I looked at him. He didn't look back.
"You supporting him?" I said.
"Just for now," she said. "I give him a little money."
"That right?" I said to Kevin.
"Yeah."
"He'd do it for me," she said.
"And when he shows up while you're walking the baby, he's not stalking you?"
"It's the only chance we get," Kevin said.
"Except we always fight," Kate said.
"Because he wants you to leave your job, and you don't want to."
"Not until he's on his feet again."
I walked a few feet and stood at the riverbank and looked at the gray water. Behind me the two of them sat on the bench as if they were waiting outside the principal's office. After a while I spoke to them without turning around.
"Why don't you get another job, Kate? Where the boss is a little more flexible."
"That's what I keep fucking telling her," Kevin said.
"I don't have time to look," Kate said. "And…"
"And?"
"And it's the baby. I love her. I want to take care of her. Nobody else wants to take care of her. I… I don't want her to grow up to be like her mother."
There were some sailboats skittering about erratically on the basin, driven inconsistently by the wind off the land. I watched them for a while. Then I walked back to where Kevin and Kate sat on the bench.
"Okay," I said. "Kate, you'll have to save another kid from her mother, and let a new nanny save Miranda."
"How am I going to get another job?"
"I'm going to get you one, and Kevin too."
"I can get my own job," Kevin said.
"Yeah sure, you're tough as nails and proud as a peacock. Which, so far, has enabled you to screw yourself up with the woman you love."
"You think I'm not tough 'cause you got a lucky punch in?"
"We both know it wasn't lucky," I said. "I can help you, unless you insist on being an asshole."
"You really think you can get us both jobs?" Kate said.
"It's a booming economy," I said.
She nodded and looked at Kevin. He smiled at her.
"You want to do this?" he said.
"Yes."
"Then we'll do it," he said.
TWENTY-FIVE
I WAS IN my office on Wednesday morning, eating some sugared donuts and drinking coffee and reading the paper. Wednesdays were always promising, because Susan didn't see patients on Wednesdays. She taught in the morning and normally spent the rest of the day with me.
And morning was always a good part of the day. I had the paper to read. The streets were full of people, fresh-showered and dressed well and heading for work. My office was still. The coffee was recent. The donuts were everything donuts should be, and the bright beginning of the day contained the prospect of unlimited possibility. When I had finished the paper, I put my feet up and dragged the phone over, and called Vinnie Morris.
"Gino do business with any c
onstruction companies?" I said.
"Of course," Vinnie said.
"I got a heavy-equipment operator looking for work."
"He connected?" Vinnie said.
"He's connected to me," I said. "Can you get him hired?"
"Sure," Vinnie said.
"Quickly?" I said.
"Tomorrow?"
"That's quickly," I said.
"I'll get back to you," Vinnie said.
We hung up. I went to the window and looked down at Boylston Street where Berkeley intersected. A stream of good-looking professional women moved past. Their outfits were tailored and ironed and careful. I was too high to hear, but I knew that their high heels clicked on the warm pavement as they walked. And I knew most of them smelled of pretty good perfume. Had I been closer, they in turn would have noticed that I smelled fetchingly of Club Man. But there was no one to smell me… yet. I looked at my watch. Quarter to eleven. She'd be here in an hour and a half, or so she had promised. Punctuality was not Susan's strength. She always intended to be on time, but she seemed to have some kind of chronometric dyslexia, which thwarted her intent, nearly always. Had she been predictably late, say fifteen minutes every time, then you could simply adjust your expectations. But she was sometimes a minute late and sometimes an hour late, and on rare and astonishing occasions, she was five minutes early. Since I had no way to gauge her coming hither or her going hence, I accepted the fact that readiness is all, and remained calm.
I poured the rest of the coffee into my cup and rinsed the pot out and threw the filter away, added a little milk and a lot of sugar to my cup, and sat back at my desk with my feet up. I sipped the coffee and thought about the Clives and Tedy Sapp and Polly Brown and Dalton Becker and came no closer to understanding what had happened than I had before I got canned.
The phone rang. It was Vinnie.
"Crocker Construction," he said. "Tell your guy to ask for Marty Rincone. Use my name."
"Where are they?" I said.
"Building condos on the beach in Revere. He'll see the trucks."
"Thank you," I said.
"You're welcome," Vinnie said. "You know where Hawk is?"
"France," I said.
"Working?"
"I don't think so. He went with a good-looking French professor from BC. Can I help you with something?"
"You could, but you won't."
"Okay, if I hear from Hawk, I'll tell him you were asking."
"Today or tomorrow, or don't bother. After that I'll have done it myself."
We hung up. Vinnie wasn't a chatty guy.
The mail came. I went through it. Nobody had sent me a check. Although one client had written a grateful letter. There were a couple of bills, for which I wrote a couple of checks. I threw away several offers to make my phone bills lower than a child molester.
Susan arrived. However late she might be, she was always worth the wait. Today she had on cropped white pants, and a striped shirt, and sneakers. I sensed that our afternoon would be informal. She sat on the couch and wrinkled her nose.
"Are you wearing Club Man again, or have they just painted the radiators?"
"You fear Club Man, don't you?" I said. "Because you're afraid that after just a single whiff, your libido will jump out of your psyche and begin to break-dance right here on the rug."
"That's probably it," she said. "Would you like to hear our plans for the rest of the day?"
"Yes, but first I need to find work for a nanny," I said.
"A nanny," Susan said.
"Yes."
I told her about Kate and Kevin and Valerie and Miranda.
"Things are not always as they appear," Susan said.
"You've noticed that too," I said.
"I'm a trained psychologist," Susan said. "You've gotten Kevin a job already?"
"Yep. Through Vinnie Morris."
"I'm not sure I have Vinnie's clout."
"Thank God for that," I said.
"But I can ask around," Susan said. "Most of the women I know work."
"As do most of the men," I said.
"Your point, Mr. Politically Correct?"
"Could be a father needs a nanny," I said.
"I'll ask the men too," she said. "Now would you like to hear our plans for the day?"
"Do they involve heavy breathing?"
"Absolutely," Susan said. "Whenever I smell your cologne."
TWENTY-SIX
SUSAN FOUND KATE a job as a teacher's aide in a private nursery school in Cambridge. Kevin was welcomed at Crocker Construction, where everyone treated him very respectfully. A couple of days after Kate had quit, Valerie Hatch stalked into my office without closing the door behind her.
"What the hell kind of operation are you running here?" she said.
"No need for thanks," I said. "Just doing my job."
"You sonovabitch," she said. "Because of you I've lost my nanny."
"Glad to do it," I said.
"Do you have any idea what it is like to be a career woman with a child?"
"No."
"Well, maybe you'd like to try the fast track someday while you've got a sixteen-month-old kid clinging to your damned skirt."
"I don't think a skirt would improve my fast-track chances."
"Don't avoid the issue," she said.
"Ms. Hatch, there is no issue," I said. "Kate didn't want to work for you, so she quit and got another job."
"Which you helped her with."
"Yes."
"You even got a job for that lout of a boyfriend."
"I did," I said.
"That is not what I employed you for."
"I know," I said. "I quit too."
"Don't think I'm going to take this kind of betrayal passively."
"Okay," I said. "I won't think that."
"I have every intention of pursuing this with the appropriate licensing agency."
I nodded.
"And don't think I'm going to pay your bill."
"There is no bill," I said.
"You mean they bought you off?"
"I mean this is pro bono, " I said. "Would you like to know what I think?"
"No."
"Few people do," I said.
We were quiet. She glared at me.
"Well, what is it?"
"What is what?"
"What you think," she said. "My God, you're a fool."
"I think you should hire a new nanny."
She stared at me.
"That's your idea?"
I smiled and nodded. She stared at me some more.
"Men!" she said, and turned and stomped out of my office.
TWENTY-SEVEN
IT WAS A month or so after I had failed Valerie Hatch so miserably. I was sitting in my office reading a book by Jonathan Lear about Freud and other things, when Dolly Hartman came into my office like an old sweet song and sat down in a client chair and crossed her spectacular legs.
"Do you remember me?" she said.
"Yes, I do. How are you, Ms. Hartman?"
"Please call me Dolly."
She was wearing a print summer dress and white high heels and no stockings. Her legs were the regulation horse-country tan. She was iridescent with cool sexuality that made me want to run around the desk and ask to die in her arms.
"You're looking well," I said. It was a weak substitute but it preserved my dignity.
"Thank you," she said. "Is that a good book?"
"I don't know," I said. "I don't understand it."
"Oh, I bet you do."
"Just the easy parts," I said.
We smiled at each other.
"What brings you to Boston?" I said, listening to my voice, hoping it wasn't hoarse.
"I wanted to see you," she said, and shifted a little in her chair and crossed her legs the other way. Which displayed a fair amount of thigh. I observed closely. You never knew when a clue might present itself.
She smiled. I cleared my throat.
"How are things in Lamarr?" I said.
Spenser, conversationalist par excellence.
"That's why I wanted to see you," she said. "Things are hideous in Lamarr."
I decompressed a little. She wasn't just there to flash her thighs at me. Not that I don't like thighs. Had that been her purpose, she'd have been welcome. But because she was there with a problem, I could start acting like it was a business call, which would dilute my impulse to bugle like a moose.
"Tell me about it," I said.
"There's something very wrong at Three Fillies," Dolly said.
"Like what?"
"Well, neither my son nor I have any access."
"Access?"
"We're not allowed in," she said. "Not the stables. Not the house. Nowhere."
"What happens if you go and ask to be let in?" I said.
"The security guards prevent us."
"At the house too?"
"Yes."
"Security South?" I said.
"Yes."
"Any explanation?"
"No. Simply that they have their orders."
"Have you called Penny?"
"She won't take my calls."
"Stonie? SueSue?"
"They don't answer or return my calls."
"There any progress on Walter's murder?" I said.
"None."
"Any more horses?"
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