“Okay,” I said.
“He’s got a record. Wanted in Tacoma, Washington, for performing an illegal abortion. Got himself disbarred or delicensed or whatever the hell they do with doctors that screw up. That was about seven years ago. Now he could probably do it legal in half the country, but then it was still a big unh-unh.”
“And he’s still wanted?”
“Yeah, he skipped bail and disappeared. The AG’s office out there has an outstanding warrant on him, but it’s not international intrigue. I don’t think there are a lot of people working on it these days.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing much. Seems the guy had a good practice before this happened. I met the homicide commander out there once, and I gave him a call. Says this Croft was well thought of. Probably did the abortion as a kindness, not for dough. Didn’t want to be quoted, but said he thought it was kind of a shafting. Girl’s old man made a goddamned crusade of it, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“One thing, though,” Quirk said.
“What’s that?”
“Yours isn’t the first inquiry on him. Chief Trask of the Smithfield Police checked on him six years ago. There’s a Xerox copy of Trask’s request and a Xerox copy of the report the ID Bureau sent him.”
“Six years ago?” I said. Something bad was nudging at me.
“Yeah, what’s going on out there? Nice to see you’re in close touch with the local law enforcement agencies.”
I said, “Jesus Christ.”
Quirk said, “What?”
I said, “I’ll get back to you,” and hung up.
Susan said, “What’s the matter?”
I said, “I’ll be back,” and headed for my car. It was about five minutes from Susan’s house to the Smithfield jail. “Trask,” I said out loud, “that sonova bitch.” I slammed the car into the parking lot in front of the town hall and ran for the police station. Fire, police, and town hall were connected in a brick-faced white-spired town hall complex. The police station was in the middle between the double-doored fire station and the church-fronted town hall. Like a breezeway, I thought as I went in.
Trask was at the desk. I didn’t like that. The chief shouldn’t do desk duty. He looked up as I came in. “Well, Spenser,” he said, “solve everything?”
I said, “Where’s Croft?”
Trask jerked his head toward a door behind the desk. “Down there in a cell, safe and sound.”
“I want to see him.”
Trask was friendly, positively jolly. My stomach felt tight. I didn’t want to go down and see Croft. “Sure,” Trask said. He swiveled his chair around and snapped the bolt back on the door. “Third cell,” he said. And opened the door
There was a short corridor with three barred cells along the left side and a blank cinder block wall along the right. The first two cells were empty. In the third one Dr. Croft was hanging from the highest bar with his swollen tongue sticking out and his blank eyes popped way out. He was dead. I felt the nausea start up my throat, and it took me about thirty seconds to swallow it back. His red and silver rep striped necktie was knotted around his neck and around the top cross member in the barred door. I knew he was dead even before I reached my hand through to feel his pulse. I also knew I had something to do with it. I went back down the corridor and closed the door behind me. Trask had his feet up on an open desk drawer and was reading a mimeographed sheet of paper. He was wearing glasses. His thick red neck was smoothly shaved where his crew cut ended. He looked up as I closed the door.
“Everything okay down there?” he said. The glasses distorted his small pale eyes when he looked at me.
I said, “How come you’re doing desk duty, Chief?”
“Aw, hell, you know how a small department is. I mean, we only got twelve men. I like to give some of the kids a break. You know. I mean it ain’t like I’m commissioner in Boston or something.” He smiled at me, a big friendly hick smile. He’d never liked me this well before.
There was a table along the wall to the left of the cell block door. It had chrome legs and a maple-colored Formica top. There was a coffee percolator plugged in on it and a half-empty box of paper cups. I took one and poured myself some coffee. Then I sat on the table facing Trask. The silent partner.
“Trask,” I said, “I know you murdered Croft.”
He never blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?” he said.
“No crap now, there’s just the two of us here. You went down that corridor and tied that tie around his neck and hoisted him up there and let him strangle because he was the only link between you and Harroway and with him dead no one would have any way of finding out what you were into.”
Trask looked straight at me and said, “What was I into?”
“You were into prostitution and narcotics and sex shows and probably can be arraigned for abusing a goat.”
“You can’t prove any of that.”
“Not right now, I can’t. But I know some things and I’m going to tell them to Healy and he’s going to prove it.”
“What do you know?”
“I know that you know that Croft is wanted in Tacoma, and that you knew it six years ago. Now that’s not much for starters. But I bet if we start pulling on that little loose end, after a while there may be a whole weave we can ravel out. You learned that little bit of business, and you used it to blackmail Croft. Maybe you got suspicious of the way he just drifted in here; maybe he confided in you; I don’t know. But I’ll bet you had the whole cesspool all worked out in your head and were just waiting for a middleman. And plop, into your lap dropped Croft. So he dealt with Harroway and you dealt with him. And nobody else knew anything about it. Until Harroway got a crush on a goddamned runaway and screwed up the whole thing.”
Trask was still looking straight at me.
“And then you get Croft right in your own jail. Merry Christmas, from me and Healy. And you figured, okay, this is the only way they can get me. If he’s gone, I’m safe. Did it bother you to strangle him like that with the necktie? Did he croak and kick trying to breathe? How you going to explain not taking his tie away from him?”
Trask kept looking without a word.
“I feel mean about it. I think Croft wasn’t that bad a guy and he made a mistake that was motivated by a decent impulse and it destroyed him, and you used it to make him a goddamned pimp and then you killed him. I feel really mean about that part, you cold-blooded sonova bitch. Because I delivered him to you. And Healy will feel mean about it because he did too. And we will nail your ass for it. You can believe that. We only know a little, and we’ll have to guess a lot, but we will have you for it.”
Trask said, “Not if you don’t tell anybody. It’s a sweet setup. Or it was. I could pass on a few of the profits to you. Maybe you could even recruit a new manager for the girls and take Croft’s job yourself. Or maybe we could cut out the middleman; you could combine the jobs. Maybe you don’t have the drug contacts, but the girls are better revenue in this town anyway.”
I leaned forward a little and spit in his face. He flushed red and the pearl-handled General Patton forty-five came out. “All right, smart guy. If you don’t want coin, maybe there’s another way.” He wiped my saliva away with the back of his hand. His sun-bleached blond eyebrows looked white against his red face. “You come in here, tried to spring Croft, pulled a gun, I shot you in self-defense, and Croft sees it’s no use hoping anymore and hangs himself.”
I laughed. “Oh, good, even though the state cop who put him here told you to hold Croft for me. Even though I’m here five minutes after a Boston dick named Quirk tells me about your request for info on Croft six years ago. What a mammoth intellect you are, Trask. How the hell did you figure out this hustle by yourself anyway?”
Trask said, “Yeah, you think you’re so goddamned smart; you’ll be dead and I’ll be gone and we’ll see who’s so goddamned smart then.”
I threw the cup of coffee in his face and kicked
the gun out of his hand. It went over the counter and skidded along the floor. Trask started to get up, and I was on my feet in front of him. “Go for it,” I said. “Get up and try and get by me and go for the gun, you piece of garbage.” He half rose from the chair and then sat down. “I’m not moving,” he said.
I turned and walked away from him. At the door I picked up his gun. A Colt, single-action, six-inch barrel. I threw it through the glass front window.
“I’ll be in touch with Healy,” I said. “And he’ll be in touch with you. Start running, you sonova bitch.”
I walked out and left the door open behind me.
Here’s one inning of Spenser’s first major league game. You’ll want to read the whole nine innings in MORTAL STAKES, now available from Dell.
It was drizzly rainy along the Charles. I ran along the esplanade with my mind on other things and it took a lot longer to do my three miles. It always does if you don’t concentrate. I was on the curb by Arlington Street looking to dash across Storrow Drive and head home when a black Ford with a little antenna on the roof pulled alongside and Frank Belson stuck his head out the window on the passenger side and said, “Get in.”
I got in the back seat and we pulled away. “Drive around for a while, Billy,” Belson said to the other cop, and we headed west toward Allston.
Belson was leaning forward trying to light a cigar butt with the lighter from the dashboard. When he got it going, he shifted around, put his left arm on the back of the front seat and looked at me.
“I got a snitch tells me that Frank Doerr’s going to blow you up.”
“Frank personally?”
“That’s what the snitch says. Says you roughed Frank up yesterday and he took it personally.” Belson was thin, with tight skin and a dark beard shaved close. “Marty thought you oughta know.”
We stayed left where the river curved and drove out Soldiers Field Road, past the ’BZ radio tower.
“I thought Wally Hogg did that kind of work for Doerr.”
“He does,” Belson said. “But this one he’s gonna do himself.”
“If he can,” I said.
“That ain’t to say he might not have Wally around to hold you still,” Belson said.
Billy U-turned over the safety island and headed back in toward town. He was young and stylish with a thick blond mustache and a haircut that hid his ears. Belson’s sideburns were trimmed at the temple.
“Reliable snitch?”
Belson nodded. “Always solid in the past.”
“How much you pay him for this stuff?”
“C-note,” Belson said.
“I’m flattered,” I said.
Belson shrugged. “Company money,” he said.
We were passing Harvard Stadium. “You or Quirk got any thoughts about what I should do next?”
Belson shook his head.
“How about hiding,” Billy said. “Doerr will probably die in the next ten, twenty years.”
“You think he’s that tough?”
Billy shrugged. Belson said, “It’s not tough so much. It’s crazy. Doerr’s crazy. Things don’t work out, he wants to kill everybody. I hear he cut one guy up with a machete. I mean cut him up. Dis-goddamn-membered him. Crazy.”
“You don’t think a dozen roses and a note of apology would do it, huh?”
Billy snorted. Belson didn’t bother. We passed the Kenmore exit.
I said to Billy, “You know where I live?”
He nodded.
Belson said, “You got a piece on you?”
“Not when I’m running,” I said.
“Then don’t run,” Belson said. “If I was Doerr I coulda aced you right there at the curb when we picked you up.”
I remembered my lecture to Lester about professionals. I had no comment. We swung off at Arlington and then right on Marlborough. Billy pulled up in front of my apartment.
“You’re going up a one-way street,” I said to Billy.
“Geez, I hope there’s no cops around,” Billy said.
I got out. “Thanks,” I said to Belson.
He got out too. “I’ll walk up to your place with you.”
“With me? Frank, you old softy.”
“Quirk told me to get you inside safe. After that you’re on your own. We don’t run a baby-sitting service. Not even for you, baby.”
When I unlocked my apartment door, I noticed that Belson unbuttoned his coat. We went in. I looked around. The place was empty. Belson buttoned his coat.
“Watch your ass,” he said, and left.
God Save the Child Page 17
