“There's nothing better.”
“Yeah, Pa.” Joshua nodded.
Such bright children, agreeing with their father without reservation.
“More, Pa?”
“Sure. But we're having spaghetti for supper, so save some room for that.”
I cut and slathered another slice for each of us.
Divine! God was probably a baker.
Quinn called just before Zee was scheduled to come home from work.
“I checked our morgue and sure enough I found your girl Grace Shepard. Nothing much, though. Her husband, Ralph, got himself shot to death a while back. They found him sitting in the driver's seat of his own Caddie with a bullet hole above his ear. Shot from the suicide seat, apparently. No perp was ever charged, and the general opinion is that the killing was related, as the kids say.”
Related. A street term for “drug-related.” I remembered Sullivan mentioning Ralph Shepard.
Quinn went on: “He was a couple of steps up from the street dealers, but nobody seemed to really know for sure. The street wisdom was that he was working for our mutual friend Sonny Whelen, in spite of Sonny's well-known spiel that he has nothing to do with drugs, and that somebody else got rid of Ralph so the somebody could run the drug trade there in JP.”
“Jamaica Plain was Ralph's bailiwick?”
“Every town has its share of drugs, including JP.”
“Who took over for Shepard?”
“That, I cannot tell you. Maybe the cops know, but I don't. I can tell you for a fact, though, that JP has as good a supplier as ever.”
“Do you know anything more about Grace Shepard?”
“The morgue has her as the grieving widow, and that's about it.”
“Any children?”
“None mentioned. I didn't cover the story, and the guy who did is working out on the West Coast now. I can try to get in touch with him if you want.”
“Any other Shepards around town? Mom or Dad or sibs? Anybody who might know more about what happened?”
“They all expressed shock. Inconceivable that their boy Ralph could be mixed up with drugs. A wonderful man with a lovely wife. Used to be an altar boy. A terrible loss. And like that. You know the story.”
Indeed. Every time some slimy character gets himself killed, his family and friends weep and proclaim his sainthood.
I thanked Quinn and told him he could do no more for me at the moment. For this news he thanked me profusely in return on behalf of his bosses who could now hope that he would do some work for them for a change.
I looked at my watch. Time for one more call. I made it to Gordon R. Sullivan. He had just come in. I told him what I'd seen and been told about Grace Shepard.
“Oh, yeah,” said Sullivan. “I remember Grace. The weeping widow, though I don't really remember seeing many tears when they planted Ralph. And I don't think she was ever a schoolteacher, either, although maybe she tells people that she is, so she'll have a respectable cover. She wasn't any kind of working wife as far as I know. She and Ralph had a place in the North End, and she's still there. I guess Ralph was well insured or had a nest egg stashed away because Grace hasn't worked since, either.”
“You seem to have kept pretty good tabs on her.”
“Well, she interests me. One of the rumors, you know, is that Sonny Whelen is sweet on her and that it was one of his boys that knocked off Ralph, so Sonny would have a clear field with Grace.”
“Maybe Sonny's paying her rent for her.”
“Maybe he is. He can afford it, for sure.”
“She must be the forgiving type if she's hanging around with the guy who knocked off her husband.”
“Maybe she's the one who shot Ralph, so she could go with Sonny. In happens in the best families. Actually, rumor has it that Sonny's hotter for her than she is for him. Maybe she likes younger men.”
“Quinn told me that Ralph ran drugs for Sonny and that afterward somebody else started running them. Do you know who the somebody is? Do you know if he works for Sonny, too?”
“I don't know who's supplying in JP now, but it isn't Sonny. I hear Sonny would like to get the territory back, but he doesn't confide in me very much, so I'm just guessing.”
“Does it strike you that there's a lot of coincidence in these tales I've been collecting? Rimini and his wife live in Jamaica Plain, Sonny Whelen used to run the drug market there until Ralph got himself killed there. Willard Graham puts the strong-arm on Rimini there, Pete McBride follows me there, and Ralph's widow is here now with Rimini, who's hiding out from Sonny, and so forth.”
“Maybe Jamaica Plain is the real hub of the universe. Or maybe, like you say, it's all a coincidence.”
I tried a Bondism: “Once is coincidence, twice is happenstance, three times is enemy action.”
“You should read a better brand of literature. I admit that it does look like JP is a popular spot with some of the people you've gotten yourself mixed up with. But so what? If not JP, it'd be someplace else. Like the wife's lover said when the husband came home early and found him hiding in the chandelier, ‘Everybody's got to be somewhere.’”
“You should get a new joke book. Is Sonny still hot for Grace Shepard?”
“Sonny would tell you that he's a faithful and happily married man with a couple of grandchildren. I have it on pretty good authority, though, that he'd like to be very close to Grace. In fact, if Sonny has a weakness, I'd say it was her.”
Ah, the fatal femme. “Does she feel the same way about him?”
I could almost see his shrug. “Who knows? But diamonds are a girl's best friend, as they say. He takes her to fancy places, and somebody's paying for her apartment and that big car of hers.”
“Then what's she doing down here with Tom Rimini?”
“The first thing that comes to mind is that Sonny entertains Grace on the side, and Grace and Rimini entertain each other on the side.”
“Dangerous stuff. Sonny isn't a guy you want mad at you.”
“He's already pretty mad at Rimini. Probably madder now than before those two thugs got themselves shot up in your front yard. Sonny's lost at least three soldiers in the past couple of years, if you count Ralph, and that can't make him happy.”
“Does he get hot or cold when things get tough?”
“Some of each. He didn't get where he is by being stupid, but while he was getting there nobody could tell what he'd do. It was one of the things that made him so scary. You cross him or get in his way and he might wait for months to set you up, or, if it was really personal, he was inclined to run right out and shoot you himself. He's done it both ways, although we can't prove it. Maybe he's psychotic or maybe he's just smart as hell. I don't know.”
“He seemed stable enough when I talked to him.”
“You weren't a threat. You want some advice?”
“Sure.”
“Down your way the state cops handle all homicides. I think you should get in touch with them and tell them what you've told me. What's the name of their head guy on the island?”
“Dom Agganis.”
“You talk with Agganis. Whatever's going on is tied to the shootings at your house. Tell him everything and give him my name and number. I'll get in touch with him and with some feds I know up here. Let us handle whatever it is that's happening. You drop out and go back to being a family man.”
“Good advice,” I said.
“You should take it.”
Probably. “I'll talk to Agganis,” I said.
I was barely off the phone when Zee came though the door. She looked tired and somber in spite of the split-lipped smile she had put on for her entrance. I told her about the call I'd gotten from Norman Aylward and the appointment I'd made for us to see him.
“So we've finally got a lawyer,” she said. “I suppose it had to come sometime. Other people have lawyers, and now we do. All right, I'll go see him.”
“I'll go with you.”
“No. You stay here with the cub
s. This is about me.”
I put my hands on her shoulders and looked down into those dark, deep eyes. “If it's about you, it's about me, too.”
“Yes,” she said, “you're right. It is about both of us. But I'll take care of it.”
How many times had I taken it upon myself to attend to some matter affecting us both? More than once, and often without even mentioning it, as though it was my duty as a man, as a husband, and not something I should even consider sharing with my wife. Wives, I suspected, did even more of that in marriages than did their husbands.
“All right,” I said. “I'll stay home with the kids.”
“You're a good man, Charlie Brown.”
Zee was barely out the door on her way to see Aylward when the phone rang. It was Carla.
“I've been so worried,” she said. “I can't seem to get in touch with Tom. Oh, I hope nothing's gone wrong. I don't know what the boys and I would do without him!”
I could almost see her tears. “He's safe,” I said.
“Please don't let him get hurt. He's like a child sometimes. He does foolish things.”
“He thinks he's got some sort of plan that will take a few days to work out. Do you know what it is?”
“No. But please keep him safe. I don't think I could stand it if anything happened to him. Please, Jeff!”
I felt a great pity for her. Her husband was an unfaithful liar, but she loved him and needed him. I decided I could put my distaste for him aside, at least for another few days.
“All right,” I said. “I'll make sure that nothing happens to him.” The words tasted sour, but they made her happy.
— 18 —
The morning was bright and glittering after the passing of the rain. The new sun beamed down on earth and water. Six days before, Pat “The Pilot” Logan and Howie Trucker had driven into my yard, and my world and Zee's world had changed forever. On the first Sixth Day God had seen everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good. I wondered how he felt about how things were going lately.
The night before, in bed, Zee had told me about her talk with Norman Aylward.
“The first thing you should know is that he wasn't wearing a tie.”
“Ah! A good sign.”
“The second thing is that he's good-looking and I like him.”
“I thought you had eyes only for me.”
“You're not too observant, but you're nice. Maybe I should tell you that he had a picture of his wife and three little kids on his desk.”
“If I had a desk, I'd have a picture of my wife and two little kids on it.”
“We chatted while we checked each other out and when we both—I, at least—decided we could get along, he told me pretty much what Brady told me over the phone.”
“Which was?”
“Don't talk with any reporters and don't talk with any cops or legal types without having him alongside. If anybody has any questions, refer them to him. It sounds like what you read in the newspapers: ‘Mr. and Mrs. Jackson referred all questions to her lawyer, Norman Aylward. Mr. Aylward expressed every confidence that the district attorney would find that his client had acted completely within the law, but declined further comment.’”
“Good advice, no doubt. Let's take it.”
“He doesn't want us to talk about what happened with anybody else, either, including our friends.”
“A little late for that.”
“That's what I told him. He said that from now on we should just tell everybody that our lawyer has advised us not to say anything to anybody until after the D.A. decides what he's going to do. I told him about the assistant D.A. snake I talked with. He said he didn't know him, but that it was the snakes who are responsible for all those lawyer jokes. I think you'll like him.”
I actually did like at least one lawyer: Brady Coyne. Was it possible for one person to like two lawyers in only one lifetime? What's the difference between a lawyer and a rattlesnake? The snake warns you. Page 1000, volume fifty, of the Lawyer Joke Book.
“Do you feel better, having talked with him?”
“Yes. When you think you might be in trouble, even though you don't think you deserve to be, it's nice to know that somebody is on your side.”
True.
“Enough of lawyers,” she said. “You're the somebody on my side that I'm interested in right now.” She rolled toward me and ran her hand down over my belly.
I tried to avoid the scar on her side, but I made good contact with the rest of her and she with me. As I've often said, bachelors are a sad lot.
In the morning, after Zee, looking healthier, drove to work, I packed up Josh and Diana, and followed her to Oak Bluffs. But instead of going to the hospital, I went to the State Police offices on Temahigan Avenue. In past years the building had been painted a dubious shade of blue, but now it was shingled with cedar and looked more Vineyardish.
I parked, and the kids and I went inside where I was pleased to actually find Corporal Dominic Agganis and not his testy fellow officer Olive Otero. Not that Dom Agganis and I were bosom buddies, but at least we'd gone fishing together and had occasionally shared a beer.
“Well, well,” said Agganis, “what brings you to these hallowed halls?”
“Talk.”
He opened a drawer of his desk. “You kids want some candy? I've got some lemon drops in here.” He brought them out.
“Thank you,” said my polite children, holding out their hands.
Agganis took a good look at the Band-Aid on Diana's throat. “What sort of talk? How's your wife, by the way?”
“Better.”
“Good. You want your kids to hear this conversation you have in mind?”
I found a chair. “It may bore kids to hear grown-ups talk, but I don't think it hurts them.”
He leaned back in his chair. He was a tall, thick-bodied man who usually wore an air of polite skepticism about the world in general. He was very smart and tough. “Well, then.”
I told him almost everything I had seen and heard since I'd come home from clamming the morning Logan and Trucker had been shot. I didn't mention the pencil I'd shoved up Trucker's nose or the place where Rimini was staying, but gave him the rest of it, including Gordon R. Sullivan's telephone number. It took a bit of time, but Agganis never interrupted. When I was done, I gave him a copy of the picture of Graham and waited.
“Pa, can we look around?”
“It's not my house, Joshua.”
“Sure you can,” said Agganis. “Look anywhere you want. Here.” More lemon drops exchanged hands and more thank-yous were uttered.
“Stay together,” I said, “and don't touch anything.”
“Yes, Pa.”
Agganis watched them ease into a hallway. “How's the little girl?” he asked, touching his throat with a thick finger.
“She only got a small cut. I don't think she gives it a thought. Kids may be little, but they're tougher than you'd think.”
“Where's Rimini hiding out?”
I'd been sure he'd ask. “Do you have to know?”
“He's in the middle of something that's already got one man killed and another all shot up. He's got Sonny Whelen looking for him already, he's got this Graham character pulling his strings, and now he's got the woman who may be Sonny's girlfriend down here with him. Because of him, your wife had to kill a man and your daughter damned near got her throat cut. I'd say there's plenty of reason for me to know.”
“The more mouths, the fewer secrets.”
“Don't irk me, J.W.”
“He's at John Skye's farm. You know where that is?”
“Yeah. Up off the Edgartown–West Tisbury Road.”
“John and Mattie and the twins are out West for a month. I look after the place, so I stuck him there until I could figure out what else to do with him.”
He nodded. “It's a good spot to hide somebody, but I get the impression that Rimini's not as keen on being hid as you are on hiding him. He's already brought in t
his bird from Boston. Who else knows where he is?” He tapped his fingers on his desk. “I think this Sullivan guy up in Boston is right. I think you'd better step out of this dance and let the authorities handle things from now on.”
“I have some interests the authorities don't have.”
“Yeah. Rimini's wife.”
He could be snide when it pleased him. So could I. “I don't want her to get hurt, but I don't think the authorities you mention give a damn about her one way or another.”
“You interfere with an investigation, you'll end up in court.” He waved his trigger finger at me.
I waved mine back. “Yeah, but there isn't any investigation to interfere with. None of those authorities you talk about are investigating Rimini.”
He had a little smile that consisted of one corner of his mouth lifting in what also looked like a sneer. “Don't bet your life savings on that, not that you have any life savings. I'm still investigating the shooting at your place, and Rimini is in the middle of it.”
“Let's have some tit for tat,” I said. “I've told you what I know, now you tell me what you know.”
The smile became bigger. “You jest.”
I didn't have any smile at all. “No. My wife and daughter almost got killed. Trucker told me it happened because Whelen sent them to get Rimini, and Logan let his testosterone get the best of him. Whelen sort of halfway told me that sending Trucker and Logan after Rimini was a mistake, but he never actually said that he sent them. He told me that Trucker and Logan were already on the island, vacationing with their wives, when they got the job. Did you talk with the wives? Are they still here? Where? Can you make Whelen as the mastermind?”
“You're full of questions, aren't you? Well, I'll tell you this much: Logan's widow and Trucker's wife and all of their kids who were here on vacation are off the island now and back home in America. The women claim they don't know a thing about their hubbies' work, and that may be true, since a lot of hoods keep their professional lives and their family lives separate, and a lot of hoods' wives go out of their way not to know anything and to keep their kids from knowing anything about their men's business. As far as I know, the same goes for Sonny Whelen's family. They may know his reputation from what they read in the papers and hear on the news, but then again maybe they don't read, or watch TV.”
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