Thin Air s-22

by Robert B. Parker

  "Hey," I said. "I'm no slave to appetite."

  "Umm," Susan said.

  We went into the elegant old tavern with its polished wood floors and its colonial colors, and paintings of stern but good men on the walls. We sat at a trestle table, as far as we could get from the children's tour groups, and ordered. Our waitress had on the implacable mobcap and long dress, adorned with a white apron.

  "Might I have a mug of nut brown ale?" I said.

  "We got Heineken, Michelob, Sam Adams, Miller Lite, Budweiser, and Rolling Rock."

  I had a Rolling Rock, Susan had a glass of iced tea.

  "How's Frank?" Susan said.

  "He's awake more of the time now," I said. "But he has no memory of being shot, and still no movement in his legs."

  "Does he know about his wife being a prostitute?"

  "No."

  "Does he know anything?"

  "He knows that Quirk and I are working on it."

  "What about the ex-boyfriend?"

  "He's a little hard to talk with," I said. "Being as he lives in what appears to be some sort of three-story bunker in the Hispanic ghetto in Proctor."

  "I thought all of Proctor was an Hispanic ghetto," Susan said.

  "San Juan Hill is a sub-ghetto," I said.

  "Tell me about it," Susan said.

  Which, with an interruption to order chicken pie for me, and a tossed salad, dressing on the side, for Susan, I did.

  "And you have your translator, this Rollo man?"

  "Chollo," I said.

  "Yes. Is he good?"

  "Very," I said.

  "Does Frank know any of this?" Susan said.

  "No. Even if I told him he'd forget it."

  "When you tell him, how will he be?"

  "He'll manage," I said. "Belson's a tough guy and he had a long unhappy first marriage, so he learned how to dull his feelings."

  Susan smiled.

  "Might be why he was always such a good cop," she said. "The wound and the bow."

  "Disability of some kind helps strengthen us in other areas?"

  Susan nodded. The waitress brought Susan her salad, and me the pot pie and another beer. Susan took a spray of red lettuce leaf from her salad and dipped it delicately into the dressing on the side and nibbled on the end of it.

  "Save some room for dessert," I said.

  "Don't you think the romantic make-believe about having no past should have bothered Frank? Wouldn't it strike you as odd? It sounds cute, but can you imagine us never saying anything about before?"

  "Well," I said, "I don't know much about your ex-husband."

  "Yes, but you know I have one."

  I nodded.

  "Belson's a smart cop, and he's been one for a long time," I said. "It would strike him as odd too."

  "If there is a silence," Susan said, "it is often the result of an unspoken conspiracy, maybe even an unconscious conspiracy to keep something under cover."

  "You think Belson knew?" I said.

  "He may not even know what she's concealing, only that there's something, and he doesn't want either of them to have to look."

  The waitress came by to see if everything was all right. We said yes, and Susan ordered a chicken sandwich, plain, no mayo, just bread and sliced chicken. I raised my eyebrows.

  "This is nearly gluttonous," I said. "A salad and a chicken sandwich?"

  "The sandwich is for the baby," Susan said, "on the ride home."

  "Of course," I said.

  "Sometimes," Susan said, "when people have been, ah, unlucky in love, so to speak, they are so fragile, and so untrusting of themselves, or of the experience, that they want everything to remain in stasis. Be very careful. Take no chances. You know? So they ask no questions."

  "Yeah. Belson says he knows her better than anyone, even though he knows nothing of her past."

  "Maybe he does, but the fact that he thinks so doesn't make it so," Susan said. "Love often makes us think things that aren't in fact so."

  "I sometimes think I know you entirely," I said.

  "You know me better than anyone ever has," Susan said.

  "And yet you're quite secretive," I said. "You surprise me often."

  "And hope to again," Susan said.

  "Are you implying some sort of kinky sexual surprise?" I said.

  Susan smiled a wide, friendly smile at me. "Why yes," she said. "I am."

  Chapter 30

  Chollo and I sat with Delaney, the Proctor Chief of Detectives, and two Proctor uniforms: a big jowly cop named Murphy, who had a lot of broken veins in his face, and a body builder named Sheehan, whose long black hair stuck out from under his uniform cap. The cap itself seemed too small for all that hair. It sat on top of it, as if he were the cop in a clown act.

  "Okay," Delaney was saying, "you got no probable cause, okay? But the broad's husband is a brother officer, and you used to be a brother officer, so I send a couple people down to take a peek. No warrant, nothing. But my guys know their way around and they have a few words with the guy at the door and they go in. They talk to Luis Deleon, they talk to some of his people. They look around. There's no Anglo woman there."

  Delaney gave a big sad shrug.

  "You look everywhere?" I said.

  "Hey, pal, this ain't Boston," Murphy said. "But it's not like we don't know our job."

  "Your job is shaking down small-time junkies," I said. "I didn't say you don't know it."

  "Is that a crack, Mister?" Delaney said.

  "Anybody you talked to speak English?" I said.

  "Deleon," Sheehan said. He sounded thrilled that he'd thought of someone.

  "Anybody else?"

  "They said no, but they understand when they want to," Murphy said. "Besides, we speak some Spanish."

  "Chollo," I said. "Speak to them in Spanish."

  Chollo was behind us, languidly holding up the wall. With no expression on his face, Chollo rattled off several sentences in Spanish. The three Proctor cops looked at him blankly.

  "We're the cops here," Delaney said. "We don't have to take no fucking test. We say she ain't in there, you can take it or leave it."

  I looked at Delaney for a time. Delaney tried to hold my gaze but couldn't. He looked down, then looked very quickly at his desk drawer, and away.

  "We done what we could do," he said.

  He took his bottle out of the desk drawer fiddled with the cap.

  I kept my gaze on Delaney.

  "Lemme see if I got this straight. You sent these two twerps in to ask Deleon if he kidnapped Lisa St. Claire. Deleon says no, probably dukes them a twenty, and they tip their caps and say thank you, Jefe, and go get somebody to count it for them."

  "Hey, pal," Sheehan said. "You're a fucking civilian and you're not even from here. We don't have to take any shit from you."

  "The hell you don't," I said.

  "Settle down," Delaney said. "We done what we can do without a warrant." He spoke very fast and his voice was sort of squeaky. "And I can't get no judge in the district to give me one on what you got."

  He took a drink from the neck of the bottle.

  "Now that's the fucking long and short of it," he said. "Lemme buy you a drink."

  I shook my head.

  "You ever see McGruff the crime dog?" I said. "Look out, because he'll want to take a bite out of you."

  I turned and walked out of the office with Chollo behind me.

  "Fucking McGruff the crime dog?" Chollo said.

  "They can't all be winners," I said.

  Chapter 31

  He was waiting in the hallway outside my office when I got there in the morning. At first I didn't recognize him. He was wearing a black felt hat and a shabby old raincoat and looking furtive and ill at ease, so I figured he was a client.

  "I'm Spenser," I said. "Are you looking for me?"

  "Yes, you remember me? Father Ahearn from Proctor?"

  "Of course, the hat and the coat fooled me. I thought you were out of uniform."

&nb
sp; I unlocked the office door and we went in. The priest put his hat on the edge of my desk and sat uneasily on the front edge of one of my client chairs. Hawk always said that the presence of four client chairs in my office was the embodiment of foolish optimism.

  "Want some coffee, Father?"

  The priest hesitated as if I'd asked him too hard a question. Then he nodded.

  "Decaf if you have it," the priest said.

  "You're in luck, Father. I'm a decaf man myself."

  Susan had given me a Mr. Coffee machine for the office to help me in my long-standing quest for decaffeination. I put some ground decaf in the basket, added the water, and turned it on. Then I went around my desk and opened the window a little so that fresh, or at least different, air could drift in from the Back Bay. Then I sat down at my desk.

  "What can I do for you, Father?"

  "You are still looking for the Anglo woman in Proctor?"

  "Lisa St. Claire," I said.

  The priest frowned slightly as if I'd given the wrong answer.

  "Do you still think she is with Luis Deleon?"

  "I think she might be, Father."

  The priest was silent. The coffeemaker stopped gurgling and I got up and poured us two cups of coffee.

  "Got sugar and condensed milk," I said.

  "Just black, thank you."

  I handed him a mug, added sugar and canned milk to mine, and took it back to my desk. I had a sip, it wasn't bad. Once you got over thinking it was going to be coffee and started thinking of it as a hot drink for mornings, it wasn't so disappointing. Some donuts would have helped. On the other hand, I couldn't think of anything some donuts wouldn't help. The priest blew on the surface of his coffee for a moment, then took a sip.

  "I have been asked to publish the banns of marriage," he said, "on behalf of Luis Deleon and Angela Richard."

  Bingo!

  "Do you know Angela Richard?" I said.

  "No. But I am scheduled to marry them."

  "You've not met her?"

  "No."

  "Who asked you?"

  "Luis Deleon came himself."

  "Alone?"

  "No, there were some other men with him."

  "But without the bride-to-be," I said.

  "Yes."

  "Isn't that unusual?"

  "Yes."

  "Don't you usually want to see both of them and counsel them on the high seriousness of holy matrimony?"

  "That is customary."

  "Did he show you a marriage license?"

  "No."

  "Can you marry him legally without one?"

  "No.

  "So does he have one? Why didn't the bride-to-be come along? Why aren't they doing their prenuptial counseling?"

  "I don't know," the priest said. "You do not question Luis Deleon about things."

  "You don't," I said. "I might."

  The priest shrugged.

  "It is your work," he said.

  It might have been his too, but I let it slide. He seemed to know his failings already. And the knowledge had not made him happy.

  "When did Deleon come to see you?"

  "Ten days ago."

  "Took you a while to get here," I said.

  "Yes. I was afraid."

  "And now you're not?"

  "No. I am still afraid. But, I… I felt I had to come here and tell you."

  "Where will the ceremony take place?"

  "At Luis Deleon's home."

  "In San Juan Hill?"

  "Yes."

  "When the time comes, could you bring another priest with you?"

  "Another priest?"

  "Yeah."

  "There is no need for another priest."

  "I was thinking about me in a priest suit," I said.

  The priest stared at me as if I were the anti-Christ. "You think Angela Richard might be the other woman?"

  "Could be," I said. No sense burdening the priest with more information than he can use.

  "Holy Mother," he said.

  "Could it be done?"

  "A second priest? You in disguise? I… I don't know. I think… I think I would be… too… afraid."

  "Sure," I said. "Is there. anything else you can tell me?

  "No. It is all I know."

  I nodded. We drank our coffee in silence.

  "Does this information help you?" the priest said finally.

  "All information helps," I said. "Once we figure out how it fits with other information."

  "Maybe it means that the woman you seek is not there?"

  "Maybe," I said. "Or maybe it is the woman I seek."

  "She is already married."

  "Yeah."

  "Then how could I marry them?"

  "Maybe they plan to lie," I said.

  "Why would they do that?" the priest said.

  "Maybe she has no choice," I said.

  We drank our coffee again. The priest was thinking.

  "I do not know what is right here. I was very afraid to come to you, afraid Luis Deleon would find out. But I came because I thought it was the right thing, and it would clear my conscience. Now I find that it opens up a multitude of things that are not right. What if Luis Deleon asks me to perform an illicit marriage? I hope it is not the same woman."

  I made no comment.

  "I hope that is the case," the priest said. "Is it selfish of me to wish that? It would mean that you have no idea where the missing woman is, and you have been wasting your time. It might mean that she is dead somewhere. Can I wish such a thing?"

  "You're a man, Father. You probably can't always control what you wish."

  "But I must try," the priest said. "I am not just a man. I am a man of God."

  I looked at him sitting rigidly on the edge of my client chair, holding his half-empty cup of bad decaf, struggling with his soul. It must have been a struggle that occupied him daily.

  "It took courage to come here and tell me this stuff, Father."

  "Thank you," he said.

  He stood and took his coffee cup to my sink and rinsed it out and put it on the little table beside the Mr. Coffee.

  "You'll let me know, Father, anything develops?"

  "Yes."

  "I'll check in with you in a while," I said.

  "Of course."

  "If it matters," I said, "you seem a pretty good man to me."

  The priest smiled softly. He picked his hat up off my desk and put it square on his head. Nothing rakish. "Thank you," he said. "I will talk with my confessor."

  He went out of the office and closed the door very quietly behind him. I stood up and rinsed out my coffee cup and put it on the table beside his. Then I walked over and looked out my window and thought about what the priest had told me. As I stood, he came out the side door of my building, walked to the corner, and started up Boylston Street. He had his hands thrust deep into his raincoat pockets. His collar was turned up despite the sunshine, and his head was down. He wasn't finding a lot of joy in this world. For his sake I hoped he might be right about the next one.

  Chapter 32

  Chollo and I were back outside the Deleon complex, parked in a different spot. It was cold for spring and the partial sun was overmatched by the hard wind that kicked the gutter trash along the street. Paper cups, hamburger boxes, plastic cup lids, beer cans, the indestructible filter tips of disintegrated cigarettes, scraps of newspaper, bottle caps, match books, gum wrappers, and discolored food cartons with bent wire handles were tumbled about fitfully by the erratic wind. I could hear road sand and grit propelled by the wind, pinging against the car.

  "Angela is the same as Lisa?" Chollo said. "Right?"

  "And she's not there voluntarily," I said. "You ever hear of a couple getting married and only the guy goes to visit the priest?"

  "You think he used her other name so when the banns were announced, nobody will know?"

  "Maybe."

  "So why announce the banns?" Chollo said.

  "Propriety," I said.

  "
And you think he's holding her?"

  "Yeah."

  "And he's forcing her to marry him, even though she's married already to another guy?"

  "Yeah."

  "And he's going to the priest and publishing the fucking banns?"

  I stared at the moldering tenements and took a slow breath.

  "Yeah," I said. "That's what I think."

  "That's fucking crazy, man."

  I nodded, still looking at the blank gray clapboard buildings across the street.

  "Yeah," I said. "It is."

  We were quiet for a while, listening to the wind, looking at the tenements.

  "And you are sure it's your friend's wife in there?"

  "Yeah."

  "Enough fucking broads in the world," Chollo said. "Free for the taking. Don't make much sense to go stealing one from some guy. Especially, the guy's a cop."

  "Makes sense if you're crazy," I said.

  "And you figure he's crazy and he's got the cop's wife."

  "It's an explanation," I said.

  "Be nice we knew what the setup in there was," Chollo said. "Case we decide to go in and get her."

  "Yeah."

  A dog trotted by, head down, ears back, busy, on his way somewhere. He was a street dog, so mongrelized after generations of street breeding that he barely looked like a dog. He looked more like something wild, some kind of Ur-dog-the original pattern, maybe, that had existed before the cave men started to pat them.

  "I think I'll go in, take another look around."

  "You going to tell them you're the tooth fairy making a delivery?" I said.

  "I will tell them I work for Vincent del Rio, who is an important man in Los Angeles."

  The way he said Los Angeles reminded me that, despite the unaccented English, Chollo was Mexican.

  "Yeah?"

  "I will say that Mr. del Rio is seeking an East Coast associate for some of his enterprises. And that he has sent me here to assess Luis Deleon's setup. I will explain this is why I have been sitting outside here," Chollo grinned at me, "with my driver."

  "Not bad," I said. "They don't know me, why don't I go in with you?"

  Chollo shook his head.

  "No gringos," Chollo said. "On the first visit. Except to drive the car, and maybe shoot a little. Nobody will talk to me if I come in with a gringo."

  "Gee," I said. "That sounds kind of racially insensitive to me."