Sixkill

Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

Copyright (c) 2011 by The Estate of Robert B. Parker

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Published simultaneously in Canada

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Parker, Robert B.

Sixkill / Robert B. Parker.

p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-101-51466-5

1. Spenser (Fictitious character)--Fiction. 2. Private investigators--Fiction.

3. Murder-- Investigation--Fiction. I. Title.

PS3566.A686S

813'.54-- dc22

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers and Internet addresses at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication.

Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

http://us.penguingroup.com

As always, for Joan.

And this one's for Lou Zambello.

1

IT WAS SPRING. The vernal equinox had done whatever it was it did, and the late March air drifting in through the open window in my office was soft even though it wasn't really warm yet. Spring training was under way in full tiresomeness, and opening day was two weeks off.

I was drinking coffee and studying a new comic strip called Frazz to see if there were any existential implications that I might be missing, when Quirk came in and went to the coffeepot, poured himself a cup, added sugar and condensed milk, and took a seat opposite my desk.

'Care for coffee?' I said.

'Got some,' Quirk said. 'Nice of you to ask.'

'You ever read Frazz?' I said.

'What the fuck is Frazz,' Quirk said.

He was as big as I was, which is biggish, and always dressed well. Today he had on a chestnut-colored Harris tweed jacket. His hands were thick, and there was in his eyes a look of implacable resolution that made most people careful with him.

'A comic strip in the Globe,' I said. 'It's new.'

'I'm a grown man,' Quirk said.

'And a police captain,' I said.

'Exactly,' Quirk said. 'I don't read comic strips.'

'I withdraw the question,' I said.

Quirk nodded.

'I need something,' he said.

'Everyone says so.'

He ignored me. Quirk ignored a lot. He wasn't being impolite. He was merely focused, and I had known for years that he cared very little what other people thought.

'You know about Jumbo Nelson?'

'The actor,' I said.

'Yes.'

'Here shooting a movie,' I said.

'Yeah.'

'You guys think he murdered a young woman,' I said.

'He's a person of interest,' Quirk said.

I looked at him. I'd known him a long time.

'And?' I said.

'Lemme fill you in,' Quirk said.