that is decent.' He referred often to the incident in Spain, calling Andrus a 'slut' for doing in her own husband.
The second repeater was Louis Doleman, showing an address in West Roxbury. His letters, six over four months, chronicled the decline and 'premature' death of his daughter from leukemia. Apparently 'Heidi' had taken up the 'sudo-religion' that the 'Devil's bitch' Andrus 'esposed.' After reading the professor's 'witchery,' the daughter had taken her own life.
The third repeater's name was Gunther Yary. His smudgy letterhead proclaimed him Grand Marshal of the American Trust, some kind of skinhead group. The return address sounded like a storefront in a white section of Dorchester. It seemed Gunther and his 'followers' believed strongly in 'heterosexuity' and not in the 'preverted' hoax of 'mercy death' that 'Zionists, Faggots, and Niggers' created to wipe out the last 'vesttiges' of native Aryan stock. Yary employed all three buzz words and more.
I wedged the correspondence of O'Brien, Doleman, and Yary into a waterproof plastic portfolio and had copies made at one of the Copy Cops on Boylston Street. Then I deposited the Andrus check in my client's account at the Shawmut and continued toward police headquarters on Berkeley.
Even though the door was ajar, I knocked on the frame before looking in. Lieutenant Robert Murphy was cradling the telephone receiver on his left shoulder, signing a series of documents while somebody on the other end of the line talked to him. Murphy motioned me in. His black hand provided a photographer's backdrop for the gold pen he held.
I didn't like it when Murphy smiled at me.
Into the receiver, he said, 'No problem… happy to help…right, right. Bye.' As the receiver slid down his chest, Murphy caught it in his left hand. 'You must be getting psychic, Cuddy.'
'Who was it?'
'Don't suppose you know a Met sergeant named Nick Russo?'
'You're the second person who's asked me that today.'
Murphy hung up. 'Yeah, well, it seems he got a call from that first person after she talked to you. Seems that first person had second thoughts about your word being your bond.'
'I plied her with strong drink.'
'I bet you did. Think a cop's kid'd be smarter than to talk with a P.I., even without law school and all.'
'She will be next time.'
'Suppose that's how everybody learns, all right. You get your permit to carry back yet?'
'August.'
'You ever hear the story, about Jesus and the lepermen, and one of them come back to thank him for the cure?'
'I called to thank you. Three different days. Left a message each time.'
'Maybe some saviors, they get asked in person, they like to get thanked in person.'
'You're right, Lieutenant, and I appreciate what you did for me.'
Murphy let his lids get sleepy, showing about as much eye as teeth. 'That A.D.A.?'
'Which prosecutor is that?'
'You still seeing her?'
'Yes.'
He kept watching me.
'Lieutenant?'
'Just getting into the Christmas spirit, Cuddy. Not trying to pull anything.'
'Or suggest anything.'
Murphy made a face and shook his head. 'Well, it's obvious you got no feeling whatsoever for the holidays. And you're back here in person. That means you'll be wanting another favor, huh?'
'You know a detective over at Area A, William Neely?'
'Neely? Yeah, from a time back. Why?'
'l'm representing somebody in his neighborhood. The client got some threats, and I'd like to talk with him about them. Wondered what kind of guy he is.'
Murphy glanced out his window and then back. 'This client, he or she?'
'She.'
'She go to Neely?'
'Her secretary got referred to him.'
'Her tough luck.'
'Why?'
'This between you and me, or you going to be explaining it to real folks?'
'You and me.'
'Neely, he fancies himself an old-time hard-ass dick. Runs a few informants, reacts when the brass gets edgy. Otherwise, low profile and count the days.'
'To retirement time.'
'Uh-huh.'
'I don't see what I've got jeopardizing his pension.'
'What do you got?'
I went through it, without names.
Murphy said, 'Neely, he got the complaint to start with, it'll stay with him unless somebody gets nasty enough with a deadly weapon.'
'I wasn't trying to go over his head here, Lieutenant.'
'Sure you were, Cuddy. And once you meet Neely, you'll realize you were right to try too.'
'Any suggestions on how to approach him?'
'Neely ever took a promotion exam, he got stuck on name and address. Play up to the man, let him talk.'
'Okay. Thanks.'
I was at the door when Murphy said, 'Oh, and Cuddy?'
'Yeah.'
'Neely's got a nickname. 'Beef'.'
'Beef.'
'Yeah. Don't say it to him, but use it, huh?'
'Use it how?'
'Take the man to lunch.'
I looked at my watch. 'But I thought I'd go over there now.'
'Won't matter to old Beef.'
'Thanks again, Lieutenant.'
'One more thing.'
'Yes?'
'You'd best visit a bank somewheres first.'
'Pass the Worcestershire, will ya?'
'Sure.'
'And maybe some more of that A-1 too.'
I put both bottles in front of Neely. He spritzed the Worcestershire on his second cut of prime rib. The meat lapped two inches a side over the platter.
Victoria Station was done in a railroad car motif. It was the one restaurant Neely had said would have prime rib for sure, that time of afternoon. I had offered to cab it, but he said, 'It'll look better, I sign out a unit.' We were the only people in the room except for our waitress, and even she left, probably to call Central Supply and tell them to butcher another dozen head for the third course.
