“But to corrupt the police…”
“Cops are public employees, like teachers and guidance counselors. They tend to give a community what it wants, not always what it should have. I mean, if you happen to go for an evening out with five broads and a goat, and you are a man of some influence, maybe the cops won’t prevent it.
Maybe they’ll try to contain it and keep everybody happy.”
The bottle of Dom Perignon was empty. Susan said, “I bought some too,” and went to the kitchen to get it. I got another log out of the hammered-brass wood bucket on the hearth and settled it on top of the fire. Susan returned with the champagne. Mumm. Good. I was more than a domestic champagne date. Next time, she’d said. Tuesday, at my house. Hot-diggity. She sat down on the couch beside me and handed me the bottle. I twisted the cork out and poured.
“I always thought you had to pop it and make a mark in the ceiling and spill some on the rug,” she said.
“That’s for tourists,” I said.
“Where are you now, Spenser? What do you make of everything?”
“Well, I know that Kevin is with Vic voluntarily. I know Vic is a homosexual.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I haven’t proved it, but I know it. I heard it from people I trust. I don’t need to prove it.”
“That’s an advantage you have on the police, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, one. Okay, so Harroway’s gay and Kevin’s staying with him. You told me that Kevin had unresolved sexual identity problems…”
“I said he might have…”
“Right, he might have sexual identity problems, so the relationship between them might be romantic. Agree?”
“Spenser, you can’t just say things like that; there’s so much more that goes into that kind of diagnosis. I’m not qualified…”
“I know, I’m hypothesizing. I don’t have the luxury of waiting to be sure.”
“I guess you don’t, do you?”
“I figure Vic and Kevin are living together, and he finds in Harroway a combination of qualities he misses in his parents. I figure the kid ran off with Harroway and then afterward, out of hatred or perversity or boyish exuberance, they decided to put on the straights and make some money to boot. So they rigged the kidnapping, and they sent the notes and made the phone calls and shipped the guinea pig after it died. Then they went, maybe to get some things of Kevin’s, maybe to steal the old man’s booze, maybe to play a new trick, and broke into the house. Actually Kevin probably had a key. And Earl Maguire caught them and they panicked, or Harroway did, and he killed Maguire. You saw Harroway; you can imagine how he could hit someone too hard, and if he did he could make it permanent.”
“But what do you suppose Doctor Croft has to do with all this?”
“Maybe nothing, maybe just doing a favor for his buddy, Fraser Robinson. Maybe he’s no more than a satisfied customer. Or maybe he’s a convenient source of drugs. An M.D. has a better shot than most people at getting hold of narcotics. I can’t see the mob doing business with the likes of Harroway.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Well, I was thinking of putting my hand on your leg and quoting a few lines from Baudelaire.”
“No, dummy, I mean what are you going to do about Vic Harroway and Doctor Croft and Kevin?”
“One thing I’ll do right now. Where’s your phone?”
“In the kitchen.”
I got up and called Boston Homicide. “Lieutenant Quirk, please.” Susan came out with me and looked at the cassoulet in the oven.
“Who’s calling?”
“My name’s Spenser.”
“One moment.” The line went dead and then a voice came on.
“Spenser, Frank Belson. Quirk’s home asleep.”
“I need a favor, Frank.”
“Oh, good, me and the Lieutenant spent most of today hanging around thinking what could we do to be nice to you. And now you call. Hey, what a treat.”
“I want to know anything you can find out about a medical doctor named Raymond Croft, present address…” I thumbed through the Smithfield phone book on the shelf below the phone, “Eighteen Crestview Road, Smithfield, Mass. Specializing in internal medicine. I don’t know his previous address. Call me here when you can tell me something.” I gave him Susan’s number “If I’m not here leave a message.”
“You’re sure you don’t want me to hand-carry it out there?”
“Maybe I can do you a favor sometime, Frank.”
“Oh, yeah, you could do everybody a favor sometime, Spenser.”
The conversation wasn’t going my way, so I let it go and hung up. “How’s the cassoulet?” I said.
“On warm,” she said. “It’ll keep. I think we need more wine.”
