'You found out shit,' Banks said.
'I find a lot of that,' I said.
Banks looked like he might break. He radiated tenseness and hurt.
'You been following her,' I said. He nodded.
'And she went to Winston's and didn't come out all night.'
He nodded again.
'You watched all night.'
'Yes.'
I swung my chair around toward my window and stood up and looked out. The sun reflected off Linda's window and I couldn't see if she was there or not. The sun coming in my window was hot and there was a wind off the river. I could see the pedestrians lean slightly into it as they walked. The summer skirts on the women were pressed between their legs and people with hats kept a hand on them. An empty paper cup with golden arches on it- skittered along the gutter up Berkeley Street toward police headquarters. I envied it. It had direction.
I turned back to Banks. 'I'll look into it,' I said.
'You took all my money last time and found shit,' Banks said. 'You cleaned me out.'
'No charge, this time,' I said. 'You're still under warranty.'
CHAPTER 40
Martin Quirk met me after work at Harvard Gardens for a couple of beers. From the way he looked you wouldn't know if he was finishing the day or starting. His short black hair was perfectly in place. His white shirt was full of starch. He came into the bar the way cops do, like it was his bar, in his city. Despite the name, Harvard Gardens was a neighborhood bar in Boston and better than most. It was across from Mass General Hospital and the parking lot for the Charles Street Jail. The mix of nurses, interns, jail guards, and people from Beacon Hill made for a nice texture. And if you wanted, you could eat. I didn't want to. I was sipping Irish whiskey and chasing it with beer. Quirk had the same.
'How are you,' he said.
'I'm as restless as a willow in a windstorm,' I said.
'You in touch with Susan at all?' Quirk said.
He took a delicate sip of Irish whiskey and swallowed and put the whiskey glass down and drank some beer. His hands were thick. He was very exact in his movements.
'Yes,' I said. 'We talk on the phone.'
'Give her my love,' Quirk said.
I nodded.
Quirk drank again, he extended the little finger slightly as he sipped the whiskey. 'You want to know about Mickey, right?'
'How did you know?' I said.
'You want to know about everything you've had anything to do with in the last ten years,' Quirk said.
'And I adore hearing you talk,' I said. Your voice is so musical.'
'You talk with Devane?' Quirk said.
'Yes. He told me Mickey was shot sitting in his car in the Quincy Market parking garage. He said whoever shot him probably was sitting beside him. The murder weapon was a twenty-two automatic, and the brass was on the floor of the car.'
Quirk smiled and sipped another very small sip of whiskey. 'Hell,' he said, 'you know what I know.'
'Nothing else?' I said. Quirk shook his head. 'How about speculation.'
'It had to be someone Mickey wasn't scared of,' Quirk said. 'No bodyguards. Mickey didn't usually travel without backup.'
'Unless the back-up was who did it.'
'But why would they do it there, with a twenty-two automatic?'
'Twenty-twos are chic these days,' I said. 'Like flavored popcorn.'
Quirk shrugged.
'We're assuming it had something to do with the drug business. And the deal you and Devane rigged to put him away might have triggered something.'
'Broz?' I said.
'I don't think so,' Quirk said.
'No,' I said. 'I don't either. Joe went to some trouble so he wouldn't have to waste Mickey. Why would he do that and then when it was set have Mickey buzzed?'
Quirk signaled to a waitress for two more beers. 'So who would want Mickey dead?' Quirk said.
'His supplier,' I said.
'For fear Mickey would rat on him,' Quirk said. 'But how would the supplier know we were going to bust Mickey?'
