“This wasn’t a Jamaican whore got smoked in some vacant lot, twenty miles from the Harvard Club,” Quirk said. “This is an upper-crust WASP broad got bludgeoned to death at one corner of Louisburg fucking Square for crissake. We got a U.S. Senator calling to follow up on our progress. I got a call from the Boston Archdiocese. Everybody says solve it, or leave it alone.”
“Which isn’t the way to solve it,” I said.
Again Quirk was silent.
“The way to solve it is to muddle around in it and disrupt everybody’s lives and doubt everything everybody says and make a general pain in the ass of yourself.”
Quirk nodded.
“You can see why I thought of you,” he said.
“So if Tripp doesn’t want this solved, why did he hire me?”
“I think he wants it solved, but with his assumptions and on his terms,” Quirk said. “He thinks he can control you.”
“Somebody ought to,” I said. “Any money to inherit?”
“A small life insurance policy, probably covered the funeral.”
“No mental illness?”
“No.”
“Kids?”
“Son, Loudon, Junior, twenty-two, senior at Williams College. Daughter, Meredith, eighteen, freshman at Williams.”
“They seem clean?”
“American dream,” Quirk said. “Dean’s list for both of them. Son’s on the wrestling team, and the debating team. Daughter’s president of the drama club and a member of the student council, or whatever the fuck they call it at Williams.”
“Any history on the kids that doesn’t jibe?”
“Son had a few routine teenage scrapes. Nothing that matters. I’ll give you the file,” Quirk said.
“You still got a guy on it?” I said.
“Yeah, Lee Farrell,” Quirk said.
“He’s new,” I said.
“Yeah, and he’s gay.”
“Young and gay,” I said.
“I got no problem with it, long as he doesn’t kiss me. But command staff don’t like it much.”
“So he gets the low-maintenance stuff.”
“Yeah.”
“He any good?”
Quirk leaned back in his swivel chair and clasped his hands behind his back. The muscles in his upper arm swelled against the fabric of his jacket.
“He might be,” Quirk said. “Hasn’t had a hell of a chance to prove it.”
“Doesn’t get the choice assignments?”
Quirk smiled without meaning anything by it.
“They had to hire him, and they had to promote him. But they don’t have to use him.”
“I’ll want to talk with Farrell.”
“Sure,” Quirk said. “You and he will hit it right off.”
chapter three
LEE FARRELL STOPPED into my office in the late afternoon while I was opening mail, and throwing it away.
“Lieutenant said you would be free-lancing the Olivia Nelson case,” he said.
He was a medium-sized young guy, with a moustache, a nice tan, and the tight build of a gymnast. He was nearly bald. What hair he had was close-cropped and the moustache was neatly trimmed. He was wearing white Reeboks, and chinos, and a blue chambray shirt under a tan corduroy jacket. As he turned to sit down, the butt of his gun made an angular snag in his jacket. He shrugged his shoulders automatically to get rid of it.
“Yes,” I said.
“Lieutenant said I should cooperate.”
“How do you feel about that?” I said.
“Figured I could probably get by without you,” Farrell said.
“It’s alarming how many people think that,” I said.
