'Captain, you can't mean that,' I said.
'I know you long enough to know how many corners you'll cut,' Quirk said. 'But I also know you end up most of the time on the right side of the way things work out.'
I looked at him openly and honestly and didn't say anything.
'And'-Quirk almost smiled-'you got enough problems for the moment.' He shook his head. 'Susan's ex. Jesus Christ.'
'You don't know who the stiff is?' I said.
'White male.'
'Driver's license, anything?'
Quirk almost made a face.
'Coroner's people will go through the body,' he said.
'Don't blame you,' I said. 'Coroner say anything about time of death.'
'A while ago,' Quirk said. 'They get him to the lab, they'll be more exact.'
'Cause of death?'
'Gunshot. Probably a small caliber. In the chest, doesn't seem to be an exit wound. We assume it's still in him.'
'So he was facing whoever shot him.'
'Yep. And he was carrying. When they were getting him in the bag there was a gun under him. Colt Python.'
'So he had it out,' I said.
'Not quite soon enough,' Quirk said.
'So maybe he wasn't just somebody stopped by to organize an event,' I said.
'Lot of people carry guns these days,' Quirk said.
'The American way,' I said. 'You'll let me know when you get an ID?'
'Sure,' Quirk said. 'That's how we like to operate. We tell you everything we know. You bullshit us. You don't know where your client is now, I suppose.'
'No I don't.'
'You find out maybe you could give me a jingle?'
'Of course,' I said.
Quirk did not look as if he believed me entirely.
'You think he shot this guy?' he said.
'His office,' I said. 'And he's disappeared.'
'We noticed that too.'
'Doesn't mean he did it,' I said.
'Doesn't mean he didn't,' Quirk said.
'Mind if I go,' I said.
'Go ahead,' Quirk said.
I was tired. I walked slowly out through the uniformed cops standing around in the corridor and got in the elevator and went down. I looked at my watch. It was 3:40. When I went outside it was raining. Boylston Street was empty. The wet pavement gleamed under the street lights, reflecting the bright lifeless color of the neon signs that gleamed an artificial welcome outside bars and restaurants closed for the night. I turned up my coat collar and trudged down Boylston Street, thinking about the most encouraging way to tell Susan that her ex had upgraded from sexist to murder suspect. The rain came harder. This thing showed every sign of not working out well for me.
chapter twenty-three
SUSAN HAD HER first appointment at eight. Normally I never called her before she went to work, because she was zooming around like the Flight of the Bumble Bee, getting ready. Years ago I had stopped asking stupid questions, like why not start getting ready earlier so you won't be so rushed? And when I was there in the morning, I sat at the kitchen counter and had coffee and read the paper so as not to get trampled. But this morning I didn't want her to hear from television about the corpse in Sterling's office. They probably didn't have it yet, but I didn't want to take the chance. So soggy with two hours' sleep I turned off my alarm and rolled over in bed and called her up and told her what I knew.
'Do you know where Brad is?' Susan said.
As always, about important stuff Susan was calm. It is about the small stuff that she permits herself frenzy.
'No. He's not at home, or at least he wasn't last night.'
'Do you think he is in trouble?'
'Yes,' I said.
