Ronan was trying to look autocratic, but it was hard because his shoulders had slumped and he was having trouble looking at me.
'And I'll bet you told Jeanette that corroborating evidence would be useful. The testimony of other women he'd harassed.'
He nodded.
'So Jeanette went out and got her friends in on it.'
'They were just trying to be supportive,' Ronan said.
'Why'd she tell you?' I said.
He started to speak, and paused, and thought about it a moment.
'She said she couldn't live with the secret.'
'Too bad,' I said. 'The way things are shaping up, she might have been able to.'
'It is best to know,' he said.
'That's the official view,' I said.
'You don't agree?'
'Sometimes a secret kept causes pain for one,' I said. 'And a secret shared causes pain for two.'
'She told me because she cared for me.'
'Sure,' I said. 'That's probably it.'
We were quiet for a time. Outside my office window the air was thickening. It was darker. No rain yet, but soon there'd be thunder in the distance.
'You won't accept my check?' Ronan said.
'No.'
'Your client has disappeared?' Ronan said.
'Yes.'
'If you find him, offer him my apology.'
'He might prefer the check,' I said.
chapter forty-seven
LEE FARRELL CALLED me on Friday morning. Outside was bright sunshine, temperature about eighty-two, slight breeze. A perfect day to be outside.
I was inside. I had nothing to do inside or outside. But I hid it better inside. I didn't know where Sterling was. I didn't know if he'd killed Carla, or even Cony Brown for that matter. I had nowhere else to go, and no one to ask, and nothing to follow up. I was thrilled that the phone rang.
''Talked to Somerville half hour ago,' Farrell said. 'The gun you took away from Wechsler's shooter?'
'Philchock,' I said.
'Yeah. Cambridge passed it over to Somerville and they fired couple rounds and compared them to the bullet that killed Carla Quagliozzi. No match.'
'That's too bad,' I said.
'On the other hand-it was Quirk's idea-we took the slugs from Carla and compared them to the one came out of Cony Brown, the guy got diced in Sterling's office?'
'And you got a match,' I said.
'That's right.'
'You noticed where this seems to be going,' I said.
'It's beginning to look like Susan's ex,' he said. 'Lotta questions though.'
'A lot,' I said.
'You answer any of them, you'll call me,' Farrell said.
'First thing,' I said.
We hung up. I stood up and stared out my window for a while. I went over to the sink and got a drink of water. I stood for a time and looked at the picture of Jackie Robinson on my wall above the file cabinet. When I got through looking at Jackie, I went back and looked out the window some more. Then I put on my sunglasses and went out of the office and began to walk. After a while I ended up at the Harbor Health Club, in the boxing room, which Henry kept like a family secret in the back end of the club.
I hit the heavy bag for a while. It was the kind of repetitive, effortful, mindless endeavor that I seemed best qualified for. I dug left hooks into it, circled it, landing stiff jabs at will, going to the body hard and when the hands came down, delivering my crushing over-hand right. I stopped, took a breather, drank some water, and did it again. After an hour the bag was ready to say no mas, my hair was plastered to my skull, and my sweatshirt was soaked through. I took some steam, then a shower, and was dressed and admiring myself in the mirror when Henry came into the locker room.
'Am I better looking than Tom Cruise? Or what?'
