Susan and I had been making love with one another for quite a number of years now, and had gotten quite expert. I liked to think that it was that Susan had learned everything from the Grand Master but was forced to admit that she had been married to somebody else, once. And there had been the odd gap in our relationship some years back that had given both of us an opportunity for research. Still, I felt I could claim a lot of credit.
“You know,” I said after a particularly successful encounter, “you never say thank you.”
“For showing me a good time?”
“Well, yes.”
“Gee,” Susan said with her head against my shoulder. “I was sort of proud of my own contribution.”
“Which was not inconsiderable,” I said.
“And which may never be made again if this conversation continues.”
We were quiet. Pearl was old enough and deaf enough so that she could be asked to lie on the floor during these encounters and would do so without curiosity. Now, however, when we were in, as it were, phase two, she had gotten herself up slowly and was standing by the bed with her nose two inches from my ear, waiting to be boosted up. I rolled off the bed and boosted her up. She turned several times around and settled arthritically in between us with a big sigh.
“This makes postcoital snuggling something of a problem,” I said.
“Thank God,” Susan said. But she slid her hand under Pearl’s neck and rested it on top of mine.
“So, how ‘bout them Sox,” I said.
“Would you like to debrief,” Susan said, “about the Smith business.”
“Larson Graff was so grateful that I took Shawcross out for him that he told me more than I ever wanted to know.”
“He did put Smith and his wife together?”
“Yes. He knew Mary from high school. He knew Smith from the closet. He knew Smith needed a beard, and he knew Mary was stupid and avaricious. So was her boyfriend, so the three of them figured out that she could be Smith’s beard, continue to see Levesque, and among them skim some of Smith’s money. Unfortunately they came head-to-head, unfortunate phrase, with some people more avaricious, less stupid, and much more brutal, who were after the same thing.”
“Shawcross and company.”
“Yep. Shawcross was looking for a banker to squeeze and Larson Graff knew it and supplied Smith.”
“Closet boy.”
“Yeah.”
“How did Shawcross know Graff?”
“Graff did some legitimate publicity party work for Shawcross after Shawcross came to town and was establishing his legitimacy.”
“Did Shawcross kill Nathan Smith?”
“Did or had it done.”
“And the others?”
“Same answer. He apparently killed DeRosa and his girlfriend personally. The guns he had with him when I shot him are the same guns that killed them.”
Lying on her back Susan put one leg up in the air and straightened it like a ballet dancer and looked at it. I looked at it, too.
“According to Rita’s financial guy a scheme like the one that Shawcross was running on Pequod Bank was good for maybe a hundred million dollars.”
Susan was still looking at her leg.
“Would you pay that much to see me naked?” Susan said.
“I don’t have to,” I said. “But it is money that a lot of people would kill for and Shawcross was one of them. Conroy, too, I guess, though I don’t think he actually pulled a trigger.”
“Maybe I should charge,” Susan said.
“Per view?” I said.
“Un-huh.”
“Can I run a tab?” I said.
She put her leg down and turned her head and smiled at me.
“Yes, you can,” she said.
Susan drew a small circle with her fingertips on the back of my hand.
“So what will happen to them?” she said.
“Mary Smith and Levesque have probably done more crime than we know. But, based on what we know, I doubt that either of them will do any time. Conroy’s going to jail.”
“That’s sort of too bad.”
“That’s just sentimental,” I said. “He was part of a scheme that got half a dozen people killed.”
