'1974,' I said.
'Yes. In September. She was shot down in a bank in Boston, by people robbing it.'
I nodded.
'For no good reason.'
I nodded again. There was rarely a good reason.
'I want them found.'
'I don't blame you,' I said. 'But why now, after twenty-eight years?'
'I didn't know how to do it or who to ask. Then I met Paul and he told me about you. He said you saved his life.'
'He might exaggerate a little,' I said.
'He said if they could be found, you could find them.'
'He might exaggerate a little.'
'We lived in La Jolla,' Daryl said. 'We were visiting my mother's sister in Boston. My mother just went into the bank to cash some traveler's checks. And they shot her.'
'Were you with her?' I said.
'No. The police told me. I was with my aunt.'
'How old were you when your mother died?'
'Six.'
'And you still can't let it go,' I said.
'I'll never let it go.'
I drank some coffee. There were two Krispy Kremes left in the box. I had already eaten one more than either of my guests.
'Either of you want another donut?' I said.
They didn't. I felt the warm pleasure of relief spread through me. I didn't take a donut. I just sipped a little coffee. I didn't want to seem too eager.
'I remember it,' I said. 'Old Shawmut Bank branch in Audubon Circle. It's a restaurant now.'
'Yes.'
'Some sort of revolutionary group.'
'The Dread Scott Brigade.'
'Ah, yes,' I said.
'You know of them?'
'Those were heady times,' I said, 'for groups with funny names.'
I reached over casually, as if I weren't even thinking about it, and took one of the donuts.
'I can't pay you very much,' she said.
'She can't pay you anything,' Paul said.
'Solve a thirty-year-old murder for no money,' I said. 'How enticing.'
Daryl looked down at her hands, folded in her lap.
'I know,' she said.
'Awhile ago, I did a thing for Rita Fiore,' I said to Paul, 'and last week her firm finally got around to paying me.'
'A lot?'
'Yes,' I said. 'A lot.'
Paul grinned. 'Timing is everything,' he said.
'Does that mean you'll help me?' Daryl said.
'It does,' I said.
2
I met Martin Quirk for a drink in a bar in South Boston called Arno's, where a lot of cops had started to hang out since Police Headquarters had been conveniently relocated to South Cove. I got there first and was drinking a draft Budweiser when Quirk arrived. He was a big guy, about my size, and you could tell he was strong. But mostly what you noticed was how implacable he seemed. Several cops greeted him carefully. When he sat beside me, the bartender came quickly down the bar.
'What'll it be, Captain?'
'Ketel One on the rocks, with a twist,' Quirk said.
