Painted Ladies

“Tell me about his, ah, sexual addiction,” I said.

She sort of grunted.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” she said. “He wasn’t addicted to me.”

“Hard to imagine,” I said. “Who was he addicted to?”

“I couldn’t keep track,” she said. “He liked college girls, I think.”

“Well, he was in the right place,” I said. “Do you know any names?”

“God, no. You think I cared? You think I kept track? He was just another prancing, leering goat, and the only people who could possibly have been interested in him were silly girls.”

“Does the name Missy Minor mean anything to you?”

“Sounds like a silly girl to me,” Rosalind said.

Her s’s were starting to get a little slushy.

“But you don’t recognize the name?” I said.

“Silly stupid fucking girls,” Rosalind said.

The window had closed. I nodded. Then I picked up the check from where the bartender had put it, and took out money and paid.

“Could I take you home?” I said.

She was staring into her Pernod glass.

“And come in?” she said.

“Just take you home,” I said.

“Course not,” she said. “So you just go ahead. Go ahead. I’m going to stay here and have one more . . . for the road.”

“Well,” I said. “Thanks for talking with me.”

“Yeah,” she said. “You just go ahead.”

Which I did.

28

I sat with Healy and Kate Quaggliosi in a small meeting room at the Middlesex DA’s office in Woburn. Kate was wearing a tailored gray suit and a white shirt with a little black lady tie at half-mast.

“You dress good for a prosecutor,” I said.

“My husband’s in private practice,” she said.

“Money well spent,” I said.

She looked at Healy.

“How about you, Captain,” she said. “You think I look good?”

“Cat’s ass,” Healy said.

She smiled.

“Gee, thanks,” she said. “Here’s what we’ve got on the victim. Ashton Prince . . .”

I put my hand up.

“You wish to speak?” she said.

“Real name is Ascher Prinz,” I said. “According to his wife, he changed it because he was ashamed of being Jewish.”

“ ‘Ashamed’?” she said.

“That’s what Rosalind told me,” I said.

“Rosalind,” Kate said.

“I had a drink with her yesterday,” I said.

“Well, aren’t you just slick,” Kate said.

“I’ve got an advantage,” I said. “I’m allowed to get them drunk.”

“Was that hard to do?” Kate said.

“Would have been hard not to,” I said.

“Anything else you want to share,” Kate said.

“His father was in a concentration camp,” I said.

“Which one?” Healy said.

“She doesn’t remember,” I said. “They all sound the same to her.”