No one was tailing us as we went west on Route 2. Or if they were, they were better than I was. Which seemed unlikely to me. Probably had somebody set up to spot us when we got to a certain point, and then they’d call. I looked for a spotter. But I didn’t see one.
We were approaching Route 128, which in this section was also known to be Interstate Route 95. The phone rang. Prince answered and listened.
After a minute of listening he said, “Okay.”
He looked at me.
“Cross the overpass on One twenty-eight and turn around on the other side and start back, driving slowly,” he said.
I glanced back. The spotter was probably standing on one of the cross-street overpasses. We crossed above 128 and drove on into Lincoln until we found a place to turn around, and then we drove toward where we’d been. Prince had the cell phone to his ear. He nodded.
“Stop under the first overpass we come to,” he said. “Okay . . . I get out with the money . . . Okay . . . And climb up with it and stand in the middle of the bridge.”
Prince looked at me.
“You’re to stay in the car or there’s no deal.”
I nodded.
We pulled over to the side under the first overpass. He swallowed audibly and got out of the car. I reached in back and got the suitcase full of money, and handed it out to Prince.
“Break a leg,” I said.
He nodded and turned and lugged the big suitcase slowly up the ramp behind us. A suitcase full of money is heavy.
From where I sat, directly beneath the overpass, I couldn’t even see the swap. I put the windows down and shut off the engine, and listened intently. Cars went by on Route 2. Above me I thought I heard one. Maybe it stopped in the middle. Maybe its door opened. About thirty seconds later, maybe it shut. And maybe the car drove off. I waited. Silence. I looked back at the slope that supported the down ramp. In a moment I saw Prince scrambling down, carrying a surprisingly small paper-wrapped square. Maybe this was going to work out.
It didn’t. Just as he came into sight, the package exploded and blew him and itself into a mess.
4
I was sitting in the backseat of Captain Healy’s unmarked Mass State police cruiser. Healy sat in front behind the wheel, and beside him was an assistant DA from Middlesex named Kate Quaggliosi. Kate had a fine body and olive skin. Her hair was blond.
“Weren’t too useful, were you?” Kate said.
“I didn’t actually help them,” I said.
“Didn’t do much to hinder them,” Kate said.
“Don’t overstate,” I said.
“Okay,” she said. “You did nothing to hinder them.”
“That’s more accurate,” I said.
“Good,” Kate said. “Glad we got that settled.”
She looked at Healy.
“You know this guy?” she said.
“I do,” he said. “He’s very annoying.”
“I noticed,” Kate said.
“But if he couldn’t have saved this situation, no one could have.”
“Gee, Captain,” I said.
Healy looked at me.
“Shut up,” he said.
He looked back at Kate.
“And trust me,” Healy said to her, “he does not like it that this went down this way on his watch. And he won’t let it go until he makes it right.”
“In whose opinion,” she said.
“His,” Healy said. “Only one matters to him.”
“Susan’s opinion matters,” I said.
“Who?” Kate said.
“Girl of my dreams,” I said.
“So you might as well learn to deal with him now,” Healy said. “Because everywhere we turn on this, from here on in, we’re going to bump into him.”
