James was in virtually the same position as when she'd left. She wondered if he was doing any business.
He saw her approach and called to one of the other men, 'Hey, Billy, keep my place, will ya? I'm going to get some coffee.'
“Bring me a cuppa?'
“Sure,' said James, and he followed Faith to the curb. The traffic was brutal as usual, and as theywaited for a break, James unaccountably started talking again.
“Thought you were Muriel when you first came. Best sister a man ever had. Like a mother. Never had a mother, did you know that? I mean I had one, but she croaked.'
“I'm sorry. That must have been very hard.'
“I don't even remember her. Muriel does. Muriel tells me about her.”
But Muriel hadn't told him about Eddie Russell. Or maybe that was what she had been calling about.
“Do you see your brother Donald often?”
James started to laugh, then his eyes filled with tears, 'Dumb bastard. Wouldn't even write to me. Told Muriel I had to come apologize to Dad. Dad! He's a looney and that's his nuthouse out there. They don't know. I stay away. I'm not crazy.”
He reached out to grab Faith's arm to pull her across the street and darted into the break between cars. He missed her arm but kept on going. She started to follow, then saw a shiny new black Cadillac Seville bearing down on them with no intention of slowing down.
“James!' she screamed, drawing back. 'Stop! There's a car coming!”
He turned and waved at her to come, giving her a lopsided smile.
The car hit him head on. The driver didn't even stop to look.
Nine
Faith dashed after the car to get the number from its license plate. She had been stunned when she had first arrived in Boston by the aggressiveness of its drivers and the apparent total lack of logic in its street signs, but this accident went far beyond a rude gesture. Or it was no accident.
The plate was obscured by layers of dirt, but she thought one number was an eight and another a two. It was a Massachusetts plate. She ran back to James. He wasn't moving. A few bystanders had gathered around him, and one was directing the traffic into a side street. Someone said a woman had gone for the police. Faith bent down close to him. There wasn't any blood that Faith could see. He'd been thrown almost to theother side of thestreet and was lying on his back; one arm was twisted underneath. She took off her coat and put it over him.
“James,' she said, 'James, it's going to be all right. Help is coming.”
She had no idea whether he could hear her. He opened his eyes and stared at her.
“Stan,' he slurred.
“No, no, don't try to stand up. Just stay still. An ambulance will be here soon.' She could hear the wail above the Christmas carols on the loudspeakers outside the market. She knelt down next to him. He looked very young; his eyes were pleading with her.
“Stan,' he repeated, then seemed to make a colossal effort. 'Stanley.”
It was a name. One of the men who had been with him selling trees? Billy was approaching, and Faith stood up and called to him, 'Could you get Stanley? Is that the other man's name?”
He came closer. 'That's Patrick. No Stanleys around.' He crouched down over James and said tenderly, 'Hey, pal, hang on. What do you want? Some of this?' He reached into his pocket and took out a bottle. James closed his eyes. The loudspeaker began to blare 'Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”
A police officer was pushing his way through what had now become a crowd.
“Clear the way here. Stand back.' He bent down over James' supine figure. His back was to the crowd. He turned and asked over his shoulder, 'Anybody see what happened?”
Faith stepped forward. 'Yes, I did. He was hit by a car—a black Cadillac Seville, fairly new I'd say. It had Massachusetts plates and I think two of the numbers were eight and two. It was coming from there'—she pointed back toward Government Center—'and it never slowed down. It went toward the waterfront down North Street.”
The ambulance had arrived, and suddenly there was activity everywhere. The policeman stood up and walked over to Faith. 'You happen to know who he is?' There was no reason not to tell. 'Yes, his name is James Hubbard. He was living at the Winthrop Chambers on Anderson Street. His family lives in Byford. His father, Dr. Roland Hubbard, is the director of Hubbard House, a retirement home there.”
The cop looked at her quizzically. 'He a good friend of yours?' His inflection indicated his incredulity.
Faith was freezing. Her coat was being loaded along with James into the ambulance. She was in no mood to stand on the street corner chatting with one of Boston's finest about her taste in friends.
“I know the family. Look, can I give you my name and how to reach me? I really have to get home to pick up my little boy.'
“Okay.' He took out a pad. 'We'll be in touch with you, and you'll have to come back and sign a statement. You've been a big help,' he added. 'Lots of people don't want to get involved in things like this.”
Well, she was involved, Faith thought. Involvedright up to her ice-cold neck. She took the card with his name and number and ran back toward Cambridge Street. Not only did she have to pick up Ben or have him suffer that worst of all fates, being the last child waiting for his mother, but her meter was about to run out. When she got to the car, she looked at her watch and shoved another quarter in, then went down the street. There was a phone by the curb, but she pushed open the door of a bar, The Harvard Gardens, in search of one with some warmth. She had to call John Dunne immediately.
“Stanley,' James had said. 'Stanley,' and there was only one Stanley in this case, or rather two—senior and junior, but she was putting her money on Stanley Russell Senior. The bad husband with 'flash,' Dr. Hubbard had said. Her mind raced. It all fit together neatly. Eddie didn't have the brains for something big—witness his little blackmailing schemes and general gaucheness. No, somebody else was directing the drug business—overseeing the hospital thefts, the street sales, and—if someone began to look like a liability—arranging 'accidents.' But would he kill his own son? And why? Faith could imagine that James' obvious addiction was creating problems. He probably talked too much and was certainly eating into profits, if he was still employed by Stanley at all. When Faith had walked in on Muriel, she was saying 'You've got to go—' Where? To the police? To get help?
By the time Faith found the phone through the hazy smoke in the bar, she was sure that Stanley Russell had tried to kill James, or have him killed.
What connection it had with what had been happening at Hubbard House she wasn't sure, yet there had to be one.
Surprisingly, Dunne picked up his own phone. She told him briefly what had happened.
“What's the name of the cop who took the information?' She gave it and the number to him.
“I was on my way to Hubbard House when you called. Turned up some interesting stuff, and I wanted to ask some people a few questions. Now we've got some more to ask. Want to meet me there? The police probably already called them, but you might want to tell them what happened in more detail, and I'd like to be there when you do. By the way, Faith, just to be sure. The car was definitely aiming for James Hubbard, right? It wasn't by any chance trying for you?”
Faith was stunned. 'Of course not. Who would want to kill me?'
“Simply a thought. So you want to meet me in Byford, say in half an hour?'
“Yes,' Faith agreed readily, dismissing the choice of targets from her mind. It merely muddied the waters. What this case definitely did not need was more options. Especially now when it seemed everything was coming to a head, and she had no intention of being left out, if that was what John was suggesting. This Safety First attitude was a bore.
Of course, she was gone for that half hour. James could have called someone. But whom? And why?
She hung up the phone and dug into her pursefor more change. Please, Pix, she prayed, be home. God was good and she was.
“Pix, something important has come up and I have to meet Detective Lieutenant Dunne at Hubbard House. Could you pick Ben up from school and hold on to him until I get home?'
“Sure, but he'll have to come with me while the Evergreens finish decorating Peabody House for the Christmas tea tomorrow.'
“Won't he be in the way?' asked Faith, picturing Ben festooning himself with tree lights and ornaments under
