Family Honor - Robert B Parker (21 page)

"He was apparently living here after the separation from
his wife," Bob told me.

"Not well," I said.

"But quiet," Bob said. "I got seven kids."

"Well, Kevin won't be using the place anymore," I said.

"I know. His wife won't come near it. Says he was, excuse
the language, a rotten prick when he was alive, and dying didn't change
that. So here it sits like he left it, until something happens with his
estate."

I nodded.

"I guess I'll nose around for a while," I said.

"I'm supposed to stay here while you do, but I could use
some coffee."

"Go for it. I won't steal anything."

"We got a call from a Boston detective."

"Brian Kelly?"

"Yeah. Area C. Says you're working with him and he'll
take responsibility for you."

"Brian's a sweetie," I said.

"Yeah," Bob smiled. "Me, too. I'll be over there in the
coffee shop. Gimme a yell when you're through."

When he had left with visions of lemon-frosted scones
dancing in his head, I went to the sloppy desk and opened the file drawers
and took out the files. They were a series of manila folders with no designation
on the tabs. The folders were bent and stained, and the work orders and
receipts in them were not arranged in any order that I could recognize.
I began to go through them. It was slow work. Many of the work orders were
folded over, sometimes two or three times, as if they had been jammed into
a shirt pocket. A lot of the paper made no sense to me. It referenced plumbing
procedures or tools or supplies that I knew nothing of. But I could read
the names on the slips and after an hour and a half, back nearly two years,
I found a work order for Patton in South Natick. It appeared to be a matter
of installing a full bath downstairs. It was marked paid in full.

Because I'm thorough, I went on back through the rest
of Humphries' files. He kept them going three years back. There was nothing
else that told me anything. But Mrs. Patton had agreed that a man should
be killed. A man was killed and he had a connection to the Pattons. How
big a coincidence was that? I went out of the office and closed the door
and walked across the parking lot to the coffee shop. Anderson was having
a piece of pie and some coffee at the counter.

"Something to eat?" he said.

I slipped onto a stool beside him.

"Tea," I said to the counter woman. "With lemon."

The woman nodded with the hint of contempt that counter
people always show when you order tea.

"Maybe," I said. "Do you have any pictures of the plumber?"

"We got some nice crime scene shots," Anderson said.

"Swell," I said. "Always the best kind for identifying
somebody."

"And we blew up a couple photos from his wedding."

"Can I get those?"

"Sure. What'd you find?"

"He did some plumbing work for a client of mine."

"You think the client might have had something to do with
his death?"

"Maybe."

"Gimme a name."

I shook my head. "Not yet," I said.

"I could put the question a little different," Bob said.

"I'll tell you as soon as I know something. Right now
all I have is suspicion."

"I could still put the question a little different."

"Please give me some room," I said. "If it turns out there's
a collar, I promise you'll get it."
 

"God, who's that?" she said.

"I was hoping you might recognize him," I said.

"Him? Ugh."

"Why 'ugh'?"

"He's such an Italian Stallion."

"I don't think he's Italian."

"Well you know, he's so hey-let's-have-a-couple-brewskis."

"Low-class?"

"Yeah, and so macho man."

"How can you tell all that from the picture?"

"I don't know, I just can."

"Like an ink blot," I said.

"What?"

"You know, those tests where they show you an ink blot?
Ask you what it looks like?"

She shook her head.

"Doesn't matter," I said. "I assume you don't know him."

"No. Am I supposed to?"

"He's a plumber," I said. "Worked once at your house."

"I don't pay any attention to plumbers," Millicent said.

"I was more wondering if your mother did."

"My mother? A plumber?"

Rosie had a half-chewed tennis ball which she was pushing
around the floor in hopes that I might be inspired to throw it for her
so she could chase it. She pushed it under the chair by my feet and looked
at me. I sighed and picked it up and rolled it down the length of the loft.
Rosie dashed after it, skidding on the rug by the television set as she
went.

"I don't know how to say this, exactly, but I think it
needs saying. You really probably can't make judgments about people by
the way they look or what they do for a living or what country their ancestors
came from."

"Huh?"

"You've grown up in circles that probably made such judgments
all the time. Judgments about class, and income, and race, and religion,
and work history. It's not your fault, but if you're going to outgrow your
family you need to stop doing that."

"Well, I don't like macho men. Look at his neck."

"You like Spike, don't you?"

"He's not a macho man, he's gay."

"There you go again," I said.

"What?"

Rosie was back with her ball, dropping it on the floor
in front of me and picking it up and dropping it.

"Throw the ball for Rosie," I said.

Millicent picked the ball up and fired it the length of
the loft, a lot harder than she needed to, and Rosie was after it, scrambling,
as the ball bounced around. I smiled. Millicent was annoyed. Excellent.
Annoyed was so much better than disinterested.
 

"This isn't even my case," Brian was saying to me.

"I know, but they'll never talk to me. I need somebody
with a badge."

"If there's a crime it belongs to Framingham," Brian said.

"That may be," I said. "But did anyone in Framingham take
you to paradise last night?"

"Well, no."

"Is anyone from Framingham going to do it again tonight?"

"I don't think so."
"Then?"

"Let's get in here," Brian said. "I've got a number of
questions for the dispatcher."

The dispatcher was a large woman in a flowered ankle-length
dress, the hem of which just brushed the tops of some blue-andwhite
Nike running shoes. "Mr. Patton is a very good customer," the dispatcher
said. "I don't think he'd like us talking about his business."

"Yeah," Brian showed her his badge. "But I would."

She took the time to look closely at the badge, as if
to make sure it didn't say Chicken Inspector on it.

"We're looking for a particular instance," I said. "Two
men went out to see Mr. Patton in one of your limos. About a month ago."
If she thought by the "we" that I, too, was a Boston cop, no harm to it.
The dispatcher stared at me a moment.

"Two men," she said.

"Un huh?"

"Last month?"

"About a month ago."

The dispatcher sat at the computer and manipulated the
mouse. "Got a trip on the fifteenth of August," she said.

"Tell us about it," I said.

Brian and his magic badge leaned against the filing cabinet
beside her desk. She looked at him. He smiled at her.

"Pick up two men at an address in Swampscott. Take them
to Mr. Patton's home in South Natick. Wait and return."

"What were the men's names?"

"Just one name, Mr. Kragan."

"Address?"

"Mr. Patton's."

"No, the pickup address in Swampscott."

"33 King's Beach Terrace."

"Who's the driver?"

"College kid, Ray Jourdan, lives on St. Paul Street in
Brookline."

She gave us the address. We left and got back in Brian's
car and drove back to my loft. I got out. Brian got out and came around
and stood next to me.

"I got to check in at the station," he said.

"I think I can take it from here," I said. "The driver
will talk because his employer sent me."

"I don't think you should brace Kragan alone."

"I'll have less chance to learn anything," I said, "if
there's a Boston cop standing around."

"How about your ex-husband," Brian said. "Kragan might
walk a little softer if he was around."

"He's baby-sitting Millicent," I said, "while Spike's
working lunch."

"Everything we know about Kragan says he's dangerous,"
Brian said.

"Remember how we met," I said.

Brian put his arms around me.

"I remember," he said.

"So you know, I am not without resources."

"I know," Brian said.

We hugged each other for a moment. Then Brian pulled back
a little and grinned down at me.

"In a pinch," he said, "you could probably love him to
death."

I smiled, and said "You should know."

"Yeah," he said. "The voice of experience. Will I see
you tonight?"

"I'll call you," I said.

Ray Jourdan lived on the second floor of a three-story
walk-up off Washington Street. He was a light-skinned black man with merely
the implication of an accent, which I guessed was Caribbean. He told me
he was a graduate student at B.U. "I always drove for Mr. Patton," he said.

"You ferry his girls back and forth."

"Girls?"

"When Mrs. Patton was out, Mr. Patton would have girls
brought out to the house," I said. "They'd come in a limo. License tag
says Crowley-8. You always drive for Patton..."

"Yes. I brought the girls."

"Where did you pick them up?"

"In the parking lot outside the Chestnut Hill Mall. Front
entrance."

"Same girls each time?"

"I'm not sure."

"You can't tell one from another? Didn't you get out and
hold the door?"

"They were always Asian," Ray said. "They tend to look
alike to me."

"Well, aren't you politically incorrect."

Ray smiled. He was nervous about this, but he was contained.
"And me a minority myself," he said. "But it's true. I don't think they
were the same girls, but I couldn't tell for sure."

"Did you deliver them back to the mall?"

"Yes."

"How long did they stay?"

"Usually I'd have them back to the mall about one-thirty,
two o'clock in the morning."

"You have no idea wh they were visiting."

"No."

I thought about it for a while. Albert, from Providence.

"This is a good job for a guy needs to work part-time,"
Ray said. "Lot of time sitting and waiting, you can study. If you tell
Mr. Patton you've been talking to me, I'm pretty sure he'll have me fired."

"I don't see why I'd have to tell him," I said.

"At least until I get my degree," Ray said.
 

"Lady," he said. "Can you read ... Sunny darlin'!"

"Tommy, this is Rosie, and this is my friend Millicent.
I just have to run in for a couple minutes."

Tommy Hannigan put his hand out and let Rosie lap it.

"Put yourself right there, darlin'," Tommy said. "Next
to the Buick. Space is reserved for a guy shows up every year for the Christmas
party."

"Good, Tommy. Can you keep an eye on my dog and my friend?"

"Certainly," he said. "How's your dad?"

"Just fine," I said. "You know he's retired."
 
"Two more years for me," Tommy said. "Take your time.
I'll be right here till then."