Robert B Parker - Spenser 26 - Hush Money Page 3

  "Sohow about the harassment?" I said.

  "The son of a bitch won't give up," she said. "Can you make him stopT'

  "The son of a bitch being whom?"

  "Butt, the bastard--I hope you don't mi'nd swearing, I can't help it, I have a terrible mouth."

  "I'll be all right;' I said. "Burt is your husband?" "Ex-husband," she said.

  "And you know he's doing this?"

  "Who else." She leaned forward and her voice became a little girl's. "Could you beat him up for meT'

  She had more affect than a Miss America contestant. Her voice went from contralto to soprano in an easy glissade. Her eyes widened and narrowed as she spoke. Everything

  she said, she dramatized. She went from seductress to child in an exhale. I was willing to bet she'd cry before I left. I was :pretty sure she could cry at will. · "We'll see;' I said. "Could anyone else be harassing you. She cast her eyes down. "No;i,she said softly. "Who else but Burr would have any reason? "Tell me'about your boyfriend;' I said. She kept her eyes downcast and was silent. It was a pose, but I didn't think it was an insincere one. In fact I didn't find her insincere at all. Rather she seemed to have been playing this role, whatever it was, for so long, that she probably didn't have any idea when she was sincere and when she wasn't. "I can't talk about him;' she said. "Why not?" I said. She raised her head and she was angry, or seemed to be. "I'm not hiring you to cross-examine me." "You're not hiring me at all, yet;' I said. "This is foreplay. See if we like each other." "You only work for people you likeT' "I only work for people I want to;' I said. She smiled suddenly. It was quite spectacular. "You'll want to work for me;' she said. "So what about the boyfriendT' The smile went away. "Must youT' '"Fraid so;' I said. "Is it confidentialT' "Absolutely;' I said. "But it's not privileged." "What do you meanT' "If you hired me through your attorney;' I said, "under certain circumstances what you told him, and he told me,

  36 rerr. nrr could be privileged. As it stands now, I won't tell anyone, but it is not privileged. If it is information required by the police in the course of an investigation, or a prosecutor in the course of a trial, then if I'm asked I have to tell:' "Police?" "I'm just trying to be clear;' I said. "I don't expect to tell anyone." "If you told anyone I'd die." "I'll try to remember that." We were quiet. She was thinking, and, as she did everything else, she dramatized thinking. Her eyes narrowed, she got a vertical wrinkle between her eyebrows. Her lips pursed slightly. I waited. Finally she leaned back and shifted on the couch so that she could hug her knees while she talked. " "When we were together," she said, "we could barely breathe. We couldn't eat. We didn't want to drink. All we wanted to do was he together and look at each oth-rand make love." I nodded. I knew the feeling, though love had never made me lose my appetite. "if only we were both free," she said. "You're free," I said. She shook her head sadly and a little condescendingly. "He can't leave his wife." "Why?" She shook her head again. Men were so dumb. "He just can't. She's too dependent on him, and men can't do the hard things. He's such a baby." "Might have been smart to wait until he left her, before you left your husband," I said. "I'm not that way:' she said. "When I commit, I commit entirely. I give everything."

  37

  have left your husband if you hadn't thought. be with him?" I said. what? Live in this gruesome goddamned apartment myself?. Burr and I lived in a castle." your boyfriend?" I said. the downcast eyes. Her mouth pouting like a sad albeit a cute one, she aced a small circle on her , with the forefinger of her right hand. "No." "Why not?" cry. I waited, letting the question hang. She both her hands over her face, being careful of her and cried some more. I was pretty sure I was sup- to go and sit on the couch and put my arm around her, which case she would turn in and bury her head on my and weep as if her heart would break. I tayed I was. Finally after waiting as long as was decorous stopped crying and lowered her hands, and raised her · so she could look searchingly into my eyes. "Men are such basle, she said. "Maybe not all of them;' I said. "You're not, are youT' "Except when I don't get my way;' I said. "How come and the OF are not still an item?" "Somehow, I know this sounds.., something.., any-somehow when we were both married and sleeping each other it was, like even. But then I was divorced and he was the only one that was cheating. He couldn't stand it:' It did in fact sound. ·· something. "Sure;' I said. "What is his nameT' "Oh, I can't give you his name;' she said. "You can if you wish me to work for you."

  "Aren't you already hired, I mean, I've told you all this stuff." "KC, the surest way to prevent the stalker involves knowing who he is. Probably is your ex-husband; but it might be your ex-boyfriend, it might be somebody else. If I'm going to do what you are trying to hire me to do, I will do it better and quicker if you tell me what I ask:' She bit her lower lip gently and, with her hands laced over her knees, rocked slightly on the couch. Finally she said, "Louis." '°that's a start," I said. More lower-lip biting until finally she said, quite tragically, I thought, "Vincent." "Louis Vincent," I said. Her voice softened almost reverentially. "xsres." "And where does he live?" "Hingham." "Does he have a place of business?" -- "Why.'?" "Doesn't seem discreet to approach him at home;' I said. "Oh God, you can't approach him. He'd never forgive me." "He'll never know I got it from you;' I said. Again.a long and fully acted-out period of silent Pondering. "He's a stockbroker;' she said. "Hall, Peary." "Fifty-three State;' I said. She nodded. I had made her thoroughly miserable. "Would you feel safer if I had someone outside your house until I, ah, crack the case.'?" "I went down to the Police department," she said. "The sergeant was so nice, really lovely to me." 'I'll bet he was." "He says they'll keep an eye on my apartment." "Have you notified the phone company.*"

  "No:'

  She seemed starfied, either that she hadn't thought of it, or that I had.

  "You should probably do that," I said. "He never says anything when he calls." "Most people don't;' I said.

  If she thought I was amusing she didn't let on.

  offices at the African-American Center at the university. A couple of hard-looking young guys in black suits and white shirts let us in. They eyed me like I was a case of the

  clap.

  "Teaching fellows?" I said to Hawk.

  Hawk smiled and let his stare rest on the two men.

  "Dr. Abdullah," I said. "He's expecting me."

  They looked at me some more and at Hawk, who smiled at them engagingly.

  Then one of them said, "Down this hall, third door on the left."

  Hawk and the two young men kept eye contact until we were past them and headed down the hall. There was African art on the walls, and some splashy posters advocating action. Everyone I saw was black.

  "I feel like Casper the friendly ghost;' I said.

  "You a pale one, all right," Hawk said, and we knocked on the half-open door of AbduHah's office.

  A voice said, "Come!" And in we went.

  The walls of the office were covered with some sort of pan-African proletarian art in which magnificent black men

  were throwing off yokes of oppression. The white men in the posters were all mean-looking fat guys. None of the white guys looked like me. None of the magnificent black men looked like Abdullah. Abdullah was very light-skinned. In the old days, before tans were unhealthy, Susan, in summer, was darker than Amir. He was skinny, and quite tall. His hair was short and militant-looking. He wore round gold glasses and a saffron-colored robe and sandals. His nails were long and clean and looked manicured. He wore rings on all four fingers of each, hand. A Rolex watch peeked diffidently out from under the sleeve of his robe. He was smoking a long curved'meerschaum pipe, and the room was rich with the pungency of his tobacco. A six-foot shield made of ornamented hide stood in the corner, with two long-bladed spears crossed over it. The bookcases were full of books. Many names I didn't recognize, a few I did, Frantz Fanon, Ralph Ellison, Richard Wright. Abdullah nodded at Hawk. "Do I know you?" he said to me. "My name's Spenser," I said. "This is Hawk." Abdullah looked thoughtfully at Hawk, and nodded. "S'happenin',
bro?" Hawk didn't say anything. He moved to the left of the door and leaned on the wall. Abdullah looked back at me. "Don't get many white men in here;' Abdullah said. "Too bad," I said. "Why'?." "I hate segregation," I said. "Don't need no smartass honky jivin' me 'bout segregation,'' Abdullah said. "Nigger's got to get on with life. He do that best if he keep Whitey at a distance." I didn't see anything there to help me with Robinson Nevins' tenure problem so I let it slide.

  "You're on the English department tenure comnuttee. I said. "Why you axin?" The strain of talking like a homeboy was palpable in Abdullah, you could tell he had to rephrase things in his head so he wouldn't sound like Clarence Thomas. Leaning' against the wall, Hawk looked like he was fighting a yawn. "You caught me," I said. "Actually I know you're on the tenure committee of the English department, I guess I was really wondering why you don't have an office there." "Ain't my business solvin' yo' problems," Abdullah said. "Of course not;' I said. "You ever see Robinson Nevins in a sexual circumstance with the late Prentice Lamont?" "You ain't no cop," Alxiullah said. "How can you be sure?" "You'da hassled me when you came in." Private cop, I said. "And him." Abdullah nodded at Hawk. "Amir;' Hawk said. "You refer to me as 'him' again and I will slap your skinny ass around this office like a handball." Hawk's voice was calm and his diction was better than Tony Blair's. Abdullah flushed. He was so light that it was visible. "Only way you talk to a brother like that, is if you a damned Torn," Abdullah said. Without a word Hawk stepped toward Abdullah, who flinched back involuntarily behind his desk. "Hawk," I said. "It won't get us What we're after." Standing directly at Abdullah's desk, Hawk kept his eyes on Abdullah. "No white man calls me nigger," Hawk said quietly, "no black man calls me Torn." He leaned across the desk and grabbed a handful of

  Abdullah's saffron robes. Abdutlah screeched for help and several of the hard young men in dark suits came dashing down the corridor. Hawk slapped Abdullah across the face forehand and backhand, hard enough to rock his head back. Abdullah was all. skinny arms and legs scrambling to get away. Hawk slapped him again as the first of the hard young men rushed into the room. Hawk dropped Abdullah, turned, and flattened the hard young man with a left hook. Three more crowded through the door. I took in a deep breath and let it out, and hit one of them on the back of his neck behind his right ear, and the fight was on. There were four of them and two of us, but one of us was Hawk and one of us was me, and they had Abdullah on their side. Having Abdullah on your side was like subtracting one, so the fight was almost even. The young men were all afionados of some sort of Asian fighting technique, at which they were technically skilled. But they'd used it mostly to frighten college kids and intimidate professors. By the time the univeLsity cops arrived, the fight was over, we had won, and the militant Professor Abdullah was trying to crawl out of his office door from behind his desk, before Hawk got hold of him again. "He assaulted me," Abdullah shrieked to the first cop through the door. "He assaulted me." The university cops were followed in pretty close order by a couple of Boston cops, one of whom I knew. The university cops wanted to arrest us, but I explained what I was doing there and swore that Abdullah had started it, and the Boston cop that I knew interceded and eventually Hawk and I walked, though we were to stay close in case Abdullah pressed charges. When we left the university police station we headed for the Harbor Health Club, After Henry Cimoli had stopped

  vq/ INA 45

  fighting, and before he opened what at that time he'd called a gym, on the waterfront, he'd worked corners for a while as a cut man. I had a cut under my eye, and a puffy lip and the knuckles on my left hand were scraped and swollen. Hawk had a black eye and a cut on his bald scalp that bled a lot. We needed Henry's repair service. "Well;' I said, "a fine mess you got us into this time, Ollie." "He hurt my feelings," Hawk said. He was pressing a folded paper towel against the cut on his head. "You don't have feelings," I said. "I've heard blacks call you Torn, and whites call you nigger, and for all you cared they could have been singing 'Louie, Louie.'" "I know." "And all of a sudden you have a NO-BLACKMANCALLSME-TOM fit and we're fighting four Martial arts freaks??' "I know. Done good too," he said. "Didn't "We're sapposeu t , I said. "What was all that wounded pride crap??' Hawk grinned. "Scrawny fucker annoyed me," Hawk said. "Well, of course he did," I said. Hate phonies, Hawk said. "Sure," I said. "It's the right thing to do. But if it comes up again, could you hate them on your time?" Atlantic Avenue was generously dug up and intricately detoured as the Central Artery project lumbered ahead. I pulled in and parked in among some heavy equipment near the Harbor Health Club. "Can't promise nothing," Hawk said.

  We had annoyed the hell out of Amir Abdullah but hadn't learned a thing. I had talked with KC Roth and hadn't learned much about that case, except that KC was a piece of work. I had talked with Belson and gotten nothing t help me. My next appointment was at the university with Professor Lillian Temple of the English department tenure committee, that afternoon at two. Until then I had nothing else to do except watch the swelling subside in my lip, so I decided to go up to Reading and talk with the cops about KC Roth. No grass growing under my feet. Two cases at a time. I thought about having "Master Sleuth" added to my business cards.

  I talked to a beefy red-faced Reading police sergeant named O'Connor in the squad room.

  "Yeah, we have a car go by there usually about every hour.

  It's easy enough, we routinely patrol that stretch anyway." "You vary the time?" I said.

  "We're just sort of shit-kicker cops out here, a course," O'Connor said, "but we did figure out that if we showed up the same time every night people might start to work around us."

  "Good thinking," I said. "You have any thoughts on the stalker?" "Like who he is?" "Un huh." "Well, the ex-whatever is usually the one you look at, if there is somebody." "You have any reason to think there might not be a stalker?" I said. "Well, you've talked to the lady," O'Connor said. "What's your impression?" "Good-looking," I said. "Yeah;' "Seems as if she might be sexually forthcoming," I said. "You bet," O'Connor said. "You got any information on that?" "Nope, just instinct;' "Nice combo;' I said. "Good-looking and easy." "The best;' O'Connor said, "if there wasn't the next morning to think about;' 'qhat could be grim," I said. "But what's your point?" "Just that she seems like she ain't wrapped too snug;' O'Connor said. "Nothing about her bothered you?" "She seemed a little contrived." "Contrived? I heard you was a tough guy. Tough guys don't say contrived." "Probably don't say sexually forthcoming either;' I said. "A course they don't," O'Connor said. "Part of my disguise;' I said. "So you haven't seen any sign of a stalker." "No." "Telephone records?" "She hadn't talked to the phone company when we talked with her. They weren't keeping track."

  "I suggested she do that," I said.

  "We did too."

  "Damn. She acted like I was smarter than Vanna White

  it."

  "Sure."

  "So why would she make it up?" I said.

  "You've seen broads like her, probably more than I have.

  them, they're alone out in the suburbs, and

  want men around. They want to be looked after. So they call the cops a lot. Maybe Mrs. Roth just took it a step further and hired a guy to look after her."

  "Me," I said, "after you broke her heart."

  "Could be:'

  "On the other hand, you look like her, you probably don't have to hire anyone;' I said.

  "After they get dumped;' O'Connor said, "they're pretty crazy. Ego's fucked. Maybe she don't know she's good-looking."

  "She knows;' I said.

  O'Connor thought about it for a minute. "Yeah;' he said. ,,She does."

  "And there's at least two ex-whatevers," I said. "Boyfriend?" O'Connor said.

  "Yep. Way she told me;' I said, "she left her husband for the boyfriend and the boyfriend dumped her."

  "Fucking her was one thing;' O'Connor said. "Marrying her was another."

  "I guess," I said. "You know the other thing that bothers

  me, her husband's got the kid:'
"She got a kid?" "Yep."

  "And the kid's with the husband-"

  "Yep."

  "Doesn't fit with your usual stalker," O'Connor said. "Custody of the kid?" "Yeah."

  "No it doesn't. But you never know. He could love his kid and still be crazy."

  "I got seven," O'Connor said. 'qhe two may go together." "You going to stay on this for a while?" I said.

  "Yep. We'll keep a car cbecldng her, keep the file open. 'Bout all we can do."

  "I'll talk to the ex~husband, and the ex-boyfriend," I said. "I learn anything I'll let you know."

  'qhanks;' O'Connor said. "You learn who it is you might try dealing with him one to one. We can help her get a restraining order and we can warn him he's subject to arrest. And sometimes if it's done right he can get hurt resisng arrest. But it usually works better if you get his attention before we're involved."

  "I'll keep it in mind," I said.

  department at two o'clock exactly, hoping to impress her with my punctuality. It proved an inegective approach, !,.canse she wasn't there and the office was locked. I leaned on the wall outside her office until ten minutes past two when he hurried down the hall carrying a big blue can,as hook Bag jammed with stuff. She didn't apologize for King late. She was, after all, a professor, and I was a gumshoe. Apology would have I.n unlcoming. At first glance I figured at Hawk had called it on her aplarance, but when we got seated in her small office and I looked at her a little more, I wasn't so sure. She was plain, and she was plain in the Cambridge way, in that her plainness seemed a delilrate affectation. Had she chosen to treat her appearance differently, she might have been pretty good-looking. She was in the thirty-five to forty range, tallish, maybe 5' 8", brown hair worn long, no makeup, loose-fitting clothes straight from the J. Crew catalog. Large round eyeglasses, quire thick, with undistinguished frames, a mannish whim shirt, chino slacks, white ankle socks, and sandals. She wore no jewelry. No nail poi ish. Her most forceful grooming statement was that she seemed clean. "May I see some identification, please," she said. I showed her some. She read it carefully. It was a small office on an interior wall, and it was lined with paperback editions of English lit classics: The Mill on the Floss, Great Expectations, case books on English lit classics. Blue exam booklets were stacked in a somewhat unstable pile on a small table behind her chair. Above her desk was a framed diploma from Brandeis University indicating that she had earned a Ph.D. in English language and literature. She wore no perfume, but I could smell her shampoo---maybe Herbal Essence, and the faint odor of bath soap--maybe Irish Spring. I could see the neat part line on the top of her,head as she looked down at my credentials. She looked up finally, and handed me back my identification. "I've asked the department ombudsman, Professor Maitland, to sit in on this interview," she said. Ombudsman. Perfect. I looked serious. "Gee," I said. "Couldn't we just leave the door ajar?" She suspected I might be kidding her, I think, and she decided that her best course was to look serious too. "Is Amir Abdullah an English professor?" I said. She thought about my question and apparently decided that it was not a trap. "Yes," she said. "African-American literature." "But he has offices in the Afro-American Center." "The African-American Center, yes, he prefers to be there." "And what do you teach?" "Feminist studies," she said. "Anybody teaching dead white guys?" I said. "Shakespeare, Melville, guys like that?"