“The gun you gave me killed Nathan Smith,” Quirk said.

“Better to be lucky than good,” I said.

“Good to be both,” Quirk said. “Franklin cops picked up Levesque last night. Belson and I are going out to talk with him. Want to ride along?”

“Yes.”

“Be out front of your place in half an hour.”

I had time for orange juice and a shower. As I went out my front door I was thinking of coffee. Belson was driving. Quirk sat up front beside him. I got in the back. Quirk handed me a cup of coffee over the seat back. Salvation.

“Where’s Hawk?”

“I figured I’d be safe with you guys,” I said.

“Serve and protect,” Quirk said.

“You got anything on DeRosa yet?”

“Nope. Slugs came from two different guns. Nine-millimeter and forty-five. Both guns shot both people. Often.”

“How many rounds?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Sure did want them dead,” I said.

“Maybe they liked the work,” Belson said.

“Maybe he had two guns,” I said.

“Whichever,” Belson said.

I drank my coffee.

We talked to Levesque in a cell at the Franklin Police Station. He didn’t think he was tough anymore. He sat on the bunk in jeans and an undershirt, no belt and no shoelaces, hunched forward, his forearms resting limply against his thighs, his hands dangling. Quirk stood in front of him, hands in his pockets, all the time in the world. Belson leaned on one wall. I leaned on the other. A Franklin cop stood outside the cell, with a guy from the Norfolk County DA’S office.

Quirk said, “You know who I am, Roy?”

He sounded friendly. Levesque nodded.

“You know why you’re here?”

“Something about a gun,” Levesque mumbled.

Quirk nodded at me.

“This good citizen took a gun away from you that was used to kill a man in Boston.”

“I didn’t kill no one.”

“I believe you, Roy. And I know Sergeant Belson believes you, and I’m pretty sure Mr. Spenser believes you. But I’m not positive that the assistant DA believes you. And I’m not sure a judge and jury would believe you, and I’m not so sure but that you might go down for it.”

“Honest to God, sir, I didn’t kill nobody.”

Quirk nodded thoughtfully and hit Levesque with his open hand hard, across the face. Quirk is a big man. Levesque rocked back and almost fell. He put both hands up on top of his head and tried to hide behind his forearms.

“Don’t lie to me,” Quirk said to Levesque without emotion.

Belson said, “Captain.”

The assistant DA, whose name was Santoro, said, “Captain, Jesus Christ.”

Quirk ignored them. He said, “Tell me about the gun, Roy.”

Levesque kept his arms up, protecting his face.

“I don’t know anything,” he said.

Quirk smiled and leaned forward and slapped Levesque hard on the back of the head. Levesque moved his hands to try to protect himself and doubled up, his elbows touching his knees.

Santoro said, “Captain, we can’t have that. I don’t know what you do in Boston, but in Norfolk County, we can’t have that.”

Quirk paid no attention. He said, “Tell me about the gun, Roy.”

The Franklin cop said, “I don’t want to be a part of this.”

“You’re right,” Santoro said. “I don’t either.”

They both turned and walked down the corridor.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Belson said. “No disrespect, but I can’t watch this.”

“Me either,” I said.

Quirk said nothing. Levesque huddled on his bunk. Belson and I went out of the cell and closed the door. I saw Levesque hunch his shoulders up a little tighter. I followed Belson down the hallway.

“Coffee in the squad room,” the Franklin cop said.

We went in. Santoro was there already, sitting at the end of a Formica table with a cup of coffee. Belson and I got some and sat at the table with him. He had gotten the last donut. The empty box sat evocatively on the table.

“I hear you know Rita Fiore,” Santoro said.

“You work for the Norfolk DA when she was there?” I said.

Santoro looked reminiscent. “I did,” he said.

“I’m working for her now,” I said.

“Getting any fringe benefits?” Santoro said.

“Rita and I are friends,” I said with dignity.

“And Rita’s got no enemies,” Santoro said.

“How long you think,” the Franklin cop said.

Belson looked at his watch. “Usually goes quick.”

“Seriously,” Santoro said, “you ever give Rita a little bop?”

“In my case it would be a big bop,” I said. “And it’s not your business.”

“Hey, just killing a little time.”

“Kill it another way,” I said.

Santoro shrugged. We drank our coffee.

After a while, Belson said, “I don’t think it would be such a big bop.”

“I don’t wish to discuss it,” I said.

“I’ll check it with Susan,” Belson said.

“She’s promised not to tell,” I said.

The door to the squad room opened and Quirk stuck his head in.

“Levesque wants to make a statement,” Quirk said.

CHAPTER FIFTY

Levesque’s statement was sort of complete, but the essence of it was that his old friend Mary Toricelli Smith had given him the gun to dispose of, and he had kept it instead.

“Said he’d never had a gun,” Quirk told us on the ride back to Boston. “Said he held on to it because he’d always wanted one and maybe it would come in handy someday.”

“It came in handy for someone,” I said.

“Levesque says he was Mary Toricelli’s boyfriend, before and after she married Smith. Says that Mr. and Mrs. Smith had an open marriage. Smith with boys, her with him, Levesque.”

“We believe his story?”

“Sounded true to me,” Quirk said.

“Too scared to lie?”

“Be my guess,” Quirk said.

“They coulda been in it together,” Belson said.

“Sure.”

“She denies it, it’ll be her word against his.”

“Prints?” I said.

“His,” Quirk said, and smiled. “Hawk’s. Nothing else we can use. Gun’s been handled a lot.”

“Powder residue?”

“Too long ago,” Quirk said.

“Smith had ten million dollars’ life insurance.”

“Coulda killed him for his money,” Belson said. “And when everything died down, she moves the boyfriend in.”

“You had Smith’s money,” Quirk said, “would you move Roy Levesque in?”

“He ain’t my type,” Belson said. “But it seems like he was hers.”

“He say how Mary Toricelli met Nathan Smith?” I said.

“He didn’t say.”

“Might be good to know,” I said.

“I’ll get to it,” Quirk said.

“So where does all the other stuff fit?” I said.

“Like?”

“Like Brinkman the broker, and Amy Peters, and Soldiers Field Development, and Marvin Conroy, and the kid I killed in Southie, and Jack DeRosa and his girlfriend, for instance,” I said.

“You always been picky,” Quirk said.

“You ask him any of that?”

“I’ll get to it.”

“We going to talk with her?” I said.

“We? All of a sudden it’s we?”

“I want to make sure you don’t start whacking her in the face,” I said.

“I’m going to call her attorney,” Quirk said. “Have her come in with Mrs. Smith for a dignified interview.”

“Homicide commander doesn’t usually get down to this level of nitty-gritty,” I said. “Does he? Or she?”

“In this case, he,” Quirk said. “Lotta people been killed. And the suspect is worth a large amount of money.”

“So you’re hearing about it.”

“Mayor’s up for reelection,” Quirk said. “He’s been bragging about the crime rate.”

“So you’re showing a laudable hands-on interest.”

Quirk nodded. He might have almost smiled a little.

“And there are personnel issues,” he said.

Belson kept his eyes on the road as he spoke over his right shoulder.

“I told Quirk I’d take early retirement,” he said, “before I’d go one-on-one with Mary Smith again.”

“The power of dumb,” I said.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE