“Whew,” I said. “We’re safe now.”

“I don’t want you around Heywood, I don’t want you at the house, and I don’t want you near a part of this. A fucking kid’s life is at stake. Leave it to the pros.”

“And you being so good with looking after kids,” I said. “Why don’t we call up Gerry Broz and see if maybe he can help.”

“Eat shit.”

“For a federal employee, your elocution is excellent.”

“As soon as I got a call from Jeff Barnes, I knew you’d fuck it up,” he said. “I just knew it. It’s your fault your pal Lundquist got shitcanned. You running around South Station playing cop? Then that freak show you beat up in Charlestown? It all landed on Lundquist’s desk like a steaming turd. I don’t need that shit.”

“That’s not up to you,” I said. “I don’t work for the Pats and I don’t need your approval. I work for Kinjo Heywood.”

“I spoke to his agent this morning,” Connor said. “He wants you gone.”

“I don’t work for his agent, either.”

“Fuck me.”

Connor adjusted himself in my client chair. His face looked as if he’d just sucked a lemon. The Mr. Coffee had stopped brewing. I got up, poured a cup, and added a little sugar and milk. I sat back down. I set my feet on the desk. Connor and I sat and stared at each other. He was not an attractive man.

“Aren’t you gonna offer me some coffee?” he said.

“Nope.”

“I want you clear of this, Spenser,” he said. “This is a federal case now. Your involvement will only get his kid killed. If you get in our way, I will have you arrested and put you in lockdown until the kid is home. Be as smart as you think you are.”

I nodded. “Did you hear from the kidnappers?”

“I’m not talking to you.”

“So you got something?”

“Jeez,” Connor said. He stood up, turned his back, and made his way to my open door.

“It’s been nearly a week, and the family has heard nothing,” I said. “How many cases start off in radio silence?”

“I can promise you I’ve worked a lot more of these than you.”

“Well, I am flattered that you drove yourself all the way from Government Center on your lunch break to say hello.”

“I’m telling you to get lost,” Connor said. “It’s not a request. I want you clear of my case.”

“Your predecessor was a much more pleasant guy.”

“Epstein is long gone, Spenser,” Connor said. “Get used to it. This is my fucking city. And I don’t need you fucking up the case all over again.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

“Nope,” he said. “It’s over.”

He walked from my office. I heard his cheap, shiny shoes clacking on the halls to the bank of elevators. I drank some coffee and looked out across Berkeley Street and listened to the wind whistle against my building. It would blow every few minutes, almost signaling winter, and then would stop for a long while.

I shrugged and started a file on Cristal.

33

Kinjo called four hours later and asked me if I’d meet him at Foxboro.

When he’d called, I’d been working out with Hawk. Hawk decided to come along, too. If Kinjo did fire me, Hawk said he’d comfort me in my time of need.

We met Kinjo at a restaurant up the steps from the stadium in Patriot Place, since I knew Jeff Barnes would be less than ecstatic to see me so close to Gillette. Kinjo sat in a back booth at a big sports bar, drinking ice water and checking his phone. Hawk also drank some water with lemon. I had a draft beer.

“Y’all can’t stop,” Kinjo said.

I nodded.

“Barnes got onto me last night,” he said. “He sat down with me, Ray, and Mr. Rosen, and said that it was in the best interest of Akira and the organization if you were fired. He said the state police were backing off, too, and this was going to be a federal case. But shit, man. I haven’t seen one FBI agent yet.”

“I have,” I said. “I may have to fumigate my office.”

“Just ’cause the Feds are on it doesn’t mean I want y’all to back off,” he said. “Wasn’t your fault that those shitbirds were trying to con me. What if they’d been real and they’d taken the money and then tried to kill Akira? Y’all found out who they were, where they lived, and took care of business. That’s what I want. I don’t need more talk. I need people to be at the ready when the word comes down.”

“Still nothing?”

Kinjo looked down at the phone in his hand. His knuckles had been bloodied in practice. “I look at this screen nearly every second since he’s been gone. I’ll pay them. I’ll do whatever it takes. Why won’t they try me? Why won’t they reach out?”

I shook my head.

“I give you my word that I’ll tell you everything,” Kinjo said. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Not telling you about paying off those people in New York was a mistake. That won’t happen. I don’t give a damn what you think about me. You can think I’m a son of a bitch as long as you trust me.”

Hawk drank some ice water. He wiped away the table’s condensation with a cocktail napkin, not saying a word since we sat down. There were ten customers in the bar that probably could hold six hundred. The staff was young and female and attractive. The bartender was dressed as a referee, complete with whistle around her neck.

“How did you and Cristal meet?” I said.

“Oh, shit,” Kinjo said. “Nicole got you onto this?”

“Nope,” I said. “But in the absence of anything else, it can’t hurt. How did you two meet?”

“How else? At a bar.”

“What bar,” I said. “When.”

“Bar here in Boston,” he said. “Two years ago. Place called Camelot.”

Hawk looked up. “Gentlemen’s establishment.”

“Yeah,” Kinjo said. “Strip club.”

“And she was a, uh, dancer?” I said.

“Shit, no,” Kinjo said. “I don’t date strippers. She was a waitress. Said she liked to watch me play and had been a fan going back to when she was a kid. She even knew who Andre Tippett was. He was my hero when I was a kid. I wanted to be just like him.”

I drank some beer. There were at least twenty televisions on the bar, turned to various iterations of ESPN and the local news. “Speaking of the old days, did you ever meet a guy named Kevin Murphy?” I said.

“Her ex?”

I nodded. I had made this connection before working out.

“I knew who he was,” Kinjo said. “Yeah. Came up to her apartment one time when I was there. He never did that shit again.”

“Did you know what he did?”

“He was a stupid punk,” Kinjo said.

“He was busted in December for using underage girls in dirty movies,” I said. “Arrested several times with drugs, intent to sell. Guy like that has to be connected.”

“So Cristal made some mistakes,” Kinjo said. “She’s got no reason to mess with my family. She loves Akira. And he loves her. Hell, during the season she with him more than me.”

“It would’ve been nice to know the connection,” I said. “Maybe Murphy saw an opportunity?”

“State police never asked me about him.”

“Some of the state police are not as dogged as me.”

The waitress reappeared and asked if we wanted anything to eat. Hawk said he wanted a grilled chicken salad, dressing on the side. I was good with the beer. If I were to eat, I’d decided on the burger. Never order a salad at a bar.

“I don’t know,” Kinjo said.

“It’s worth checking out,” I said.

Kinjo nodded. I finished the beer. A couple in matching Pats sweatshirts walked in the front door and made their way to the bar. The man and the bartender chatted like old friends, the bartender leaning across and nodding over to our table. The man and the woman stared openmouthed at Kinjo.

“People are always talking about me,” Kinjo said.

“Who?”

“Sportswriters and shit,” he said. “There’s this one dude with a blog who called me heartless because I’ve gone back to practice. How’s this any of his fucking business? How can he understand?”