Hawk had been watching her. One does not question Hawk’s abilities.

Hawk sat cross-legged in the lobby. He was reading the arts section of the New York Times and drinking coffee from a tiny cup. He put down the coffee, folded the newspaper, and stood. His chair was purplish velvet with a bright red leather pillow.

The walls were draped in gray curtains. The light was very dim and low.

Belson nodded at Hawk. Hawk nodded at Belson.

“We usually stash witnesses at the Quality Inn in Brookline,” Belson said, an unlit cigar clamped in his teeth.

“This is close to my office,” I said.

“Bullshit,” Belson said. “You’re a sucker for a sob story.”

Hawk nodded in agreement. “Drinks at the bar cost twenty bucks.”

“How’s she doing?” I asked.

“Took a shower,” he said. “Watchin’ a movie on cable. Ordered up some breakfast.”

“You check the room-service guy?” Belson asked. He took a cigar out of the corner of his mouth and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

“Nah, man,” Hawk said. “I too busy kickin’ it with all this ambiance. You notice those candles smell like lavender?”

“Well, get her dressed,” Belson said. “I’d prefer to do this at headquarters. Places like this make me uneasy. They charge you every time you fart.”

“I did not intend to expense the department,” I said.

Belson looked at me with a sideways glance.

“Besides, with all these scented candles, who could tell?” I said.

All three of us rode up in a very old, very cramped elevator. The air did smell of lavender.

We knocked on the door. It took a moment, but Theresa answered.

She was dressed in the same clothes as the night before. I introduced her to Belson. She nodded.

She looked very nervous as she gathered a couple T-shirts, pants, her toothbrush, and a bunch of little shampoos into a paper bag. A plate of half-eaten scrambled eggs, two links of sausage, and toast sat cold on a wheeled cart in the corner.

My stomach grumbled. I had not eaten breakfast. Susan did not stock breakfast food. On the other hand, I was very clean.

We took the elevator back down to the lobby. Belson and Hawk waited for her outside by Belson’s cruiser and two marked units.

“You’re safe,” I said. “Just tell Belson what you told me.”

She looked at the elegant carpet. Her face had been scrubbed clean of any makeup. Her hair was again in a ponytail. Theresa Donovan looked about twelve.

“You’re stand-up,” I said.

“Sure.”

“Flynn can’t walk on this.”

She nodded. I touched her arm.

But she still wouldn’t look at me. I caught the eye of the bellhop. He smiled. I’m pretty sure he thought we were in a lover’s quarrel. Or that maybe I was her dad. I preferred the former.

“The guys in Homicide will make sure you’re safe,” I said. “Belson is a good man.”

“Then what?” she asked.

“Hawk and I can help.”

“Yeah, right,” she said. “I can’t live in a hotel my whole freakin’ life. I got to go back to my family.”

“Flynn will be in jail.”

She looked up at me. Her eyes were so clear and blue. She shook her head with a lot of sadness. “Ain’t you the dreamer.”

53

You gonna tell Mattie it’s over?” Hawk asked.

“Is it over?” I asked.

“You tell me.”

“Quirk said they have a pickup order for Flynn,” I said. “Looks like he bolted.”

“They need to put that motherfucker in the zoo,” Hawk said. “His kind should be extinct.”

“With a sign reading ‘Old School Hood.’”

Hawk drove me in his Jag. We waited like a nice couple of very large dads in the long pickup line outside Mattie’s middle school. The principal had even given us a rearview-mirror tag. It was green with a pink flower.

“Got to at least tell her about Theresa being a witness,” Hawk said. “Girl like Mattie will hear it anyway.”

“With some details left out.”

“I’d tell her word for word.”

“Hate for her to grow up hard,” I said.

“Yeah,” Hawk said, driving up into the next slot. “Hate to break down that dream world she livin’ in, all full of sunshine and light.”

“I’ll tell her.”

“She a fighter,” Hawk said. “Got my respect.”

“But she fights everything,” I said. “Makes her life harder than it is.”

“Can’t go back to bein’ a kid.”

“Nope.”

“Don’t know if I ever was a kid,” Hawk said.

I nodded. “She can’t be Hawk.”

“She too short and white.”

“Maybe she could be like me?”

“She ain’t that ugly.”

“Life is not always tough.”

“That what you want to teach her?” Hawk asked.

“Maybe get Susan to help her with some things,” I said. “Mainly that her mother’s death does not have to define her.”

“And that she can set her own rules, older she get.”

I nodded.

We wound our way into the slot by the steps leading down from the front of the school. Mattie wore her blue parka over a school uniform. No Sox cap today. Her reddish hair blew in the cold wind as she stepped up and crawled in back. She again kept the backpack in her lap.

“Where to, missy?” Hawk said.

“Disney World,” Mattie said.

“Say the word,” Hawk said.

“You want to eat?” I asked.

“No.”

“We can grab a burger,” I said.

“No.”

“Pizza?”

“Spenser ain’t bein’ nice,” Hawk said. “He just like to eat.”

“I’ve got homework,” Mattie said. “The girls will be home, too. I need to make dinner. I got laundry.”

“You need more groceries?”

“We’re fine,” Mattie said. “My grandma went to the store. You believe that?”

I nodded. We drove south.

Hawk kept his eyes on the road. I felt his silence as he drummed his fingers on the wheel.

“I have some news,” I said.

I told her a PG-13 version of what I learned. Mattie stayed silent as she listened to what Theresa Donovan had witnessed. She stayed silent for a few minutes beyond that, too.

“She’s known all this time?” Mattie asked.

“Yep.”

“What a freakin’ bitch,” Mattie said. “Goddamn her.”

“She was pretty scared,” I said. “But she’s doing the right thing now. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“She coulda done the right thing four years ago and not left Mickey’s ass in the wind.”

“Girl got a point,” Hawk said.

Hawk took D Street over to Dorchester Avenue, and Dorchester Avenue south. Kemp over to Monsignor O’Callaghan Way. We parked. Hawk shut off the engine. No one moved. The light outside was a pale gray. Everything around us seemed washed of color.

Mattie stayed put.

She was crying. Hawk and I were frozen.

I stared straight ahead out of the windshield. The two- and three-story red-brick buildings surrounded us. There was a lot of chain link and wrought iron. Lots of twisting paths that hadn’t been cleared of snow and ice. I watched an old woman in a housecoat and tall rubber boots taking out her trash.

The Jag was very quiet except for Mattie. Hawk’s hands remained on the wheel. He had on his sunglasses. I did not turn around. I placed my leather gloves on top of each other on my right leg.

Mattie’s crying came up from somewhere deep. It was so private that I felt a deep shame for hearing it. I just breathed.

The old woman in boots walked back inside. Two teenage boys strolled by, craning their heads to look in the car. I gave them a look to let them know that this wasn’t their business. They complied.

After a few minutes, the deep choking wails stopped. There was snuffling and wiping. Mattie opened the car door and without a word got out onto the sidewalk. She closed the door with a light click.

“You want to walk her in?” Hawk said.

“Not much I can do.”

“You Irish are softhearted,” Hawk said. “You think of somethin’.”

“I did what she hired me to do.”