Robert Parker - Rough Weather

“Wow,” Quirk said. “They were confused.”

“How would you like to handle this?”

“The police abuse? I got ten independent witnesses to confirm the street altercation where they received the injuries.”

“Who was the black man in that altercation,” Dillard said.

“An interested third party,” Quirk said.

“When we get to trial, I can compel you to reveal his name,” Dillard said.

“Uh-huh.”

“If we get to trial,” Dillard said.

“Uh-huh.”

A heavy young woman with short black hair and a strong nose reached in to knock on the open door to Quirk’s office. She had large horn-rimmed glasses, and a gray pant suit that didn’t fit very well.

“Come in, Esther,” Quirk said.

“Hello, Martin,” she said, and looked at Dillard. “How are you, Lamar?”

She put her hand out to me.

“I’m Esther Gold,” she said. “I’m the ADA on this case.”

I gave her my name.

“You the complainant?” she said.

“I guess so,” I said.

She looked at Quirk.

“Spenser has worked with us in the past,” Quirk said. “I’ve asked him to sit in.”

Esther nodded.

“Lamar, you’re representing the two guys whose names I can’t pronounce?” she said.

“I am,” Dillard said.

“So let’s talk,” she said.

“Mr. Dillard,” Quirk said, “was just questioning if we had to proceed to trial with these guys.”

“What would be our alternative?” Esther said.

She rummaged in her bag as she spoke and came out with a Kleenex and wiped her nose. She sounded like she might have a cold. She looked around for someplace to throw the Kleenex and found nowhere and stuffed it back in her bag.

“I don’t know,” Dillard said. “But it’s something we might explore. All lawyers would rather go to trial, Esther, you know that.”

“I do,” Esther said. “Go ahead. Explore.”

Dillard leaned back a bit in his chair, rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, placed the tips of his fingers together in front of him, and rested his chin on them.

“They are part of a four-man crew,” Dillard said, “here for reasons not germane to our concerns. The leader of the crew was in the car that escaped the shootout. They fear he may have been the passenger, now presumably dead. He was the one who spoke English, and it was he who negotiated the contract on Mr. Spenser. They were told that the name of the man who put the contract out was Rugar. He was described to them as dressing all in gray. Apparently, they found it amusing.”

Dillard paused.

“That’s it?” Esther said.

“They have no record, they have committed no serious crime.”

“Other than conspiracy to murder,” Esther said. “Possession of an unlicensed firearm, illegal immigration.”

Dillard opened his briefcase and took out a manila envelope.

“Gun permits and immigration papers,” Dillard said. “They were fearful and hid them for fear the police would confiscate them.”

Quirk looked at me. I grinned. Esther saw it.

“Captain?” she said.

“How long ago did you fill in the names?” Quirk said.

“Captain,” Dillard said. “Your work has soured you.”

Quirk nodded.

“It has,” Quirk said.

“Okay,” Esther said, “you represent two little lambs lost in a strange place. What can they do for me?”

“They’ve given you the man who hired them,” Dillard said. “They will testify.”

Esther nodded.

“I’m sure they’d make compelling witnesses,” she said.

“As would the, ah, Good Samaritan who assaulted them,” Dillard said. “Whose identity I believe I know.”

Esther looked at Quirk. Quirk nodded his head toward the door.

He said, “Let’s you and me confer privately, Esther.”

They stood.

As he left the office, Quirk jerked his head at Dillard and said to me, “Don’t let him steal any paper clips.”

When we were alone, I said to Dillard, “Seen Tony lately?”

“Tony?”

“Tony Marcus,” I said. “You represent him, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” Dillard said. “You know Tony, do you?”

“Yep,” I said. “Helped send him up once.”

Dillard nodded without speaking.

“Why would Tony Marcus’s expensive mouthpiece be interested in a couple of goons from Itty-bitty-stan?” I said.

“Tony is not my only client,” Dillard said.

“You got any that Tony disapproves of?” I said.

“The implication is insulting,” Dillard said.

“Good,” I said. “You want to have a duel?”

“Why do you wish to insult me?” Dillard said. Very dignified.

“I think Tony’s gotten himself involved in all of this somehow,” I said, “and your job is to get him uninvolved. If that means getting the two goons off, fine. If it means throwing them off the back of the sled, fine. Nobody knows what they actually said to you except your translator and maybe you.”

“You are, of course, free to speculate,” Dillard said.

“Thanks,” I said.

Quirk came back into his office with Esther.

“We’ll keep them,” Esther said.

Dillard said, “That’s disappointing, Esther.”

Esther smiled.

“And I feel really bad about it,” she said. “But we thought it might be nice to have our own translator talk with them, you know? Some sort of investigation before we let go of them.”

“Arraignment?” Dillard said.

“Someone from my office will call you,” Esther said. “Let you know.”

“It should be prompt,” Dillard said.

“Of course it should,” Esther said.

“Very well,” Dillard said. “I’ll need to talk with my clients, explain their situation.”

“Feel free,” Esther said. “I’ll walk you back.”

Esther said good-bye to Quirk, nodded at me, and followed Dillard out of the office.

“Gee,” I said, “Lamar didn’t say good-bye to either one of us.”

“Not a friendly guy,” Quirk said.

I nodded.

“Rugar worked with me up in Marshport a while back,” I said. “Tony Marcus was in that mix. In fact, he lent us a guy named Leonard…”

“I know Leonard,” Quirk said.

“So Leonard worked with Rugar,” I said.

“Which means Rugar and Tony have a connection,” Quirk said. “Maybe we can roll them both up.”

“Think big,” I said.

“That’s what my wife always says.”

“Wishful thinking,” I said. “You’re Irish.”

“Jesus,” Quirk said. “The secret’s out.”

Pearl was visiting in my office, as she often did when Susan was busy all day and out in the evening. When Healy came in he saw her on the couch and paused to pat her. She wagged her tail but didn’t get off the couch.

“Bring Your Dog to Work Day?” Healy said.

“I get so lonely,” I said.

“We got a ransom demand,” Healy said. “For Adelaide Van Meer.”

“Who got it, her mother?”

“Yep. Five million dollars.”

“Note,” Healy said. “Block letters, looks like someone printed them with their off hand.”

“Payoff instructions?”

“To come,” Healy said.

He took a photocopy of a letter from his inside pocket and smoothed it out on my desktop in front of me.

IF YOU WANT YOUR DAUGHTER BACK COME

UP WITH $5 MILLION. YOU HAVE A WEEK TO

GET IT. WE’LL CONTACT YOU THEN.

“How’d it arrive?” I said.

“By ordinary mail, according to her,” Healy said. “She ‘thought-lessly disposed’ of the envelope before she realized it was important. No return address. Postmarked, she thinks, in Boston.”

“She going to pay?”

“Yes. Says she is going to talk with Adelaide ’s father about it.”