God Save the Child

“Yeah, one. Okay, so Harroway’s gay and Kevin’s staying with him. You told me that Kevin had unresolved sexual identity problems...”

“I said he might have...”

“Right, he might have sexual identity problems, so the relationship between them might be romantic. Agree?”

“Spenser, you can’t just say things like that; there’s so much more that goes into that kind of diagnosis. I’m not qualified...”

“I know, I’m hypothesizing. I don’t have the luxury of waiting to be sure.”

“I guess you don’t, do you?”

“I figure Vic and Kevin are living together, and he finds in Harroway a combination of qualities he misses in his parents. I figure the kid ran off with Harroway and then afterward, out of hatred or perversity or boyish exuberance, they decided to put on the straights and make some money to boot. So they rigged the kidnapping, and they sent the notes and made the phone calls and shipped the guinea pig after it died. Then they went, maybe to get some things of Kevin’s, maybe to steal the old man’s booze, maybe to play a new trick, and broke into the house. Actually Kevin probably had a key. And Earl Maguire caught them and they panicked, or Harroway did, and he killed Maguire. You saw Harroway; you can imagine how he could hit someone too hard, and if he did he could make it permanent.”

“But what do you suppose Doctor Croft has to do with all this?”

“Maybe nothing, maybe just doing a favor for his buddy, Fraser Robinson. Maybe he’s no more than a satisfied customer. Or maybe he’s a convenient source of drugs. An M.D. has a better shot than most people at getting hold of narcotics. I can’t see the mob doing business with the likes of Harroway.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Well, I was thinking of putting my hand on your leg and quoting a few lines from Baudelaire.”

“No, dummy, I mean what are you going to do about Vic Harroway and Doctor Croft and Kevin?”

“One thing I’ll do right now. Where’s your phone?”

“In the kitchen.”

I got up and called Boston Homicide. “Lieutenant Quirk, please.” Susan came out with me and looked at the cassoulet in the oven.

“Who’s calling?”

“My name’s Spenser.”

“One moment.” The line went dead and then a voice came on.

“Spenser, Frank Belson. Quirk’s home asleep.”

“I need a favor, Frank.”

“Oh, good, me and the Lieutenant spent most of today hanging around thinking what could we do to be nice to you. And now you call. Hey, what a treat.”

“I want to know anything you can find out about a medical doctor named Raymond Croft, present address...” I thumbed through the Smithfield phone book on the shelf below the phone, “Eighteen Crestview Road, Smithfield, Mass. Specializing in internal medicine. I don’t know his previous address. Call me here when you can tell me something.” I gave him Susan’s number. “If I’m not here leave a message.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to hand-carry it out there?”

“Maybe I can do you a favor sometime, Frank.”

“Oh, yeah, you could do everybody a favor sometime, Spenser.”

The conversation wasn’t going my way, so I let it go and hung up. “How’s the cassoulet?” I said.

“On warm,” she said. “It’ll keep. I think we need more wine.”

“Yes,” I said, “I believe we do.”

We went back into the living room and sat on the couch and drank some more. My head felt expanded, and I felt very clever and adorable.

“Darling,” I said, leaning toward Susan, “je vous aime beaucoup, je ne sais pas what to do.”

“Ah, Spenser, you romantic fool,” she said and looked at me over the rim of her champagne glass while she drank. “Are you really a detective, or are you perhaps a poet after all?”

“Enough with the love talk,” I said, “off with the clothes.”

She put the champagne glass down and looked at me full face and said, “Be serious, now, please. Just for now.” My throat got tight, and I swallowed audibly.

“I am serious,” I said.

She smiled. “I know you are. It’s funny, isn’t it? Two sophisticated adult people who want to make love with each other, and we don’t know how to make the transition to the bedroom. I haven’t felt this awkward since college.”

I said, “May I kiss you?” and my voice was hoarse.

She said, “Yes, but not here. We’ll go in the bedroom.”

I followed her down a short corridor and into her bedroom. There was a spool bed with a gold-patterned spread. An air conditioner hummed softly in the far window. The walls were covered in a beige burlap paper, and there was a pine sea chest at the foot of the bed.