God Save the Child

I rattled the empty glass at her, and she got up and refilled it. The bourbon made a spread of warmth in my stomach. I took my left hand out of the ice water and put my right one in. I put my feet up on the coffee table and rested my head on the back of her couch. Susan came back with the second drink.

“You know,” I said, “he was a nasty, brutish, mean sonova bitch. But he loved that kid.”

“They all do,” Susan Silverman said.

“You mean his mother and father?” She nodded. “Yeah, you’re right,” I said, “they do. You should have seen that henpecked, browbeaten bastard try to go up against Harroway. You’ve seen what Harroway looks like, and Bartlett tried to take him. And so did she. Amazing.” I took my right hand out of the ice water and switched my glass to it and put my left arm around Susan’s shoulder.

She said, “How did Croft and Harroway get mixed up together?”

“Harroway says that Croft looked him up. Harroway was doing a little bit of small-time pimping, and he says Croft told him he knew all about it and had an idea for them to get a much bigger and more profitable operation. He’d supply the drugs, get the word around, and Harroway would do the on-the-spot managerial duties.”

“And they split?”

“No, that’s the interesting part. Harroway says Croft had a silent partner. Harroway never knew who it was. One third of the take was a lot more dough than Harroway ever dreamed of, and he didn’t complain.”

“Do we know the silent partner?”

I shook my head. “I imagine Healy will get that out of Croft in a while.”

“Oh, speaking of Healy, there’s a message here for you from him. And one from some policeman in Boston.” She went to the kitchen and came back with an envelope which said NEW ENGLAND TELEPHONE in the return address space. She looked at it and said, “A woman called — I didn’t get her name — and said she was from Lieutenant Healy’s office, and the Lieutenant wanted you to know that the package you gave him to keep is being stored at the Smithfield Police Station. You can pick it up when you need it, but it better be soon.”

“That’s Croft,” I said. “They must have gotten nervous riding him around and figured to let Trask bear the brunt of a false arrest suit.”

“And,” she said, “I have a message that you should call either a Sergeant Belson or a Lieutenant Quirk when you came in. They said you knew the number.”

“Do I ever,” he said. “Okay. I’ll do that now.” I hated to get up, and I was beginning to get stiff. Ten years ago I didn’t get stiff this soon. I let my feet down off the coffee table and drank most of the second bourbon and got myself upright. I felt as if I needed a lube job. A few more bourbons and I’d be oiled. Ah, Spenser, your wit’s as keen as ever. I dialed Boston Homicide and got Quirk.

“I got the information on your man,” he said. No salutation, no golly, Spenser, it’s swell to hear your voice. Sometimes I wasn’t sure how fond Quirk was of me.

“Okay,” I said.

“He’s got a record. Wanted in Tacoma, Washington, for performing an illegal abortion. Got himself disbarred or delicensed or whatever the hell they do with doctors that screw up. That was about seven years ago. Now he could probably do it legal in half the country, but then it was still a big unh-unh.”

“And he’s still wanted?”

“Yeah, he skipped bail and disappeared. The AG’s office out there has an outstanding warrant on him, but it’s not international intrigue. I don’t think there are a lot of people working on it these days.”

“Anything else?”

“Nothing much. Seems the guy had a good practice before this happened. I met the homicide commander out there once, and I gave him a call. Says this Croft was well thought of. Probably did the abortion as a kindness, not for dough. Didn’t want to be quoted, but said he thought it was kind of a shafting. Girl’s old man made a goddamned crusade of it, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“One thing, though,” Quirk said.

“What’s that?”

“Yours isn’t the first inquiry on him. Chief Trask of the Smithfield Police checked on him six years ago. There’s a Xerox copy of Trask’s request and a Xerox copy of the report the ID Bureau sent him.”

“Six years ago?” I said. Something bad was nudging at me.

“Yeah, what’s going on out there? Nice to see you’re in close touch with the local law enforcement agencies.”

I said, “Jesus Christ.”

Quirk said, “What?”

I said, “I’ll get back to you,” and hung up.

Susan said, “What’s the matter?”

I said, “I’ll be back,” and headed for my car. It was about five minutes from Susan’s house to the Smithfield jail. “Trask,” I said out loud, “that sonova bitch.” I slammed the car into the parking lot in front of the town hall and ran for the police station. Fire, police, and town hall were connected in a brick-faced white-spired town hall complex. The police station was in the middle between the double-doored fire station and the church-fronted town hall. Like a breezeway, I thought as I went in.