“Kyle warned me you have a reputation for being difficult,” Carolina said. “But I don’t find that true at all.”

  “I’m only difficult to difficult people,” I said. “Or those who don’t have any honor.”

  “I think you and my father would get along.”

  “Does he watch baseball?” Susan said.

  Carolina cocked her head and lifted her eyebrows. “He’s Dominican,” she said. “It’s almost a religion.”

  “Hallelujah,” I said.

  One of the waiters had recognized Susan and stopped by to say hello. Dining out with Susan Silverman in Cambridge was like taking a tour of the Vatican with the pope.

  “Her father is still skeptical of me,” Trey Shaw said. He stood up and then finished his beer. “I don’t think he believes I have a real job. He thinks I just play around with posters and wood blocks.”

  “It’s hard for a man like my father to wrap his head around making a living being an artist,” Carolina said.

  “I think it has more to do with us living together,” Shaw said.

  Carolina shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

  Susan turned to us. Our table was ready. As we followed the waiter to the table, I glanced about the room, to the front door and then back to the kitchen. I didn’t see any danger lurking about but did notice a few of the menu highlights. Oysters and a lovely seared tuna.

  I took a seat opposite Carolina. Susan sat across from Kyle. Specials were announced. Menus were handed out. Drinks ordered, although I abstained from another.

  Susan looked shocked. Carolina looked up at me.

  “I think you’re safe to have another beer,” Carolina said. “Especially now.”

  “Lou’s not the end of it,” I said. “Besides, what would your parents say about me drinking on the job?”

  “They wouldn’t ever consider it,” Carolina said. “But tonight isn’t about business.”

  “It’s all business,” I said. “Until the primary.”

  “Excellent point,” she said. “Then they won’t be able to stop me.”

  27

  Susan drove my Mustang back to her house, where we’d trade cars later. I drove Susan’s new car, a dark green Subaru Forester with an actual backseat, to take Carolina and Trey to and from Harvard Square. I’d stick around until three a.m., when Hawk and I would trade duties.

  I was wide awake after having two cups of coffee with pistachio white-chocolate cake.

  “Susan’s lovely,” Carolina said.

  “None lovelier.”

  “And you both seemed to get along well,” Carolina said.

  I looked into the rearview mirror. She was seated with ample space between her and Trey Shaw. Shaw was checking his cell phone, something he did constantly at dinner.

  “Not at all like a bickering older couple,” she said.

  “We bicker,” I said. “But artfully.”

  “And you don’t think you’ll ever get married?” she said.

  Trey looked up from his phone. He looked over to Carolina and then up into the rearview mirror. I felt a little like Max on Hart to Hart. I just prayed that my new duties wouldn’t require me to wear a cap.

  “No,” I said. “It’s been discussed. But just as quickly dismissed.”

  I drove slow and easy down Mount Auburn, turning down onto Putnam toward the river.

  “Never?”

  “Never say never,” I said. “But never.”

  Trey leaned forward. “You don’t believe in dated societal expectations, either.”

  “No,” I said. “Susan and I both like being together. But we also like to be alone.”

  “Absence makes the heart grow fonder?” Carolina said.

  “We spend a lot of time together,” I said. “But I have my living space and she has hers. We live our own lives. We do our own things. We shop, or choose not to shop, for our own groceries. We do our own chores, work our personal schedules. The messiness of life doesn’t bleed into how we feel about each other.”

  “Wow,” Shaw said.

  “That sounds exhausting,” Carolina said.

  “Sometimes,” I said. “Especially during rush hour from Charlestown to Cambridge.”

  “And will you stay there tonight?”

  “Later,” I said. “When Hawk comes.”

  “You know,” Carolina said. “I’ve never seen Hawk. I’m not even sure if he’s real.”

  “That’s the way he prefers it,” I said.

  “Why not just leave us for now,” she said. “And go back to Susan’s?”

  “Nope.”

  I passed the Whole Foods and turned down Prospect Street. We’d had a long dinner and it was past eleven o’clock. I drove slow and easy, the streetlights strobing through the windshield. Carolina rested her head on Trey’s shoulder, a pleasant quietness spreading through the car. When I stopped, she reached up with her hand to stifle a yawn. I got out and waited for them to follow.

  I’d walk them to the door and then I’d find a new parking spot down the road. Somewhere a dog started to bark. I could smell the river a few blocks away.

  It was dim along the frontage to the condos. We had to walk through a parking space for four cars and into a small common area for Trey’s second-floor unit. Carolina had just reached into her bag for the keys when I spotted a dark car traveling at a high rate of speed with the headlights off.

  I pushed Carolina forward between two of the parked cars as Trey rolled up onto one of the trunks. I barely made it through when the car sideswiped the rear of the two parked cars, bucking the cars forward and taking off a lot of chrome and plastic in a screeching crash.

  I reached for my gun and popped up to take aim. The dark car was already twenty feet away and I didn’t think firing a weapon in a family neighborhood was a good idea. It was a navy sedan, an Acura, Honda, or Toyota. They all looked the same at night from the rear.

  Carolina and Trey made a run for their condo. I told them to call the police while I jumped back into Susan’s car and followed.

  At Pleasant, the driver made a hard left turn onto Memorial and raced toward MIT. Susan’s new ride had a lot of pickup and I closed the gap, moving up around several cars, speeding through two stoplights, the skyline of Boston flickering on the other side of the Charles. I checked in my mirrors to see if we’d drawn the attention of the police, but we were nearly alone, moving in and out of cars on Memorial. A midnight race along the curves of the river.

  I saw the Harvard Bridge coming up fast and big, and the sedan launched forward around two cars and disappeared up onto the bridge. I followed, careening hard on the turn, the city of Boston growing closer, bigger, and brighter, office lights flickering in the distance. Pru Center and the Hancock Tower lit up in irregular checkered patterns. The sedan showed itself again in front of another car and zipped ahead on Mass Avenue into the city. If they got any farther ahead, I’d lose them. I’d hoped to either force them off the road or get a better description of the car or the plate. The plate would be stolen, probably the car, too. But losing the car that tried to take out my client would be poor form for a working investigator. Having to explain to Carolina how I lost them wouldn’t be any fun. Of course, explaining to Quirk that I was involved in a high-speed chase from Cambridge into the city wouldn’t be much fun, either.

  As we crossed into Boston and over Storrow, any thoughts of a high-speed chase ended. There had been a ballgame that night and traffic was jammed up into the Back Bay. I was at least four cars back. I almost hopped out to make a run at the car before the light changed and traffic began to flow over Beacon and Marlborough. I made it past two more cars. The driver made it past three. There was a red light ahead on Comm Ave that the driver ignored, nearly getting T-boned by a public works truck in the process, and leaving behind a few cars sliding into a halting, screeching standstill. Horns were blown, Comm Avenue partially blocked. By the time I made it up and around the mess, I couldn’t find the sedan. I drove past Newbury Street and spotted a blue Toyota just on the other side of the pike, parked up on a curb by the protective chain-link fencing with the doors wide open.

  I stopped and got out, pulling my gun, keeping it out of sight and down by my leg. The Toyota’s two front doors were wide open and it was empty. I looked across the street at a bustling after-game crowd along the sports bars and pubs. Lots of folks milling about. I tucked the gun back into my jacket pocket and walked up and down the block. Anyone could get lost in the crowd, especially someone I didn’t recognize.

  I walked back up the street and crossed over the road to where I’d left Susan’s car behind the blue sedan. The flashing hazard lights pulsed on and off.

  I had just speed-dialed Quirk when two BPD patrol cars converged on where I was standing. The officers jumped out of their cars, hands on their weapons, and asked that I step back and raise my hands.

  I did as I was told.

  From the phone in my hand, I heard Quirk pick up.

  “What the holy fuck?” he said. “Spenser? Christ.”

  28

  You want to go back and repeat that story?” Belson said. “Maybe leaving out the parts where you committed several speeding violations and broke one or two city ordinances.”

  “I pursued the assailants with great caution.”

  “Bullshit,” Belson said. “You were playing Steve McQueen across the Harvard Bridge and were lucky no one got killed.”

  Belson was behind the wheel of his unmarked unit parked on Boylston right behind one of those city bike-rental racks. His boss, Lieutenant Lorraine Glass, sat in the passenger seat, looking less than pleased to see me so early. We wouldn’t see the sun for another three hours.

  “Cambridge PD says this was attempted murder,” Glass said.

  “They tried to take all three of us out.”

  “Maybe it was just a drunk driver clipping a few cars,” Belson said.

  “Not the way they drove,” I said. “If they hadn’t gotten jammed up here, we wouldn’t have found the car.”

  Glass had a notebook and a pen in her hand. She pointed out the locations of three different city cameras. She was efficient and precise but shockingly had never been a big fan of mine.

  “Got any suspects?” she said.

  “Only a few hundred,” I said. “But I’m trying to narrow it down.”

  “Cops found you at twelve-twenty-five,” she said. “How long had you been here?”

  “Maybe two minutes,” I said. “They abandoned the car and ran into the crowd.”

  “How do you know it was more than one?” Belson said.

  “Driver and passenger doors were open,” I said. “I also could make out two figures as they drove.”

  “And Quirk says there have been some death threats?” Glass said.

  “Someone has been leaking the congresswoman’s schedule,” I said.

  “And there was a break-in?” she said.

  “At her headquarters in Roxbury.”

  “Yeah,” Belson said. “I heard about it. Someone took a crap in her office.”

  I leaned back into the cool darkness of the patrol car. The nighttime crowd had thinned, most of the bars closed now. I could hear the muffled zoom of cars passing through the Pike underpass where Mass Ave crossed over Boylston.

  “Better tell Susan you’re gonna be a little late for nooky-nooky time,” Belson said.

  “Is that what you and Lisa call it?” I said.

  “And you and Susan don’t?” he said.

  “No,” I said. “We’ve never called it that.”

  Glass ignored us as she took notes, eyeing the position of the cameras. Without a word, she got out of the car and walked over to speak to a plainclothes officer.

  “I’m getting the feeling the lieutenant is never going to warm up to me,” I said.

  “No shit,” Belson said.

  Glass returned a few minutes later. She made a few notations and then turned back toward me.

  “Okay,” she said. “How about we cut the horseshit and you tell us everything you know. Who the fuck are these guys?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But I do think I know their employer.”

  “Are you gonna share with the class?” Glass said. “Or just sit in the back of the patrol car stringing us along at three a.m. A goddamn attempted hit-and-run is a little below my paygrade.”

  “But you’ll be glad to take the credit if I find these guys,” I said.

  “Fuck you, Spenser,” Glass said.

  “See?” I said, looking up into the rearview mirror at Frank. “I don’t think she’s ever gonna accept me as part of the crime-fighting team.”

  “You got that straight,” Glass said. “Now, who the hell is behind this?”

  “I found out the congresswoman’s driver is working for the other camp,” I said. “I think he’s the one who gave the vandals a key to the back door.”

  “I heard they busted in the front window,” Belson said.

  “You heard wrong,” I said. “They broke out the front window on the way out. They opened the back door and took their time making a mess of things.”

  Glass rested her chin on the back of the passenger seat. She stared at me, the crime lights overhead illuminating half her face. She wasn’t smiling and made no attempt to fill the silence.

  “They work for some nitwits hired by Tommy Flaherty’s campaign manager,” I said. “Frankie Farrell.”

  “Fucking Frankie Farrell?” Belson said. “As in the guy who used to polish Joe Broz’s pistachios?”

  “One and the same.”

  “Christ, Frank,” Glass said. “You got a real way with words.”

  Belson chuckled and reached into his coat pocket for a half-finished cigar. He let down the window, but before he could light up, Glass snatched the cigar from his hand, opened the passenger window, and chucked it from the car.

  “Hey.”

  “May I remind you I’m your superior officer,” she said. “And please remind me how it’s okay for a Boston police officer to smoke while on duty.”

  “Cops smoke,” Belson said.

  “Not in city property,” she said. “Come on. Nothing else we can do here. I talked to some people at the bar. No one noticed a damn thing. We can pull the feed from those cameras back at headquarters.”

  I nodded. “Meet you there?”

  “Ha,” Glass said. “In case you hadn’t noticed, hotshot, your little car has been impounded. How the hell do you fit in that car, anyway?”

  “It’s Susan’s car.”

  “Haha,” Belson said. “That’s rich.”

  I didn’t answer. Glass rolled up her window as Belson started the car, pulled out, and U-turned to get back on Mass Ave.

  “I guess no nooky-nooky for you,” Glass said.

  “You’ve been hanging around Frank too long,” I said.

  “You really think Frankie Farrell would try to kill Flaherty’s opponent?” Glass said. “Sounds a little extreme. Farrell’s no prize, but I worked with him when he was on the city council. There are bigger assholes in the Cracker Jack box.”

  “Desperate times call for desperate assholes,” I said.

  “Like who?” Belson said. “Speaking theoretically.”

  “Cokey McMichael,” I said.

  “I used to bust Cokey’s ass when he worked with the Burkes down in Southie,” Belson said. “Trying to clip someone from behind? No style or planning. Yeah. I could see that on Cokey. Want to bring him in, Lieutenant?”

  “Let’s see the video first,” Glass said. “Maybe Spenser can actually be useful to us for once and ID these dipshits.”

  29

  One man on surveillance video was heavyset, but not heavyset enough to be Cokey McMichael. The other was of average size and build, so average, in fact, that he could be practically anyone. Both men had on hoodies and ball caps.

  Glass ran the footage of them crossing Boylston again and again and then tried to connect the pair to more security cameras in the area. I began to have flashbacks to watching game film in college.

  “This is why I need one of those wall-sized computer screens,” Belson said. “I could pull up secret satellite photos and pictures from every drunk with a cell phone on that street. We can get pinpoint accuracy within ninety-nine percent. Would you believe it?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Can’t wait to see the advances here at BPD.”

  “Give me a second,” Belson said. “And I’ll shoot a laser out of my ass.”

  I leaned back in my chair and Glass stood up to hit the lights. The computer monitors glowed on the laptop computers.

  “Can I have my car back?” I said.

  “I don’t know,” Glass said. “Promise to be a good boy?”

  I dangled my two front paws in front of my chest and pretended to be panting.

  Glass made a call, and by daybreak I had Susan’s car back and was crossing the Charles.

  On the drive back to Susan’s, I decided to call up a sergeant I knew at Cambridge PD and inquire about any Toyotas stolen in the last twenty-four hours. I knew BPD would be doing the same thing, but didn’t think there was any harm beating them to the punch.

  It didn’t take long before I found out a blue 2015 Corolla had been reported stolen at the Porter Square Shopping Center a little past seven o’clock last night. The stolen plates connected to a Kia Sorento boosted more than a year ago in Dorchester.

  I bypassed Susan’s and a warm bed and headed north to the shopping center just as the sky began to lighten. I wasn’t sure what I expected to find. Probably more security cameras, and those security cameras might take the cops to pull the footage.

  I parked and checked in with Rosen and Hawk. Carolina was still safe and well and being watched. After I hung up, I got out of the car to walk back to a Dunkin’ that had just opened up in the mall. I figured after a long night of work, I deserved two corn muffins and a hot coffee.