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would pile into the back of somebody s pickup and hide under
a blanket to get around the six-per-car limit at the drive-in; she
thought Belco had been there once or twice. That was about all.
She started the car, shaking off the memories. They were a
tide that had been threatening to drown her ever since she drove
back into town, and the pull was strong. The fact that she hadn t
thought about those days in years had sealed them off when
T he M or ti ci an s D aughter 81
she went to UMass and found any excuse to avoid coming home
for vacations only made them seem that much more vivid, less
like memories than flashbacks.
She d forgotten about so many things, or at least pushed
them aside. Not the least of them, she realized as she sat in the
idling car, was the fact that the summer before college was the
last time she d actually been happy.
Get out of your own head. Concentrate on the case. Nail the bastard
who killed Danny, give Sonya some peace, and get back to the city so you
can try to salvage what s left of your life.
It was a mantra Ginny had been repeating for days. It still
didn t seem to be working.
She pulled out of the parking space, drove to the end of
Main Street and around the corner. She passed Café des Artistes
but decided not to stop; it would be better to go later, when
she d have a better chance of talking to Danny s regular cus-
tomers.
She was debating whether her mood might be improved by
an Angelina s double-meat sub when her cell phone rang. The
caller ID said PRIVATE.
 Hello?
 Virginia? Art here.
It was Art MacAfee, an investigator for the Massachusetts
State Police. Ginny had met him at a conference in Atlantic City
when she gave a talk on techniques for interviewing adolescent
rape victims. Art had been newly separated from his wife, Ginny
was single; nature had taken its course, but only the one time.
 Hey, Ginny said, pulling over to the side of the road.  You
manage to trace that serial number for me?
 Yeah, he said, his voice sounding strained, remote; Ginny
had a feeling it was more about his mood than the poor con-
nection.
82 E li zabeth B loom
 Is there a problem?
 I don t appreciate getting screwed over.
 What are you talking about?
 You mighta told me you were in hot water with the depart-
ment before you had me running down gun owners for you.
Ginny felt her stomach twist; it was just as well she hadn t
had that sandwich.  I m sorry, she said, and meant it.  One
thing didn t have jack to do with the other. I didn t think.
 I m looking at a promotion here, he said.  I got bills to pay.
Last thing I need is to be consorting with a dirty cop.
That hurt.  Nothing like convicting a person without a trial.
 Shit, he said after a five-second pause.  I know you re not
on the take. It s just 
 How d you hear about it, anyway?
 Grapevine, he said.  Least it hasn t hit the papers.
 Department s had enough bad press lately. They want to
make sure they have all their ducks in a row before they crucify
me on the steps of One P.P.
 You wanna tell me what the hell is going on? All I heard is,
you took a bribe to get some rich kid off the hook for rape. And
then the vic went and 
 Not now, she said.  Can you just tell me who the gun was
registered to? An annoyed groan, followed by silence.
 Please?
After another beat he said,  One .38-caliber Smith & Wes-
son Chiefs Special revolver, registered to the same owner since
1981. She heard him flip a page in his notebook.  Philip Mar-
chand, date of birth 4-8-41. Address on Chantilly Avenue. Ring
a bell?
 Plenty of Marchands around here.
 Listen, uh. . . I m sorry about before. That was out of
line.
 Don t worry about it, she said.
T he M or ti ci an s D aughter 83
 But in terms of favors . . . I d appreciate it if this was it for
now. Okay?
Ginny thanked him and hung up. Then she dialed Sonya,
who answered over the roar of a Disney video.  I need to ask
you something, Ginny said.  Did Danny know anybody named
Marchand who lives over on Chantilly Avenue?
There was a pause while Sonya thought; it was filled by a
singing mermaid.  Doesn t ring a bell, she said.  Why?
 That s who owned the gun.
 So how did Danny get it?
 I ll let you know as soon as I figure it out.
The drive took all of ten minutes; it would ve taken five if
she hadn t been stuck behind a boat-sized Buick driven by an old
man in a porkpie hat. She pulled up in front of the address on
Chantilly, a well-tended saltbox with a garage nearly as big as the
house.
She was about to get out of the car when the front door
opened. A man and a woman lingered in the entrance; he was
nodding, she was handing him something that looked like
money. He tucked it into his pocket; she poked him in the chest
and shut the door. He made his way down the landscaped path,
turning left in front of her car and continuing down the side-
walk.
Jimmy Griffin.
Jesus Christ, Ginny thought. What are the odds?
She waited until Jimmy had turned the next corner before
she got out of her car. She hadn t heard from him since that af-
ternoon in Danny s room, and frankly, that was fine with her;
she had no idea what to say.
Ginny rang the doorbell, and a fiftyish woman answered the
door in a rose-colored robe.  Naughty boy! Back for another
game of 
She cut herself off at the sight of Ginny, gathering the robe
84 E li zabeth B loom
to cover her décolletage. The woman s face was flushed, not
from embarrassment, but from whatever she d been doing ear-
lier. And from the musky smell wafting from her person, Ginny
had a pretty good idea of what that was.
 Can I help you? the woman asked.
 Are you Mrs. Marchand?
 Yes, she said.  Why?
On the interminable drive over, Ginny had given some
thought to what she was going to say. Since she couldn t just
flash a badge and start asking questions, she needed another ap-
proach. After contemplating different strategies she d finally set-
tled on the truth.
 I was hoping you could help me, she said.  I m an old
friend of Sonya Markowicz. She waited for the name to mean
something, but it obviously didn t.  She s the mother of Danny
Markowicz. The young man who was killed last week.
 Killed? You mean like a car accident?
The woman seemed genuinely confused.
 It s been all over the paper, Ginny said.
 I ve been down at Foxwoods with my girlfriends, she said.
 Made a bundle on the slots. What did you say happened to this
person?
 They found his body in one of the old mills. He was beaten [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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