Widow's Walk Part 34

"Ann know where Conroy is?" I said.

"She says she doesn't."

"We may be going in the same direction," I said. "I'll do what I can."

"And report to me."

"Anything I find out about Ann, I'll report to you first."

"Only," Kiley said.

"Bobby, what if she's in too far?"

"She's my only child, Spenser. Her mother's dead."

"I can't promise, Bobby. I can walk away from this conversation and say nothing to anybody. But I can't promise you more than I can promise you."

"You going to talk with Chuckie Scanlan?"

"Yes."

"And if that leads you someplace and Ann's in it really deep?"

"Then I'll talk to you," I said.

"Before you talk to anyone else?"

"Yes."

"And what?" Kiley said.

"And we'll decide," I said.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO.

It was a hot day and there was no air moving. Donovan's Liquors was a big store with a big sign in the window that advertised the coldest beer in Boston. There was a burly woman with big bra.s.s-colored hair at the cash register when I went in.

"Chuckie Scanlan?" I said to her.

"He's out back."

"Mind if I go back and see him?" I said.

"Who are you?"

"New caseworker," I said. "Wanted to say h.e.l.lo."

It was a vague enough term to cover several jobs and I figured Chuckie would be covered by one of them. The big woman made an ushering sweep with her right hand and pointed me toward the back room. Chuckie was stacking cases of Budweiser. He was a short wide guy with very little hair.

"Chuckie Scanlan?"

"Yeah?"

"My name's Spenser. We need to talk."

Scanlan's eyes showed a moment of something and then went dead again.

"About what?"

"You, Kevin McGonigle."

"Kevin's dead," Scanlan said.

"And you're not," I said, "yet."

"Whaddya mean?"

"We need to talk," I said.

Scanlan jerked his head and we went out the back door into the heavy air and sat on a pile of wooden skids in the near corner of the narrow parking lot behind the store. Scanlan lit a cigarette.

"You a cop?" he said.

"Private," I said. "I came from Bobby Kiley's office."

"Kiley?"

"Kiley and Harbaugh. They represented you a couple years ago."

"Oh, yeah. The broad came down, got us sprung. Cops had nothing."

"Broad's name was probably Ann," I said.

"Yeah, Ms. Kiley. Good-looking. Smart as h.e.l.l," Scanlan said. "How come you're talking about me not being dead, yet?"

"You know Marvin Conroy?"

Scanlan took in some smoke and let it out slowly, squinting through it at me. "Conroy?"

"Un-huh."

"I never met him. I think he was a friend of Jack's."

"Jack?" I said.

"DeRosa," Scanlan said.

Bingo! "How'd you know DeRosa?" I said.

"He hired me and Kevin to do some stuff."

"For Conroy?"

"I guess."

"You know what happened to McGonigle?" I said.

"I heard Kevin got it in a shootout over on A Street."

"From me," I said.

"Huh?"

"He got it from me. I shot him."

Scanlan took in some more smoke. I knew so few people who smoked anymore that it was kind of fascinating to watch him.

"How come you shot him?"

"He was trying to shoot me," I said.

Scanlan shrugged. "s.h.i.t happens," he said.

"Tell me about Marvin Conroy."

"Nothing to tell," Scanlan said. "When the cops tried to hang me with that b.u.m rap he helped me out with the lawyer."

"Why?" I said.

"I guess he was the one got Jack to hire us."

"To do what?"

Scanlan said, "A little of this, a little of that."

"You're a thug," I said. "You were doing strong-arm work."

"Cops couldn't hold us."

"Somebody shot Jack DeRosa to pieces," I said.

"Jack?"

"Jack and his girlfriend," I said. "Fifty rounds."

"Margy?"

"Yep."

"Why her?"

"Probably for being there."

"Who done it?"

"What would be your guess?" I said.

"How the f.u.c.k would I know?"

"I figure Jack got it because he knew something and somebody wanted to make sure he didn't tell it to me."

"You?"

"Yeah," I said. "I figure you know it, too."

"They killed him so he wouldn't talk with you?"

"Seems like."

"So?"

"Now I'm talking to you," I said.

Scanlan looked around the parking area.

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h," he said.

I smiled at him.

"You're setting me up."

"No," I said. "I'm asking you about Marvin Conroy."

"Why him?"

"Detective's intuition," I said.

"And if I don't know nothing about him?"

"I keep hanging around and asking about him and talking to you and talking to other people about talking to you."

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d, you're going to get me killed."