A Catskill Eagle

CHAPTER 21

AT EIGHT FIFTEEN THE NEXT MORNING HAWK and I were eating fried egg sandwiches on whole wheat toast and drinking pot-brewed coffee in Yvonne’s sun-splashed living room.

“No way to know what Susan knows,” I said. “She will assume I got her letter and came out to California. After that she may not know anything.”

“She’ll know you won’t stop looking for her,” Hawk said.

We were both naked, our clothes churning through Yvonne’s washer-dryer. A double treat for Yvonne if she came home suddenly.

“Okay,” I said. “So she won’t expect me to be at home or at the office.”

Hawk nodded.

“So she’d try Paul,” I said.

“She figure you’ll stay in touch with him.”

“Yes. It’s a good time to call him. He’ll be asleep for sure. Once he’s up you can never get him.” I called Sarah Lawrence and got the switchboard and asked for Paul’s dorm. After eight rings a kid answered. I asked for Paul. The kid went away and I could hear him holler in the background. Then he came back and said, “He’s asleep.”

“Wake him up,” I said. “It’s very important.”

The kid said, “Okay,” in a tone that implied nothing could be so important as to wake Paul Giacomin up at eight twenty-five in-the morning. There was more hollering and a long pause and then Paul said, “Hello,” in a voice thick with-sleep.

I said, “Do you know who this is?”

He said, “My God, yes.”

I said, “Okay. Is it safe to talk?”

“Sure. What’s happening?”

“A lot. But first, have you heard from Susan?”

“No. But Lieutenant Quirk wants you to call him.”

“Quirk?”

“Yes. He called me up and left a message I should call him, so I did and he says if I hear from you that you should call him.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’m with Hawk at… what’s the street address?”

Hawk told me and I relayed it to Paul. I also read him the number off the phone. “You and you alone are to know where I am. You understand. Except Susan, and her, only directly. No one calling for her, or anything. You understand?”

“Sure. What’s going on?”

I told him, as briefly as I could.

“Jesus Christ,” he said when I was through.

“That will wake you up in the morning, won’t it?”

“Clears up the old sinuses,” he said. “Want me to come home?”

“No,” I said. “There’s not enough room here as it is and if Yvonne shows… No, you stay put.”

“You’ll get her back,” Paul said.

“Yes,” I said. “We will.”

“Kid’s okay?” Hawk said when I hung up.

“Yes.” I said. “Quirk wants me to call him.”

Hawk raised his eyebrows. “God damn,” he said. “Give you a chance to surrender?”

“I doubt it.”

“I doubt it too. But one thing about Quirk. He won’t cross your ass. He ask you to call him, he won’t have a trace on the line.”

“I know.”

The dryer clunked to a stop in the kitchenette and I went and got my clothes out and put them on still warm from the machine. Hawk dressed too.

“Let’s see what he wants,” I said and called police headquarters and asked for Homicide, and when I got it I asked for Quirk and in about ten seconds he came on the line.

“Spenser,” I said.

“I know that name,” Quirk said. “You are, I believe, wanted for violating the entire California penal code. You and your fucking soulmate appear to have pissed off every law enforcement agency west of the Rockies.”

“It was nothing,” I said. “Hawk gets a lot of the credit.”

“I want to talk,” Quirk said. “Be on a corner of your choice and I’ll pick you up. Both of you.”

“Charles and Chestnut,” I said.

“I’ll be there at nine,” Quirk said and hung up. At 9:02 a tan Chevrolet sedan pulled up at the corner of Charles and Chestnut. Belson was driving. Quirk sat beside him. Hawk and I got in the backseat and Belson eased the car back into traffic, heading toward the Common. Quirk half turned, rested his left arm on the back of the seat and looked at Hawk and me. His shirt was radiantly white, and brisk with starch. His camel’s hair jacket was fresh from the cleaners and fitted across his thick back without a wrinkle. His brown knit tie was knotted precisely the right size to highlight the small roll in his collar. His thick black hair was cut short and newly barbered. I’d never seen it when it wasn’t.

“You guys look like you shipped back here in a crate,” Quirk said.

“Clothes are fresh from the dryer,” I said. “Just need a little ironing.”

“So does your life,” Eielson said. He turned at Beacon Street.

Hawk leaned buck in the seat and folded his arms and lapsed into stillness. The Public Garden was on our left with its ornate wrought-iron fence. The foot of Beacon Hill was on our right with its high-windowed apartments. Belson was thinner than Quirk, with graying hair, and the blue shadow of a heavy beard, an hour after he shaved. He was chewing on a dead cigar.

Quirk said, “Tell me your side of things.”

“What do you know?” I said.

“I know Hawk’s wanted for murder, and you for accessory after. I know you’re both wanted for jailbreak, assault on a police officer, two counts for you, more than I can remember for Hawk. I know you’re wanted for breaking and entering, assault -Christ, maybe a dozen counts-violation of the California hostage statutes, destruction of property, suspicion of arson, theft of a rental car, theft of two handguns… other stuff. I don’t have the warrants.”

“They missed some of the good stuff,” Hawk said.

“You,” Quirk said, looking at Hawk, “would do all of that stuff for any simple reason. Like someone paid you to. Spenser’s reasons would be more complicated. I want to hear his reasons.”

I looked at Hawk. “Anything you want left out?” He shook his head, his face blank and peaceful.

“Okay,” I said. “Susan is in trouble.”

“Her too,” Belson said as if talking to himself. We were driving along Beacon Street outbound. “She has taken up with a guy named Russell Costigan. She called Hawk and said she wanted to leave Costigan but couldn’t. Hawk went out to help her. Got set up, probably not by Susan, the cops and Costigan were in on an assault frame, but they underrated Hawk and one of Costigan’s people got killed. Hawk was jailed in Mill River, California, which is a company town with company cops and Costigan’s old man is the company.”

“Jerry Costigan,” Quirk said.

“Uh huh. So Susan got a letter to me telling me Hawk’s in jail. I go out and bust him out and we start looking for Susan. We had to roust some people at Costigan’s house… ”

“Including Jerry,” Quirk said.

“Yes. But she wasn’t there and we had to look for her at the Costigan lodge in Washington State.”

“Which you burned down.”

“I didn’t know that,” Hawk murmured. “On purpose?”

“Yeah.”

“I like it,” Hawk said.

“But she wasn’t there either,” Quirk said.

“No. So we headed home to regroup.”

Belson stopped the Chevy at a red light where Mass Avenue crosses Beacon. Then he turned right and started across the bridge toward Cambridge. Quirk rested his chin on his forearm. On the Cambridge side, Belson made an illegal left turn and headed out along the river on Memorial Drive.

“There’s a couple of federal guys want to talk with you,” Quirk said.

“FBI?” I said.

“One of them.”

“What do they want to talk about?”

Quirk shifted in his seat so that he was faced back around front, talking without looking at me, staring out the front window while he spoke.

“They want to talk about helping you with the California authorities.”

“Mighty white of them,” Hawk said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Isn’t that nice.”

“And then maybe you can help them with something,” Quirk said.

“Ah yes,” I said.

“They want you to take Costigan out,” Quirk said.

Belson took his dead cigar out of his mouth and threw it out the window. He took a thin cheap cigar from the breast pocket of his corduroy sport coat. He stripped the cellophane from it and stuck it in his mouth and lit it with a wooden match that he snapped into flame with his thumbnail. We passed the Hyatt Regency and went up the little hill and over the underpass where the BU bridge comes in.

“Jerry?” I said.

“Un huh.”

“How about Russell?”

“Your option, I think,” Quirk said. “They’ll give you details.”

“Be an honor,” Hawk said, “help our government in time of need.”

“An honor,” I said.

Without looking back Quirk said, “And maybe we can give you a little help finding Susan.”

“How about if the deal with the feds falls through?”

Quirk turned again and looked at me.

“I’m a cop,” he said. “I been a cop for thirty-one years. I’m serious about it. You understand. I wasn’t serious about it, I’d have done something else for thirty-one years. You’re wanted for murder, I got to arrest you. And I’m not claiming it would break my heart. You are a world-class pain in the balls. And the goddamned phantom beside you is a lot worse. But if I don’t have to arrest you, I won’t. And I might feel okay about that too. Either way, I’ll help you with Susan. I like her.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome,” Quirk said.

We picked up Mt. Auburn Street, past the hospital. Belson’s cigar smelled like a burning shoe.

“Phantom?” Hawk said.

“The ghost who walks,” I said.

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Quirk said.