Now and Then

34.

I met epstein for breakfast at Zaftig’s in Brookline.

“There’s nothing closer?” I said when I sat down.

“It’s close for me,” Epstein said.

“You live in Brookline,” I said.

“Am I Jewish?” Epstein said.

“I think so,” I said.

“And I like a nice deli,” he said.

“My honey is Jewish and she lives in Cambridge,” I said.

“Sometimes they stray,” Epstein said.

“On the other hand, she is a shrink,” I said.

“But they never stray far,” he said.

“Comforting, isn’t it,” I said. “We got anything to talk about or have you just been missing me?”

“Good to stay in touch,” Epstein said. “The latkes here are fabulous.”

The waitress brought us coffee, and I ordered latkes with applesauce. Epstein had eggs and onions with some sable.

“The big red-haired guy,” Epstein said. “He’s not in the system either.”

“He didn’t seem like a pro to me,” I said. “He knew what he was doing, he wouldn’t have dissed Chollo.”

“Chollo?” Epstein said.

“Friend of mine from LA, be like dissing a cobra.”

Epstein smiled.

“Remind you of me?” he said.

“No.”

The waitress came with breakfast, and more coffee. I had a bite of latke.

“How are they?” Epstein said.

“How should they be?” I said.

“Fabulous,” Epstein said.

“They’re fabulous,” I said.

Epstein nodded.

“Name’s Darcy Englund,” Epstein said. “AKA Red.”

“I suspected that would be his nickname,” I said.

“Nice to confirm it,” Epstein said. “Only other thing we got is that Red’s been with Alderson at least as long as Alderson’s been at Concord College.”

“In what capacity?” I said.

“Red?” Epstein said. “Hard to say. Friend, driver, gofer, bodyguard. We don’t know. Mostly he’s just around.”

“Never been arrested,” I said.

“Nope.”

“Military service?” I said.

“Nope.”

“Visible means of support.”

“Last Hope,” Epstein said.

“Got a job title?”

“Nope. But he deposits a two-thousand-dollar paycheck from them every week.”

“Where’s he live?”

“Cambridge,” Epstein said. “Apartment on Hilliard Street.”

“Close to Alderson,” I said.

“Yep. About a block.”

“You got a tail on him?”

“No,” Epstein said. “He looks like small fish to me. We’re sticking with Alderson.”

We were quiet. I finished my latkes. Epstein finished his eggs and ate a piece of toast.

“No bagel?” I said.

“I try to avoid ethnic clichés,” Epstein said.

“Like eggs and onions with a nice piece of sable,” I said.

“So, sometimes I fail,” Epstein said. “Whadda you got?”

“Sheila and Lyndon,” I said.

Epstein nodded.

“Tell me about them,” he said.

I did. Epstein took some notes on the organizations and places they had mentioned in connection with Alderson. The waitress warmed up our coffee as needed. My normal ration wastwo cups in the morning. I was somewhere around five this morning. Of course, they were small cups. I’d probably be able to sleep fi ne by the time the week was out.

“A hippie legend,” Epstein said when I finished my recitation. “Perry told us he was forty-eight.”

“Kent State was in 1970,” I said.

“Which would have made him thirteen when it happened,”

Epstein said.

“Precocious,” I said.

Epstein said, “We’ll run it down. See how much of the legend is true. Can you give me a couple of the pictures you took?”

I nodded.

“When the truth conflicts with the legend,” I said, “print the legend.”

“William Randolph Hearst?” Epstein said.

“The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, ” I said.

“Close,” Epstein said.

The waitress brought the check. Epstein picked it up.

“I got this one,” he said. “You’re a business expense.”

“Wow, you do avoid ethnic clichés,” I said.

“Jews are generous,” Epstein said.

We still had coffee to drink, so we each drank some. Epstein put down his cup.

“This,” he said, “has been a model of law enforcement giveand-take. Me, a representative of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. You, a simple private peep. And we share what we know to the betterment of our common interest.”

“Ain’t it grand,” I said.

“There was another shooting in Cambridge yesterday,”

Epstein said. “Right in Harvard Square.”

“The town too tough to die,” I said.

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, I suppose.”

“I don’t,” I said.

“Some similarities to the guy got shot up in Kendall Square,”

Epstein said.

“The guy who killed Jordan Richmond?”

“Yeah. This guy has no identity either. We got no record of him, no fingerprints on file, no DNA. He’s got no ID. The gun is unregistered.”

“He had a gun,” I said.

“Yeah, one I never heard of,” Epstein said. “Thing was manufactured in fucking Paraguay.”

“Don’t see that many Paraguayan handguns,” I said. “Did he have it out?”

“Yeah.”

“Been fi red?”

“Not recently,” Epstein said.

“Where’d he get hit?” I said.

“Two in the forehead,” Epstein said.

“Pretty good,” I said. “Sounds like a pro.”

Epstein nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “Most people aim for the middle of the mass. Gotta have confidence to shoot for the head. Especially in what looks like a gunfight. Odd how two guys with peculiar handguns and no ID get shot in the head on the street in Cambridge.”

“Where’d it happen?” I said.

“Little alley next to the post offi ce on Mt. Auburn Street.”

“Not generally considered a high-risk area,” I said. “What time of day?”

“Middle of the afternoon,” Epstein said.

“Witnesses?” I said.

“Couple people said they saw a white van speed away right after the sound of shooting.”

“That’s it?” I said. “In that location? At that time of day?”

“That’s it. Oddly enough, one of the postal workers got a plate number.”

“And?”

“Stolen.”

“Incredible,” I said.

“I’m shocked,” Epstein said. “Shocked, I tell you.”

“And nobody saw the shooter?” I said.

Epstein looked at me for quite a long time without speaking.

Then he said, “No. Nobody saw the shooter.”