Painted Ladies

45

I called Healy in the morning. He said he’d get back to me. I hung up and sat at my computer and typed up a report of what I knew, how I knew it, and what I made of it. I printed out two copies, put them in self-sealing envelopes, put first-class stamps on them, and walked to the end of my hall, where there was a mail chute. Healy called back in less than an hour.

“Phone number is listed on Market Street in Brighton,” he said.

“Pays to be a state police captain,” I said.

“Not in real money,” Healy said.

He gave me the address.

“You want to tell me more?” he said.

“I just sent you a letter, and a copy to Belson,” I said.

“Quirk’s man?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“I talked with him yesterday,” Healy said. “He filled me in on the bomb.”

“I have written down everything I know, and everything I suspect, and how I know it, and why I suspect it. I reread the thing before I mailed it, and it’s beautifully written.”

“In case they win and you lose?”

“Expect the best,” I said. “Plan for the worst.”

“Well, at least I’ll have a keepsake,” Healy said.

“That doesn’t sound like a vote of confidence,” I said.

“They seem to know what they’re doing,” Healy said.

“And they’ve missed me twice.”

“If you hadn’t had the dog the first time. If you hadn’t thrown your bag the second time,” Healy said. “You’re alive mostly through luck.”

“ ‘Luck is the residue of design,’ ”I said.

“You quoting somebody again?”

“Branch Rickey,” I said.

“Jesus,” Healy said. “You know stuff most people don’t even care about. You going to go visit the Herzberg Foundation?”

“Yep.”

“Belson told me about your lure theory.”

“Nothing wrong with it,” I said. “It’s a way to keep contact with them. We lose that and we got nothing.”

“Did you like this guy Prince?” Healy said.

“Hell, no,” I said.

“But you’re willing to die to catch his murderers.”

“I’m not willing to die,” I said. “I’m willing to risk it. I was supposed to keep him alive.”

“I know,” Healy said. “I know. How’s Susan feel about it?”

“She doesn’t like it, either,” I said. “But she knows I need to do this.”

“She understands?” Healy said.

“Yes.”

“Most women don’t.”

“Susan’s not most women,” I said.

“No,” Healy said. “She certainly isn’t.”

We hung up.