Right To Die

24

"SO WHAT MADE YOU CHECK THE MAILBOX?”

Neely had a pad and pen on his lap, actually taking notes once in a while. Slouching on the parlor sofa of the Andrus mansion, he'd visited a new barber since I'd seen him last. The currycomb cut made him look like a lowland gorilla.

I said, "The shooter threw the second one high after the first slug already wrecked the lamp over the doorway. Seemed kind of coincidental that he'd happen to hit the mailbox after my client had been getting threatening notes."

Neely used the pen to scratch behind his ear, then swung it in an abrupt arc toward the staircase. "How's this Andrus taking it?"

"Pretty well. She made calls to cancel things out for tonight. The secretary who came to see you is pretty shaken up."

"Minute ago, you said the shooter was a 'him'?"

"Just an assumption. We're figuring the shooter was the guy sending the notes."

"So you didn't make him on the roof there."

"No."

"You been looking into these threats for what, about a month now?"

"More than two."

"Anybody handy with guns?"

I'd been giving it some thought. "The Spanish son, Ray Cuervo, mentioned hunting with his father in the old country. Louis Doleman, the guy whose daughter committed suicide, talked a little about hunting too. And Walter Strock has a bunch of marksmanship trophies in his office."

"How about the other names I ran for you?"

"I don't see Steven O'Brien as a rifleman. And Gunther Yary of the Fourth Reich says he doesn't believe in guns."

"A Nazi who don't believe in guns?"

"He says freedom of speech will set us free."

"Christ on a crutch. The hell can you count on anymore?"

"One of Yary's storm troopers seemed a little more in the mold."

"Don't get you."

I laid it out, including the address of the storefront in Dorchester. Neely said, "How's about you leave the Nazis to us?"

"Fine."

He finished scribbling and lowered his voice. "That guy, the houseman. Manello?"

"Manolo. M-a-n-o-l-o."

"Right, right. Manolo. He was where when the shots were fired?"

"Getting the car. Supposed to have been stuck behind a truck."

"Supposed. Why 'supposed'?"

"Because I didn't hear any horns."

"Horns. Like you would if some truck was fucking up the traffic there."

"Right."

"Stupid thing for him not to think of."

"Yes and no. He's deaf. Might not have occurred to him."

Neely looked skeptical. "You really figure he could be the guy?"

"If so, I'm the only one who does."

"Let's hear it."

"One, Andrus pushed over the man who basically pulled Manolo back into life. Two, he's always around her for the notes except when she goes off to the Caribbean, and then a note appears at the law school when not many people know she's gone and nobody outside the school could easily access the internal mail system."

"Motive and opportunity for both the notes and the shooting. But why does he miss, then?"

"Don't know."

"Why does he wait – what, ten years? – to start at her?"

"Same answer."

Neely shook his head.

I said, "The husband's also not accounted for."

"The husband?"

"Tucker Hebert. Andrus says he was out running errands."

Neely plainly didn't like trying to keep track of all these people.

"So opportunity. How about motive?"

"He gets most of the estate."

"If the professor there buys the big one."

"Right."

"Meantime?"

"Meantime, he's a former pro tennis player who gets sported like a trophy."

"What?"

I explained it to Neely.

He scratched behind his ear some more with the pen. "So we got a husband who's riding his wife's money either way."

"Except if Andrus were dead, he'd be enjoying it without her."

"Yeah, but if the perp is either Manolo or the husband, how come she's not getting notes out in California there?"

"I've thought about it."

"And?"

"If it's either Manolo or Hebert, hand-delivering a note out there points the finger."

"So the guy could use the post office."

"Without an accomplice to mail the notes from another city, the postmark would give the guy away."

Neely shook his head again.

I said, "You get anything from across the street?"

"From the roof, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"Nah. The techies went up. Easy to do, some kind of scaffolding on the far side. Too windy and cold for the roofers today, though. No shell casings, no footprints they could make out."

"How about the slugs?"

"They'll run them through ballistics, but don't wait by your phone, okay? The slugs, one splattered and the other got flattened by the professor's brickwork. I seen ones like that before they couldn't do much with."

I figured that gave me an opening. "Homicide going to be by?"

A grunt. "Nobody bleeds, they try not to bother those guys. Why?"

"Thought maybe there might be something we're missing."

Neely closed his pad. "Probably. There usually is. But then in the end you find out what it was and turns out it don't mean shit anyways."

"Even so, you mind if I keep looking into this'?"

"Except for the Nazis, suit yourself. It's your time and her money, right? Lemme do the courtesy call on Andrus. I'll let you know about ballistics."

"I'd appreciate it."

Neely lurched to his feet. "Whew, tough day."

Uh-oh.

He patted his stomach. "Yeah, fact is, I been having the kind of day, if I was to break for dinner about now, I'd want somebody else to taste my food for me."

I got the hint and told Neely I'd wait for him.

"I was hoping you'd still be here."

Robert Murphy looked up from the wrappings of a submarine sandwich. The wax paper and a diet Coke nearly covered the one area of his desk not stacked high with files.

He said, "I can't even eat my dinner in peace?"

"Do me a favor, Lieutenant, don't talk about food. I broke bread with Beef Neely tonight."

Murphy set the sub down delicately and folded the paper over it. "Just ruined my appetite. Sit, but don't stay long."

"Thanks." I took one of the metal chairs.

"You okay, Cuddy?"

"Fine."

"You look, I don't know, kind of skinny."

"Been running, that's all. Listen, about that case back in December?"

"The one you had to see Neely on."

"Right."

"Now what?"

"Somebody missed my client and me with a couple of shots today."

"Probably forgot to allow for windage."

"Very funny, Lieutenant. Neely seems to think he's in charge because nobody got hit."

"Probably right."

"No chance you or Cross could come in on it?"

"We take the ones that bleed no more. Area cops draw the ones that never bleed. In between…" He shrugged.

"That's how Neely described it too."

"Besides, reason I'm still here is we're buried. Cross, she's out with the harbor boys, bobbing for what's left of some wiseguy."

"What's left?"

"His hands we found inside a Maserati over in Eastie. Nice Italian driving gloves."

"Back to my situation?"

"Two minutes worth."

"There were some slugs, Lieutenant, but no casings. I think it had to be a rifle. At least one of the slugs was intact, but flattened."

"What'd they hit?"

"Bricks."

"Don't – "

" – wait by my phone, I know. Can you do anything?"

Murphy sucked some diet Coke through a straw. "Not much. I can see the slugs get the full treatment, but that's about it."

"I appreciate it." I got up. "Since this isn't your case, I take it you have no objection to my staying on the investigation'?"

"Your time."

I left wondering if all cops talked the same before they went to the academy too.

"How's Inés doing?"

Maisy Andrus set down the book she was reading. "Pretty well, I think. She's lying down, sleeping, I hope. The proximity of all this has hit her pretty hard. I think it reminds her of being… on that boat."

"Manolo let me in. Where's your husband?"

"Tuck hasn't gotten back yet."

I glanced at the clock on the desk behind her. Nine forty-five P.M.

"I thought you said he was just running some errands?"

Andrus got huffy. "I in no way have to justify Tuck's activities to you, and neither does he."

"Professor, I'm tired too."

"I'm not tired."

I let it pass. "Whoever that was today is a reasonably good shot to have hit the mailbox nearly dead center."

"It's a large mailbox."

"On a downward angle from a rooftop on a cold and windy night. He wanted to miss you. Us. He's playing some kind of game, to get you rattled."

"He won't succeed."

"He is succeeding. You're upset – "

"I am not – "

"And you have every right to be. He's got some kind of private agenda planned for you, and I have to try to figure that out before he ups the ante much further."

Andrus heaved out a breath. "Understand this. I am upset only by your continuing to think that my husband could have anything to do with any of this. Or Manolo, as that ass Neely seemed to imply. Since I am not stupid, I recognize that whoever is doing this wants to keep me off balance, to discourage me from doing what I do. I am pained to admit that this evening he was successful. I canceled a speaking engagement which would have provided appropriate coverage to the issues I hold dear. I want you to continue your investigation on my behalf, but I do not, I repeat, I do not want you harassing my husband in any way. Now, is that clear?"

"Crystalline. "

"I'm sorry." She leaned her head back. "You're not stupid either. I know that. Will the police be much help?"

"You've met Neely."

"Yes, but aren't there any other police?"

"Bluntly, not until our friend comes closer."

"As he suggested in the note."

"Yes."

"Well, it will be a while before he has another chance."

"What do you mean?"

"We'll be going to New York tomorrow. I'm conferring with the new National Council on Death and Dying."

"Professor – "

"That's the successor organization to Concern for Dying and the Society for the Right to Die. Then it's on to D.C. for a few days of lobbying before we fly back to the coast."

"When you say 'we'…?"

Andrus set her expression firmly. "Tuck, Manolo, and I."

"Professor – "

"Please stay in touch with Inés." She softened just a little. "I had to cancel Alec tonight, too, though I'm going to try to see him early tomorrow. Please do whatever you can to help."

I said, "I will," no longer knowing who Andrus meant for me to help. Or how.

"Hey, John! John-boy, how you doing?"

I was almost at the corner of Charles and Beacon. Tucker Hebert waved to me from half a block away. He tried to pick up his pace, skittering down the sidewalk with mincing steps, like a hockey coach in street shoes crossing the rink.

Despite the crisp wind, a heavy dose of eau de Dewar's rolled toward me. "I never will get the hang of skating around up here. Didn't get this ice stuff more than once a decade where I come from."

Hebert must have seen something in my face. "John, I hope you're not still put out about that phone call thing, but like I said back then, Maisy needed the rest more – "

"I'm not upset about the phone call."

The eyes swam in a glassy sea. "What's in your craw, then?"

"Somebody shot at us tonight."

Hebert tipped forward on his toes and lost his footing. Going down, he grabbed for my arm just as I grabbed for his and steadied him.

"Shots? At the lecture?"

I would have asked first if anybody was hurt. "We never got that far. It happened in front of the house."

"God almighty! I never would have – Lordy! Maisy, John." Hebert's fingers nearly pierced my coat sleeve. "Maisy, is she okay?"

"Yes. Nobody was hit."

"Oh, God. Thank – "

"Of course, the shooter wasn't trying to hit us."

Hebert opened his mouth, but no words came out. I said, "The slugs went way high. Just a warning."

"Warning?"

"Yeah."

"Of what?"

"Good question. You finish your errands?"

"Huh?"

"Your errands. Maisy said you were doing errands."

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Well, truth is, I was just out having a few snorts. All this time in San Diego, I've been kind of missing some of the places around here."

"Any places in particular?"

"No. No, just here and there. You know how it is."

"The police may be calling you on that."

"On what?"

"On where you were this afternoon and tonight."

"The police? Lordy. Maisy, she's… at the house?"

"Right."

Hebert let go of my arm and took off for the mews. He slipped three times and went down once before making the corner.