Robert B. Parker’s Revenge Tour

Thirty

The last time I’d seen Frank Belson before the Myrtle Street Playground was when a Russian had shot Alex Drysdale. Now I was seeing him for the third time in less than twenty-four hours, he and Melanie Joan and I sitting together in my living room.

“Gross didn’t just call Melvin,” Belson said to Melanie Joan. “Turns out he went to see him.”

“Impossible,” Melanie Joan said.

“Improbable, maybe,” Belson said. “But not impossible. There’s a difference.”

“Richard would never do something like that,” she said, still discussing him in the present tense. “And he would certainly never do something like that without telling me first.”

Belson’s response was somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

“I actually agree with you on the last part, Ms. Hall,” he said. “But let’s us, you and me, stop dicking around here and you tell me why your manager might have been talking to your ex-husband.”

At least Belson didn’t call Gross her lover, even though I had told him that’s exactly what he had been.

“I don’t know!” she said.

“Did he ever mention to you that he knew John Melvin?” Belson said.

She shook her head vigorously from side to side. “This must be some sort of huge misunderstanding,” she said. Now she closed her eyes, as if she could make an upsetting subject like this go away by refusing to look at it.

When she opened them she said, “Maybe he thought John had something to do with the situation with which Sunny is helping me.”

“Melanie Joan,” I said. “Lieutenant Belson knows about your situation.”

“Well, maybe that’s it!” she said, brightening. “Richard went to see John because he wanted to warn him to leave me alone. Or else!”

“Or else what?” I said. “Have him arrested?”

And there was, I decided, no point in asking her what or else might have involved.

Belson had explained to Melanie Joan that all calls involving prisoners at MCI–Concord, both incoming and outgoing, were logged, and the person at the other end of the line identified. The guard on duty had told Belson that Melvin’s caller had identified himself as his lawyer.

Richard Gross.

Whether he was still practicing law or not, he hadn’t misidentified himself.

“I can’t explain it,” Melanie Joan said. “But all I know is that Richard would never have anything to do with scum like John Melvin.”

They were going around in circles, but Belson didn’t seem to mind. I had seen him work before. And I had seen him lose patience with people whom he was questioning. But he wasn’t there yet with Melanie Joan.

“Yeah,” he said now, an amused tone to his voice. “Big-time lawyers never end up with low-life clients. Wherever did I get an idea like that?”

“There’s no need for sarcasm,” Melanie Joan said.

“Why the hell not?” Belson said.

“He wouldn’t do this to me!” Melanie Joan said. “Richard loved me!”

He seemed surprised that she’d blurted it out, not that it made much difference to Frank Belson.

“For the last time,” he said, “you’re telling me that Gross never mentioned a business relationship with Melvin?”

“Never,” she said.

“And you had no idea that he was stopping at the prison.”

“No... no... no!” she said.

I thought she might be on the verge of tears.

“Why are you asking me these questions when you should be asking John Melvin?” she said, shouting at Belson suddenly.

Belson smiled.

“I plan to do that first thing in the morning, as a matter of fact,” Belson said.

I asked if I could ride along, if I promised to be good.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he said.

I told him I’d take that as a yes.

“Maybe you’ll learn something,” Belson said.