Skin Deep

62

“It could be his daughter,” Dacey said.

Steve felt the C-clamp tighten on his chest again. “What do you mean?”

“He might have given her his card and she bought them for herself.”

That very thought had occurred to him, but he said, “Except I’ve only seen him give her cash in the past.”

“Maybe he was low.”

“I doubt he’d let her wear them.”

“Like that’s going to stop a sixteen-year-old.” Dacey took a sip of her beer. “All I know is that this sucks.”

“I’ll say.”

Well, Bunky, back to door number three. And you still haven’t explained your prints on the mailbox. No, but it could have been his daughter.

They were sitting at a rear booth in Punjab on Massachusetts Avenue in Arlington center. The place was ten miles from Boston and Neil hated Indian food, which meant that there was no chance of his showing up. Just in case, Vaughn was on him.

Steve and Dacey were splitting an order of samosas, chicken tandoori, a vegetable biryani, and some naan. Dacey had a Taj Mahal and Steve had iced green tea.

Dacey clicked his glass. “To Mr. Virtuous.”

“Yeah, and no more days of cakes and ale.” He sipped his tea. “Spicy Indian food and iced green tea. I feel like some kind of exotic Amish.”

Dacey snickered and guzzled her beer. “How long you been off the booze?”

Steve checked his watch. “One hundred and twenty-one hours, eleven minutes. But who counts?”

“Must be a bitch.”

“Especially watching you drink your Taj Mahal.”

“It only makes you stronger.”

Dacey ate some food and washed it down with beer. Steve sipped his tea.

“He came in this morning to get some things from his desk and I go, ‘Hey, Neil, how you doing?’ And he looks at me with a crazed look and goes, ‘How the fuck you think I’m doing?’ Then he stomps out. I think maybe Reardon’s right, like he’s ready to pop.”

“Hogan said the same thing. Bumped into him this morning and gave him an icy stare with barely a word.”

“So what the hell do we do? The magistrate says no search warrant and Neil’s like smoking dynamite.”

On the application they had listed all the evidence, including the Wolford’s purchase, but it came back to them with a flat “Insufficient evidence.” “From the court’s point of view, he’s right. We’ve got circumstantials and no probable cause. And Reardon’s too skittish to step over the line.”

“But what about his daughter?”

“What about her?”

“She’s a handful to begin with, and now with the suspension he’s got to be stretched,” Dacey said. “I mean, I’m having nightmares that he snaps and takes a gun to her and himself.”

Steve ate some of the chicken and drank more tea.

“So what do we do?”

“Grass.”

“Grass?”

“Stuff tastes like boiled grass. Which means I’ll probably never get prostate cancer.”

Dacey snorted. “I’ll take my chances,” she said, and flagged the waiter for a second beer.

Steve rubbed his face. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“Well, if you saw him this morning, you’d wonder if he’s sitting on stuff that could make the difference.”

Make the difference. Him or me.

“If nothing else, it would clear some doubts. And if he’s good, call him back in and that’s that.”

Steve looked at her. “What are you talking about?”

She took a sip of beer and wiped her mouth. “Plan B.”