Widow’s Walk

CHAPTER FIFTY

Levesque’s statement was sort of complete, but the essence of it was that his old friend Mary Toricelli Smith had given him the gun to dispose of, and he had kept it instead.

“Said he’d never had a gun,” Quirk told us on the ride back to Boston. “Said he held on to it because he’d always wanted one and maybe it would come in handy someday.”

“It came in handy for someone,” I said.

“Levesque says he was Mary Toricelli’s boyfriend, before and after she married Smith. Says that Mr. and Mrs. Smith had an open marriage. Smith with boys, her with him, Levesque.”

“We believe his story?”

“Sounded true to me,” Quirk said.

“Too scared to lie?”

“Be my guess,” Quirk said.

“They coulda been in it together,” Belson said.

“Sure.”

“She denies it, it’ll be her word against his.”

“Prints?” I said.

“His,” Quirk said, and smiled. “Hawk’s. Nothing else we can use. Gun’s been handled a lot.”

“Powder residue?”

“Too long ago,” Quirk said.

“Smith had ten million dollars’ life insurance.”

“Coulda killed him for his money,” Belson said. “And when everything died down, she moves the boyfriend in.”

“You had Smith’s money,” Quirk said, “would you move Roy Levesque in?”

“He ain’t my type,” Belson said. “But it seems like he was hers.”

“He say how Mary Toricelli met Nathan Smith?” I said.

“He didn’t say.”

“Might be good to know,” I said.

“I’ll get to it,” Quirk said.

“So where does all the other stuff fit?” I said.

“Like?”

“Like Brinkman the broker, and Amy Peters, and Soldiers Field Development, and Marvin Conroy, and the kid I killed in Southie, and Jack DeRosa and his girlfriend, for instance,” I said.

“You always been picky,” Quirk said.

“You ask him any of that?”

“I’ll get to it.”

“We going to talk with her?” I said.

“We? All of a sudden it’s we?”

“I want to make sure you don’t start whacking her in the face,” I said.

“I’m going to call her attorney,” Quirk said. “Have her come in with Mrs. Smith for a dignified interview.”

“Homicide commander doesn’t usually get down to this level of nitty-gritty,” I said. “Does he? Or she?”

“In this case, he,” Quirk said. “Lotta people been killed. And the suspect is worth a large amount of money.”

“So you’re hearing about it.”

“Mayor’s up for reelection,” Quirk said. “He’s been bragging about the crime rate.”

“So you’re showing a laudable hands-on interest.”

Quirk nodded. He might have almost smiled a little.

“And there are personnel issues,” he said.

Belson kept his eyes on the road as he spoke over his right shoulder.

“I told Quirk I’d take early retirement,” he said, “before I’d go one-on-one with Mary Smith again.”

“The power of dumb,” I said.