GARY EISENHOWER CAME to my office on Monday morning, while I was reading the paper.

“You know,” I said, as he sat down. “I don’t think I’ve ever disagreed with anything in Doonesbury.”

“Doonesbury?”

“Guy’s always on the money,” I said.

“Yeah, right,” Gary said. “Beth Jackson’s husband got killed.”

“I know that,” I said.

“You know anything more?” Gary said.

“He was shot twice in the head in the parking garage at International Place,” I said.

“They know who did it?”

“No.”

“They got any suspects?” Gary said.

“No.”

“What about Beth?”

“She’s got an ironclad alibi,” I said.

“No, I mean, is she safe?”

“Don’t know,” I said.

“You’re not giving her security?”

“Nope.”

“But,” Gary said, “the letter said both of them, and obviously they meant it.”

“She told me to get lost,” I said.

“Don’t you hate when that happens,” Gary said.

“You get used to it,” I said.

Gary grinned.

“Wouldn’t know,” he said. “I see Boo around, maybe he’s looking out for her.”

“Boo?”

“Yeah.”

“Without Zel?” I said.

“Haven’t seen Zel,” Gary said. “Maybe they broke up.”

I nodded.

“Cops talk to you yet?” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Detective named Belson.”

“How’d that go,” I said.

“I’m clear,” he said. “I was cultivating a new client. Belson talked with her. Told her he saw no need to involve her husband.”

“New client a member at Pinnacle Fitness?”

He smiled.

“Sure,” he said. “Thing keeps working, you don’t go to something else.”

“You seen Beth,” I said. “Since the murder?”

“Yeah. She’s not devastated.”

“She got the money,” I said.

“Yep, and she’s talking about her and me picking up again.”

“So you’re not exactly devastated,” I said.

“Money’s good,” he said. “But I kind of like it when they ain’t free as a bird, you know? They got a husband and don’t want to leave him, makes everything work better for me.”

“How’s Estelle feel about Beth?” I said.

“She likes her,” Gary said.

“She doesn’t mind your client list?” I said.

“Naw,” Gary said. “Estelle’s pretty cool. The whole blackmail scheme was more hers than mine, tell you the truth.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Gary said. “She used to do some videotape work, training clients, you know?”

“So the hidden cameras were her doing,” I said.

“Yeah,” Gary said. “Behind every successful man…”

“And she doesn’t mind sharing you with other women,” I said.

“No,” Gary said. “She…” He paused. “The first time we started using the hidden cameras and the voice recorders, it was for her.”

“You mean so she could watch and listen?”

“Yeah,” Gary said. “It turns her on.”

I nodded.

“How’d you feel about it?” I said.

“Well, you know, it was a little creepy at first.”

He looked at the back of his hands for a moment. Then he looked up and smiled.

“But I’m a laid-back guy.”

“And your partners in bed?” I said.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them was the way we looked at it.”

“Until you started the blackmail.”

“It was a good parlay for us,” Gary said.

“You and Estelle.”

“Yeah,” Gary said. “In most deals there’s winners and losers, you know?”

“And your clients were the losers.”

“I suppose,” Gary said. “But nobody got hurt very bad. They liked the sex. I liked the sex. They were married to money. I only wanted some of it. Estelle and me were living pretty high up on the hog. Hell, Beth still wants to be with me, and, by the way, so does Abigail Larson.”

I nodded.

“Abigail’s a drinker,” Gary said.

“Yep.”

“Estelle says it makes her unreliable, and we shouldn’t waste time with her.”

“She still giving you money?”

“Naw, I…” He paused. “I’m a little embarrassed, but I sort of gave you my word on the blackmail.”

“So you won’t take her money?”

“Nope. Beth’s, either. I mean, before her husband got killed.”

“But you’re still having sex,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “I figured that wasn’t part of the promise.”

“I like a man with standards,” I said.

I FOUND ZEL AND BOO sharing a two-bedroom apartment in Jamaica Plain. There was linoleum on all the floors and a soapstone sink in the kitchen. Zel answered the door.

“Come in,” Zel said. And nodded toward one of the empty chairs at the kitchen table. “Have a seat.”

Boo was seated at the kitchen table, in his undershirt, reading The Herald. He stood when Zel let me in and left the room. Zel watched him go and put his hand out to stop me and stood between me and the door that Boo had left through. In a moment Boo returned with a gun.

“Put it away, Boo,” Zel said.

Boo pointed the gun at us.

“Get out of the way,” he said to Zel.

“Put it away,” Zel said, and walked slowly toward Boo, keeping himself between us.

I focused on the gun in Boo’s hand. It was a semiautomatic, maybe a.40-caliber. The hammer was back. His finger was on the trigger. If I saw any sign of finger movement I would go down and roll. I adjusted slightly to keep Zel between us.

“Get out of the way, Zel,” Boo said again.

Zel took another step and reached out and took hold of the gun. Boo stared at him, his face squeezed tight, then let Zel take it. Zel eased the hammer down and put the gun in his hip pocket.

“I do the gun work, Boo,” Zel said. “You know that.”

Boo nodded slowly, then turned and left the room again. “He got another gun?” I said.

“No,” Zel said. “He’s going in there to sulk.”

“How bad is he?” I said.

“In the head?” Zel said, and shrugged. “You saw him, he drops his hands when he fights. He always has.”

“So he’s had his brain rattled.”

“A lot,” Zel said.

“Can he take care of himself?”

“Not against a guy like you,” Zel said. “Amateurs, he does fine. He can still punch.”

“I meant can he take care of himself in general,” I said. “You know, buy food, balance his checkbook, go to the dentist?”

“I take care of him,” Zel said.

“Been doing that long?”

“Yeah.”

We sat for a minute. Zel sat across the table from me, where he could watch the door to the room that Boo had gone to.

“You got any work now that Jackson got aced?” I said.

“Not right now, but I’m making some calls. People know me.”

“Seen Mrs. Jackson at all?”

“Not since her old man got whacked,” Zel said.

“Know why Jackson got whacked?” I said.

“No.”

“Know who did it?”

“No.”

“Any suggestions?” I said.

“How’d he get it,” Zel said. “I know he got shot, but cops wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

“Two in the head,” I said. “One from about eight feet. One from about three inches.”

“Proves it ain’t me. The one from eight feet woulda been enough.”

“That a forty-caliber you took away from Boo?” I said.

“Never noticed,” Zel said. “Jackson capped with a forty.”

“Yep.”

“Boo ain’t much of a shooter,” Zel said.

“From eight feet you don’t have to be much of a shooter,” I said.

“You any good?” Zel said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Know anybody better?”

“Two guys,” I said. “Vinnie Morris, guy from L.A. named Chollo… maybe Hawk.”

“That’s three,” Zel said.

“So maybe three,” I said.

“I hearda Vinnie Morris,” Zel said.

“You as good as Vinnie,” I said.

“Ain’t been determined,” Zel said.

“How come you weren’t with Jackson when he got shot,” I said. “I sorta thought that was your job.”

“Told us to take the day off,” Zel said. “Said he didn’t need us.”

“Was Boo with you when Jackson was shot?” I said.