Connie pulled over when the call came in. His radio was the most important tool for keeping on top of the action in real time. It could be cleared as shots fired. Or there might be a shooting victim.

He listened carefully.

“Three callers report hearing shots from the area of Greenhay and Magnolia,” the calm voice of the dispatcher anounced.

Connie thought about turning around and going to the area, but he didn’t want to waste time. No point unless the police confirmed someone had been shot.

One of the responding officers radioed back. “Negative. I got nothing out here.”

No witnesses.

No ballistics.

No victim.

Connie took his foot off the brake and continued on home. If anything turned up, a message would go out to all the alpha pagers. Like the one Connie wore on his belt, a gift from the captain at District 2. With the alpha pager, Connie got the same notification the BPD brass got whenever there was a shooting, homicide, hostage situation, any major occurrence in the city.

He was tired. He headed down Blue Hill Avenue and took a right onto American Legion Highway. He’d be home in ten, fifteen minutes tops.

The radio crackled. The call sign indicated the Rapid Response car on Magnolia. “Bravo one-o-one,” the patrolman’s voice rose with nervous energy. “I got something behind Nine-thirty Magnolia. An abandoned house. I need a patrol supervisor out here and EMTs. I think we need to make notifications.”

They had a body.

Connie spun into a quick U-turn at a break in the island that ran down the center of American Legion Highway. The tires squealed as he put the pedal to the floor and raced back toward District 2. The heart of Roxbury.

Alves checked his beeping alpha pager. Shooting on Magnolia. One body. Male. The good news? The victim wasn’t wearing a tux.

The other good news was that Alves wasn’t on call tonight. He pulled his car into the driveway. It was almost eleven o’clock, and he’d just left Mooney. The minivan was parked in the driveway ahead of him. Lights were on in the bathroom and kitchen. Marcy might still be awake.

Alves hadn’t been home much since Iris had found the bodies two nights ago. He had only seen Marcy for a few minutes earlier in the day when he stopped in to shower and shave. Iris and Angel had already gone to school, and Marcy had given him the silent treatment. It wasn’t the usual silent treatment, the one he got for working late and leaving her to deal with all the kids’ activities. It was clear she was angry that he’d left her and the twins alone with a killer in the neighborhood.

He tried to open the front door quietly, but it stuck at the top the way it always did. He gave it a little shove with his hip, and it creaked open. Marcy was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. She didn’t look up at him. “Are you sleeping here tonight?” she asked.

“I’m in for the night,” he said, taking care not to be sarcastic with his answer.

“You sure? I was just watching the news. They found a body in Roxbury.”

“God, they’re quick. That just came across the pager, and they’re already reporting it on TV?” He walked around the table and kissed her on the top of her head. “Mooney and I aren’t on call tonight. Unless someone turns up dead dressed in formal wear, I’m not going anywhere.”

She didn’t smile.

“How’s Iris?” he asked. “She make it through school today?”

Marcy nodded. “My mother picked them up at school. She had them all day. Said they were okay. Iris was a little withdrawn. Spent most of the day in her room reading. Mom left an hour ago, when I got home.”

It hit him. Marcy was teaching three classes this semester. A full time workload for a part-time professor. She usually taught two sections, Tuesdays and Thursday in the late morning. That way she could send the kids off to school and be home in time to meet them at the bus. Her schedule got thrown off this semester when one of the full-time professors took a medical leave, sticking Marcy with two afternoon classes and a night class. They had decided that she would get the kids out the door in the morning and her mom would be there for them in the afternoon. Alves agreed that he would come home early and help out. He figured he could manage since it was only two days a week. The first day with the new system and he’d already blown it. “I’m sorry, honey. I forgot. I’ll be early on Thursday.”

“That’s okay. You do your work,” she said, her voice thick with sarcasm. “The kids will be fine. They can just eat Cheerios out of the box. And my mother loves having them for eight hours straight, twice a week. It’s good for her arthritis to stay out until ten, eleven o’clock at night. And, sweetheart, it’s not like anything bad ever happens in our neighborhood. We haven’t had a double homicide in two whole days.”

What could he say? She was right. He shouldn’t open his mouth, but once he started talking it was too late to take the words back. “Honey, I understand how you feel, but I know that this neighborhood is safe.”

“Don’t patronize me, Angel.”

“Marcy, the killer didn’t attack anyone in this neighborhood. He could have dumped those bodies anywhere in the city.”

“But he didn’t. He left them right here, practically on our doorstep. He left them for our daughter to find. If he wanted you to find them he could have dropped them off at One Schroeder Plaza.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I? What would have happened if she had found the bodies while your killer was still tying them up?”

He didn’t allow the thought. It was more than he could take.

“I didn’t think you’d have an answer for that one.” Marcy dumped the rest of her coffee in the sink. “I’ve decided to take the kids and live at my mother’s for a couple weeks. Till you solve the case. Her house is not that far out of your way. You can stop by and visit whenever you’re off duty.”

She left him standing by the kitchen table, his head spinning with the news.

Sergeant Detective Ray Figgs downed another shot of Johnnie Walker Red. The Tap in Dudley Square was good for a quick drink. Or eight of them. It was better than going home and watching reality shows until he passed out on the couch. Or sitting with his father in the rehab. First he needed a cigarette. Thanks to the mayor and the city council and the freaking state legislature, he couldn’t smoke in the bar. He’d have to go stand on the sidewalk with the other holdouts, sweating in the summer and freezing their butts off in the winter. It was ridiculous how he and the other smokers were punished for fueling the economy, spending their money in bars, tipping the waitresses and bartenders, supporting half the state’s social programs with the cigarette tax. Not to mention Keno.

Ray Figgs reached into his jacket pocket for his last cigarette, a crumpled-up soft pack of the no-name brand sold at Economy Gas on Blue Hill Ave. As he fumbled for the pack, he felt his pager vibrating. He had five unanswered pages, three from Operations and two from Inch O’Neill, his partner. Inchie was a good detective. Didn’t need babysitting, did things on his own. Figgs checked his alpha pager and saw that a male had been killed on Magnolia Street.

He settled up his tab, grabbed a few handfuls of salted peanuts, folded them into a cocktail napkin and shoved it into his sports jacket pocket. He took another handful and tossed them in his mouth. He would chew them on the ride. He was really going to need the nuts tonight. He was the on-call Homicide Sergeant and he was already late getting to a crime scene.