“Quincy? I thought you lived around here.”

“We moved a few months ago.”

“Why can’t you get that stuff yourself?”

“Because I’m afraid my husband”-she glanced down at Harvey-“my soon-to-be-ex-husband will kill me.”

“Did he threaten you?”

She wrapped her arms around her as if a sudden draft had blown through. “The last time he beat me, he nearly killed me.”

I looked for visible bruises or scars. That she didn’t have any didn’t mean she was lying, but we had done work before for women who had been beaten down by men they loved. The battering didn’t always leave physical evidence, but it never failed to leave some part of them shattered, some part they couldn’t hide. Rachel looked whole to me.

“What did the police say?”

“You know how that is.” She laughed nervously. “I have no real recourse until he kills me.”

“Do you have a restraining order?”

“Yes. But he has two legs and a car, and when he’s drinking, there’s nothing that’ll stop him.”

“Why come to us?”

“Because Harvey’s a private investigator.” She stood up, stepped behind Harvey, and settled one hand on each of his shoulders. “I didn’t know about his current condition. I wish someone had told me things had gotten this bad.” She glared at me as though I were personally responsible for his MS.

Harvey seemed torn between basking in her attention and wanting to dive under his wheelchair. Public displays of affection were not his thing.

“Rachel,” I said, “do you mind giving us a minute?”

She looked down at Harvey. He found her hand, pulled it down to his lips, and kissed it. They locked eyes and held that pose until he nodded. I sensed the slightest bit of triumph behind her smile as she passed without looking at me. I had known the woman all of ten minutes, and I couldn’t stand her. Of course, I had despised the idea of her and what she had done to Harvey almost since I had known him.

To Harvey, Rachel was an angel, the only woman except his mother who had ever loved him. That she had dumped him for a younger, prettier boy when he’d been diagnosed mattered not, because love makes you stupid. But when I looked at her picture, I had always seen something in her eyes that made me think she wasn’t the angel he thought her to be.

“Please, forgive me.” Harvey was clearly embarrassed, and yet he couldn’t stop smiling. “That was-”

“Look, Harvey, you’re an adult, and your business is your business.” I went over, sat on the couch, and looked across the tea service at him. “But isn’t she still married?”

“Separated.”

“How long?”

“Eight months.”

The question was, what did she want? Harvey didn’t have any money. Neither one of us did. “Do you believe-” Scratch that. He obviously believed her. “Has her husband been stalking her?”

“I did not ask.”

“Did you know that her husband was abusing her?”

“No.”

“Has she called you even once over the past four years?”

“No.” He fiddled with the loose leather cushion on the arm of the wheelchair. I’d been meaning to tighten it and kept forgetting. “Nor have I called her.”

“Is she planning on sticking around after we collect her stuff for her? I mean, I hate to be so skeptical, but doesn’t this all seem to be coming out of the blue and moving really, really fast?”

He started to huff and puff. “You would expect what? That I would say no? That I would throw her out of my house and leave her to her own devices?”

Her own devices seemed to be in fine working order to me. “If I’m not mistaken, she tried to take this house from you in the divorce proceedings.”

“Are you telling me that you will not take this assignment?”

“Is she paying us?” He stared at me as if I’d just poked him in the eye. How had I become the bad guy? “She left you, Harvey. She hurt you. Now she wants you to help her out of a jam with the guy she left you for. I’m only…I’m just asking that you be sure before you get involved with her again.”

“She came to me because she trusts me.” His voice was quiet but firm. “I could no more turn her away than I could turn you away in a time of need.”

There it was. In one deft stroke, he had revealed the essence of his relationship with each of us, stated his priorities, and ended the discussion. Rachel could ask him to walk over hot coals in his bare feet, and he would ask me to hold his shoes. I would do it because I would do anything for him. I sat back and started getting used to the idea of working for Rachel.

“I’ll do it for you, Harvey. Not for her.”

He took off his glasses, found a cloth in his saddlebag, and cleaned them with a determination that wasn’t required. He put the glasses back on and looked at me with a steady gaze as he folded the cloth. “Thank you.”

I went over to the door and called Rachel back in. Harvey beamed at her. “We will be more than happy to help you with your problem.”

She smiled for him, and I got a bad feeling.

THERE WERE TWO WAYS TO GET TO QUINCY. YOU EITHER took the red line on the T, or you sat on I-93 along with everyone else trying to go south through the Big Dig construction. I decided not to waste my hour in traffic, so the minute I hit the end of the on ramp and inched into the flow, I grabbed my cell phone and turbo-dialed Dan.

“Majestic Airlines, Dan Fallacaro.”

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“I’m working, Shanahan. I don’t have time.”

“Wait…”

“What?”

“You’re going to want to hear this.” I filled him in on how I’d found Harvey in a clinch with his ex-wife.

“Are you shitting me? You’re talking about our Harvey, right?”

I was talking about our Harvey. Dan Fallacaro was the mutual friend who had introduced us. Dan had worked for me during my brief but eventful tenure as the general manager for Majestic Airlines at Logan. The murky circumstances of my departure from that job had left me virtually unemployable in the airline business. The circumstances weren’t murky to Dan, and he had worked hard to help me get started in my new life as a private investigator. He knew a forensic accountant who had done some financial work for him in the matter of his divorce from his lunatic ex-wife. Harvey Baltimore needed a partner with fresh legs, or…just legs. I needed work. Dan had made the match.

“She was macking on him?”

“Sitting on his lap,” I said, “right there in his wheelchair.”

“Woo-hoo! Harvey’s getting some. Good for him.”

“I don’t know about that.” I was stuck behind a belching bus, so I started plotting a lane change. “But if I hadn’t interrupted them…”

“I wonder if he can still do it.”

“If you want to know that, you’ll have to ask him yourself.”

“Is she hot? She never looked hot in that picture he’s got. She looked like a girl in my catechism class in ninth grade.”

“Rachel is Jewish.”

“Yeah, but with that long, wavy dark hair parted down the middle, she looked just like Katey Ellen O’Meara.”

“She doesn’t look anything like that now. She looks like a tomboy.” The Volvo next to me was lagging in the pace, so I nosed the Durango in front of him. “She has really short hair…no makeup…basketball shoes.”

“It’s hard to look hot in high-tops.” I heard his phone ringing, the one that wasn’t cellular, and realized I had caught him in a rare moment in his office. Usually, he was out walking his operation, monitoring the ticket counter, or lifting tickets at the gate. The labor agreement prevented him from performing the union’s work on the ramp. That didn’t keep him from telling them how to do it.

Molly’s voice floated in from the background. “You’re late for your ten-thirty, Danny. Get your ass over to Mass-port before they call me again.” She hadn’t changed a bit since she’d been my assistant.

“Tell Molly I said hi.”

There was a pause. “She says to get off the goddamn phone and let me get to my meeting.”