“So what does a trained investigator do when business is slow?”

“Live deliberately and front only the essential aspects of life.”

“Such as sandwiches.”

I nodded and picked up the morning Globe. I tossed Z the front page and kept the sports and comics for myself. As he started to read, I furtively reached into my desk for a pair of reading glasses. Once in focus, Arlo & Janis were at it again.

The phone rang.

“Spenser? It’s Kinjo, I need you quick.” His voice sounded tight and high-pitched. I took my feet off the windowsill and cradled the phone to my ear. Z put down the paper and stared at me.

“They got him,” he said. “They fucking snatched him, man.”

“Who?”

“Whoever was following me took Akira.”

I waited a beat, my eyes lifting to Z. He listened with intent.

“Could he be with Nicole?”

“I know when my kid is gone. Cristal was taking him to school and two men with guns jacked her at a red light and took him. Nicole blames me. She’s coming over right now.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Hell, yes, I called the police,” he said. “Spenser, help me. That kid is everything. I don’t care what it costs. I don’t care. I want these motherfuckers dead.”

10

When we arrived, there was a lot of activity on Chestnut Hill. Dozens of cop cars, marked and unmarked, hugged Heath Street in both directions, up and down the winding hill. Z and I parked a good bit away and walked to the top of the Heywood driveway. Two Brookline uniform cops stopped us before we even reached a mailbox.

They asked who we were. I told them and asked who was in charge.

“Captain O’Leary,” one cop said.

“Anyone from the staties?”

The cop studied Z’s profile and pressed a radio mic on his collar. Some garbled bit of radio noise returned a few seconds later. “Detective Lieutenant Lundquist.”

“Tell Lundquist Spenser is here,” I said.

“He know you?” the cop said.

“Yeah,” I said. “I promise to brighten his day.”

“I thought Lundquist was Homicide under Healy,” Z said.

I shrugged. “Nothing gold can stay.”

The Brookline cop nodded at me but held up his hand to stop Z. “Only Spenser.”

“It’s okay,” Z said. “While I wait, I can water the horses. Give them oats.”

The cops looked at each other in confusion. I followed the sloping drive to the large stone house. At a side door, I was ushered in and taken into a study, where Kinjo Heywood sat holding court in an overstuffed white leather chair. Cristal slumped on a nearby white couch, head in hands, crying. Lundquist sat wide-legged on an ottoman across from Kinjo, taking notes. The house was thick with cops. A few had set up laptop computers on a large dining room table, orange cords running into the wall.

I shook Lundquist’s hand.

He was a sturdy man who looked as if he’d just stepped off a farm in the Midwest. He had reddish apple cheeks and clear blue eyes. His red hair had been recently shaved into a crew cut. The clothes were plain: gray slacks, white shirt, and glen plaid sport coat.

“Transfer?” I said.

“Promotion,” he said. “Healy signed off on it. Said it was time.”

Cristal’s sobs developed into wails, face in hands, shoulders shaking. Lundquist looked back at her with mild annoyance.

“I tried to help,” she said. “But I froze. God, why did I freeze like that? I stopped at a light and these two men opened the door. They had guns. They said they were going to blow my fucking head off if I moved an inch.”

Kinjo looked at the floor. His large hands were clasped in front of him as he took a deep breath.

“They just threw him inside and sped off,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lundquist said. “We’ve been through all this.”

“I tried,” she said. “I swear to Christ. I really tried to follow them. But they were too fast and I got lost.”

Kinjo continued to look at the floor. His jaw muscles flexed. He rubbed his mustache and goatee with nervous energy.

“We’re looking for the vehicle,” Lundquist said. “Sounds like an old Crown Vic. Dark green. And we’d like you to check out some photo packs. See if you recognize them.”

“Sure,” Cristal said. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

In the harsh light, Lundquist’s cheeks were reddened and chapped. Small acne scars ran down his cheeks and across his neck. His eyes flicked on mine. “Spenser’s been working for you?” Lundquist said.

Kinjo nodded.

“Because you’d been recently followed?” Lundquist said. “And thought someone might want to do you harm?”

“Yeah.”

“Any ideas?”

Kinjo looked up at me. I shook my head.

His eyes trailed away and studied the floor. “I thought maybe I’d gone crazy,” he said. “Got followed that one time and I pulled a gun. I thought they were on me, not my son. I thought it was somebody wanted to take me out. Something personal. What kind of coward comes for a child? He’s a kid, man. He’s just a fucking kid.”

Cristal cried harder and snuffled some. I did not look back, leaning into the doorjamb, hands in my jacket pockets, letting Lundquist take the lead.

“We have people at the school and in the neighborhood where you stopped,” Lundquist said. “We hope someone saw something.”

“What time?” I said.

“Nine-one-one call was made about eight-twenty.”

“God, he was running late to school,” Cristal said. “What will Nicole say?”

Kinjo looked up, eyes sleepy, and looked at her. “Not your fault,” he said. “I should’ve taken him myself. He’s my child. Never thought it was about him. Got my goddamn head up my ass.”

“I’m sorry,” Cristal said. “I’m so sorry.”

The Pats’ security chief, Jeff Barnes, walked into the study, looked to Lundquist and then looked to me with clenched jaw. “You, out of here,” he said, jerking a thumb. “This has nothing to do with you. Go.”

“I called him,” Kinjo said. “I want him here.”

Barnes wore a tight-fitting blue suit, a crisp white shirt, and no tie. He reeked of aftershave and breath mints and kept on shaking his head, eyes fixed on mine. “Did you bring some Mexican guy with you? Police can’t get him to move his car, said he was with you.”

“He’s Cree Indian,” I said. “And yes, he’s with me.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck if he’s the king of Siam,” Barnes said. “You need to get out of here. This is mine. I’m in charge.”

I looked to Lundquist and raised my eyebrows. I had not moved a millimeter from the doorjamb. I felt inside my pocket and found some gum. I took some out and started to chew it. That’ll show ’im.

Lundquist stood up and faced Barnes, hands on hips and dead-eyed. “I’m Detective Lieutenant Brian Lundquist of the Mass state police. And who the hell are you?”

Barnes reached into his tight-fitting coat and pulled out a business card with the Pats logo. Lundquist read it and handed it back to him.

“I’m speaking to Mr. Heywood right now,” Lundquist said. “Wait in the next room and we’ll talk.”

Barnes looked at me and said, “And what about Spenser?”

“He works for Mr. Heywood,” Lundquist said. “He can stay as legal representation. And he can also stay because he’s not acting like a horse’s ass and giving me a migraine. Now wait for me in the next goddamn room, Jeff.”

I did not react as Barnes passed me and walked into the kitchen. No reason to be smug.

“You need to stick here,” Lundquist said, turning to Kinjo. “I don’t want you or your wife to leave. Not for a while. I don’t want you to make any calls or talk to anyone that isn’t crucial.”

“I can’t just sit here on my ass and wait for y’all,” Kinjo said. “Some shitbags just snatched my child. How can I just sit down here and wait to see what happens?”

“We can connect with both your landline and your cell phone,” Lundquist said. “You need to let us know about all your e-mail accounts, Facebook, Twitter, or whatever you use.”