“So you know what’s on the table,” she said. “The DA is obviously aware you’re working on Dillon’s case. That’s why they also agreed to drop charges against you. On the condition you won’t return to the city.”

“And I’d grown so fond of it.”

“No one ever mentioned a taped interview with Miss Golnick,” Megan said. “I’m betting she recanted her story. But since I got her out of jail, neither she nor her parents will answer my phone calls.”

“How grateful is that?”

“At least she didn’t accuse me of a crime.” Megan reached for her satchel and turned to Sheila Yates. She pulled out a single piece of paper and handed it over to her. “They faxed this over this morning. It’s a lot of fancy wording saying you will not pursue a civil complaint against the Blackburn Courts or Middlesex County. Someone is telling the cops to make this all go away.”

“Fat chance,” Sheila said, not reading the paper and handing it back.

“If you don’t sign it, they won’t release Dillon.”

“And my continuing to poke around would violate the terms of Dillon’s release,” I said.

“Not stated,” Megan said. “But heavily implied.”

“Can’t get me for being a pervert,” I said. “But they can threaten to punish my client.”

A long line had formed at the cash register. A middle-aged woman in a knitted red hat was having a hard time deciding between coffee and tea. She was asking the cashier which ones she’d prefer. Those behind her were growing agitated. I had ten to one that the woman was on the tenure track in Harvard’s English department.

“When I get my son back, I’m leaving,” Sheila Yates said. “I can find another job. I can’t run the risk of them arresting him again. And to release him with threats? I don’t like this. I don’t like this a bit.”

“I’m not very good at being told what to do.”

“I plan on sending them our own waiver,” Megan said, sipping coffee, her hazel eyes very big but not quite innocent over the rim of the cup. “Where the terms are more definite and applying only to a civil suit. If that’s what you want.”

Sheila Yates turned to me. She rested her hand on mine and looked me in the eye. “You,” she said. “You give ’em hell. I’m taking Dillon so far away from here they won’t ever find him. As soon as he’s off that fucking island, bust these crooks up. Okay? You do that for me?”

I smiled. She patted my hand.

“What’s wrong with these people?” Sheila said. “Jesus. They’re either greedy or lazy or just plain stupid.”

“All that’s needed for evil to triumph—” I said.

“Is some dirty, sneaky bastards,” Sheila said.

“Nobody ever said it better.”

33

Okay,” Vinnie said. “There’s this guy. A lawyer. His name is Ziggy Swatek.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“You think I’d make up a fucking name like that?”

“I guess you’re right,” I said. “Nobody in their right mind would.”

“You were asking me about the DeMarcos and this developer named Talos,” he said. “So Zig is kind of like their . . .”

“Common denominator.”

“Exactly,” Vinnie said. “They all work together, too.”

We stood at the railing overlooking the bowling lanes. Vinnie had a cigarette hanging from his lips, despite several signs around the premises forbidding smoking. Several lanes away, two old men in tracksuits took turns knocking the hell out of the pins. I had stopped counting after six strikes in a row. Vinnie eyed me for a moment and blew out some smoke.

“He’s a real shitbag,” Vinnie said.

“Give it to me straight,” I said. “Don’t pull any punches.”

“Man doesn’t have any style,” Vinnie said. “He has a picture of himself on his legal website. He’s standing by a Harley and he’s wearing a leather vest with no shirt.”

“Not a good look.”

“No,” Vinnie said. “And he don’t even have the arms for it.”

“I don’t think anyone can pull off a leather vest.”

“I don’t like these people,” he said. “None of them. Ten years ago, old man DeMarco tried to have Gino whacked just for being queer.”

“I imagine he had some territory to gain as well.”

“Yeah,” Vinnie said. “That, too. But mainly he couldn’t cut up a piece of the pie with a guy like Gino. Behind his back, he called Gino all kind of names and said he was an embarrassment to the city’s Italian community.”

“But robbing, stealing, and killing is good for the image?”

Vinnie shrugged. He blew out some more smoke. I’d forgotten how much I disliked being around it. I took off my ball cap and waved away the smoke. Vinnie smiled.

“Nobody can say the old man wasn’t stand-up,” he said. “He did a twenty-year stretch. Never opened his mouth.”

“And he died a free man.”

“So this guy, fucking Ziggy, now looks out for the old lady who’s like a hundred years old and the two sons.”

“Let me guess, they went into the arts?”

“Yeah,” Vinnie said. “The art of making money.”

“Any specialty?”

“Doesn’t matter—girls, drugs, plasma TVs from China,” he said. “They run a tow-truck company in Eastie. By the airport. The older one is in charge, Jackie.”

“What’s he look like?” I said.

Vinnie described him. I nodded.

“You’ve seen him?”

“Last night,” I said. “In the company of two Blackburn judges.”

“Maybe they needed their car towed?”

I shook my head. “So what’s Zig to Jackie DeMarco and his brother?”

“I don’t know,” Vinnie said. “He’s a professional bag man. He ain’t Perry Mason.”

We stood leaning over the railing watching the two old geezers bowl. One of the men wore a warm-up jacket that read LOWELL CHIEFS. The other said LYNNFIELD MEN’S SOFTBALL. Beer bottles littered the table where they kept score.

“So that’s not much,” I said. “Zig does work for a Boston developer and some local gangsters. Can’t really fault him for that.”

“Alleged,” Vinnie said. “Alleged gangsters. None of the DeMarco boys have been indicted.”

“Momma must be proud.”

Vinnie walked over to a table by the lanes and crushed the cigarette into an ashtray. He had on a blue cashmere blazer and gray slacks. His tailored blue shirt was open at the neck, where he wore a thick gold chain that spoiled the preppy ensemble.

“Only thing else I know is Ziggy does most of his business in Florida,” he said. “He helps get some folks settled down there and into business.”

“You know where?” I said.

“Tampa Bay.”

“Tampa Bay is a body of water,” I said. “Is he in Tampa or St. Pete?”

Vinnie shrugged. “Why don’t you look it up,” he said. “You being a fucking detective and all.”

“The two judges’ wives do business in that area,” I said. “They own a travel agency and some rental property.”

“Fly down,” he said. “Go get a tan and drink some beer.”

“And detect.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That, too.”

“You want to come?” I said.

Vinnie shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not anymore. I got business to attend.”

“I’ll ask Hawk.”

“He doesn’t need a tan.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

Vinnie grinned and pointed his chin at the two old men down the lanes. “You ever think it’ll be like that for us?” he said.

“I don’t bowl,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Or play golf.”

“I don’t mean that,” Vinnie said. “I mean retire. Take it easy. Get out of the life.”

“I live the life I love.”

“And you love the life you live,” Vinnie said. “Yeah. I know that old number.”

I winked at him, started to whistle the tune, and walked out of the bowling alley. It was snowing while I called to make reservations to Tampa.