“I think she pretty much interned with Professor Rose,” she said. “Some of the students did that. But it was preferred that we left campus and worked in a real business setting. I just recall her always being in his office. Almost like his secretary, or a personal assistant. I thought the whole arrangement a bit weird. Maybe it was because I was always wearing sweatpants while Jemma was in haute couture.”

“You should see me on Saturday nights.”

“You seem very odd for a cop,” Stephanie said. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her knees with her arms. She stared at me, looking very much like a little girl, a bit quizzical. Her blunt-cut hair ruffled a bit in the spring breeze.

“I could not stand being a cop,” I said. “That’s why I work for myself.”

“That’s what I want,” Stephanie said. More wind kicked up on the common and you could smell the river. “My parents were first-generation. My father thought life was work. He believed that every day you must take a hard path to be a good man. You don’t seem that way.”

“I am often late for work.”

“My parents are very proud of me,” she said. “But they don’t understand why I left my job. And why I don’t take what I learned and put it in practice. I could never tell them I’m quite content to teach.”

“Makes sense to me.”

“You know, Professor Rose came back here last fall to speak,” Cho said. “He told us to be unemotional and detached in our decision making. He said you only need to know the who, what, and when, not necessarily the why.”

“I’ve been teaching an associate of mine the same thing.”

“Computational models?”

“Hoodlum ethics.”

56

Z MET ME at Danehy Park in Cambridge at sunset. People jogged along paths, and dogs frolicked about. I had decided to sort out what I learned by throwing the tennis ball to Pearl. She had spent much of the last week cooped up, which tends to make a hunting dog psychotic. So we worked out her issues by letting her sprint for the ball and return it. My arm had grown tired and I tossed the ball to Z. Pearl, tongue lolling from her mouth, showed no signs of fatigue.

“I heard about the two dead men,” Z said. “They part of the new team?”

“Healy thinks so,” I said. “Heavy hitters from Vegas. Someone wanted to make sure they were not welcome.”

“Maybe they were hired by Weinberg’s people,” Z said. “To come for the killers.”

“Or maybe they killed Weinberg and got their due.”

Z threw the ball over a rolling hill. Pearl disappeared for several moments. She appeared triumphantly with the tennis ball covered in slobber and blades of grass.

“What is Jemma saying?” I said.

Z shrugged. He watched Pearl intently.

“She won’t talk about Weinberg,” he said. “It makes her very upset.”

I nodded. Z tossed me the slobbery ball. I wound up and threw it to the moon. Pearl was off like a rocket.

“How does she treat you?” I said.

“Fine.”

“I found out today that she had been an intern for Harvey Rose,” I said. “Ten years ago at Harvard Business School.”

Z nodded.

“That was something she had not told me,” I said. “You?”

Z’s face was impassive, and he shook his head. Pearl returned. I rocketed the ball again. This time a black Lab broke into stride with Pearl but was no match for her. She beat him by three car lengths, and upon return, she teased him with the ball, nudging it to his mouth.

“Watch your step,” I said.

“She’s very scared and alone.”

I nodded.

“She said I make her feel safe.”

I nodded again.

Z took the ball from Pearl and threw it far and wide. His face was slick with rain as he stared up at the rolling hills and picnic tables. Pearl and the black Lab nuzzled each other. Pearl was faster and stronger, but for some reason, she dropped the ball in front of the Lab. I reached for the ball and threw it as far as I could.

“We had sex,” Z said.

“Uh-huh.”

“The other night,” he said. “She wanted me to come up to the room. She was naked.”

“Hard to resist.”

Z shrugged.

“I don’t know much about this woman,” I said. “But the more I know, the less I like.”

“Because she was Rose’s protégée?”

“That she didn’t mention it.”

Z nodded.

“She asks me a lot about you,” Z said. “Wants to know what you know. She asks me a lot about Rachel Weinberg, too. And wants to know about your meetings with Healy.”

Pearl returned. She looked happy and winded. A man in a red windbreaker called for the Lab, and the Lab trotted off. I placed my hand on Pearl’s head and attached her leash.

“What else?” I said.

“Jemma says you took advantage of her the other night.”

“By saving her life?”

“After,” he said. “She said you poured her a lot of drinks and that things happened.”

“She tripped on my rug and I put her to bed.”

“She said she does not remember it all,” Z said. “But she remembers you crawling on top of her in the night. And doing things.”

“You would think that I would remember, too.”

“I told her that I couldn’t trust you anymore,” Z said. “I said that you were a liar and a man without honor.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Z broke into a grin. “I said I was through with you,” he said. “But I would act as if we were still friends and pass along information.”

“Some sidekick.”

Z shrugged. He was still smiling.

“Perhaps you can find out why she kept her relationship with Harvey Rose secret?”

“If you slept with that man, wouldn’t you lie about it?”

“Most definitely.”

We walked back to our cars, taking a winding path covered with pebbles and stones. The air seemed to swell and expand, the dark, full clouds pregnant with an oncoming storm. Z walked to his car while I stopped at my Explorer.

“She does believe those dead men were coming for her,” Z said.

“Maybe so.”

“She has a lot of fear in her,” Z said.

“You would know,” I said.

“How long do we keep this up?”

“Me as the Lone Ranger?”

Z nodded.

“When we come to a fork in the road, we both take it.”

57

DESPITE MY BEST EFFORTS, nothing new was learned for two whole days. Pearl seemed unconcerned, as she had taken the entire new couch while I walked across Berkeley for a tall Starbucks coffee. I tossed her a bit of a blueberry scone, and she caught it in midair and swallowed it whole. I spread out a copy of the Globe on my desk, going right for the sports section. It was early in the season, but many were already calling for the Sox manager’s resignation. Many also doubted the salaries of several marquee players. Perhaps my job was more stress-free. Then again, ballplayers seldom dodge bullets.

After reading the box scores and checking in with Arlo & Janis, I got right into the accumulated mail. I was shocked to find a check from a previous client. And not so shocked to see a check I had sent to Mattie Sullivan torn in half and returned in a new envelope. I received an amazing offer from a local pizza chain, two for one. I put that aside. I found out I was preapproved for a credit card. That I tossed in the trash. I saved the largest envelope for last.

I slit open the edge with my thumbnail and out dropped what seemed to be a basic key fob. But on further analysis, I realized it was a flash drive. The envelope was otherwise empty. My address was computer-generated on a basic Avery label. Of course, there wasn’t a return address.