The Professional Part 27

"I'm frightened," Beth said. "I have to confide in someone. Estelle and Gary both urged me to see you."

I nodded.

"Why does your husband not want you to tell anyone?"

"I don't know. Since that time in his office, when you were there with those black men, he's changed. He's very curt with me."

"So I cannot discuss this with him," I said.

"No," she said. "I promised him."

"Promised him not to let him know you told anyone?"

"What's the difference," Beth said. "Will you help me?"

"Why not just leave him," I said. "Get out of town."

"And do what?" Beth said. "I'm thirty-four years old, and my only skill is undressing and lying on my back. Besides, that wouldn't protect him."

"Does he give you much money?" I said.

"He monitors every dime."

"So what about my fee?"

"Fee?"

"Yeah, I do this for a living," I said.

"I . . . But my life, our life, is in danger," Beth said.

"Can't you help her?" Estelle said. "Maybe we can find a way to pay you."

"Tell me more about the danger," I said.

"I don't know more," she said. "I know Chet does a lot of business with people he's never introduced me to. I know many of them are dangerous. And I know Chet is very . . . his word is cute . . . in his business practices."

"Boo and Zel still around?"

"They're taking care of Chet."

"Why not stay with Chet?"

"I can't stand to be with him like that all the time."

"And he's provided you no security?" I said.

"No. He doesn't seem to love me anymore."

"Hard to imagine," I said. "So you stay with him for the money. Why's he stay with you?"

"s.e.x."

"Well, as long as there's a bond," I said. "What would you want me to do?"

"Can't you provide security?"

"For no fee?" I said. "Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week? For how long?"

"I . . . I don't know," she said.

I sat. The two women sat. I didn't like the story. Didn't mean it wasn't true. But I didn't like it.

"I need to think about this," I said.

"And what do I do while you're thinking?" Beth said.

"We'll go to a hotel," I said. "I'll register, and you'll stay there. I'll see that you're safe in the room. Room service, whatever. Estelle can stay with you if she wants to. When I go, you lock the door. And you don't open it for anybody until I come by for you in the morning . . . and we'll go from there."

"Will you stay with me?" Beth said.

"No."

"We could have an awfully good time if you did," Beth said.

"No," I said. "We couldn't."

Beth stood up suddenly.

"Oh, go to h.e.l.l," she said.

She turned and stalked out of my office. Estelle looked at me and shrugged and went after Beth.

I continued to sit at my desk. It was not clear to me what had just happened. On the other hand, it often wasn't, and I'd gotten used to it.

Chapter44.

I WAS IN FRANK BELSON'S CUBICLE at Boston police head-quarters at Tremont and Ruggles.

"Found your name in a guy's Rolodex," Frank said.

"A dead guy?" I said.

"Wow," Belson said. "You figured that out because I'm a homicide cop?"

"Want to tell me who it is?" I said.

"Guy named Chester Jackson," Belson said.

I leaned back a little.

"I know him," I said.

"Tell me about him," Belson said.

"I gather he didn't die of natural causes," I said.

"Somebody put a forty-caliber slug into his head from about eight feet away, and a second one, from about three inches."

"To make sure," I said.

"Uh-huh."

"When did he get it?" I said.

"Secretary says he left his office at five p.m. Nine-one-one got an anonymous call at five-ten. Saying someone had been shot in the garage. There was a car in the area. It arrived at five-thirty, and there he was."

"What garage?" I said.

"Under International Place," Belson said. "'Bout two light years down."

"Was he parked there?"

"Yep. He was facedown on the floor with his car door open."

"So somebody was waiting for him," I said.

"This sounds more like me telling you than you telling me," Belson said.

"We'll get to me," I said.

Belson nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "We will."

"There's security in that garage, isn't there?"

"Yep. If you work there, you got a pa.s.s. If not, you have to be on a list."

"You got the list," I said.

"Amazingly, we thought of that," Belson said.

"Anything?"

"Not yet," Belson said. "Thought you might take a look."

"I will," I said. "If you walk into the lobby from the street and take the elevator down to the garage . . ."

"And aren't carrying something that looks like an infernal device," Belson said. "You're in."

"You'd be an idiot," I said, "to drive into the garage."

"Car was parked almost next to an elevator," Belson said.

"a.s.signed parking?"

"Yep. Sign says 'Reserved for C. Jackson.' "

"So," I said. "If you knew Jackson, you'd know he was a big deal and would be likely to have an a.s.signed spot."

"So you could wander around the garage until you found it," Belson said.

"Probably be near an elevator, so maybe you could cut down on the wandering," I said.

"And you wait there until he shows up," Belson said.

"Maybe," I said.

"Or you know him, you know where he parks, you know when he's going to come for his car, and you get there a few minutes early," Belson said. "And pop him."

"No witnesses," I said.

"Nope."

"No suspicious-looking people hanging around," I said.

"None reported."

"How come n.o.body ever sees a shooting?" I said.

"Shooter might try to arrange it that way," Belson said. "And it's a G.o.dsend for us. Give us something to do so that we're not in the bars drinking Jameson with a beer chaser by two in the afternoon."

"G.o.d is kind," I said.

"Tell me about Jackson," Belson said.

He had a notebook on the desk in front of him, and as I talked, every once in a while he wrote things in it.

"I don't know quite what he does, but I know he makes a lot of dough, and I know all of it isn't clean."