The Brothers

The Brothers

by

Michael Bronte

Copyright ©: Michael Bronte 2016

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

To the brothers of Alpha Pi of Chi Psi, class of ’74.

You know who you are.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

PROLOGUE

Party! Party!

Yo, Dirty Harry, you want a beer?

I can’t believe this might be the last time we’re going to see this place.

Is that a yes? the Inevitable Doctor Eisenberg asked as he pulled a plastic cup off the stack next to the tap.

Yeah Doc, absofuckinglutely... I guess.

"You guess? Now don’t go getting all morose on me. It’s time to celebrate. Four good years here, then onward and upward, I say. That’s the way I’m thinking about it. And besides, you’ll get to see the old Lodge plenty. They have these things called reunions, you know."

The Inevitable Doctor Eisenberg put his arm around his girlfriend who was still dressed in commencement attire. She looked a little sauced. Harry took a sip of his beer as he pulled up a barstool inside the Zeta Chi fraternity house. Across the way, a couple of young guys he didn’t recognize were clumsily tossing darts toward the dilapidated dart board. They too were still dressed in fancy clothes, probably family members of one or more of the other brothers, many of whom were packing up cars for their final trip home, now as graduates of John Adams College, class of ’84.

Doc said, Are your folks still here?

Harry answered, Naw, they left a few minutes ago. We did the celebration dinner thing and I kind of ditched ‘em because I thought a bunch of us were gonna get together and get all stinky, but clearly that’s not happening. Where the hell is everybody?

Doc just shrugged. You know how it is. For some guys it’s a real big family deal, for others graduation and commencement are just formalities and they can’t wait to get it over with; you know: splitsville. I think a lot of guys have already scattered. Maybe some others will be along later.

Harry just nodded. What are you still doing here?

Doc replied, My folks flew in last night and turned right around and flew out after the ceremony for a few days in the Bahamas. They’re using this as a little excuse to get away.

Aren’t you going with them?

No way. I’m packing up the old Docmobile in the morning and heading out then; should be home in Chicago in a couple of days for some hurry-up-and-do-nothing time. Med school will be here soon enough.

That’s right, said Harry. Congratulations, Doc. Tufts, right?

Go Jumbos, said Doc, pumping a fist into the air. What about you? When are you leaving?

Same as you. I’ve got my mom’s station wagon to pack up in the morning and I’ll be home a couple of hours after that.

Then what? Did you take that offer from Prudential?

Nope. Turned it down. Didn’t feel right to me. Figured I’d take my time and go after something I was really interested in and not take a job for the sake of taking a job. I’ve got a little time... you know?

If you say so big guy, but speaking of time, I’m out of it. I’ve got to get Sara back to Mount Holyoke tonight before it gets too late. Doc put his arm around his sweetie and added, They’ve got another week of classes down there, can you believe it? She just smiled.

Harry said, Be careful out there, Doc.

Always am, brother man. They shook hands.

As the Inevitable Doctor Eisenberg and Sara were leaving, and anticipating that Doc might stay in South Hadley for the night, Harry called after him, "Say Doc, if I don’t see you in the morning, have a good one, okay? As in, life."

Doc turned back toward him. Yeah, Harry. You too, man. I guess I’ll see you in twenty years or so.

Yeah, Harry responded. Or so.

Chapter 1… The Reunion

Do you remember the time Stokes was making his famous bubble gum punch and he dropped that bottle of grain alcohol on the cement steps leading up to the porch?

"Sure do. Someone flicked a cigarette and the whole thing went whoooosh! Went up like a volcano and singed the eyebrows right off my face."

Another round of Genny Cream Ales materialized out of nowhere. Whoa there, princess. This ain’t like the old days. The young female bartender wrinkled her pierced nose as she thumbed to the other end of the bar. I was told that if I got any protest from you two pantywaists that you need to take it up with Fighting Al.

Aw come on, Bones, Fighting Al called out through the crowd. One more won’t kill you. I remember when we used to drink six of those before we even broke the seal.

Yeah, well, now my bladder feels like it’s the size of a walnut, Bones called back.

All around, the brothers were laughing and slapping backs. Nearby, another pair were talking. Thirty years, can you believe it? I gotta tell ya, Spike, you look like hell.

Harry just chuckled and walked away. He could see where this was going. Thirty years was a long time, and it was sad to admit but there were more than a handful of Zeta Chi brothers, class of ’84, that he hadn’t seen in that entire time. He was looking forward to this reunion.

Well, if it isn’t Dirty Harry. Last I heard you were still living in Jersey and back to running the family practice. You still playing that gig, or what?

I am, said Harry. My dad left the practice a few years ago and we’ve really expanded since then. I should have gone out on my own years ago, but I couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

"Ah, perspective I believe that’s called," said brother Zen, short for Zen Master, short for Zen Master of Motorcycle Maintenance. It was a long story.

You’re right about that, Harry agreed. It’s something I’m trying to provide for my kids now that I’ve got the gray hair to pull it off.

Speaking of kids, how’s your boy doing? I remember seeing him when he was still in diapers and you had already put a baseball glove in his crib.

Well, he’s out of school and doing some work for me, but I don’t think going to law school and being a small-town lawyer is his thing. He’s thinking about going after his CFA and seeing where that leads him.

Another investment analyst, said Zen Master. Just what this country needs.

I know, said Harry, holding up a hand. But he’s out there searching. Better he should figure it out now than get trapped into something and piss away twenty years doing the wrong thing. I learned that lesson the hard way.

A lot of us went through that, said Zen Master. Things are different now. He paused as his eyes shifted toward the entrance to the dumpy little neighborhood bar called Slick’s that the Zeta Chi brothers had virtually taken over. Speaking of things being different, check this out.

Harry turned. No way. Is that Ducky?

Zen Master chugged on his beer. "Look like he’s put on a few l-bs. And, oh, hello, who do you think she is?"

Another brother they called Fish sidled up and whispered, That’s the new squeeze. Number three, I think. She gives new meaning to the term trophy wife, don’t you think?

I’ll say, said Zen Master. Looks like she’s got a couple of ‘em. I’m guessing she gets on top most of the time.

Harry said, She’s definitely different from that UMass girl Ducky used to date back in the day. Remember her?

Oh yeah, Fish said wistfully. Dirty Debbie. I think a few of the guys remember her.

They all snickered as Ducky made his way through the crowd. When they were within range Zen Master gave him a bear hug and called out obnoxiously, Well look what the cat dragged in. Hello Ducky, nice of you to bring your daughter.

Ducky took it right in stride. It looked like he was used to them—or, more accurately her—being the center of attention. Hello Zen. I see you still have your sense of humor. I guess those activities down at the home have kept the dementia in check. Guys, this is Monica. Monica, say hello to the perverts.

Pleasure, said Fish, shaking her hand and giving her an inadvertent once over.

I’m up here, Monica quipped as she forced him to raise his eyes. That’s it, you can do it.

Ducky chuckled and said, What’s the matter, Fish? Something stuck in your throat?

How about a drink? Fish said quickly as his face turned pink.

I’ll buy, said Ducky.

For real? said Zen Master. Are you really gonna pick up a tab?

Go big or go home, Ducky shot back mockingly. But you’d understand if you paid as much alimony as I do.... What’s everyone drinking?

The drinks came and they all laughed and traded more verbal jabs until Harry called for quiet. Okay guys, I think almost all of us are here. The college reunion dinner starts in half an hour, and we’ve got a big charter van coming at five o’clock to take us to the dinner and wherever we want to go for the rest of the night, including our hotels. No need to worry about driving, okay? By my count, there are eighteen of us here in case we need to track someone down at the end of the night or something. Let’s have a great thirtieth reunion, guys—and ladies, he added with a smile. This is our opportunity to renew old friendships, and I hope you’re all looking forward to this as much as I am. We’ll be leaving in about fifteen minutes.

Nineteen, Ducky called out. There’s nineteen of us here.

Harry said, I counted three times, Ducky. Who am I missing?

Hutch, Ducky answered. I saw him as we were coming in.

Harry looked around. Is Hutch here? No one answered and a questioning look hung on Harry’s face as he turned back toward Ducky. Where—

He’s up the street. We walked right past him as he was sitting in his car and talking on his cell phone. I’d recognize that hound dog face of his anywhere.

Well let’s go get him, Bones called out. We can’t have this celebration without old Hutch. Harry, do you want to lead the way? He was your roommate, wasn’t he?

You guys go ahead, Harry replied. I’ve got to make sure everything is squared up with the tab and check on our transportation. Tell the old dog face I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.

Will do, said Ducky as he put his beer down and turned to Monica. Be right back, sweetheart, and stay away from the one at the end of the bar.

Bones and Ducky left, leaving Monica to make small talk with the boys. So, said Fish as Harry motioned for the bartender to come over so he could settle up, how long have you and Ducky been married?

Smirking, What makes you think we’re married? Monica teased. Personally, I’m just in it for the sex.

Fish almost coughed up his beer. You mean.... Then, breaking into a huge grin, Go on. Ducky told you to say that, right?

Not at all, Monica said as she flipped a handful of dark, glossy hair over her shoulder. Both of us have already seen that movie. Why would we want to do that again? No, we’ve both agreed to let it go this way for as long as it lasts, no strings. She paused, her eyes glinting. He’s really quite good in bed.

Standing there with his mouth open, Fish finally said, So, ah, do you... ah, how do I say this....

Work?

Yeah, that’s good. Do you work?

Yeah, I work.

Oh. So what kind of work.... I mean, what kind of profession are you.... I mean....

What do you do? Harry interjected, seeing Fish step all over his tongue.

I’m an assistant district attorney.

Assistant district attorney, Harry repeated.

Right, Assistant District Attorney for the Northwestern District of Hampshire and Franklin counties.

Hampshire County.... Wait, that’s this county.

That’s right, said Monica, enjoying herself immensely. So, are you boys having fun so far? She suddenly reached into her purse as she heard her cell phone go off. The little sneer she was wearing faded quickly, and the fun she was having with Fish and Harry was suddenly over. That was Ducky, she said, stuffing the phone back into her purse.

Is something wrong? Harry asked, seeing her change in demeanor.

I think so. He wants all of you to go outside right away. It’s about your friend Hutch.

Harry looked at Fish, who was staring back at him, then at the rest of the brothers strung out along the bar. Hey guys, he called out, Ducky just called and asked us to come outside.

I thought you said we were leaving in fifteen minutes, one of the other brothers called back.

I have a feeling we’re gonna be delayed, said Harry.

Chapter 2… The Mercedes

Is he dead?

Most of the brothers were standing around the car while their spouses stood off to the side. He’s not moving, said Ducky. A couple of the guys pounded on the passenger side windows, but the big Mercedes was impenetrable.

A brother they called Bapple asked, Why the hell are the doors locked? In my car, when you put the thing in park the doors unlock automatically.

Unless you push the lock button from inside, another responded.

Harry came up behind the crowd, and, seeing him, the brothers stepped aside. No one said a word. He stood there for some seconds as his face drained of all color. Is he....

He hasn’t moved since we got here, said Ducky. We’ve already called 9-1-1.

Inside, Hutch was sitting upright but leaning to one side, the only discernable detail visible through the reflection of the streetlamp being that his cell phone was lying on the passenger seat. The silence among the brothers was deafening, so much so that the simultaneous arrival of a police car, an ambulance, and the passenger van that was to transport them for the evening sounded like an invasion. The van passed and pulled up in front of Slick’s about two blocks down Newberry Street. Harry stayed where he was, looking like he’d turned into a statue. Ducky took a spot beside him while a police officer and two EMTs stepped up to the Mercedes as red blips of light from the ambulance peppered them mercilessly.

Step aside, please, the officer said firmly. What do we have here? His name tag read E.J. Nekel.

Harry’s mouth didn’t move—or maybe it couldn’t—and Ducky said, We’re all here for the college reunion weekend and we were waiting for our friend to show up. He pointed at the car. We found him out here like this. The car is locked.

Just then, Monica stepped up beside Ducky and the officer did a double take. ADA Brimton, are you part of this gathering?

I am, she replied. She took Ducky’s arm and said, This is my husband, Richard. She glanced at Fish, but a smile for her earlier ruse didn’t quite make it. Can you get in there? she asked, indicating the car.

Officer Nekel took a look at the car and said, These things are not easy to get into. He went around to the passenger side and flipped on a flashlight while the EMTs unloaded a stretcher bed. I think this car has a keyless entry system. We probably need to call a locksmith to get in. Nekel shined his light on Hutch’s body. Does anyone know if he—

Break the damned window, Harry called loudly from the other side of the car. We don’t know if he’s alive or dead, okay, and he’s our friend. We may not have time to wait for any damned locksmith. The other brothers piled on, raising their voices at Officer Nekel.

Nekel glanced at ADA Brimton as if he was looking for permission.

Well officer? she questioned.

Guessing that was permission enough, Nekel took a stance next to the rear window on the passenger side. A moment later, glass was shattering into thousands of little crumbs and Nekel was inside and stretching across Hutch’s body to unlock the driver’s side door. An EMT moved in, and it wasn’t long before the look on his face confirmed what everyone feared.

Officer Nekel turned to ADA Brimton. Ma’am, is this a crime scene?

Monica looked at Ducky, and then squarely at Harry. I don’t know. Is it?

Neither man spoke, and it was evident that Ducky expected Harry to answer the question as he stepped away from the car and moved to his wife’s side. She was no longer Monica now, but ADA Brimton. Harry’s eyes were frozen in their sockets as he tried to comprehend the reality of what just happened. He, Harold B. Curlander—nicknamed Dirty Harry—from Point Pleasant, New Jersey, and R. Todd Hutchinson from Boston, Massachusetts, had been roommates and best friends at John Adams College from the first day they’d pledged Zeta Chi in their sophomore year. That was thirty-three years ago. Hutch dead? It had to be a dream. The thought repeated over and over inside Harry’s head and surely, he reasoned, he’d wake up soon and find that it was just a terrible prank that old Hutch had cooked up just to scare the crap out of him. Fucking Hutch; he’d probably been planning this for months. Harry refocused and examined the faces of the other brothers. Some of them were engrossed in hushed conversation; others were speaking in low tones with Officer Nekel. None of those worried visages gave the slightest indication that this was some sort of sick practical joke. As Harry’s eyes settled once more on the slumped over body inside the Mercedes, it was obvious that it was not.

Monica and Ducky were both staring at him, and he remembered that she’d asked him a question. Is this a crime scene? He tried to turn away from Hutch’s body but found that he couldn’t, his eyes jumping from spot to spot inside the Mercedes. Maybe the old boy had a heart attack, someone said, but instinctively Harry knew that wasn’t the case. Hutch had been an athlete at John Adams, that long hound dog face of his mirroring the long, coordinated body of a power forward on the basketball team, a body that Hutch had kept in shape twelve months a year by running and biking for miles when he wasn’t on the hoop court. Now, as painful as it was, but looking at Hutch slumped over in the driver’s seat, Harry could see that Hutch was still as trim and probably almost as strong at fifty-two as he was at twenty-two. Heart attack: no way.

Harry’s eyes continued to move through the interior: Starbucks coffee cup sitting in the cup holder; cell phone charger cord dangling from the center console; cell phone sitting face up on the passenger seat along with a crumpled bag which could have contained a snack from Starbucks or anyplace else. Nothing else seemed out of place; the car was spotless, inside and out. Hutch was wearing black trousers which even from a distance looked to be quite expensive, along with a black knit sports shirt under a grey and black tweed blazer, simple and classy attire. Like his own hair and most of the brothers surrounding the car, Hutch’s hair was peppered with grey. It was well-manicured, and it looked like he hadn’t lost a single strand of it.

Then, Harry heard the word: suicide. Who dared to utter it he did not know, and he purposely did not turn to find out for fear that he’d punch someone. His blood boiled as the word echoed in his head and it almost made him sick. He was sick, and his mouth had a vile, sour taste that carried all the way to his stomach. Harry wondered where Hutch’s wife was, and how Hutch’s three kids would react to the news. Who was going to tell them? It shouldn’t come from the cops, he determined instantly. It should come from one of them, the brothers, himself probably, and already the words were lining up in his head.

Harry turned toward Monica Brimton. While being a small-town attorney didn’t qualify him as an expert on crime scene procedure, he did know two things. First, if there was any suspicion whatsoever that the victim—what a cold word that was; his spine shivered by merely thinking it—did not die in a completely obvious accidental manner, the scene needed to be secured. Second, along with a crime scene investigator, it could be important to get the district attorney on the scene in case search warrants were needed. No investigator wanted evidence to be determined inadmissible in court if the situation led to that. In this case, the DA had already arrived.

"There’s no way in a million years Hutch would commit suicide," Harry said in a voice loud enough to register with whoever had uttered the word earlier. His eyes darted toward the group of brothers, but no one admitted to it. Ducky had his arm around Monica, holding her close in a similar pose to the other couples gathered around, but it was obvious that Harry was talking to her.

I know what it looks like, Monica began, immediately regretting the words as Ducky gave her glare. I mean, I know you guys were close and all, but you hadn’t seen each other in years. How do you know what was going on with him, his health, his life? When was the last time either of you saw him?

What does that have to do with anything? Harry answered indignantly. I knew this man like I know my own brother. He was the best man at my wedding. But to answer your question, the last time I saw him was a couple of years ago, in Boston. This was no suicide, and this was no heart attack. I’d bet my life on it.

So would I, Fish called out from the crowd of brothers.

Yeah, no way, said Fighting Al, piling on.

Monica shot a glance at Officer Nekel who was clearly deferring to her. She nodded at him and pulled her cell phone from her purse.

Everyone stay where they are and don’t move your feet, Officer Nekel called out. We need to establish a core area where any possible evidence might be located. I will instruct you on how to move away. ADA Brimton, would you mind calling for an investigator while I secure the scene?

I’m already on it, she responded, and she stepped away from Ducky to make her calls.

Officer Nekel cleared the area and backed up his squad car, lights flashing, to create a barrier to the Mercedes. He strung some yellow tape between a couple of parking meters, and Harry and the rest of the brothers gathered in a tight circle across the street. The early evening air was cooling quickly as a late spring breeze carried the smell of frying onion rings past their noses; Harry thought he was going to be sick.

Fidgeting, he shuffled his feet while the other brothers went through various nervous gesticulations of their own. The half dozen wives present took the hint and gathered by the passenger van that sat waiting a few doors down the street. Harry looked at the faces of the Zeta Chi brothers that surrounded him. Even without speaking they seemed to shed their politeness and the raw personalities that he’d known thirty years earlier bubbled to the surface. There was Ducky, real name Richard Swan, soft and amiable on the outside, fiercely competitive and uncompromising on the inside, probably why he’d gone through two marriages before Monica. Fish was Donald Fischer, smart and analytical, one of the best to ever come out of Brooklyn Technical High School in Fort Greene. Fish had made a nice living as a mechanical engineer since their years together at John Adams. Fighting Al was just that, also an attorney, a litigation guy Harry remembered, his personality perfectly suited to what he did for a living; real name Albert Fiorello. Bones was Crawford Koch, ran his own company manufacturing fiber optic cable. Zen Master was Dave Zacek, owned half a dozen Papa Pete’s pizza franchises in Philly. Stokes was Steve Sergeant. Harry knew he lived in Providence but wasn’t sure what he did for a living. He did know, however, that there wasn’t anyone more loyal to Zeta Chi than Stokes, who’d been the fraternity Number One during their senior year. Spike had been their social chairman, crazy bastard, real name Jimmy Wurfel. Harry wondered if he’d changed at all. Didn’t look like it. In addition, off in the distance there was the Inevitable Doctor Stuart Eisenberg, inevitable because Doc’s father was a doctor, his uncle was a doctor, his grandfather was a doctor, what else was he was going to be, Doc always said. Billy Apple, or Bapple, was present, as was Eddie Benton, also known as the Bambino.

Harry noted that some of the other brothers had already begun walking back toward Slick’s, most of them shaking their heads. It was signal enough that they’d determined that there was nothing they could do. Wondering if he should make an attempt to assemble everyone, he decided they were all big boys and girls, they were all perfectly capable of deciding for themselves what they wanted to do from this point on. Indeed, someone called back that it was time to head to the alumni reunion dinner for all those who were still going to go to it; they were already late.

Fish came over and put a hand on his shoulder. I think most everyone’s decided there’s nothing they can do here except go to this reunion thing and have a couple of hundred drinks.

Zen Master came up as well. You coming, Harry?

Harry glanced at Ducky and Monica, figuring that as the ADA she would wait along with Officer Nekel for a CSI to show up, and that Ducky would wait with her. I think I’ll wait here for a while and catch up with you later, okay? Let me have your cell phone number.

Sure, no problem, said Fish, then he and Zen Master turned and made their way to the van.

Harry looked away from the big Mercedes and said to Monica, You wouldn’t mind if I hung around for a while, would you?

Of course she wouldn’t mind, Ducky answered for her.

Officer? he questioned to Officer Nekel.

As long as you don’t go past the yellow tape, I guess you’re free to do whatever you’d like, Nekel confirmed.

Good, then, said Harry as he eyed Ducky and Monica. He really didn’t care if they minded or not, and he needed to find out what happened to Hutch.

Chapter 3… The Investigator

So how long is it going to be before a CSI arrives? Hutch is just sitting there, for Christ’s sake. Harry looked at his watch for the umpteenth time. It was going on nine o’clock.

Well.... Monica began, seeing that he was getting more upset as the evening wore on. Can I not call you Harry right now? Somehow the connotation with Dirty Harry doesn’t feel right at the moment.

My real name is Harold, Harold B. Curlander. My wife calls me that when she’s ticked off at me.

Okay then, Harold it is.

O... o... kay.

We don’t exactly have CSIs in the local police departments in Hampshire County. We usually make do with one of the local officers who’ve been trained to process run-of-the-mill crime scenes when the need arises. For the more serious stuff we need to call in the state police.

Harry tried to hold himself back from using the word Mayberry, but he still wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding his impatience. Look, Monica—

"Yes... Harold?"

We can’t just sit here all night. Surely there’s something you can do—

Listen, I’ve already called someone so just try and relax, okay? Rest assured that we’ll get to the bottom of this.

Harry took a breath. He shot a glance at Officer Nekel who was sitting patiently in his squad car a few feet away. This must be the highlight of the guy’s week, Harry speculated, getting to tape off a real crime scene. Then, that wasn’t fair, he thought further. Outside of the college, Wallingham, Massachusetts wasn’t much of a town from a crime perspective. It hadn’t changed much in the thirty years since he’d graduated, a typical picture-postcard New England town with four high-steepled churches surrounding the central town square. Back in the day, John Adams was an all-male institution, and its hundred-acre campus was set apart from the rest of the town by a sharp-tipped wrought iron fence that over the years had gored any number of drunken fools who tried to leap its upturned spears after a night of attempted debauchery at one of the nearby women’s schools such as Smith or Mount Holyoke, or certain debauchery at the UMass campus in Amherst.

When was the last time there was a murder in Wallingham? Harry asked Monica.

It was Ducky who answered. Moving kind of fast, aren’t you Harry? Let’s not jump to conclusions. Ducky glanced at Monica to be sure he’d said the right thing, then at the shiny Mercedes inside the crime scene tape.

Harry wasn’t buying any of it. C’mon Ducky, you knew Hutch as well as I did. We were all inseparable back in the day, and I know you saw each other occasionally over the years. Were you aware of anything in his life that indicated suicide? Ducky didn’t answer right away. Well?

Once again, Ducky glanced at Monica. Listen, I don’t know everything that went on in Hutch’s life.... He let the words hang there.

Seeing him squirm, Harry said, But?

But, as far as I know, no, you’re right, Hutch would be the last guy who I think would’ve committed suicide. Monica’s scowl couldn’t have been more obvious. Sorry honey, but Hutch had it together, great family, great job... I’m afraid I’m with Harry on this one. But maybe things changed for him, Harry. I just don’t know.

And what about that crap about a heart attack? Harry shot back.

A heart attack was impossible, not with Hutch.

That’s what I said, Harry proclaimed.

Monica said, You guys need to stop speculating and chill out. Any of that is for the medical examiner to determine. We’ll find out soon enough what happened here.

Harry sneered and said, Soon enough my ass. This is taking forever.

Monica was a big girl, and she took it right in stride, but Harry was right. Let me make a call, she said as she whipped out her cell phone. Fifteen minutes later a Massachusetts State Police car took the turn onto Newberry Street and crawled toward them with all the urgency of a drifting glacier.

Harry watched as the dome light came on, illuminating the lone figure hunched to one side punching something into the onboard computer. I take it this is our investigator. What’s he doing in there, writing a novel?

Neither Monica nor Ducky said anything as it was obvious that Harry was determined to be a dick about things. Some minutes later, their investigator came out and poked his head into the window of Officer Nekel’s car. The red and blue lights that had been flashing the entire time stopped abruptly and it suddenly seemed quieter for some reason. Harry kept his eye on the investigator, and it wasn’t until he was within a few feet that Harry noticed that it wasn’t a he, but a she, and she wasn’t exactly young.

ADA Brimton, the investigator greeted. I understand you’re the one who called in to the detective unit. She carried a long flashlight in one hand.

Hello, Catherine. It’s been a while, and, yeah, that was me. The scene has been secure for over two hours now.

Has anyone from the local department had a chance to check things out?

Not yet. I called for you directly.

Catherine glanced at Ducky and Harry. Even in the muted light of the streetlamp it was easy to see her eyes darting from their faces, to the Mercedes, to the surroundings, all of it happening in milliseconds. Bypassing the local investigators is not the best way to ensure cooperation, she said. You should know that by now.

I do know that, Monica shot back tersely. I wanted you. A moment passed. And only you.