good-sized force for a town this size and when we get a call, we move on it. Maybe we don’t get all the problems Boston gets, and we certainly don’t get the homicides, but we get our share of actual crime. We get scumbags drifting up here from Jamaica Plain and Roxbury. We get sexual assaults and gunpoint robberies and brawls and domestics and all-round bad behaviour, and we show up and close a better percentage of them than the BPD. So no moaning about we got stuck with the small-town force, okay?”
“Got it.”
“Ron Fine is goddamn lucky his son lives here because we’ve tried hard to find him and we are still trying. There just isn’t any trace. So here is what I’m going to do,” he said. “You want to ask around as a private citizen? Interview his roommate, neighbours, his boss if you’re so lucky? Go ahead. I won’t stop you, mostly because his parents should feel they’ve done everything they can. But don’t step on anyone’s toes around here. I don’t want to get complaints about you. And if you find out anything I didn’t, you share it with me quick—that fair?”
“Yes.”
“I also want the make, model and plate of your car. Case you plan on doing any surveillance within our boundaries.”
“It’s a Dodge Caliber.” I fished out the keys and read the plate number from a tag on the key ring.
As I was leaving he said, “You planning on introducing yourself to the BPD? Showing them your licence?”
“I guess I’ll have to,” I said. “Boston is where David works.”
“Wish I could be there when you do,” Gianelli said with a grin. “Having worked there those twelve years, I can tell you they’re not as accepting of private investigators as we are in Brookline. My advice to you, if your business takes you into Boston, contact the BPD before they need to contact you. And keep your head up when you do.”
CHAPTER 6
A uniformed cop stood under the glass entrance to the Brookline Police Department, arms folded across his chest, eyes following Jenn’s behind as she walked up Washington Street to where I sat on the lawn of the local library. His just reward for a hard day policing these tree-lined streets.
“All done,” she said, sitting down beside me. “Colin will have David’s laptop no later than nine a.m. tomorrow and Karl will pick it up on his way to the shop.”
I told her about the effort the Brookline police had mustered to find David, and what Gianelli had said about the BPD.
“So we shouldn’t expect any help from them.”
“Not much. Bullshit and bullying, maybe, according to Gianelli.”
“Disgruntled ex-employee?”
“Didn’t strike me that way.”
“Think he’s any good?”
“He seemed like a decent guy. I think David’s parents got to him too.”
“He’s not giving up?”
“He said he’s not. But unless a patrol officer bumps into David on the street, it’s up to us now. Let’s go back to his house around seven tonight.”
“Why then?”
“It’s the time he went missing,” I said. “And people are creatures of habit.”
Back at our hotel, we dumped all of David’s paperwork onto one of the beds in my room and began combing through it. His bank statements seemed very straightforward: nothing to explain how five thousand in cash came his way. His modest pay was deposited directly into his account every other Thursday, and he withdrew a hundred dollars every Monday, never more or less. His allowance for the week. His credit card statements had only small balances, always paid in full every month.
“I wish he could show me how that’s done,” Jenn said.
“I’d rather he showed us where the five grand came from. The only thing I can think of is those poker books … they stuck out like three sore thumbs.”
“You think he’s into big games?”
“I don’t know. Sheldon didn’t mention it.”
“Would he know? It didn’t sound like they pay much attention to each other.”
She continued rifling through papers while
“Got it.”
“Ron Fine is goddamn lucky his son lives here because we’ve tried hard to find him and we are still trying. There just isn’t any trace. So here is what I’m going to do,” he said. “You want to ask around as a private citizen? Interview his roommate, neighbours, his boss if you’re so lucky? Go ahead. I won’t stop you, mostly because his parents should feel they’ve done everything they can. But don’t step on anyone’s toes around here. I don’t want to get complaints about you. And if you find out anything I didn’t, you share it with me quick—that fair?”
“Yes.”
“I also want the make, model and plate of your car. Case you plan on doing any surveillance within our boundaries.”
“It’s a Dodge Caliber.” I fished out the keys and read the plate number from a tag on the key ring.
As I was leaving he said, “You planning on introducing yourself to the BPD? Showing them your licence?”
“I guess I’ll have to,” I said. “Boston is where David works.”
“Wish I could be there when you do,” Gianelli said with a grin. “Having worked there those twelve years, I can tell you they’re not as accepting of private investigators as we are in Brookline. My advice to you, if your business takes you into Boston, contact the BPD before they need to contact you. And keep your head up when you do.”
CHAPTER 6
A uniformed cop stood under the glass entrance to the Brookline Police Department, arms folded across his chest, eyes following Jenn’s behind as she walked up Washington Street to where I sat on the lawn of the local library. His just reward for a hard day policing these tree-lined streets.
“All done,” she said, sitting down beside me. “Colin will have David’s laptop no later than nine a.m. tomorrow and Karl will pick it up on his way to the shop.”
I told her about the effort the Brookline police had mustered to find David, and what Gianelli had said about the BPD.
“So we shouldn’t expect any help from them.”
“Not much. Bullshit and bullying, maybe, according to Gianelli.”
“Disgruntled ex-employee?”
“Didn’t strike me that way.”
“Think he’s any good?”
“He seemed like a decent guy. I think David’s parents got to him too.”
“He’s not giving up?”
“He said he’s not. But unless a patrol officer bumps into David on the street, it’s up to us now. Let’s go back to his house around seven tonight.”
“Why then?”
“It’s the time he went missing,” I said. “And people are creatures of habit.”
Back at our hotel, we dumped all of David’s paperwork onto one of the beds in my room and began combing through it. His bank statements seemed very straightforward: nothing to explain how five thousand in cash came his way. His modest pay was deposited directly into his account every other Thursday, and he withdrew a hundred dollars every Monday, never more or less. His allowance for the week. His credit card statements had only small balances, always paid in full every month.
“I wish he could show me how that’s done,” Jenn said.
“I’d rather he showed us where the five grand came from. The only thing I can think of is those poker books … they stuck out like three sore thumbs.”
“You think he’s into big games?”
“I don’t know. Sheldon didn’t mention it.”
“Would he know? It didn’t sound like they pay much attention to each other.”
She continued rifling through papers while
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