and-pepper-tweed jacket over a black turtleneck. She had on a full black skirt and black shoes with a short heel.
"You are more beautiful than a bird dog on point," I said.
"And damned near as smart," Susan said. "I know we have to talk more.
But I simply can't right now. I know you can't leave me unprotected, but I cannot have you or Hawk lounging in my waiting room when the patients come."
"I'm going to get your front door fixed and then one of us will be around, but we won't be in the way and we won't scare the patients."
"Yes," she said. She kissed me. I patted her on the fanny and she was out and down to her office as her first patient arrived. I heard her say "Come along" as I stood at the top of the stairs out of sight.
CHAPTER 12
A carpenter named Shutt came over and replaced Susan's jimmied front door. I gave Susan my S&W .32 to keep in her desk drawer, and Hawk and I took turns lingering at the top of Susan's stairs while she conducted business. There are few things more boring than standing around at the top of a stairwell out of sight.
When Susan got through that night I took her down to Cambridge Police Headquarters to get her a pistol permit. The gun guy was a bear-shaped Tac cop who'd served two tours in Vietnam and did some gunsmithing on the side.
"Can she shoot?" he said.
"Taught her myself," I said.
"I was afraid of that." The cop's name was Steve Costa. "Let's go up to the range, ma'am. Have you fire some rounds to qualify."
"What if I don't qualify?" Susan said.
Costa grinned. "You'll qualify," he said.
We went upstairs and along a corridor lined with tired yellow tiles.
Costa unlocked the door and we went into the range.
"Lovely," Susan said.
"Yeah, they don't waste much time on the range," Costa said.
The room looked like an afterthought, jammed into a forgotten space under a long stairwell. There was a small shooting table on which a coffee can full of brass had tipped over and spilled most of the cartridge casings on the floor. Costa walked down the narrow alley of the range and pinned a target onto the trolley with a clothespin. He set the target about fifteen feet away and walked back to the shooting table.
"As you can see, ma'am, the target consists of the silhouette of a man surrounded by increasingly concentric circles; the smallest circle, around the man's head and heart area, is worth ten points. The next circle is worth nine, and so on until the last circle, outside of which there is no score."
"Please call me Susan."
"Okay, Susan. In order to qualify for a license to carry firearms you have to score seventy, firing a maximum of thirty rounds."
"Fine," Susan said.
"Want to fire some for practice, Susan?"
"No, thank you."
I took the thirty-two out and laid it, pointing downrange, on the table beside her. We put on the earmuffs.
Costa said, "
"Cause Spenser and I go way back, I'm going to give you a little head start."
He took out his own gun, a nickel-plated .38 with a black rubber grip, settled into a two-hand shooting crouch, and put six shots inside the 10 circle. He and Susan walked down to look at the target.
"Why, I seem to be within ten points of qualifying already," she said.
Her smile was full of innocent amazement. Costa reloaded his gun.
"Here," he said, "use this one. It's all sighted in." It also shot the same size rounds as the bullet holes in the target. Susan caught on at once.
"Sure," she said. She picked up the gun, held it carefully in both hands, stood as I'd taught her to, cocked the gun with her right thumb, fired carefully, six shots, single action, and put all six inside the 7 circle. Then she put the thirty-eight back down on the shooter's table and waited while Costa went down to get the target.
"You forgot to yell, "Freeze, dirt bag."
" I said.
"Couldn't I say something else, like "It's all right, I'm a doctor'?" she said.
I shook my. head in disgust. "Don't you watch television?" I said.
Costa came back with the target and
"You are more beautiful than a bird dog on point," I said.
"And damned near as smart," Susan said. "I know we have to talk more.
But I simply can't right now. I know you can't leave me unprotected, but I cannot have you or Hawk lounging in my waiting room when the patients come."
"I'm going to get your front door fixed and then one of us will be around, but we won't be in the way and we won't scare the patients."
"Yes," she said. She kissed me. I patted her on the fanny and she was out and down to her office as her first patient arrived. I heard her say "Come along" as I stood at the top of the stairs out of sight.
CHAPTER 12
A carpenter named Shutt came over and replaced Susan's jimmied front door. I gave Susan my S&W .32 to keep in her desk drawer, and Hawk and I took turns lingering at the top of Susan's stairs while she conducted business. There are few things more boring than standing around at the top of a stairwell out of sight.
When Susan got through that night I took her down to Cambridge Police Headquarters to get her a pistol permit. The gun guy was a bear-shaped Tac cop who'd served two tours in Vietnam and did some gunsmithing on the side.
"Can she shoot?" he said.
"Taught her myself," I said.
"I was afraid of that." The cop's name was Steve Costa. "Let's go up to the range, ma'am. Have you fire some rounds to qualify."
"What if I don't qualify?" Susan said.
Costa grinned. "You'll qualify," he said.
We went upstairs and along a corridor lined with tired yellow tiles.
Costa unlocked the door and we went into the range.
"Lovely," Susan said.
"Yeah, they don't waste much time on the range," Costa said.
The room looked like an afterthought, jammed into a forgotten space under a long stairwell. There was a small shooting table on which a coffee can full of brass had tipped over and spilled most of the cartridge casings on the floor. Costa walked down the narrow alley of the range and pinned a target onto the trolley with a clothespin. He set the target about fifteen feet away and walked back to the shooting table.
"As you can see, ma'am, the target consists of the silhouette of a man surrounded by increasingly concentric circles; the smallest circle, around the man's head and heart area, is worth ten points. The next circle is worth nine, and so on until the last circle, outside of which there is no score."
"Please call me Susan."
"Okay, Susan. In order to qualify for a license to carry firearms you have to score seventy, firing a maximum of thirty rounds."
"Fine," Susan said.
"Want to fire some for practice, Susan?"
"No, thank you."
I took the thirty-two out and laid it, pointing downrange, on the table beside her. We put on the earmuffs.
Costa said, "
"Cause Spenser and I go way back, I'm going to give you a little head start."
He took out his own gun, a nickel-plated .38 with a black rubber grip, settled into a two-hand shooting crouch, and put six shots inside the 10 circle. He and Susan walked down to look at the target.
"Why, I seem to be within ten points of qualifying already," she said.
Her smile was full of innocent amazement. Costa reloaded his gun.
"Here," he said, "use this one. It's all sighted in." It also shot the same size rounds as the bullet holes in the target. Susan caught on at once.
"Sure," she said. She picked up the gun, held it carefully in both hands, stood as I'd taught her to, cocked the gun with her right thumb, fired carefully, six shots, single action, and put all six inside the 7 circle. Then she put the thirty-eight back down on the shooter's table and waited while Costa went down to get the target.
"You forgot to yell, "Freeze, dirt bag."
" I said.
"Couldn't I say something else, like "It's all right, I'm a doctor'?" she said.
I shook my. head in disgust. "Don't you watch television?" I said.
Costa came back with the target and
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