with her anchovies.
Spenser, master inquisitor.
21
T he special agent in charge of the Boston FBI office was a guy named Epstein who looked less dangerous than a chickadee, and had killed, to my knowledge, two men, both of whom had probably made the same misjudgment. I had coffee with him in a joint on Cambridge Street.
“Winifred Minor,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“She used to be FBI,” I said.
“Yep, but why do you ask?”
“You know I’m involved with that art theft where the guy got blown up,” I said.
“Ashton Prince,” Epstein said. “Hermenszoon painting.”
“Wow,” I said. “Sees all, knows all.”
“Only a matter of time,” Epstein said, “before I’m director.”
“No dresses,” I said.
“Prude,” Epstein said. “What’s your interest in Winifred Minor?”
There was a platter of crullers under a glass cover on the counter. I eyed them.
“She’s a claims adjuster now,” I said. “For a big insurance company.”
“Shawmut,” Epstein said.
“You keep track,” I said.
“I do,” Epstein said.
“They insured the painting,” I said.
“And the claim is her case,” Epstein said.
“And her daughter was a student of Prince’s, and probably they had a relationship.”
“Which is to say he was fucking her?” Epstein said.
“You civil servants speak so elegantly,” I said. “But yes. I believe he was.”
“Could all mean nothing,” he said.
“Could,” I said.
“But it’s probably more productive to think it means something,” Epstein said.
“You know who the father is, or was?” I said.
“Didn’t know Winifred was married,” Epstein said.
“Don’t know that she was.”
Epstein nodded.
“How old’s the kid,” he said.
“Nineteen, twenty,” I said.
“So Winifred was still with the Bureau,” Epstein said, “when the kid was born.”
I nodded. Epstein drank some of his coffee. I studied the plate of crullers some more.
“You ask either of them about the father?” Epstein said.
“I did,” I said.
“And?”
“They won’t talk about him,” I said.
“When the baby was born she probably used her health insurance,” Epstein said. “Bureau will have a record. I’ll see what I can find out. What’s the kid’s name?”
“Melissa Minor,” I said. “Goes by Missy.”
Epstein nodded. He didn’t write it down. He rarely wrote things down. I sometimes thought he remembered everything he’d ever heard.
“Why are you interested in the father?”
“Seems odd they won’t talk about him,” I said.
Epstein nodded.
“Anything’s better than nothing,” Epstein said.
“But harder to come by,” I said. “You know Winifred Minor?”
“Casually,” Epstein said. “Bureau regarded her as a good agent, maybe a little gung ho.”
“Aggressive?”
“Yep. Probably proving something ’cause she was a female agent,” Epstein said.
“She know anything about explosives?”
Epstein shrugged.
“No reason she should,” he said. “I don’t.”
“I thought special agents in charge knew everything,” I said.
“They do,” Epstein said. “I was just being modest.”
22
I t had snowed in the night, and the world looked very clean, which I knew it not to be. But illusion is nice sometimes.
Susan was at a conference in Fitchburg, so Pearl was spending the day with me. We got to work a little before nine, and Pearl scooted into the office across the hall from mine to see Lila, the receptionist. Lila gave her a cookie, which she always did when Pearl came to visit, which may have been why Pearl was always eager to see her.
“Hi, big boy,” Lila yelled to me.
I stopped and stuck my head in her doorway.
I said, “How’s the modeling career, Toots?”
“I think I got a photo gig,” she said. “Car dealer on the north shore.”
“I hope you don’t get too successful,” I said. “I like seeing you across the hall.”
Pearl was sitting still and focused, studying the drawer in Lila’s desk where
Spenser, master inquisitor.
21
T he special agent in charge of the Boston FBI office was a guy named Epstein who looked less dangerous than a chickadee, and had killed, to my knowledge, two men, both of whom had probably made the same misjudgment. I had coffee with him in a joint on Cambridge Street.
“Winifred Minor,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“She used to be FBI,” I said.
“Yep, but why do you ask?”
“You know I’m involved with that art theft where the guy got blown up,” I said.
“Ashton Prince,” Epstein said. “Hermenszoon painting.”
“Wow,” I said. “Sees all, knows all.”
“Only a matter of time,” Epstein said, “before I’m director.”
“No dresses,” I said.
“Prude,” Epstein said. “What’s your interest in Winifred Minor?”
There was a platter of crullers under a glass cover on the counter. I eyed them.
“She’s a claims adjuster now,” I said. “For a big insurance company.”
“Shawmut,” Epstein said.
“You keep track,” I said.
“I do,” Epstein said.
“They insured the painting,” I said.
“And the claim is her case,” Epstein said.
“And her daughter was a student of Prince’s, and probably they had a relationship.”
“Which is to say he was fucking her?” Epstein said.
“You civil servants speak so elegantly,” I said. “But yes. I believe he was.”
“Could all mean nothing,” he said.
“Could,” I said.
“But it’s probably more productive to think it means something,” Epstein said.
“You know who the father is, or was?” I said.
“Didn’t know Winifred was married,” Epstein said.
“Don’t know that she was.”
Epstein nodded.
“How old’s the kid,” he said.
“Nineteen, twenty,” I said.
“So Winifred was still with the Bureau,” Epstein said, “when the kid was born.”
I nodded. Epstein drank some of his coffee. I studied the plate of crullers some more.
“You ask either of them about the father?” Epstein said.
“I did,” I said.
“And?”
“They won’t talk about him,” I said.
“When the baby was born she probably used her health insurance,” Epstein said. “Bureau will have a record. I’ll see what I can find out. What’s the kid’s name?”
“Melissa Minor,” I said. “Goes by Missy.”
Epstein nodded. He didn’t write it down. He rarely wrote things down. I sometimes thought he remembered everything he’d ever heard.
“Why are you interested in the father?”
“Seems odd they won’t talk about him,” I said.
Epstein nodded.
“Anything’s better than nothing,” Epstein said.
“But harder to come by,” I said. “You know Winifred Minor?”
“Casually,” Epstein said. “Bureau regarded her as a good agent, maybe a little gung ho.”
“Aggressive?”
“Yep. Probably proving something ’cause she was a female agent,” Epstein said.
“She know anything about explosives?”
Epstein shrugged.
“No reason she should,” he said. “I don’t.”
“I thought special agents in charge knew everything,” I said.
“They do,” Epstein said. “I was just being modest.”
22
I t had snowed in the night, and the world looked very clean, which I knew it not to be. But illusion is nice sometimes.
Susan was at a conference in Fitchburg, so Pearl was spending the day with me. We got to work a little before nine, and Pearl scooted into the office across the hall from mine to see Lila, the receptionist. Lila gave her a cookie, which she always did when Pearl came to visit, which may have been why Pearl was always eager to see her.
“Hi, big boy,” Lila yelled to me.
I stopped and stuck my head in her doorway.
I said, “How’s the modeling career, Toots?”
“I think I got a photo gig,” she said. “Car dealer on the north shore.”
“I hope you don’t get too successful,” I said. “I like seeing you across the hall.”
Pearl was sitting still and focused, studying the drawer in Lila’s desk where
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