Robert B. Parker's Slow Burn (Spenser, #44)(59)

“We found a person of interest,” Cahill said. “Or what we used to call a suspect.”

“Anyone we know?”

Cahill blew out a long breath and threw up his hands. “Your pal Big Ray Zucco,” he said. “The cop from Blackburn? Boston Police picked him up this morning for questioning. Belson said the dumb bastard used his own vehicle.”

“He’s not my pal,” I said. “Never met the guy. I was betting on Johnny Donovan.”

“Well, it’s one of the three dipshits,” Cahill said. “We got Zucco walking away from that warehouse only eight minutes before you can see the smoke. This was an hour after your place went up. I gotta hand it to you, Spenser. That flower shop had some primo footage.”

“I guess flower theft is a major problem in the South End.”

“I don’t want to know who or what,” Cahill said. “But this is something. This gives us something to work off of. We can push him with this. Let the Feds handle the legal end. We just got to stop the burning.”

Cappelletti sat on a desk adjacent from where I leaned against a wall. It had grown dark that morning and started to rain. The day before had broken heat records. The rain fell pleasant and cooling onto Southampton Street, even with Cappelletti’s continual gum smacking.

“Any physical evidence at that second fire?” I said.

“Nope,” Cahill said. “Burned up clean and neat. These bastards are getting better as they go along. If we didn’t have video, we wouldn’t have squat.”

“Maybe if we knew where you got the server, we could make a f*cking arrest,” Cappelletti said. “You know that?”

“You don’t want to know,” I said. “Trust me.”

Cahill toasted me with a coffee mug. The rain kept falling. Galway snuffled a bit and resumed snoring.

“He’ll break,” Cahill said. “Zucco won’t try and protect a nut like Donovan. How the hell did a cop fall in with a guy like that?”

“Ever been to Blackburn?” I said.

“Sure,” Cahill said.

“Know their cops?”

“A few.”

“Then you know the kind of guys they hire,” I said.

Cahill did not disagree. Cappelletti scooted off the desk. He started to pace. Cahill and I watched him. Young guys are prone to pace. Old guys sit and figure it all out. After a while, Cahill got tired of it and told him to sit down. “We’ll wait to hear back from BPD,” he said. “We’ll have a long chat with this guy. It takes as long as it takes. But this son of a bitch is going to wear a wire for us.”

“How about Teehan?” I said.

“How about him?” Cahill said.

“If he knows you have Zucco,” I said. “Maybe he’ll talk with me.”

“If he knows we have Zucco,” Cappelletti said. “He just might jump in the car and keep riding until the road ends. He’ll f*cking run.”

“You ready to bring him in?” I said.

“Depends on what Zucco says.”

“You mind if I take a shot?” I said.

“Christ,” Cappelletti said. “Do you know how this is going to look to the Feds? No offense, Spenser, but you’re going to f*ck up the case.”

Cahill looked up with his hooded eyes and stroked his drooping gray mustache. “Yes,” he said. “But given what he’s just turned up, I’m not in a position to disagree. You met Teehan. You really think he’ll turn?”

“I think he’s a chronic loser,” I said. “A true misguided nut. But I also think he’s a hero in his own mind. If he sees Zucco is caught, he might just decide to join the team.”

“And Donovan?”

“You’ll have to catch him with matches in hand,” I said. “Or kill him.”

“Nuts?”

“Like Mr. Peanut but without the top hat.”

“One or all of these guys have killed three men,” Cahill said.

“Four, if you count Featherstone.”

Cahill nodded. “Let’s get to work.”





53


It was late and raining in Roxbury. Frank Belson met me in the police headquarters parking lot and sat in the passenger side of my Explorer. He reached for the half-finished cigar in his shirt pocket. I held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t even think about it,” I said.

“I can’t smoke at home with Lisa,” he said. “I can’t smoke in the car with the new captain. Now I can’t smoke with you. Christ.”

“It’s because we love you, Frank.”

“Hah.”

“We care about your personal health and want you around a good long while.”

“Bullshit,” he said. “You hate the smell.”

“A wet night and a soggy cigar,” I said. “Heaven.”

Belson shrugged. He had on the same blue suit but different tie. The new tie looked about two decades old.

“How’s Zucco holding up?”

“He did pretty good for the first two hours and then his story started to change,” he said. “That’s when we showed him the video. And then it all became very real and personal to him.”