LEE FARRELL AND I were having coffee at the South Street Diner, near the Tufts Medical Center, at six o’clock in the morning. We had finally left the crime scene at the apartment on Peterborough Street and gone back to headquarters so he could take my statement. The South Street Diner, I knew from experience, was open all night, even though we were well into the next morning.
“You had her,” Lee said. “And then she ran.”
“Clearly,” I said, “I’ve lost a step. In more ways than one.”
“But she didn’t tell you where she was going.”
“If she wanted me to know, she wouldn’t have run,” I said.
“And then you got a call.”
“I did.”
“Going to say something again,” he said.
“I know what it is.”
“Going to say it anyway,” he said. “You are so fucking full of shit. Pardon my French.”
“My father often says that when he uses bad language in front of me,” I said.
“Do you lie to Belson like this?” Lee said.
“I’m not lying,” I said.
“You’re just not telling the whole truth,” Lee said. “And nothing but.”
I shrugged.
“You’re telling me that an anonymous voice on the phone told you she was dead and where you could find her?” he said.
“That’s what happened,” I said.
“Bullshit,” he said. “You expect me to believe you’ve turned into a one-woman Crime Stoppers tip line.”
“I need sleep,” I said.
“We’re supposed to be friends,” he said.
“We are friends,” I said.
“I need to know who called you,” he said, “because whoever it is happens to be a prime suspect in a goddamn homicide. Involving a woman you were probably the last person to see alive. Like the last ex-hooker you talked to before somebody aced her. Jesus, you’re on some roll.”
The waitress had left the pot of coffee. Lee poured himself more. He nodded at me. I shook my head. If I drank more coffee I wouldn’t sleep until Presidents’ Day Weekend.
“She said she needed to see somebody,” I said. “To set things straight.”
“Tony?” he said.
“Somebody,” I said.
“Do you like him for this?” Lee said. “Tony, I mean. I’m going to talk to him either way.”
“I never assume anything with him,” I said. “He’s Tony Marcus. If he did it, he just used me the way he uses everybody else.”
Lee spooned more sugar into his coffee. “Tony’s the type who always has a Plan B,” he said.
I poured myself more coffee. What difference was more caffeine going to make at this point?
“I think he cared about her,” I said.
“He must’ve cared about his ex-wife once, too,” Lee said. “Now if you put the two of them together in a room it would be like throwing a couple of cats in a sack.”
I had not yet told him about my meeting with Natalie. It was like the coffee: What difference did holding back one more thing make at this point? It was just a variation of the games I’d been playing with Frank Belson for years, much to my father’s disappointment.
“Can you keep Lisa’s visit to me between us for the time being?” I said.
“So you keep secrets from me, but I’m supposed to keep yours?” he said. “Got it.”
“Can you?”
“Until I can’t,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“You know I love you,” Lee said.
“Uh-oh,” I said. “Nothing great ever comes after that. It’s like ‘all due respect.’”
“But as much as I love you,” he said, “I don’t want you fucking up my case. And I sure as hell don’t want you putting the interests of Tony Marcus above the law.”
“I won’t,” I said. “And wouldn’t.”
He sadly shook his head.
“Still full of shit,” he said. “He’s a bad guy, Sunny. But you already know that.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s good for this,” I said. “And if I find out he is before you do, I’ll be the first to tell you to hang him by his balls from the top of the State House.”
He finished his coffee, tossed money on the table, and smiled.
“Powerful imagery,” he said.
“I may be full of it,” I said. “But I was a fine arts major.”