things were going, there was a distinct possibility that no one was talking straight. If Christine hadn’t gone back to the Unitarian offices that night, where did she go and why? And if she had, why didn’t Shanna see her, or why didn’t she admit having seen her?
Those questions led to even more. And more after that. Harry didn’t bother asking himself because he already knew he didn’t have the answers. And since no one else seemed inclined to fill in the blanks, Callahan decided it was about time he started finding things out for himself.
He forced himself to stop picturing Shanna as the guileless, delightful child he had been an uncle to. He stopped seeing her now as a beautiful young woman in a lot of trouble. She was a means to an end. Somewhere in her mind was the first step out of this mess. He had to use whatever means necessary to get to it. He felt the Magnum hanging heavily under his arm. His nickname was not Uncle Harry. It was Dirty Harry. If he didn’t want to leave Boston in a box, he had better live up to the name.
“That’s funny,” Callahan said to the girl cursorily. “She said she was going back to the office.” Before Shanna could pursue the matter, Harry changed the subject. “Where are you headed?”
Shanna easily forgot about the Christine question. “I’ve got a doctor’s appointment and then some classes. You want to walk with me?”
Harry thought she’d never ask. They set off down toward Beacon Street. Shanna was wearing the same tight, faded jeans she had had on when Harry first saw her. Only today she had topped them with a black turtle-neck pullover that had shrunk slightly in the wash. Not only did it cling to her closely and set off her flaming hair, but there was a quarter of an inch between the bottom of the sweater and the top of the denims. It was an extremely subtle showing of skin, but extremely effective as well. The little girl Harry had known had grown up into a sensual female.
Shanna seemed unconcerned by her sexual effect as they walked down the street. She seemed unconcerned about most everything, even as they passed the Emerson building Harry had been attacked in. Both doors were chained shut.
“What happened there?” Harry asked innocently.
“Don’t know,” said Shanna, raising her head to the early afternoon sun for warmth. “When I got up this morning it was already locked.”
Collins must’ve been keeping the Morrisson death secret. If he thought Jeff Browne had anything to do with Halliwell’s death, he didn’t want to spook him by announcing his dupe’s murder.
Shanna took a right onto Beacon Street. Harry followed. The man following Harry also followed.
“You said a doctor’s appointment,” Harry reminded her, keeping up the banter. “You don’t look sick.”
“I’m not,” Shanna replied earnestly. “He’s just my counselor who also happens to have a doctorate.”
“Your counselor?”
“Yeah, college counselor. Everybody at Emerson has one. They’re members of the staff who get together with you once a week to help you adjust to the ‘college experience’ as they call it. But basically, it’s like a free shrink.”
Harry marveled at the progress universities had made. It wasn’t like school when he was twenty. Now every kid had their own private nursemaid.
“It’s really great,” Shanna professed, “He’s really helped me get myself together.” She could see from Harry’s expression as they turned onto Newbury Street that the cop didn’t completely buy it. The girl decided to take the bull by the horns.
“It’s like he doesn’t know you at all,” she said quietly. “You are whoever you want to be with him. He doesn’t remember your past so he doesn’t have any preconceptions of you. You can look at yourself objectively because of that.”
Callahan heard and understood. “How long does that take?”
“Dr. Gerrold keeps his schedule loose. Sometimes we talk for a couple of minutes, sometimes the
Those questions led to even more. And more after that. Harry didn’t bother asking himself because he already knew he didn’t have the answers. And since no one else seemed inclined to fill in the blanks, Callahan decided it was about time he started finding things out for himself.
He forced himself to stop picturing Shanna as the guileless, delightful child he had been an uncle to. He stopped seeing her now as a beautiful young woman in a lot of trouble. She was a means to an end. Somewhere in her mind was the first step out of this mess. He had to use whatever means necessary to get to it. He felt the Magnum hanging heavily under his arm. His nickname was not Uncle Harry. It was Dirty Harry. If he didn’t want to leave Boston in a box, he had better live up to the name.
“That’s funny,” Callahan said to the girl cursorily. “She said she was going back to the office.” Before Shanna could pursue the matter, Harry changed the subject. “Where are you headed?”
Shanna easily forgot about the Christine question. “I’ve got a doctor’s appointment and then some classes. You want to walk with me?”
Harry thought she’d never ask. They set off down toward Beacon Street. Shanna was wearing the same tight, faded jeans she had had on when Harry first saw her. Only today she had topped them with a black turtle-neck pullover that had shrunk slightly in the wash. Not only did it cling to her closely and set off her flaming hair, but there was a quarter of an inch between the bottom of the sweater and the top of the denims. It was an extremely subtle showing of skin, but extremely effective as well. The little girl Harry had known had grown up into a sensual female.
Shanna seemed unconcerned by her sexual effect as they walked down the street. She seemed unconcerned about most everything, even as they passed the Emerson building Harry had been attacked in. Both doors were chained shut.
“What happened there?” Harry asked innocently.
“Don’t know,” said Shanna, raising her head to the early afternoon sun for warmth. “When I got up this morning it was already locked.”
Collins must’ve been keeping the Morrisson death secret. If he thought Jeff Browne had anything to do with Halliwell’s death, he didn’t want to spook him by announcing his dupe’s murder.
Shanna took a right onto Beacon Street. Harry followed. The man following Harry also followed.
“You said a doctor’s appointment,” Harry reminded her, keeping up the banter. “You don’t look sick.”
“I’m not,” Shanna replied earnestly. “He’s just my counselor who also happens to have a doctorate.”
“Your counselor?”
“Yeah, college counselor. Everybody at Emerson has one. They’re members of the staff who get together with you once a week to help you adjust to the ‘college experience’ as they call it. But basically, it’s like a free shrink.”
Harry marveled at the progress universities had made. It wasn’t like school when he was twenty. Now every kid had their own private nursemaid.
“It’s really great,” Shanna professed, “He’s really helped me get myself together.” She could see from Harry’s expression as they turned onto Newbury Street that the cop didn’t completely buy it. The girl decided to take the bull by the horns.
“It’s like he doesn’t know you at all,” she said quietly. “You are whoever you want to be with him. He doesn’t remember your past so he doesn’t have any preconceptions of you. You can look at yourself objectively because of that.”
Callahan heard and understood. “How long does that take?”
“Dr. Gerrold keeps his schedule loose. Sometimes we talk for a couple of minutes, sometimes the
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