Promised Land by Robert B. Parker Page B

brought the drinks and took our food order. I drank some of my Heineken. ”Okay, Mrs. Shepard,“ I said.
    ”What’s up?“
    She looked around. There was no one near us. She drank some of her stinger. ”I… I’m involved in a murder.“
    I nodded. Susan sat quietly with her hands folded in front of her on the table.
    ”We… there was…“ She took another gulp of the stinger. ”We robbed a bank in New Bedford, and the bank guard, an old man with a red face, he… Jane shot him and he’s dead.“
    The tide was apparently ebbing. The mark was traced close to the restaurant by an uneven line of seaweed and driftwood and occasional scraps of rubbish. Much cleaner than New Bedford harbor. I wondered what flotsam was. I’d have to look that up sometime when I got home. And jetsam.
    ”What bank?“ I said.
    ”Bristol Security,“ she said. ”On Kempton Street.“
    ”Were you identified?“
    ”I don’t know. I was wearing these sunglasses.“
    ”Okay, that’s a start. Take them off.“
    ”But…“
    ”Take them off, they’re no longer a disguise, they are an identification.“ She reached up quickly and took them off and put them in her purse.
    ”Not in your purse, give them to me.“ She did, and I slipped them in Susan Silverman’s purse. ”We’ll ditch them on the way out,“ I said.
    ”I never thought,“ she said.
    ”No, probably you don’t have all that much experience at robbery and murder. You’ll get better as you go along.“
    Susan said, ”Spenser.“
    I said, ”Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.“
    ”I didn’t know,“ Pam Shepard said. ”I didn’t know Jane would really shoot. I just went along. It seemed… it seemed I ought to—they’d stood by me and all.“
    Susan was nodding. ”And you felt you had to stand by them. Anyone would.“
    The waitress brought the food, crab salad for Susan, lobster stew for Pam, fisherman’s plate for me. I ordered another beer.
    ”What was the purpose of the robbery?“ Susan said.
    ”We needed money for guns.“
    ”Jesus Christ,“ I said.
    ”Rose and Jane are organizing… I shouldn’t tell you this…“
    ”Babe,“ I said, ”you better goddamned well tell me everything you can think of. If you want me to get your ass out of this.“
    Susan frowned at me.
    ”Don’t be mad at me,“ Pam Shepard said.
    ”Bullshit,“ I said. ”You want me to bring you flowers for being a goddamn thief and a murderer? Sweets for the sweet, my love. Hope the old guy didn’t have an old wife who can’t get along without him. Once you all get guns you can liberate her too.“
    Susan said, ”Spenser,“ quite sharply. ”She feels bad enough.“
    ”No she doesn’t,“ I said. ”She doesn’t feel anywhere near bad enough. Neither do you. You’re so goddamned empathetic you’ve jumped into her frame. ‘And you felt you had to stand by them. Anyone would.’ Balls. Anyone wouldn’t. You wouldn’t.“
    I snarled at Pam Shepard. ”How about it. You thought you were going to a dance recital when you went into that bank with guns to steal the money? You thought you were Faye Dunaway, la de da, we’ll take the money and run and the theme music will come up and the banjos will play and all the shots will miss?“ I bit a fried shrimp in half. Not bad. Tears were rolling down Pam Shepard’s face. Susan looked very grim. But she was silent.
    ”All right? Okay. We start there. You committed a vicious and mindless goddamned crime and I’m going to try and get you out of the consequences. But let’s not clutter up the surface with a lot of horseshit about who stood by who and how you shouldn’t tell secrets, and oh-of-course-anyone-would-have.“
    Susan said, between her teeth, ”Spenser.“
    I drank some beer and ate a scallop. ”Now start at the beginning and tell me everything that happened.“
    Pam Shepard said, ”You will help me?“
    ”Yes.“
    She dried her eyes with her napkin. Snuffled a little. Susan gave her a Kleenex and she blew her nose.