Stardust by Robert B. Parker Page A

around it.
    â€œWhy would he bring her?”
    â€œMaybe it wasn’t mistaken identity,” I said. “Maybe it was a sign, more harassment, like the hanged Jill Joyce doll.”
    Belson nodded. “Or maybe it’s all a fake. Maybe the whole Jill Joyce harassment is to make us think the wrong thing, and the murderer really just wanted to kill this stuntwoman.”
    â€œBabe Loftus,” I said.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œPossible,” I said. “Kind of bizarre, though.”
    â€œLike your scenario isn’t?” Belson said.
    I shrugged.
    â€œWhere’s Quirk?” I said. “This is a hot enough squeal to bring him out.”
    Belson showed no expression. He had one of those permanent five o’clock shadows that no razor could successfully obliterate.
    â€œCommand staff meeting,” Belson said. “Strategies for improving police/community interface.”
    â€œHonest to God?” I said.
    â€œHonest to God.”

14
    J ILL looked at Hawk the way a mackerel eyes a minnow.
    â€œWell,” she said as Hawk walked across the Quiet Bar at the Charles. He had on black cowboy boots and an ankle-length black leather trench coat. The coat was open, the collar up, and a black turtleneck showed at the throat. His skin was maybe half a shade lighter than the leather coat, and his smooth head gleamed in the bar’s indirect lighting.
    â€œYou just wear those boots to be taller than me,” I said.
    â€œTaller than you anyway,” Hawk said.
    â€œAre not,” I said.
    â€œBetter-looking, too,” Hawk said.
    â€œAren’t you going to introduce us?” Jill Joyce said.
    I did. Jill was sitting on a couch quietly, but as she looked at Hawk she seemed somehow to wiggle without moving.
    â€œWell,” she said, “aren’t you something.”
    â€œUn huh,” Hawk said.
    He sat on the couch beside Jill. The waitress appeared eagerly.
    â€œLaphroig,” Hawk said, “straight, in a lowball glass.”
    â€œYes, sir,” the waitress said and hurried off on her mission. She placed her order at the service end of the bar and glanced back at Hawk while she waited.
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me about him,” Jill said to me.
    â€œI did. I told you he would look out for you while I was away and that he was almost as good as I was, and better than anyone else.”
    â€œBut you didn’t mention . . .” Jill spread her hands in a voilà gesture at Hawk.
    â€œShe means you didn’t tell her about me being a sexual icon.”
    â€œYou’re right,” I said. “I didn’t tell her that.”
    â€œAre you almost as good as he is?” Jill said. Like most things she said, it was larded with innuendo.
    â€œBetter,” Hawk said.
    â€œReally?” Jill’s eyes were wide and excited. “The other day he knocked down a great tall man, bing! bing! just like that.” Jill made two darling little punching movements.
    â€œJust like that?” Hawk said.
    â€œMore or less,” I said.
    The waitress brought Hawk’s scotch and another white wine for Jill. They had learned her habits here and seemed to have mastered the technique of keeping her glass filled.
    â€œCan you do that?” Jill asked. She smiled at him, a TV Guide cover smile, over the rim of her wineglass and drank a bit.
    â€œDon’t know about bing! bing!” Hawk said.
    Jill reached over and squeezed Hawk’s biceps. A moment of genuine surprise popped for only a moment into her eyes before the flirty TV-star cuteness slipped back in place.
    â€œWhooooa,” she said.
    Hawk stared at me.
    â€œPay’s excellent,” I said.
    Hawk nodded. “Good to remember that,” he said.
    Jill slugged back most of the rest of her wine.
    â€œSo here’s how it’s going to work,” I said. “Hawk will take care of you at work and to and from. Cambridge P.D. will have a car here