listened without interrupting while he smoked his cigar. When I was done, he put the cigar out in a big glass ashtray on his desk and leaned back in his chair.
“What the fuck,” he said, “are you doing mixed up in crap like that?”
“I ask myself that from time to time,” I said. “But I’m a romantic, Tony. You know that.”
“Whatever that means,” he said.
We sat. Tony got out a new cigar and trimmed it and lit it, and got it going evenly, turning the cigar barrel slowly in the flame of Arnold’s lighter.
“So how you want to do this?” he said.
Chapter35
ACCORDING TO his police folder, Goran Pappas had graduated in the top quarter of his Richdale High School class and gone on to Wickton College on a basketball scholarship.
Wickton was a small liberal-arts college just across the New Hampshire line, south of Jaffrey. I spent the next day there and worked my way slowly through a host of reticent academics to arrive late in the day in the office of the director of counseling services. According to the plaque on her desk, her name was Mary Brown, Ph.D.
“Dr. Brown,” I said. “My name is Spenser. I’m a detective. I’ve been wandering your campus all day and am in desperate need of counseling.”
She was a sturdy woman with gray hair and rimless glasses. “I can see why you would,” she said. “Please sit down.”
I did.
“I’m trying to learn about a man who attended this college. Everyone who would know agrees he did. But no one will tell me much about him.”
“Because they don’t know much?” she said.
“Because they don’t know, or think it’s confidential, or don’t like detectives.”
“Surely that couldn’t be it,” she said.
“I was being self-effacing,” I said.
“I have been here for more than thirty years,” she said. “Perhaps I can help. What is the man’s name?”
“Goran Pappas,” I said.
She was quiet for a moment. The rimless glasses were strong, and they seemed to enlarge her eyes as she looked at me through them.
“I remember him,” she said.
“What can you tell me?” I said.
She smiled.
“What can you tell me?” she said.
“About anything you want to know,” I said.
“Then do so,” she said.
I told her everything I thought she’d want to hear, omitting only the names, except for Goran. When I was through she sat for a time, frowning.
“My goodness,” she said. “And what is it you are trying to accomplish?”
“To right the unrightable wrong, I suppose,” I said.
“I understand the allusion,” she said. “But specifically, what do you hope to accomplish?”
“I feel a little silly saying it. But . . . right now everything is coming out badly for pretty much everyone involved, except maybe the college president. . . . I’d like to make everything come out okay.”
She looked at me silently through the distorting rimless lenses for a time and then reached up and tilted them lower on her nose and looked over them at me.
“My God,” she said.
I shrugged and gave her my sheepish smile. She seemed stable enough to risk the sheepish smile. Less stable women were known to undress when I did the sheepish smile. I was right. She remained calm.
“How can I check on you?” she said.
“If I could borrow a sheet of paper,” I said.
She gave me one. And I wrote down the names and phone numbers and recited them as I wrote.
“Captain Healy, homicide commander, Mass state cops,” I said. “Martin Quirk, homicide commander, Boston police. FBI man named Epstein, AIC in Boston.”
“AIC?”
“Agent-in-charge,” I said. “And Susan Silverman, Ph.D., who’s a psychotherapist in Cambridge.”
I handed her the paper.
“In the interest of full disclosure,” I said. “Dr. Silverman is my honey bun.”
“ ‘Honey bun,’ ” Mary said.
“Girl of my dreams,” I said.
“I’ll get back to you, Mr. Spenser,” Mary said.
Chapter36
I WASN’T SURE WHO HAD TOLD what lies to accomplish it. But we were all
“What the fuck,” he said, “are you doing mixed up in crap like that?”
“I ask myself that from time to time,” I said. “But I’m a romantic, Tony. You know that.”
“Whatever that means,” he said.
We sat. Tony got out a new cigar and trimmed it and lit it, and got it going evenly, turning the cigar barrel slowly in the flame of Arnold’s lighter.
“So how you want to do this?” he said.
Chapter35
ACCORDING TO his police folder, Goran Pappas had graduated in the top quarter of his Richdale High School class and gone on to Wickton College on a basketball scholarship.
Wickton was a small liberal-arts college just across the New Hampshire line, south of Jaffrey. I spent the next day there and worked my way slowly through a host of reticent academics to arrive late in the day in the office of the director of counseling services. According to the plaque on her desk, her name was Mary Brown, Ph.D.
“Dr. Brown,” I said. “My name is Spenser. I’m a detective. I’ve been wandering your campus all day and am in desperate need of counseling.”
She was a sturdy woman with gray hair and rimless glasses. “I can see why you would,” she said. “Please sit down.”
I did.
“I’m trying to learn about a man who attended this college. Everyone who would know agrees he did. But no one will tell me much about him.”
“Because they don’t know much?” she said.
“Because they don’t know, or think it’s confidential, or don’t like detectives.”
“Surely that couldn’t be it,” she said.
“I was being self-effacing,” I said.
“I have been here for more than thirty years,” she said. “Perhaps I can help. What is the man’s name?”
“Goran Pappas,” I said.
She was quiet for a moment. The rimless glasses were strong, and they seemed to enlarge her eyes as she looked at me through them.
“I remember him,” she said.
“What can you tell me?” I said.
She smiled.
“What can you tell me?” she said.
“About anything you want to know,” I said.
“Then do so,” she said.
I told her everything I thought she’d want to hear, omitting only the names, except for Goran. When I was through she sat for a time, frowning.
“My goodness,” she said. “And what is it you are trying to accomplish?”
“To right the unrightable wrong, I suppose,” I said.
“I understand the allusion,” she said. “But specifically, what do you hope to accomplish?”
“I feel a little silly saying it. But . . . right now everything is coming out badly for pretty much everyone involved, except maybe the college president. . . . I’d like to make everything come out okay.”
She looked at me silently through the distorting rimless lenses for a time and then reached up and tilted them lower on her nose and looked over them at me.
“My God,” she said.
I shrugged and gave her my sheepish smile. She seemed stable enough to risk the sheepish smile. Less stable women were known to undress when I did the sheepish smile. I was right. She remained calm.
“How can I check on you?” she said.
“If I could borrow a sheet of paper,” I said.
She gave me one. And I wrote down the names and phone numbers and recited them as I wrote.
“Captain Healy, homicide commander, Mass state cops,” I said. “Martin Quirk, homicide commander, Boston police. FBI man named Epstein, AIC in Boston.”
“AIC?”
“Agent-in-charge,” I said. “And Susan Silverman, Ph.D., who’s a psychotherapist in Cambridge.”
I handed her the paper.
“In the interest of full disclosure,” I said. “Dr. Silverman is my honey bun.”
“ ‘Honey bun,’ ” Mary said.
“Girl of my dreams,” I said.
“I’ll get back to you, Mr. Spenser,” Mary said.
Chapter36
I WASN’T SURE WHO HAD TOLD what lies to accomplish it. But we were all
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