1
IT WAS SPRING. The vernal equinox had done whatever
it was it did, and the late March air drifting in through the open
window in my office was soft even though it wasn't really warm yet.
Spring training was under way in full tiresomeness, and opening day
was two weeks off.
I was drinking
coffee and studying a new comic strip called Frazz to see if there were any existential
implications that I might be missing, when Quirk came in and went
to the coffeepot, poured himself a cup, added sugar and condensed
milk, and took a seat opposite my desk.
"Care for coffee?" I
said.
"Got some," Quirk
said. "Nice of you to ask."
"You ever read
Frazz?" I said.
"What the fuck is
Frazz," Quirk said.
He was as big as I
was, which is biggish, and always dressed well. Today he had on a
chestnut-colored Harris tweed jacket. His hands were thick, and
there was in his eyes a look of implacable resolution that made
most people careful with him.
"A comic strip in
the Globe," I said. "It's
new."
"I'm a grown man,"
Quirk said.
"And a police
captain," I said.
"Exactly," Quirk
said. "I don't read comic strips."
"I withdraw the
question," I said.
Quirk
nodded.
"I need something,"
he said.
"Everyone says
so."
He ignored me. Quirk
ignored a lot. He wasn't being impolite. He was merely focused, and
I had known for years that he cared very little what other people
thought.
"You know about
Jumbo Nelson?"
"The actor," I
said.
"Yes."
"Here shooting a
movie," I said.
"Yeah."
"You guys think he
murdered a young woman," I said.
"He's a person of
interest," Quirk said.
I looked at him. I'd
known him a long time.
"And?" I
said.
"Lemme fill you in,"
Quirk said.
I got up and poured
myself more coffee, and warmed Quirk's up. Then I put the pot on
the burner, sat down in my chair, and leaned back with my feet
up.
"Do," I
said.
"Real name's Jeremy
Franklin Nelson," Quirk said. "Ever seen him?"
"Seen his
photograph," I said. "Never seen a movie."
"Photo's enough,"
Quirk said. "You can see where the nickname came
from."
"I can," I
said.
"He's in town,"
Quirk said, "shooting a movie. Which you know."
"As yet untitled," I
said.
"Frazz tell you that?" Quirk said.
"I'm adventurous," I
said. "Sometimes I read other stuff."
"Fucking media's
treating this like it was the Lindbergh kidnapping."
"Lotta media to
fill," I said.
"Too much," Quirk
said. "Always was. Anyway, Jumbo is in town, travels with a
bodyguard, an Indian."
"A Native
American?"
Quirk
nodded.
"Like I
said."
"Could be an India
Indian," I said.
"This guy's American
Indian," Quirk said. "Wait'll you get a load of him."
"Dangerous?" I
said.
"I dunno," Quirk
said. "Looks good."
"Bodyguard
involved?" I said.
"In the crime? Not
that I know of," Quirk said.
"Press tells me that
Jumbo raped and murdered a young woman and should be beheaded at
once."
"Yeah," Quirk said.
"That's what they tell me, too. What everybody tells
me."
"You have
doubts?"
Quirk
shrugged.
"Here's what I
know," he said. "Girl's name is Dawn Lopara, twenty years old,
graduated last year from Bunker Hill Community College, was not
employed."
Quirk sipped some
coffee.
"More sugar," he
said.
He went to the
coffeemaker on the file cabinet and got some, and stirred it in,
and sat back down. He took another sip and nodded.
"She's watching them
shoot a scene outdoors on the Common, near Park Street Station, and
Jumbo spots her. He sends a production assistant over to invite her
to have lunch with him in the commissary. She's
thrilled."
"As I would be," I
said.
"Yeah," Quirk said.
"Me too. So she has lunch with all the stars and the movie crew,
and Jumbo gets her phone number and says maybe they can get
together later, and she says oh-wow-yes."
"Do you know she
said that?"
"The oh-wow-yes?"
Quirk said. "No. So he calls her that night and she goes over to
his hotel. They drink some champagne. They do some lines. They have
sex. When they get through, they get dressed. Jumbo excuses himself
for a moment while he goes to the bathroom. And while he's gone she
lies back down on the bed and dies."
"I was having sex
with Jumbo Nelson," I said, "I might consider it
myself."
"It was after,"
Quirk said.
"Maybe she died of
shame," I said.
"There was
considerable bruising around the vaginal area," Quirk
said.
"Suggesting an, ah,
accessory object?"
"ME isn't sure,"
Quirk said. "Maybe Jumbo really is jumbo."
"Cause of death?" I
said.
"ME thinks it's
asphyxiation," Quirk said. "They found some ligature marks on her
neck. But they don't seem entirely comfortable with how they got
there."
"They're not sure?"
I said.
"No."
"Aren't they
supposed to be sure?" I said.
"For crissake,"
Quirk said. "One case I had, they lost the fucking
body."
"That would be
disheartening," I said.
"Was," Quirk said.
"Also, when they're not sure, it gives a lot of space for
rumors."
"I heard one report
that the accessory object was the neck of a champagne bottle and it
broke inside her and she bled to death."
Quirk shook his
head.
"I know," Quirk
said. "No evidence of it."
"I don't think the
Internet requires evidence."
"Or knows how to get
it," Quirk said.
"How 'bout Jumbo?" I
said.
"Says he doesn't
know what happened. Admits he was whacked on coke and booze. He
says he left her alone and when he came back in the bedroom, he
notices she's not responsive. Tries to wake her up. Can't. And
calls nine-one-one."
"He'd been on top of
her?" I said.
"Apparently," Quirk
said. "At some point."
"Jesus," I
said.
"I know, and we've
thought about that."
"How much does he
weigh?" I said.
"Don't know," Quirk
said. "I'd say three-fifty to four hundred. He claims he doesn't
know, either."
"What kind of guy is
he?" I said.
"Awful," Quirk said.
"Food, booze, dope, sex. Never saw a girl too young. Or a
guy."
"Long as it's
alive?" I said.
"I don't know if he
requires that," Quirk said.
"But a nice guy
aside from his hobbies," I said.
"Loud, arrogant,
stupid, foulmouthed," Quirk said.
"You think he's foulmouthed?"
"Fucking A," Quirk
said.