"What happened?" I said.

"Near as we can figure, Brinkman was out jogging on the mall toward Arlington Street. He started across Berkeley Street and the car nailed him."

"Find the car?"

"Not yet. But it should have some damage on the front."

"Hit him at high speed," I said.

"Body looked it," Belson said. "ME'S guys say so."

"What other cards he have in his wallet?" I said.

Belson took out a notebook and opened it.

"Well," he said. "He didn't have the Pope's card. Or Puff Daddy's."

"Can I look?"

Belson handed me the notebook.

"Absolutely not," Belson said. "This is a confidential police investigation."

I read the list of names and businesses that Belson had copied off the business cards of the late Brink. I recognized maybe a dozen names, but none that meant anything to my case. I gave Belson back his notebook.

"He was Nathan Smith's broker," I said. "Mary Smith said he managed her finances."

"So you went and talked with him."

"Yep. That's how he got my card."

"And?"

"And Brink told me nothing, even though I asked really nice, and after I left his office, two guys a.s.saulted me in the parking garage."

"An a.s.sault you reported immediately to the proper authority," Belson said.

"I told Susan," I said.

Belson nodded. "These guys say why they were a.s.saulting you?"

"They wanted to know what I'd talked with Brink about."

"And you, being you, probably didn't tell them."

"Client confidentiality is job one," I said.

"Sure," Belson said. "You know who these guys were?"

"They'd been following me around since I took the case."

"And you didn't mention it," Belson said.

"I wanted to see what got their attention."

Belson nodded. "Maybe this guy got their attention."

"Maybe."

"And maybe he'd be alive now if you'd felt like telling us about him."

"Maybe," I said. "Or maybe it's just an accident and the driver panicked and left the scene."

"Didn't some broad you talked to commit suicide?"

"That's what you guys are calling it," I said.

"And didn't somebody try to hit you the other night over on A Street?"

"Yep."

"And you talk to this guy and he's accidentally run down at five in the morning, at the intersection of two empty streets?"

"Seems to be the case," I said.

"That bother you?" Belson said.

"All of it bothers me," I said.

"Maybe this wasn't an accident," Belson said.

"And maybe Amy Peters wasn't a suicide," I said.

"And maybe you told us a little more about what you're doing, some of these people might not be dead."

"I don't know what I'm doing, Frank. If I did I'd tell you in a heartbeat."

"I owe you, Spenser," Belson said. "But I don't owe you everything there is all the time. You know something about a murder, you tell me."

"You don't owe me a thing, Frank. I know anything, you'll be my first phone call."

The uniform that Belson had been talking to when I arrived came back to Belson.

"Found the car, Frank. On Charles Street, a block up from the circle. Black Chrysler. Front end buckled. Phony plates."

Belson looked at me. "Wasn't there a black Chrysler involved in your shooting in Southie?"

"Yes."

"Had phony plates, as I recall."

"I believe so," I said. "I put a couple bullets through the roof."

Belson looked at the uniform.

"Got that, Pat?" he said.

"I got it, Frank."

"Go down there yourself," Belson said. "I want Crime Scene all over that car."

"Okay, Frank."

Belson turned to me as the uniform walked toward his car.

"This thing reeks," he said.

"It does."

"I got things to do here. Come see me tomorrow."

I nodded.

"And think about whether this guy might be alive if you'd told us what you know."

"I do what I can, Frank."

Belson looked at me for a time and nodded slowly.

"Yeah," he said. "I know you do."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN.

Mary Smith wouldn't talk to me without Rita there, and apparently she wouldn't talk with Rita unless Larson Graff was present. We met for lunch at Aujourd'hui in the Four Seasons Hotel. It felt like a double date.

Most of the people and all of the men watched Rita walk in. She was dressed for success in a dark green suit with a short skirt and a V-necked jacket. Her smooth tan looked healthy even though it wasn't, and her thick red hair was in perfect shape. Susan had told me that red-haired women needed to make up with particular care, and Rita appeared to have done it just right.

In her beige pantsuit and careful blond hair, Mary looked a little pallid next to Rita. Larson looked like Larson and I remained dashing and ineffable. Mary had a champagne c.o.c.ktail. The rest of us sipped Perrier.

"Why didn't you authorize me to see your husband's investment statements?" I said to Mary.

"Whaat?"

"Brink Tyler called you from his office and asked you if you'd authorize him to show me your husband's investment statements," I said.

"He did?"

I nodded.

"I don't remember that."

"Last week," I said. "About three-thirty in the afternoon, on a Tuesday."

"I get so many calls," Mary said.

Rita was sitting to my right at the table. She was sort of sideways to the table, half facing toward me with her legs crossed. She smiled when I looked at her and carefully hitched her skirt hem up another inch on her thigh.

"I was there when he called you," I said.

"I don't remember," she said.

I looked at Rita again.

"Mary," Rita said, "we're all on the same side here. If you can help him, you should."

"Oh, Rita, I know. I know that. I really, really do. But you wouldn't want me to lie about something. I absolutely can't remember Brink Tyler calling me up last Tuesday."

"When's the last time you talked with him?" I said.

Mary had some champagne c.o.c.ktail to help her think. Any help was welcome.

"I can't really recall. Larson? Do you recall when I talked with Brink last?"

"I believe you and he spoke shortly after Nathan's death. He was handling the estate."

"Yes. That's right. Brink came over. He was so kind. He said he'd take care of everything."

"The broker's handling the estate?" I said.

"He's an attorney as well," Rita said.

"Renaissance man," I said. "Aren't you ashamed, Rita, just doing law law?"

"And that badly," Rita said.

"And how is your estate?"

Mary looked a little vague. "Fine."

She looked at Rita.

"Estate's in a kind of legal limbo," Rita said. "Until the cause of death gets clarified a little."