Invasion of Privacy

client that another client was paying me to find, and some odd things involving the Stepanians as brother and sister in Idaho when they were playacting at being husband and wife here. I couldn’t see your department doing anything about that beyond charging them with incest. Especially when the only evidence about what had happened to Evorova was a nearsighted parking-lot attendant who saw a man and a woman leaving her neon Porsche with suitcases outside an airline terminal in Boston .”
    Hertel said, “So tonight you came visiting the Stepanians to—what, bluff them into making a confession or something?”
    “Or to eliminate them as suspects in my client’s disappearance, the same as I’d done with the other neighbors.” The chief nodded. “But instead, the Stepanians tried to eliminate you.”
    “As soon as I was in their unit, they got the drop on me. The wife did a quick search, but she never thought of an ankle gun.”
    “And after they told you their story . .
    “... the two of them had me get up and move to the sliding glass door, which I did. Then I faked a stumble, drew the revolver, and came up shooting.”
    To Hertel, Niebuhr said, “Check out?”
    “Dispatch logged in calls from first an Elmendorf, K-I-R-A, then three minutes later from a Robinette, T-A-N-G-E-L-A. Both reported shots fired, and I interviewed them. They confirmed that Cuddy made the rounds last week, talking to the neighbors about all kinds of shit they thought was goofy.” The detective glanced at the crowd behind us. “Elmendorf looks like a punker, but Robinette’s a service widow and a steady head, far as I can tell. Both the Stepanian corpses had weapons near them, two shots discharged from the husband’s. Assuming the crime-scene techies don’t throw us a curve, the physical evidence I could see supports Cuddy’s version.”
    All three of us noticed the tugging on the tow-truck cable, like a big fish had just taken the bait. The driver cranked a lever, and the winch began drawing the cable tight, then whining a little as it strained to break the inertia of something heavy on the bottom. After five seconds, the driver goosed the lever, and the cable started winding onto the reel of the winch.
    Chief Niebuhr said, “I am not looking forward to this shit.”
    The divers surfaced before anything appeared at the bog end of the cable. They were ashore, walking backwards to accommodate their fins, just as the roofline of the hatchback broke water.
    When the front doors were visible, the town diver held up his hand to the truck driver, who stopped the winch. The diver waded back into the bog, using a wet-suit glove to wipe the gunk from the driver’s-side glass. Then he shook his head.
    Niebuhr said, “What’ve we got?”
    “The stuff of nightmares, Chief,” the diver waving toward the truck to start the winch again.
    As Hertel turned to the uniforms, asking them to keep the crowd back, I said a silent prayer for Olga Evorova.

    Sitting at her kitchen counter, Tángela Robinette said, “Would you like some privacy?”
    I lifted the phone receiver off the wall. “No, thanks.” Trying Nancy first, I left a message on her machine in Southie that I was fine, despite what she might hear from a news bulletin. Then I dialed Claude Loiselle’s home number.
    A sleepy voice answered.
    “Claude?”
    “Yes?”
    “It’s John Cuddy, Claude. I’m sorry to be calling so late, but something’s happened, and I didn’t want you getting—”
    “John, is Olga dead?”
    I gave it a beat. “Yes.”
    “Aw, no.” Then, not into the phone from the pitch of her voice, “No, no, no.”
    “Claude, I’m so sorry.”
    Back at me, snapping. “How? How did that son of a bitch Dees kill her?”
    “He didn’t. A couple that lived next door was psychopathic, thought Olga had somehow hired me to look into their lives, and they had something to hide they thought was worth killing both Olga and Dees to protect.”
    “No. No, that’s not fair, not fair.”
    “Listen, Claude. I’m sorry to impose on you, but I think Olga’s uncle ought to be told too. The problem is, I’m going to be here in Plymouth Mills for a while longer, and I don’t have his number with me.”
    “I can get it.” More determined. “Let me call him. I’ll be up the rest of the night anyway.” Then, “This psycho couple, what’s going to happen to them?”
    “It already has.”
    A pause. “I’m glad. Glad for that, and glad I hired you.” Another