Right to Die

did?”
    “My father got sick. He was a doctor. I never thought much about him getting sick. When I was young, still living in Spain before he sent me... before I came over here for school, I thought he was like Superman, you know?”
    “Invulnerable?”
    “Right, right. Like God didn’t let the doctors catch any diseases. That they always had to stay healthy to keep other people alive.”
    “And therefore?”
    “When I heard about him... about him being sick, I mean, I didn’t take it seriously. I couldn’t even remember seeing him sick. When I finally realized how bad it was, I got upset, sure. But there wasn’t anything anybody could do about it, so...” Cuervo shrugged.
    “How did you feel about your stepmother helping him?”
    A quick breath, then he leaned back in the chair and got casual. “I don’t think Maisy is my stepmother anymore. I mean, she got to be that because she married my father, but now she’s married to somebody else, right?”
    “Andrus injected your father with an overdose.”
    A philosophical smile. “Maybe what she did was the right thing. He was going to die anyway. Maybe Maisy was just making it easier for him, like we do with the stunner on the calves downstairs before they can see the knife.”
    “You get involved in any of the legal wrangle over your father’s death?”
    “No. Maisy got charged and I was supposed to testify, but they never—what do you call it?”
    “Indicted her?”
    “No, like when they... extradited her. They never extradited Maisy. This was all after Loredo Mendez—the prosecutor that let her get off to start with—killed himself. Barely remember old Luis now, but he was a friend of my father’s from the university and had this young wife my father saved from dying during childbirth.” The smirk again. “Younger wives were real popular in my father’s crowd.”
    “You ever go back to Spain ?”
    “Me? No way. That’s a part of the world I’ve already seen.”
    “Never get homesick?”
    “For what? Candás hasn’t been home since I was fourteen.”
    “What can you tell me about Manolo?”
    “Manolo. He still around?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, I guess he would be. My father was a soft touch, John, a real soft touch. One day he comes home, I’m maybe eight or nine, and he’s got this big, scared kid with him. Manolo’s family was kind of poor, and his father was a drunk. You don’t see much of that in Spain . The people learn to drink sidra and sherry young enough to handle it. But Manolo’s father was the exception, and with Manolo not being able to talk or anything, I guess it got him frustrated, so he beat the kid. But el Senor Doctor took him in. Taught him sign language and turned him into a helper around the dispensary. Kind of a trained bear, if you ask me. But he was like my father’s shadow. Wherever el Señor Doctor Enrique went, Manolo would be there too.”
    “How did Manolo take your father’s death?”
    “I wasn’t paying much attention. But I’m guessing that my father must have made him understand that it was okay.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Because I know Manolo. If he thought Maisy had killed my father? Hah, he’d kill her. No question. But then, Manolo’s not your man.”
    “Why?”
    “Well, he can’t talk, can he? How’s he going to make threatening calls?”
    “I didn’t say the threats came by phone.”
    “Oh,” said Cuervo, shrugging again. “I thought you did.”

= 18 =

    I drove back into Boston , putting the car in the trash-strewn alley behind my office building and grabbing a beer and burger at Friar Tuck’s Pub. After lunch I called my answering service as I sorted through the mail. Four messages, one of which was from Inés Roja, asking me to reach her at the school by two.
    My watch said two-fifteen. I tried anyway.
    “Maisy Andrus.”
    “I didn’t expect to get you directly.”
    “Who... oh, John.” Her voice darkened. “Is something wrong?”
    “Not that I know of. Inés left word for me to call.”
    “You just missed her. I can give you the number at the clinic?”
    “Clinic?”
    “Yes, she volunteers an afternoon a week, sometimes more.”
    “I thought Alec said Inés had to leave that?”
    “This is a different clinic.”

    Recognizing the 269 exchange as South Boston, I did some paperwork first, then drove to it. The small parking area had one slot open, but there were plenty of spaces on the street as well.
    Just inside the door was a waiting area. An