Shallow Graves

know what you’re doing, I’m supposed to help you?“
    “Primo, look. I’ve been gone a couple of days—“
    “You’re telling me?“
    “—and I need a shower and a change of clothes. Then we can talk.“
    Primo checked his watch, then looked to his car. Thinking of the phone in it, I guessed.
    “Okay. Say, what, half an hour?“
    “Half an hour should do it. Why?“
    “Somebody wants to talk to you.“

    The Lincoln slalomed its way up Beacon, the cars double-parked on either side of the street, before taking a right onto the bridge across the Charles River to Cambridge and MIT. There was a solo guitar coming over the audio system.
    Around his toothpick Zuppone said, “Michael Hedges.“
    “Somebody named Michael Hedges wants to see me?“
    “No, no. Michael Hedges is the guy on this tape. Soothing, ain’t it?“
    It was. Until I remembered that soothing music like this was probably the last cultural experience of several people unfortunate enough to cross Tommy Danucci.
    I shook it off. “By the way, I enjoyed that Mertens cassette you gave me.“
    “Yeah? Great. He’s the best.“ Zuppone glanced hi his mirrors. “So, where you been all this time?“
    “Like I told you, doing some nursing.“
    “At the D.A.’s over in Southie?“
    Primo could have seen my car parked in front of her house, but first he’d have to know where Nancy lived, and she had an unlisted telephone number.
    I said evenly, “I hope I don’t have to tell you to stay away from there.“
    Both hands came innocently off the wheel. “Hey-ey-ey, I never been near the place. Just called a coupla times, see if maybe I got you.“
    The phone calls yesterday. Meaning pretty good contacts within New England Telephone.
    “Primo, can you get me the phone records on Tina’s local calls?“
    “What, from her apartment there, you mean?“
    “Yes. For the week she was killed.“
    “I don’t know. Documents, they’re tougher to get than just numbers.“
    “Can you try?“
    Zuppone ticktocked his head. “Sure. Sure, I can try.“
    “Thanks.“
    He gave me another look. “You’re still worrying about your girlfriend. Don’t. No way we’d go near a D.A., Cuddy. They’re off limits, you know? The government, it don’t hit us like some fucking Spic death squad, and we don’t hit them or their families, don’t even go around there. The Jamaicans, now, or the Dominicans, I can’t speak for those fucking maniacs. They’re liable to do anything to anybody. But us, you got no worries. One of us clipped a D.A. or a cop on purpose—I don’t mean an accident, like thinking some undercover guy’s one of ours, dropping a dime on us—but one of us clipped a government guy knowing he was government? Shit, the family’d hand the member over to the cops themselves, no questions asked.“
    “You wouldn’t be afraid of the guy singing to get a better plea?“
    Zuppone gave me a different look. “Cuddy, we hand the guy over, he’s gonna be dead first.“
    Of course. Which reminded me. “Where are we going, Primo?“
    “Mr. Danucci, he wants to see you.“
    “Which one?“
    “Which one.“ Zuppone turned onto Memorial Drive, heading east back toward Boston. “The Mr. Danucci, which one.
    “What about?”
    Zuppone debated something, finally deciding to talk about it. “The fuck is all this shit about keys?“
    “To the second floor in Mau—Tina’s building?“
    “All the keys, any keys. What the fuck do we care about keys, the girl was choked out by some B & E crackhead?“
    “How did you know about the keys, Primo?“
    “Way I know about everything. People call me, talk to me. Like you oughta be talking to me now. What the fuck difference do keys make here?“
    A side of Zuppone he hadn’t shown before. Edgy, finding it harder to slip into the loose mode and stay there.
    “Primo, if a burglar didn’t do it, somebody else did. And probably that somebody had to use a key some way.“
    “Let’s hear why a burglar didn’t do it.“
    “The first-floor tenant, Sinead Fagan, was in the kitchen just before Tina was killed. Fagan heard water running through the pipes there from Tina’s shower.“
    “So what?“
    “A burglar has to go up the fire escape to get in as well as down it to get out.“
    Zuppone nodded a few times, then turned the car onto the Longfellow Bridge back across the river. “And this Sinead, she’d see somebody going up the fire escape next to her window.“
    I tried not to hesitate. “You