Shallow Graves

not sure. I thought it might have been a nickname or a pet name your daughter used for something or someone.“
    “Please, can you spell?“
    “I think it would be F-A-R—F-A-R.“
    Another pause. “No. I do not remember her say this word.“
    “Could it be Vietnamese?“
    “Vietnam word?“
    “Yes.“
    “No. In Vietnam, we not have the ‘F’ letter. Only the ‘Ph’ letter, and ‘phar-phar’ mean nothing.“
    “How about Italian?“
    “I do not know.“
    “Is your husband there?“
    “No. But he not speak Italy words very much. I can call Primo?“
    “I have his home number. I’ll try him.“
    “No. Primo is in his car. He just leave here. I can call, ask him.“
    “Okay. I’ll call you back later if I need to.“
    “Mr. Cuddy, you know who kill my daughter?“
    “No, Mrs. Danucci, I don’t.“
    She didn’t say anything more, but it did take her a good five seconds to break the connection.
    I pushed the buttons for directory assistance, getting the general numbers of four local universities. At each, I asked for the Linguistics department. The first school didn’t have one, the second didn’t answer. The third wasn’t much more help.
    “Linguistics.“ A female voice, snooty.
    “Hello, I wonder if you can help me?“
    “With whom do you wish to speak?“
    “Well, I’m not sure. I need to know if a word is from a foreign language and what it means.“
    A glacial sigh. “Sir, I’m afraid we cannot be of help.“
    “I thought Linguistics stood for the study of languages.“
    “Then you are mistaken. We study language, singular and in the abstract, if you will. We are not some sort of universal translation table. Good day.“
    I hung up before the dial tone came on and tried number four.
    “Linguistics Department, Roy speaking.“ A cheery voice.
    I told him the same thing I told number three.
    “Gee, I’m sorry but I don’t think anybody here like knows all the languages. But there is someplace I can send you.“
    “Where?“

    The librarian at the reserve desk on the second floor curved her hand to the right. “The section closest to the copy machine, the shelves on both sides. In alphabetical order.“
    I edged past a high school student in a football varsity jacket who looked like he was using both a copy machine and the Boston Public Library itself for the first time. I found the dictionaries and decided to start with Italian/English, carrying it to the nearest work table in the center of the room. I went through it slowly, trying every phonetic spelling I could think of for “far-far.“
    Between pages, my mind drifted to Sinead Fagan’s story about her stepfather. To “Tina Danucci“ moving in with her Uncle Vincent for a while, changing not just her first name but her last as well. To her uncle’s chosen surname, a perversion of what a bride might do. Then I thought about Mau Tim Dani and New York. Oz Puriefoy advising her to move there, Claudette Danucci afraid she’d decided to go, Larry Shinkawa sure of it. A young woman making a clean break with everything from Boston, personal as well as professional. Burning bridges with a passion.
    Then I focused on Vincent Dani himself. Making partner in his office tower, Mau Tim finding out about it and calling him from her apartment late in the afternoon of the day she died, when he was in a meeting. The lawyer maybe calling her back, listening to Mau Tim’s version of what Sinead had done to her stepfather, seeing his partnership fly out the window.
    After five minutes, I’d exhausted the Italian dictionary and pushed it to the corner of the table.
    I got up, went back to the shelves, and started at the A’s. I took down six or seven books and carried them back to my work space. Forty minutes more. Nothing.
    Over the next few hours, I lost count of how many trips I made, each time coming back with as many volumes as I could manage. Some of them were unintelligible, the language involved not using our alphabet. Those I took back to the shelves, becoming aware that I was getting some strange stares. I kept at it, though, thumbing through the pages, trying theme and variations on far-far. Zip.
    By suppertime, I was down to the S books and thinking about a different approach when I reached the Swedish/English entry.
    It didn’t do much for my appetite, but there it was. The English translation of the Swedish phrase “farfar.“ Unless it was a complete coincidence.
    I took the English word and went back through the