Yesterday's News

imagine anyone calling Mark the son ‘Schonsy.’ Yes, Schonsy decided early on, I guess, that the street was what made him go, and he never wanted to leave it. I’ve known men like that before in other departments. It gets into the blood.”
    “Hagan told me that Mark was in the clear on both Coyne and Jane because he was doing paperwork at the station both nights. Said his partner was sick.”
    “Sick? Hard to picture Dan Cronan sick. His wife now, that woman would have reason to be sick.”
    “The partner’s married?”
    “Correct. And being married to Cronan the Barbarian is not where a woman should spend her springtime.”
    “Hagan also told me about a bum in the alley who supposedly witnessed part of the assault on Coyne. Any names?”
    “Not that I heard. I doubt most of them remember or care to give their real names, anyway. Many are on the run from prior involvements, you know.”
    “How about Coyne’s live-in girlfriend. Name and address?”
    “They escape me. I must look into these losses of short-term memory. But the address and probably her name would be in the report on Coyne’s death.”
    “Hagan’s not going to let me see it.”
    “No. I meant the story Jane would have done on it. If the police released it to her.”
    “Liz Rendall is getting those stories for me.”
    “That is the second time you have offended me today.”
    “I don’t get you.”
    “By turning to dear Liz, you imply that I not only am incapable of competent conversation, but also incapable of competent research. Please do me the courtesy of departing.”
    “Peete, I’m sorry.”
    “No apologies are necessary because none are acceptable. Please simply leave so that a third transgression, however unintentional, does not nip in the bud what I’d hoped would blossom into a reasonable friendship.”
    From outside, I saw Peete, catching the bartender’s eye and pointing to his nearly empty bottle.

I called Dykestra again from a drugstore on the way back to the car. His receptionist still couldn’t help me. I tapped the plunger and tried a different number. “Suffolk County District Attorney.”
    “Nancy Meagher, please.”
    “Hold on.”
    Two clicks and two rings. “Nancy Meagher.”
    “Do they let you receive obscene phone calls at work?”
    “Hmmmmmn. Only when the felon involved is beyond the reach of process. Hold on.” I could just about hear her saying, “Tell him I’ll be with him in a minute.” Then, back to me, “How are you?”
    “I’m fine. Nasharbor, on the other hand, can use some work.”
    “Dreary?”
    “And then some. You pressed?”
    “A little,” she said. “How’s the case going?”
    “It seems that my late client was more than met the eye.”
    “Meaning you won’t be back in Boston for a while?”
    “I’m afraid not.”
    “I’d invite myself down for the weekend, but this rape trial looks like it’s going into next week.”
    “I’m hoping to wrap things up by Friday, anyway.” I “Listen, John, I’ve got to go. Can I call you tomor- ; row night?”
    “My motel doesn’t have phones.”
    “What?”
    “It’d take more time than you’ve got to explain it. i I’ll try to let you know when I’ll be back.”
    “Good. Take care of yourself, huh?”
    “Think about me.”
    Nancy dropped her voice a notch. “Always.”

    I drove back to the Crestview, centering the Prelude carefully between the lines in front of Unit 18. As soon as I opened my car door, two men exited the driver and passenger sides of a beige four-door Ford with a whipped-down antenna three spaces away. Approaching me, they couldn’t have looked more like cops if shield numbers had been branded on their foreheads.
    The first one, younger and balding, flipped open his ID anyway. The second one, older, with a crew cut, was beefy with huge hands and the jacket to a gray suit worn over baggy khaki pants.
    The first one said, “Police. Inside.”
    “You’re Mark Schonstein, right?”
    The second one said, “The man said inside, pal. Now.”
    “And that makes you Cronan.”
    Schonstein said, “You can walk in, or we can carry you.”
    “It’s a nice day. Why don’t we just sit on the grass? Kind of like senior seminar in the spring?”
    Cronan said, “What’s the hardest you ever been hit?”
    “Why?”
    “Because if I know the hardest was a linebacker, or some guy with a baseball bat, then I know how hard I gotta hit you, make you realize that when we say something, we mean