Yesterday's News

and the affair. That may ding Schonsy’s influence on the force, but it is his son on the line, and convicted cops don’t fare so well in state prison.”
    “You’re saying that Neil killed Charlie Coyne and Jane Rust.”
    I picked up my wineglass and threw it at her. She dodged and came down seated.
    “No, Ms. Rendall. I’m saying that Hagan stabbed Coyne in that alley, and that you, after not being able to sway Jane away from writing what Coyne told her, poisoned her.”
    “You’re crazy!”
    “I don’t think so. The younger Schonstein is on the hook, Hagan dresses up like a bum, waits for Coyne to act in character, then knifes him in the alley behind Bun’s. The problem is, that doesn’t stop Jane. She was ripped up about Coyne, romantically and professionally, before and after he died. At some point she came to you, her friend from the old days. She ‘idolized’ you, Cabbiness said. You were the natural one she’d discuss Coyne with, both romantically and professionally. That’s how Hagan and Schonsy Senior knew who the source was, to pressure first and kill later. But, like I said, Coyne’s death didn’t stop Jane the way you thought it would. She came to Boston , to see me. My guess is she told you about it right afterward. You were the first car her landlady heard arrive that night. The one who stayed so long. You couldn’t allow a real investigation into Coyne’s death. You ground up the sleeping pills, then assured Jane it was the right amount. ‘Just enough to make you drowsy, Janey, so you’ll fall asleep naturally.’ Like maybe you did with my wine tonight.”
    Her eyelids flipped up and down like window shades.
    “Mrs. O’Day said you were there for hours. How did it feel, Cassy, watching Jane on the couch? While you carefully searched her place for any hard evidence Coyne might have stashed. Her body would have been closing down as the powder seeped into her bloodstream. Could you hear her breathing falter? Did she make any noises—subconscious, vulnerable ones? Did you maybe, even just once, notice the photo on the dresser of you and her together?”
    “You finished?”
    “I am. But I’m afraid Captain Hogueira will be keeping you awhile.”
    “Hogueira?”
    “Uh-huh. I spoke to him earlier about coming by, since what I had was a little thin for the state police. His car’s parked in the garage next to yours.”
    A voice from the dining room level said, “That’s my car, Cuddy.”
    I looked up at Hagan.
    Rendall said, “He knows, Neil.”
    Hagan pointed a snub-nosed revolver at my chest from fifteen feet away. “All of it?”
    Liz sounded resigned. “Enough.”
    My best hope was to move as Hagan came down the stairs to the living room level, but cops lead their targets and count their bullets. At that distance, it wasn’t enough of a hope, so I stayed where I was as he joined us.
    “Another body’ll be tough to explain, Hagan, even for a police captain.”
    Rendall said, “Neil won’t have to explain it, Cuddy. He shoots you, we take you out in the runabout a few miles, and the ocean does the rest.”
    “And Hogueira?”
    “You told him you were coming here? I never saw you arrive.”
    Something danced behind Hagan’s eyes. I thought about him in his office, describing the Meller incident.
    I took a chance. “Neil doesn’t seem to like your idea, Cassy.”
    She glanced up at him and saw it, too. “So / shoot you, John. Up close and personal, after you tried to assault me. Powder bums on your shirt, my blouse ripped, scrapings of your skin under my nails.”
    I forced a laugh. “They’ll never buy it.”
    “I look like your dead wife, right? Enough to stop you in your tracks that first day at the Beacon. People who knew her see me, they’ll buy it.”
    “The woman I’m seeing now. She’s an assistant DA in Suffolk .”
    Hagan said, “Jesus.”
    I said, “She won’t buy it.”
    “We’ll take that chance. Give me the gun, Neil.” Hagan didn’t move. I waited till Liz got impatient and turned toward him. I pushed backward off the floor hard with both feet, toppling over and tumbling against a table before I got oriented and lunged for the rear stairs.
    Rendall screamed, “Shoot him! Shoot him, you idiot!”
    I heard a scuffle as I climbed the stairs on all fours, then two shots. The first splintered wood over my head. The second smacked me in the right heel, sending me sprawling at the top step. A third bullet snuffed out a light fixture at the