The Intern(37)

Still. This was Charlie.

“You’re sure?”

“Will you stop? I would never do anything like that, and if I did, I certainly wouldn’t mix you up in it. Now, go have a nice dinner and don’t worry. I’ll call tomorrow to see what you heard. That’s all. Nothing more. Promise.”

That was fine. She’d go to the dinner, pretend that she tried and came up empty. He wouldn’t know any different.

They hung up. She threw on her coat and managed to catch Brad at the elevator.

At Villa Carlotta, Kathryn ordered their famous chicken parm but couldn’t eat it because she was so nervous. She drank like a fish, though. It was nearly eleven when dinner broke up. She was sweating Chianti, her head full of cotton wool. Those task force guys could talk your ear off. She’d learned a few tidbits that she could pass along without guilt. Things that wouldn’t get anyone hurt or compromise the case. They divvied the tab down to the last cent. In government work, there were no expense accounts.

“You need a ride?” Brad asked Kathryn as they got up from the table.

“I’ll take her, boss. It’s out of your way.”

The guy who’d spoken up was Morelli, one of the few Boston PD guys on a task force full of FBI agents. The feds didn’t trust him, which made Kathryn wonder.

“How do you know where I live?” Brad asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Family man, I figure you must be in the burbs. I’m right here in town.” Morelli put his hand on Kathryn’s arm insistently. “C’mon, I got you covered, Kathy. My car’s down the street.”

Kathy? Nobody in the prosecutor’s office called her that. Was he one of them?

She shouldn’t be seen leaving with him.

“No thank you, Detective. I’d prefer to take a cab.”

“Suit yourself,” he muttered, and walked out.

“Woohoo, she shut him down,” one of the FBI guys said.

“I’d prefer a cab to your ugly mug, Detective,” another guy said in a high-pitched falsetto.

There was guffawing. Brad shushed them. They walked out of the restaurant in a big, noisy group, lingering for a few last jokes. It was cool and crisp outside after the stuffy restaurant. She took some deep breaths. The agents went their separate ways, but Brad was still hanging around. She couldn’t look him in the eye, she felt so guilty.

“Hey, I apologize for the guys. They can be crass sometimes, but they don’t mean anything by it,” he said.

“Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”

He nodded. “Okay. Good. Get home safe.”

“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

The North End late on a Tuesday night was quiet as the grave. There were no cabs in sight. No people either. Brad crossed the street, his wingtips ringing against the pavement. The blue Volvo with the Red Sox sticker also had those stick figures pasted on its rear windshield. A dad, a mom, two little boys, and a baby girl.

As she watched him take his key from his pocket, something nagged at her. Charlie claimed he needed the make of the car in order to drive by and confirm that Brad was at the restaurant. But Morelli had been there, too. Why not just ask him and confirm Kathy’s information without the bother of a drive-by? Maybe she was wrong about Morelli. Maybe he didn’t work for Charlie after all. Though he’d been strangely aggressive about giving her a ride. Why do that, unless …

He wanted to stop her from getting in that car.

A sick feeling swept over her.

No.

She ran toward the Volvo, waving her arms, screaming.

“Brad!”

The car exploded into a fireball that lit the night. Shop windows blew out with a whoosh and a tinkle of falling glass. A rain of debris fell from the sky, some of it wet and red. Kathryn screamed till her throat was raw, sinking to the ground, feeling the heat of the fire on her face. When the cops arrived, they found her prostrate on the sidewalk, sobbing uncontrollably, her hair and her clothes flecked with the blood of a man who had never been anything but kind to her.

Later that night, Ray came knocking on her door. She knew why he was there. The FBI planned to interview her first thing in the morning. Ray was going to deliver the same message he had years before, when she witnessed that knifing in the hallway at school. This time, her answer had to be different.

Her voice shook as she confronted him.

“Charlie lied to me. He promised no one would get hurt. Brad was a good man. I can’t do this anymore.”

Ray patted her shoulder consolingly.

“I’m very sorry about what happened. I’ll ask him to back off for a while. Give you some time to compose yourself.”

“Not for a while. Permanently.”

“Honey, I’m afraid that’s just not possible.”

“Well, it has to be. You tell him, or whoever pulls his strings, either I’m out or we have a problem. I’ll tell the FBI he’s involved.”

Ray looked alarmed. “Don’t get crazy on me now.”

“I mean it. I just can’t anymore, Uncle Ray. It’s over, even if that means testifying.”

His jaw jutted stubbornly, and his face flushed red, the very picture of getting his Irish up.

“Well, I hate to do this,” he said, taking something small and silver from his coat pocket.

She recoiled.