Ever since being in Concord the day before I’d been thinking not just about Lily Kintner and my time as a Boston police detective, but about my life in general, and everything that had led me here. I was close to forty and felt as though I’d failed at just about everything that had meant something to me. I had failed as a police officer when I let my obsession with a suspect get the better of me. I’d failed as a poet, not just because I was largely unpublished, but because I hadn’t been able to write anything but dirty limericks for what seemed like forever. And I had failed as an English teacher all those years ago, lasting one year in the classroom and then never returning.
I rolled down my window to get some air, and to hopefully clear the condensation that had built up on the inside of my car’s windows. I told myself to stop feeling bad for myself. I had been through two bad experiences and I had survived them. I still had a pretty good hairline, a cat who liked me, and my health. And I wasn’t forty quite yet.
The rain turned off as fast as it had turned on, and the skies were briefly blue. Richard, folders tucked under an arm, emerged from the office and got back into his car. I followed him, thinking he was heading back to the Dartford office, but he pulled into the driveway of a Ninety Nine Restaurant at a busy intersection. It was almost four o’clock in the afternoon and there were quite a few cars in the parking lot. I watched as Richard, still holding the folders, entered the restaurant. I scanned the other cars in the lot, looking to see if I could spot Pam’s Toyota, but I didn’t see it. I let twenty minutes pass by.
I was pretty sure I hadn’t been seen by Richard since I started tailing him, so I decided to enter the restaurant, maybe grab a quick drink at the bar, see if Richard was meeting a woman there. Just because Pam’s car was nowhere to be seen didn’t mean he was alone inside. I was wearing my baseball cap and a flannel shirt, not my usual outfit. I decided to keep the cap on, and I entered the restaurant, a wide-open space with a U-shaped bar at its center. Richard was at the bar, his back to the front door, papers spread out in front of him, and his cell phone pressed to an ear.
A hostess appeared, and I told her I was there just for a drink. She waved me in and I sat at one of the high-top tables that ringed the bar, about two car lengths from Richard. I could hear his voice talking into his phone but couldn’t make out the words. He had a pint glass with something clear in it, on ice, with two lime wedges. When my waitress appeared, I ordered a ginger ale with lime and asked for it in a lowball glass. I’d skipped lunch, so I also asked what the quickest appetizer from the kitchen would be, and she said the boneless wings were fast, so I ordered those too.
I sipped my drink, and watched Richard finish his, then nod toward the bartender for another. It was a Tito’s and either soda water or tonic. The bartender, who had shiny black hair pulled tightly back in a bun, and overly tanned skin, added two limes and put it in front of him. I hadn’t found out too much about Richard’s love life, but I had found out that his drink of choice was vodka. He made another call, and this time I could hear him saying something about title insurance, his voice loud and agitated.
A pile of chicken wings arrived at my table, and I ordered another ginger ale. Richard was now looking at his phone, scrolling through what looked like texts. I ate quickly, not knowing when Richard might get up and leave. He was only halfway through his second drink, but he’d signaled the bartender for the check and paid it quickly in cash. I was nearly done with my food when I heard a woman’s voice shout “Richard,” and he turned from the bar as two women, one trailing a happy birthday balloon, descended upon him. I heard their muffled conversation as all three moved to a large table farther from the bar but closer to me.
“I just got here,” I heard him saying, then he offered to buy a round. As the two women—one of them, tall and angular, was familiar as an employee at Blackburn—shucked their jackets and picked seats, Richard brought over two glasses of white wine then returned to the bar to get a bottle of beer for himself. The door swung inward again, and a group of three men entered, all talking loudly. They quickly spotted the table where the two women were sitting and made their way there.
I had asked for a bill with my food, and I put down enough cash to cover it. If this was a work party, as it seemed, then Pam was bound to show up soon, and it made sense for me to leave. I could either head home or stay in the area for a while, maybe come back here in an hour and see if Richard left with any female company. I exited the restaurant and crossed the parking lot to my car. With my hand on the door handle, I heard steps behind me, then a voice. “Hey, you.”
I turned to see Pam, dressed in a thigh-length beige coat, and with a knotted scarf at her neck. “Henry, right? It’s Pam, from the restaurant the other night.”
“Right,” I said.
“If you didn’t look so surprised right now,” she said, smiling without showing any teeth, “I would ask you if you’re following me.”
“I am following you a little bit,” I said to Pam, my mind calculating the best way to handle the situation.
“Are you?” Pam looked pleased, but wary. Someone called out her name from the entryway to the Ninety Nine, and she looked over her shoulder at them and waved.
“I’ve been meaning to go back to the Taste of Hong Kong,” I said, “and get another one of those mai tais. I was going to go tonight but didn’t think they opened until later. I was hoping you’d be there. It was nice hanging out with you. And your friend . . .”
“Janey.”
“Right, Janey.”
“You should go tonight. I was planning on stopping by but I have this . . .” She gestured toward the restaurant. “It’s a birthday party for one of my coworkers, but I don’t think it will go on that long.”
“Well, maybe I will head over and grab a drink.”
“Stick around there, will ya?” she said, and reached out and touched me on the shoulder. “I’ll definitely show up.”
“Okay,” I said.
I got back into my car and watched her enter the restaurant in the reflection of my side mirror. I needed to decide what to do but sitting in that particular parking lot and thinking about it was probably not the smartest move. I pulled out into rush-hour traffic, turning in the direction that would lead me to the Taste of Hong Kong, and the Colonial Estates, where Pam lived. Twenty minutes later I was parking underneath the high blue letters that spelled out the name of the Chinese restaurant. It was early, but the parking lot was already half full.
Inside the lounge, the bar was filling up, but I managed to grab a seat at the far end, positioned so I could keep an eye on the entryway. The crowd was similar to the one on Tuesday night but there were more of them. Young professionals and hip couples that looked like they lived in downtown condominiums. Pete the bartender was rapidly building drinks. He had help behind the bar, the same young woman who’d been there on Tuesday night, plus a skinny twenty-year-old who was clearly a barback, pouring water and washing glasses.
Pete glanced in my direction, and said, “Pam’s friend, right? Mai tai?”
“Sure,” I said.