I don’t trust him. I haven’t seen him since high school. And he was never nice to me.
Kathy, the guy loves you like crazy.
Love? That’s not what I’d call it. He used to purposely walk in on me in the bathroom when I lived there. My own half brother.
I’m telling you, he’s very protective whenever your name comes up. There’s not a lot of choices for a handler. You won’t do better than him.
A handler. She should have known from Ray’s use of that term that they had more in store for her than a little information here or there. They wanted a full-blown spy. And now Charlie was calling, demanding that she comply.
“Go talk to McCarthy,” he said. “Bat your eyelashes, ask about his plans.”
“I can’t. Brad’s on his way to dinner with the task force guys.”
“Really? Where?”
That part, she could give up without guilt. The second the feds walked in the door at Villa Carlotta, someone would spill.
“They’re going to Villa Carlotta,” she said.
“No kidding. Did he leave yet? Maybe you can tag along.”
“I have work to do.”
“Stop dragging your feet, Kathy. People are beginning to notice. What kind of car does he drive?”
“Who?”
“McCarthy.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“To be honest, some people don’t trust you to give accurate information. I’ve been told to check the intelligence before passing it along.”
“Who are these people you keep talking about who don’t trust me?”
“Guys above my head. You’re better off not knowing names. Look, I don’t like it either. I got better things to do, but they’re gonna want me to drive by the restaurant to make sure he’s really there.”
“Fine. He drives a blue Volvo with a Red Sox sticker on the back,” she said. But the second the words left her mouth, she regretted telling. “You’re sure this is just to check my information? Nobody’s going to get hurt?” she said nervously.
“What, kill a prosecutor? You think I’m nuts?”
That rang true. The mob whacking an informant like Mad Tony was par for the course. But going after law enforcement was considered beyond the pale. It brought down too much heat. Even cops were off the table unless they were dirty, like Eddie, because then nobody cared. But a prosecutor as highly regarded and honest as Brad McCarthy would be considered untouchable.
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.