Shallow Graves Read Online Free PDF Page A

do today?“
    That was the tough part of being with an assistant D.A. There were some things I couldn’t talk about because of client confidentiality and other things I couldn’t talk about because I might put Nancy in a conflict of interest. She wore the mark of one of those conflicts on her right shoulder, a little pleat of scar tissue over the hole a thirty-eight slug made when we first got involved.
    The good part was that I could be vague without seeming rude. “I’m doing a death case for Empire.“
    “Empire? I thought they hated you.“
    “They do. It’s a long, boring story.“
    “The death case. Here in Suffolk County ?“
    “Right.“
    Nancy nodded. She had her professional obligations, I had mine, and we both knew it was best not to mix them.
    Going back to the lamb, I said, “You still on for the conference in Dallas ?“
    She smiled without showing teeth. “Convention. I confirmed it this morning.“
    “They still want you to talk?“
    “Uh-huh. One of the panels at plenary session.“
    “What does ‘plenary’ mean?“
    “Before the whole convention in the big auditorium.“
    “Quite a feather in the young prosecutor’s cap.“
    “It’ll hold me till you do.“
    By the time we were ready for dessert, the pianist had taken a break. Over the hushed talk and clinking of cutlery, I said, “You know, I thought about embarrassing you with a cake and singing.“
    Nancy looked up, horrified. “You didn’t?“
    “Picture it. The Great Nancy Meagher, the center of attention at her convention, unbearably self-conscious in the best hotel restaurant in Boston .“
    “That would be cruel, John.“
    “Cruelty has its place. Instead, though, how about a chocolate mousse torte?“
    “You memorized the menu?“
    “That one kind of jumped out at me.“
    Our waiter wheeled over the dessert cart anyway. Nancy picked a seven-layer walnut cake and a tea I couldn’t pronounce. I went with the torte and the last of the wine.
    Pointing my fork at her cake, I said, “There’s still time to stick a candle in that.“
    She looked up. “Want a taste?“
    We exchanged forkfuls, making appropriate “ummm“ sounds.
    The pianist came back on just as we were finishing. I said, “We could order some brandy, hear one more set?“
    Nancy seemed to consider it as he began playing again. Then she frowned. “What is that?“
    I looked at the piano, thinking it would help me. “Something with words, but. .
    “A theme song, like from television.“
    “Yeah. Sure. ‘The first mate and the skipper, too
    Nancy put a hand to her mouth. “Gilligan’s Island !”
    I said, “Maybe it is time for the check.“

    We walked up Commonwealth to Fairfield and then over to Beacon and the condominium I was renting from a doctor doing a two-year residency in Chicago . We got only as far as the parking lot because Nancy wanted to sleep home in South Boston to be fresh for battle the next morning. My silver Prelude, ‘old’ but reliable, took us to Southie, finding as always a spot on the street near her place.
    I climbed the stairs behind Nancy . Drew Lynch, a cop whose Parents owned the property, opened his door on the second floor, just to be sure that she was okay. As we reached her door on the third, I thought for a moment about the model in Holt’s photo. Mau Tim Dani died in an apartment on the same floor in a probably similar building across town in the South End.
    Nancy turned the key and pushed the door. A ball of fur swirled around her feet, biting me at the sock line of my shoes.
    I said, “Can’t you teach him not to do this?“
    “He’s an attack cat, John. Aren’t you, Renfield?“
    At the sound of her voice, Renfield backed off. A gray tiger, the yellow eyes seemed to move independently as he looked for any exposed flesh. Nancy had named him after the Englishman in Dracula who eats small mammals. A few months before J he’d been declawed up front and neutered, but at almost a year] old, he was still a