The Widening Gyre by Robert B. Parker

Author:Robert B. Parker
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Private investigators - Massachusetts - Boston, Political candidates, Mystery & Detective, Political, Hard-Boiled, Fiction, Boston (Mass.), Mystery fiction, Thriller, Suspense fiction, Spenser (Fictitious character), General, Espionage, Fiction / Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9780440195351
Publisher: Dell
Published: 1983-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Back at the Market I had a sausage sandwich with fried peppers on French bread and my absolute last cup of coffee for the day. It was my victory lunch, but I was cheating. I knew a lot more than I had before I'd seen the chesty young woman in the HOYAS T-shirt, but I was no closer as far as I could see to solving Alexander's problem.

On the other hand I knew how Broz got the pictures. What I didn't know is how his kid got the pictures. He must be twenty, twenty-one at the most. Ronni Alexander was more than twice his age. Where would their paths cross? What the hell was she doing in his apartment indelicato? The forty-six-year-old wife of a U.S. congressman picking up college kids? Possible. If it was true, she'd picked a good one. Talk about luck.

I finished my sandwich and sipped the rest of my final cup of coffee. I looked at my watch, twenty to one. Around eighteen hours till breakfast. Coffee with breakfast was okay. I went back to the Safeway parking lot on Wisconsin, got my rental car, and drove back to the Hay Adams.

From the hotel I called Martin Quirk, who was not in. But Belson was and took the call.

I said, "I'm in Washington, D.C., and I need to know whatever you have on Joe Broz's son Gerald."

He said, "What am I, Travelers Aid?"

I said, "If you will get that for me, when I return I will buy you a case of Rolling Rock Extra Pale beer in the long neck returnable bottles."

"Are you attempting to bribe a law officer?"

"Yes."

"Lemme see what I've got," Belson said. "I'll call you

I gave him the number and hung up and stood and looked out the window at the White House. Below, between me and the White House on my side of Pennsylvania Avenue, three busloads of people had unloaded and were demonstrating their support for something in Lafayette Park. I watched them for a while but couldn't figure out what they were demonstrating about and went back to looking at the White House. The mixture of snow and rain and sleet was still falling. I got out the phone book and looked in the Yellow Pages under Restaurants to see if I found one that jogged my memory. While I was doing that Belson called back.

"Gerald Joseph Broz," Belson said. "Born November 18, 1962. Six feet tall, one-ninety-three pounds, black hair, brown eyes, no distinguishing scars or other characteristics. No arrest record. Presently in his senior year at Georgetown University in Washington, D.C. Political science major."

"You got a picture?" I said.

"No."

"He going into the family business when he graduates?"

"Nobody knows. He's the eldest son, the guess is he will, but no way to know. Far as anyone in OCU knows he's clean."

I said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome. When do I get the beer?"

"Soon as I get back," I said. "You come pretty cheap."

"Cheap?" Belson said. "You fish, you coulda had me for a six-pack.

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