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32

TIME TO TAKE Bella for a walk," Bobby a

A

"I mean it. This is an official police investigation."

"Then you'd better start deputizing me, because I'm going in." House number 48… There, the white colonial with the red brick facade. "You know, it's not exactly the Wild Wild West anymore."

"Have you read the latest accounts of shootings in the city? Could've fooled me."

Bobby pulled into the driveway. He had a decision to make. Spend ten minutes of the thirty Schuepp had agreed to spare arguing with A

Bobby popped his door and didn't say a word as A

"Detective Sinkus tracked down Charlie Marvin," he filled her in as they headed for the front door. "Marvin spent the night at the Pine Street I

A

Bobby would like to say he didn't believe A

The sketch was the key, Bobby decided. Who had Russell Granger known, and why had he felt threatened nearly two years before filing that first police report?

It had become clear to Bobby within the first five minutes of meeting Walter Petracelli that A

Bobby found the brass knocker, strategically located in the middle of a giant wreath of red berries. Three knocks and half a dozen berry droppings later, the door swung open.

Bobby's first impression of Paul Schuepp: about two inches taller than Yoda and two years younger than dirt. The small, wizened former head of MIT's mathematics department had sparse gray hair, an age-spotted scalp, and rheumy blue eyes that peered out from beneath bushy white eyebrows. Schuepp's face was sinking down with the years, revealing red-rimmed eyelids, shaky jowls, and extra folds of skin flapping around his neck.

Schuepp stuck out a gnarled hand, catching Bobby's arm in an unexpectedly firm grip. "Come in, come in. Good to see you, Detective. And this is…?"

Schuepp suddenly stopped, droopy eyes widening. "I'll be damned. If you're not the spitting image of your mother. A

Schuepp set off at a brisk shuffle, heading through the arched foyer into the formal living room. There, another arched doorway led into the dining room, where a right-hand turn took him into the kitchen.

Bobby and A

The kitchen was country-style, with oak cabinets and a massive oval walnut table. A lazy Susan in the middle of the table boasted sugar, salt, and a small pharmacy of drugs. Schuepp fiddled with the coffeemaker, then moved on to the pantry, where after much clinking of glass, he withdrew a bottle of Chivas Regal.

"Coffee's probably go

A

"I'm not much of a drinker," Schuepp told them. "Given the occasion, however, I could use a belt."

"Do you know why we're here?" A

"Let me ask you this, young lady: When did your dear father die?"

"Nearly ten years ago."

"Made it that long? Good for him. Where?"

"Actually, we'd returned to Boston."

"Really? Hmmm, interesting. And if you don't mind me asking, how?"

"Hit by a taxicab while crossing the street."

Schuepp arched a bushy white brow, nodding to himself. "And your mother?"

A

"How?"

"Overdosed. Booze mixed with painkillers. She, um, she'd developed a drinking problem along the way. I found her when I returned home from school."

Bobby shot her a glance. She'd already volunteered more details for Schuepp than she'd ever given him.

"Collateral damage," Schuepp observed matter-of-factly "Makes some sense. Shall we?" He gestured toward the table. "Coffee's ready, though I insist you should try the scotch."

He returned to the kitchen, loading the coffeepot, cups, and creamer on a tray Bobby took it from him without asking, mostly because he couldn't picture a hundred-pound man lifting a ten-pound tray Schuepp smiled his appreciation.

They made it to the table, Bobby's mind whirling, A

"You knew my father," she stated.

"I had the honor to serve as head of the department of mathematics for nearly twenty years. Your father was there for five of them. Not nearly long enough, but he left his mark. He was into applied mathematics, you know, not pure mathematics. Had an excellent rapport with students, and a brilliant mind for strategy. I used to tell him he should give up teaching and work for the Department of Defense."

"You were his boss?" Bobby clarified for the record.

"I hired him, based upon the glowing recommendation of my good friend Dr. Gregory Badington, at the University of Pe

"Wait a minute." Bobby knew that name. "Gregory Badington from Philadelphia?"

"Yes, sir. Greg headed up Pe

"So Gregory Badington was Russell Granger's former boss," Bobby said slowly. "He recommended Russell for your program and at the same time he allowed Russell to move his family into Gregory's home in Arlington. Now, why would Dr. Badington do that?"