At half past midnight, the guests began to filter out. Sushmita gave me a short blink and nod that said she wanted to go. As we headed for the door, Birgit asked if we could drop her at the hotel. Harlan wasn’t about to be left out either, despite what I’d called him earlier, and offered himself as a passenger in our car.

In the compound, I went to open the door to climb in. Sushmita laughed at me.

“Are you planning to drive, Danny?”

Out of habit, I’d opened the right-side door, confusing the driver’s side for the passenger’s. I lied that I was holding it open for her. She climbed inside, and I handed her the gearshift.

“Nice car you’ve got here,” Harlan said from the back seat, as she turned onto Marine Drive. “Is it yours?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Where’d you get it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The car. Where did you get it?”

“West Germany. Where else?”

“Wasn’t Ash’s place nice?” I asked, running interference. Sushmita threw an appreciative glance at me in the rearview mirror. I’d let Birgit sit in front, away from Harlan. “Beautiful view he has,” I added.

“But this car,” said Harlan. “I mean, how does a young gal like you afford it? The import duties alone.”

Sushmita was fed up. No longer worried about being polite, she told him she was rich.

“But—”

“Russ,” I interrupted. “Weren’t you taught it’s impolite to talk about money?”

He apologized. “Sorry about that, miss. I was only trying to make conversation. However you got this car is fine with me.”

We dropped Birgit and the charmer at the President, then crossed the road to our lane. The night guard opened the gate and delivered a half-hearted salute. Sushmita parked in the garage beneath the building. Once she’d switched off the engine, she blew out a long sigh.

“Thank you, Danny, for shutting him up,” she said, fixing me with those sparkling eyes.

“Don’t mention it. He’s an idiot with no manners.”

“And I’m sorry Birgit and I teased you. She’d be lucky to have you for her lover.”

THURSDAY, JULY 3, 1975, 6:01 A.M.

The crows woke me. Each morning they started quietly enough, a murmur before first light. But as the breeze carrying the smell of fish and brine rolled in from the Back Bay, the chorus swelled in a long, droning crescendo, like cicadas, before erupting into a full-throated, rasping, demonic call to greet the rising sun. Even on days when it rained—which was the case for what seemed like half the year—the crows’ wake-up call was the only alarm I ever needed.