“Maybe Jack Brennan was going to make his brother out to be a martyr. Their father is tough enough to pull that kind of thing. I don’t know about Jack from my own experience, but given what I saw Monday night, I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

“What do you mean by that?” McQuaid demanded.

“The marks on his body, for Christ’s sake! Did that give him his thrill? Maybe getting beaten was screwed up in Jack’s mind with his brother’s death. I don’t have any way of knowing. I haven’t had any contact with these people since 1971.”

McQuaid rocked on his heels, his chin drawn into his neck. He looked like a rooster. Devlin was wondering if what he had just heard from Eileen about her boss, and what Liz had told him last night, had any connection to this stuff about Brennan’s campaign. People got things mixed up all the time. It was when the wrong people got things mixed up that trouble started. Had that happened? Devlin had to talk to Sal about last night. What else? Who else did he want to talk to?

McQuaid let out a deep breath. “All right. Shit.” He shook his head. “Devlin, you stay in touch. If you can’t keep your dick out of a wringer, send us a postcard from the track.”

“You’re working too hard,” Devlin said, and turned away.

It had started to rain. Devlin motioned John to his car. The overcast had turned the daylight into nightfall; lights gleamed across the wet pavement everywhere. John winced when he saw the interior of the car.

“A certifiable mess. Any real damage?”

“I don’t give a shit. I just don’t want to leave my socks with my feet still in them. Look, you’re amused by your friend McQuaid. I’m not.”

“I want to see what else he has on Lopez and Antonucci. Details, especially on Antonucci. Antonucci had a real life. Your telephone records show calls to a real telephone, in a real apartment.”

“It’s been torn to pieces by now.”

“I’m going to see what I can do,” John said.

“Ask about the girl, too. Jane Milburn. She had a roommate, Susan Michaels. This conspiracy goes back a long way. Maybe Milburn said something to the roommate that means more to me than it would to McQuaid.”

“Are you buying that idea now?”

Devlin was thinking again of Liz’s story and what Eileen had told him about her boss. “Many years ago, Joe Brennan and I had a series of conversations about going after the Mafia. At that age, we were in love with the sound of our own voices. Jack sat in on a couple of those sessions—drinking sessions, really. Drinking and chasing girls.”

“You were married to their sister at the time, weren’t you?”