“All right: Brennan. He wanted to talk to me in the library. He turned the lock on the door. He had never done that before. I still thought I was only going to get a lecture on making a pain in the ass of myself, but then he took the glass from my hand. ‘You’ve already had your last guzzle of Brennan booze.’ I made a little move to take it back, and he saw it. ‘Look at you. Life as you’ve known it for the past five years is over. You’re on your way out the door, and you’re such a lush you can’t think of anything but more liquor.’ It started like that, and went on for a long time. I couldn’t possibly repeat it for you word-for-word.” They were outside now, headed for the double-parked Peugeot. The rental car was gone. “He had a laundry list of grievances. Complaints. Some of it had obviously originated with Maryellen, but just as much must have started with Charlotte … That woman didn’t like me, really did not like me. One thing was something I’d said at dinner three years before. Maryellen’s reduced standard of living without anything else to show for it was another. It went on and on.”

Levine started the car, and Devlin gave him directions that would take them to Eileen’s house. He wanted to hear the answering machine tape. Levine asked, “How are you supposed to have something to show for a reduced standard of living?”

“I understood what he meant,” Devlin said. “I was a bad guy. I was an alcoholic when I met Maryellen.”

“She didn’t help you,” Levine said.

“One of the reasons I’ve stayed sober since is that I’ve accepted responsibility for what I did while I was drinking. Brennan got hotter and hotter. For a while I was able to insulate myself from the things he was saying, but he kept at it. I’ve never seen such a rage before or since, and he was still building. I was helpless. He knew things about me I thought no one could know.”

“What kind of things?”

“How I was conducting myself outside the marriage, mostly. I don’t want to go into that, if you don’t mind. He knew about my family, my background. I’ve always assumed he’d hired private detectives …”

“And you’re wondering how anyone could have found Antonucci and Octavio Lopez? Come on, Devlin, this is what we’ve been looking for! You still want to know who framed you?”

“No, Jim Brennan is helpless. Even if he weren’t, he wouldn’t kill his only surviving son. He loved both of them. He was proud of them. They were his young heroes—that’s what he called them. What did you just tell me about the Gambino connection?”