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1.

He came into my office carrying a thin briefcase under his left arm. He was wearing a dark suit and a white shirt with a red-and-blue-striped tie. His red hair was cut very short. He had a thin, sharp face. He closed the door carefully behind him and turned and gave me the hard eye.

“You Spenser?” he said.

“And proud of it,” I said.

He looked at me aggressively and didn’t say anything. I smiled pleasantly.

“Are you being a wise guy?” he said.

“Only for a second,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“I don’t like this,” he said.

“Well,” I said. “It’s a start. ”

“I don’t like funny either,” he said.

“Then we should do great,” I said.

“My name is Dennis Doherty,” he said.

“I love alliteration,” I said.

“What?”

“There I go again,” I said.

“Listen, pal. You don’t want my business, just say so. ”

“I don’t want your business,” I said.

“Okay,” he said.

He stood and walked toward my door. He opened it and stopped and turned around.

“I came on a little strong,” he said.

“I noticed that,” I said.

“Lemme start over,” Doherty said.

I nodded.

“Try not to frighten me,” I said.

He closed the door and came back and sat in one of the chairs in front of my desk. He looked at me for a time. No aggression. Just taking notice.

“You ever box?” he said.

I nodded.

“The nose?” I said.

“More around the eyes,” Doherty said.

“Observant,” I said.

“The nose has been broken,” Doherty said. “I can see that. But it’s not fl attened. ”

“I retired before it got fl at,” I said.

Doherty nodded. He looked at the large picture of Susan on my desk.

“You married?” he said.

“Not quite,” I said.

“Ever been married?”

“Not exactly,” I said.

“Who’s in the picture?” he said.

“Girl of my dreams,” I said.

“You together?” Doherty said.

“Yes. ”

“But not married,” he said.

“No. ”

“Been together long?” he said.

“Yes. ”

We were quiet.

“You having trouble with your wife?” I said after a time. He glanced at the wedding ring on his left hand. Then he looked back at me and didn’t answer.

“The only person you could ever talk with is your wife,” I said, “and she’s the issue, so you can’t talk to her. ”

He kept looking at me and then slowly nodded.

“You know,” he said.

“I do. ”

“You’ve been through it. ”

“I’ve been through something,” I said.

He looked at Susan’s picture.

“With her?” he said.

“Yes. ”

“You’re still together. ”

“Yes. ”

“And you’re all right?” Doherty said.

“Very. ”

With his elbows on the arms of the chair, he clasped his hands and rested his chin on them.

“So it’s possible,” he said.

“Never over till it’s over,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said.

I waited. He sat. Then he opened the thin briefcase and took out an 8×10 photograph. He put the photograph in front of me on the desk.

“Jordan Richmond,” he said.

“Your wife. ”

“Yes,” Doherty said. “She kept her name. She’s a professor. ”

“Ah,” I said, as if he had explained something.

I try to be encouraging.

“I think she thought it was low class,” he said. “To have a name like Doherty. ”

“Too ethnic,” I said.

“Too Irish,” he said.

“Even worse,” I said.

“I don’t mean she’s snobby,” Doherty said. “She isn’t. She just grew up different than I did. Private school, Smith College. ”