Robert B. Parker's Lullaby (Spenser)
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When fourteen-year-old Mattie Sullivan asks Spenser to look into her mother’s murder, he’s not convinced by her claim that the wrong man was convicted. Mattie is street-smart, wise beyond her years, and now left to care for her younger siblings and an alcoholic grandmother in a dilapidated apartment in South Boston. But her need for closure and her determination to make things right hits Spenser where he lives.
As Spenser becomes more involved, he thinks that Mattie may be onto something after all. And he’s going to need the help of his friend Hawk to find peace for Mattie—a job that’s more dangerous than he ever thought.
the detectives’ file. The file contained a copy of Julie Sullivan’s arrest record. She’d been arrested four times for possession of crack cocaine. And five times for prostitution and once for public intoxication. Two weeks before she’d been killed, Julie Sullivan had entered into a plea deal on drug charges. She was set to enter a drug treatment facility in Dorchester a week later. I noted the name of the facility and date on the yellow legal pad I’d brought. I also noted the dates and places
the door. “See?” “I’m not done yet,” I said. “How come you cook? What about your girlfriend?” “Susan burns coffee,” I said. “Sets toast on fire. And I grew up in a house with just my old man and two uncles. We all cooked.” “I bet you lived like pigs,” she said. “A bunch of nasty guys.” “Just the opposite,” I said. “Maybe because we knew what people would expect.” “People expect us not to get by,” she said. “Social worker’s always on my grandma’s ass.” “But you find a way to get by,” I
black silk shirt opened wide at the neck. His jeans were properly faded and frayed in the current style, and his cowboy boots were made from ostrich hides. He caught me staring at his boots. “What’d an ostrich ever do to you?” I asked. “Bird died with pride knowin’ it be on my feet.” I grabbed my peacoat, and the .357 out of my desk drawer. “Double gunnin’?” Hawk asked. “Always be prepared,” I said brightly. “Boy Scouts?” “Genghis Khan,” I said. I locked the door behind us. We walked
plans. But only because I’m steadfast in my loyalties.” “She hasn’t called yet.” “Nope.” “And you could be steadfast in other ways.” “Yep.” “Oh, goody.” 52 Early the next morning, Belson and I met at a boutique hotel across the street from Copley Place. Some local uniform guys joined us and waited outside in their prowl cars. We didn’t expect trouble. I had taken great care in hiding Theresa Donovan. Hawk had been watching her. One does not question Hawk’s abilities. Hawk sat
in Wyoming.” “Don’t really care to fish,” Hawk said. I nodded. “Prefer to hunt.” I nodded. Up the long steps, the statue of William Prescott brandished his sword. Hawk caught me staring. “Don’t shoot till you see the whites.” “I think you have that a bit mixed up,” I said. “Do I?” Hawk asked. He kept the shotgun on a modified rig under his black leather trench coat. He wore the .44 Magnum on his belt. The leather coat covered both very nicely. I wore my peacoat and Red Sox knitted cap. I