Chapter 23: The Family Table

At nine that night every captain in Boston sat at the long table in Dedham, and Carlo sat at its head.

He had not been told why they were called.

He wore his grey suit and the white rose, and he smiled when Maura came in on his son's arm.

"Daughter. They told me you'd been taken ill. I was frantic."

She said nothing.

She walked the length of the table, past six faces turned toward her.

She set a flat black recorder down on the wood in front of his plate.

His smile stayed where it was.

"What is that?"

"A gift," Maura said. "From the man across the river. He keeps a record of his friends."

Carlo's thumb began its slow circle on his knuckle.

Vincent stood at her shoulder and did not speak.

She pressed the button.

The room filled with a hiss, and then with Carlo's own voice, kind and patient.

On the tape Carlo gave the day and the hour.

Friday, four in the afternoon. A warehouse on the Chelsea water.

The old captain's glasses slid down his nose.

On the tape Carlo said: "Offer him a choice. He'll take his brother's son, I promise you."

Someone at the table swore very softly.

Then the voice said: "The nurse's boy. Keep him fed. In a month he will stop asking."

The younger captain pushed his chair back from the table.

Maura did not look at any of them.

She watched Carlo.

He sat without moving through every word, with his hands folded and his head tilted a little.

The tape reached the funeral.

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