Flynn's in

1 Flynn answered the telephone saying, "I'll tell him when he comes in." The upper corridor was lit only by the dim safety lights on the stairs leading down to the front hall. "This is Eddy D'Esopo, Frank." "Is it, indeed?" Flynn's hearing was acute that having once heard a voice usually he could identify it immediately. "You don't sound like yourself at all." "There's been some trouble," the Commissioner of Boston Police said. "Not personal, I hope. Are you all right?" "I don't like getting you into this, Frank. I don't know what else to do. The matter has to be investigated. Your prestige . . . I mean, you'll be believed, no matter what you say." Flynn heard that none of his children was stirring. "Anyway, that's what we've decided." The Commissioner sighed. "What time is it, anyway?" Flynn's watch was on his bedside table. "Quarter past two. Something has happened that shouldn't have." "Isn't that just the way?" "It will take some understanding on your part, Frank. Some discretion." The Commissioner hesitated while Flynn discreetly said nothing. "Anyone else I can think of . . . Well, I'd hate to think how anyone else might use this situation. It could become a dog and pony show very easily." "Commissioner," said Boston Police Inspector Francis Xavier Flynn, "if this conversation has a topic, don't you think we both ought to know what it is?" "What? Oh." Flynn seldom raised his very soft voice. "What are you talking about, man?" "I want you to come here. Where I am. Immediately. Do you have gas in your car?" "Probably." "You'll need gas. Do you have a pencil and paper? The directions are sort of complicated." Flynn's bare feet were getting cold. "Hold on," he said. "I'll go to a phone downstairs." On the kitchen floor, Flynn's bare feet became even colder. "I have paper," he said into the wall phone. On the other side of the paper was Elsbeth's shopping list. He noticed broccoli was listed. "I have a pen. Where am I going?" Slowly, deliberately, the Commissioner gave Flynn directions. At first Flynn would be on highways, then on byways distinguished by route numbers, then on roads he would have to navigate by noticing the occasional church steeple, gas station, silo, finally on what was described as a timber lane. Flynn filled the whole side of the piece of paper with directions. "A bit outside my jurisdiction," Flynn said. "Yours, too." "It's a rod-and-gun club," Eddy D'Esopo said. "It's outside the limits of the City of Boston," Flynn said. "Yes. It is." "It isn't even in this state," insisted Flynn. "No," the Commissioner agreed. "It isn't." "Good Lord, man, I have to ask: Do you know what you're doing? Not all the decisions we make this hour of the night are the best." "Come alone. Tell no one where you're going. Not even Elsbeth." "Commissioner, what are you getting me into?" "You have experience, Frank, handling big matters. Affairs of state. I think you do. I mean, you didn't come up through the ranks. You came to us from Washington, or Zurich, or someplace. You'll know how to handle this." "Commissioner, at the moment I'm trying to handle this case of vehicular homicide that happened last night, this hit-and-run situation of the bicyclist on Tremont Street." "Sergeant Whelan can carry on for you, Frank. He's a big boy now." "Grover," grumbled Flynn. "I'm personally interested in this inveMcdonald, Gregory is the author of 'Flynn's in' with ISBN 9780375713613 and ISBN 0375713611.