Flannery and O’Connor got to our man first. Came plowing into the offices of Stewart, Pierce, et al., in the blue uniforms of beat officers like two hardened, seasoned old buffaloes striding across the open plains. Secretaries, office clerks, accounts, and junior partners scattered like startled prairie chickens the moment they walked in. Didn’t ask which office belonged to Franklin Pierce. They already knew. Had our man ensconced at his at his desk and waiting for us to arrive.
Stewart, PierceFlannery and O’Connor.
The two were third-generation Irish beat cops as big as redwoods with blustery skin, red hair, big hands and smartass attitudes. They had a gallows humor that made you grin and shake your head every time one of them opened their mouths. But they were good. Very good and very
