Текст книги "Trouble in Paradise"

Автор книги: Robert B. Parker

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"What's for supper?" Macklin said.

"Pork and pepper stew," Faye said.

"And I made a big pitcher of sangria."

"Faye," Macklin said, "you're the best."

Faye knew he meant it, even if he couldn't say she was the only.

"Yes," Faye said.

"I am."

TWENTY-FOUR.

Jesse's office was crowded. He was there at his desk. And seated to his right was Nick Petrocelli, the new town counsel. In front of them, in a broad semicircle, were the two Hopkins boys, their father, Charles, their mother, Kay, and their lawyer, Brendan Fogarty. Beyond them was Carleton Jencks, Sr." Carleton Jencks, Jr." known as Snapper, and the Jencks lawyer, Abby Taylor. Earl gave Jesse the finger while pretending to scratch his upper lip. He and Robbie both smirked. Snapper was expressionless.

"As you know, Stone," Fogarty said, "and, as I warned you, the District Attorney's Office has decided that your case against these lads is so tainted by the way you treated them that they won't bring it to trial."

Jesse was motionless, his swivel chair tipped back, while he looked at Fogarty the way he had learned to look at gang bangers in South Central. The stone-faced stare that every big city cop masters his first month in a black and white. To his right Petrocelli was equally motionless, looking bored, staring out the side window at the late gathering evening. He was a dark, slim young guy who wore glasses with big, thick black frames. Jesse wasn't sure about him. Petrocelli had graduated from Harvard Law not very long ago and put in time as a prosecutor in Suffolk County, before he joined a big Boston firm as a litigator. He had moved to Paradise after that and become pro bono town counsel when Abby Taylor resigned. But he wasn't thirty yet, Jesse was pretty sure. There was about him a hint of Ivy League condescension, and in the few times Jesse had been with him, he seemed bored in his duties. Fogarty, Jesse noticed, responded to Petrocelli with inadequately concealed amusement. Even Abby, who, except in certain areas that Jesse knew of, was the essence of propriety, seemed heedless of Petrocelli. On the other hand, Jesse thought, the price is right.

"And," Fogarty went on, "it is that same precipitous treatment of these boys that has brought us here tonight. We intend to bring suit, for false arrest and imprisonment."

Jesse turned his stare from Fogarty for a moment and looked at Abby Taylor. She nodded.

"We are part of the suit, Jesse," she said.

Jesse didn't speak. His stare rested heavily once again on Fogarty.

"Do you have anything to say?" Fogarty asked.

Jesse glanced over at Petrocelli.

"Nick?"

"It's America, Jesse, say whatever you want."

Jesse nodded as if that were sage advice. He kept nodding slightly as he looked carefully at each of the people seated in front of him.

"What are you all doing here?" Jesse said.

"I told you," Fogarty began.

Jesse interrupted, "Nobody had to come here for that. You could have sent me a notice in the mail," Jesse said.

"Why are you here?"

"Well," Kay Hopkins said.

"I can tell you why I'm here."

Her husband said, "Kay..."

"Don't you shush me, Charles," Kay bore on.

"I wanted to look right into the eyes of the kind of man who would mistreat two little kids."

"Mistreat?" Jesse said.

"Arrested falsely, imprisoned falsely, frightened to death? What would you call it?"

"You guys frightened?" Jesse said to the Hopkins brothers.

"Oh sure" Earl said.

"We was scared to death, wasn't we, Robbie?"

"Scared to death," Robbie said and giggled slightly.

Jesse nodded and looked at their mother.

"Don't you talk to them," she said.

"You don't want them talked to, what'd you bring them for?"

"I wanted them to learn that the system does work. That they have parents who will stand up to it and make it work. That police brutality is unacceptable."

"You feel the same way?" Jesse said to Charles Hopkins.

"I feel my sons were badly treated," Hopkins said.

"I want to see justice done."

"How 'bout you, Jencks?"

"I haven't decided what I'm here for yet," Jencks said.

"I'm listening."

Jesse leaned back in his chair a little farther. Petrocelli seemed almost asleep. He had one elbow on the edge of Jesse's desk and was resting his chin on his fist. He didn't appear to be looking at anything. Jesse surveyed the parents. Charles Hopkins wore a good suit and tie. He was a slim unathletic-looking man, who parted his hair low on the left side and swooped it up over his bald spot. His wife was just overweight enough to make her chic business suit ride a little at the hips. She had a lot of blond hair and considerable eye V shadow and a hard mouth. Snapper's father was a big man with f square hands and a crew cut. His neck was thick. He wore desert boots and khaki pants and a white short-sleeved dress shirt open at the neck. His forearms were muscular.

"So what have you guys learned so far?" Jesse said.

"That you can't push us around and get away with it," Earl said.

"That's what I learned too," Robbie said.

Jesse looked at the parents.

"Good enough?" he said.

"No," Kay Hopkins said.

"I demand that you apologize to these boys."

"Mrs. Hopkins," Fogarty said and put a hand out as if to keep her at bay.

"We hired you, Fogarty," Kay Hopkins said.

"You didn't hire us.

I'll talk when I want to talk."

"Mrs. Hopkins, as your attorney..."

"Oh be quiet. Stone, are you ready to apologize?"

"I'm ready to talk," Jesse said.

"As soon as it's my turn."

"I'd like to hear him," Carleton Jencks said.

His voice was deep, and there was authority in it.

"Anyone else got anything else to say?" Jesse said.

"I don't want to cut you off."

He looked over the group. No one else spoke. Outside the office windows, it was dark.

"Okay, here's what I know. I know that there were two perfectly nice guys living a perfectly nice life in a perfectly nice house, and these three kids burned it down for the hell of it."

"You can't prove that," Kay said.

"Didn't say I could," Jesse answered.

"Said I know it. Robbie told me."

Jesse reached across his desk and punched up the tape recorder.

"No." It was clearly Robbie's voice.

"No. I wasn't even in the house. I was outside watching chickiefor the cops."

"Oh? So who set the fire?" Jesse's voice sounded calm.

"I don't know. I wasn't even in there. Earl had the gas can."

"You're trying to tell me that he was in there with Snapper?"

"Snapper told us he found an open window at the fag house and he'd been in there and tagged the walls in the living room. Earl stole the gas from my dad, for the power mower, and him and Snapper told me to watch for the cops, and they went in the house."

"Through the window?"

"No, Snapper left the door unlocked."

"And you went in and torched the place."

"No." The sound of panic in Robbie's voice was oppressive in the crowded room.

"No, I didn't. Snapper and Earl torched it."

Jesse reached over and shut off the tape recorder.

"Fucking squealer," Snapper said.

"He's lying," Earl said.

"Brat."

Carleton Jencks put a hand on his son's knee.

"We're here to listen, son," his voice rumbled softly.

"Not to talk."

"That's not admissible evidence," Kay Hopkins said.

"You intimidated him into saying it."

"Kay," Fogarty said.

"Shut up," Kay said.

"You weren't in the house?" Jesse said to Earl.

"No."

Jesse sighed and ran the tape fast forward and punched PLAY.

"Snapper made me do it." Earl's voice said. It was shaky as if he'd been crying.

"We went in the house just to look around and then we got in there, and Snapper made me help him."

"Stop it," Kay Hopkins said.

"Stop the tape."

Jesse punched STOP. Kay Hopkins was pale, and there was a small tremor in her shoulders. Beside Jesse, Nick Petrocelli had his feet up on the windowsill. His eyes were closed.

"I didn't say that," Earl said.

"You did too, liar," Robbie said.

"You're the liar," Earl said.

Kay Hopkins turned and slapped the son that was nearest. It was Earl. His eyes filled and his face reddened.

"Kay," her husband said.

"You bastards," she said to her sons, "see what you make me do?

Do you like seeing me like this?"

"For God's sake, Kay," Fogarty almost shouted, "will you shut the hell up."

She spun toward him in her chair as if she might slap him too.

Her husband stood and put his hands on her shoulders. Jesse hoped she didn't have a weapon.

"Mrs. Hopkins," Jesse said.

"You either get yourself under control, or I'll arrest you for assault on a minor child."

Kay didn't look at him. She shook her shoulders, trying to dislodge her husband's hands, and looked at Abby Taylor.

"Well, goddamn it, what about you? You're a woman."

"I think you should be quiet, Mrs. Hopkins. I think you should let your attorney speak for you. I know Chief Stone. He will do what he says he will do."

Slumped on his spine in the chair by the window, with his feet still on the windowsill, Petrocelli opened his eyes and pushed his glasses up on his nose, "You've probably guessed, Brendan," he said in a strong New York accent, "what the heart of our defense will be if you bring false arrest charges."

"I don't like to guess, Nick."

"Regardless of the final disposition of the case, these tapes are very clear evidence that Chief Stone and the Paradise Police had reasonable cause to arrest these boys."

"What's that mean?" Kay Hopkins said.

"It means he'll pretty likely get to play these tapes in court," Fogarty said.

"Can he do that?"

"Probably," Fogarty said.

"Abby?"

"I concur," Abby Taylor said.

"But they can't try these kids for the crime," Jencks said.

"No," Abby said.

Jencks nodded and looked at Jesse.

"Okay. My son and I are not going to bring any false arrest suit," he said.

Jesse nodded. Jencks looked at his son.

"You work too hard at being a tough guy," he said.

"We'll talk about that at home."

"You're a tough guy," Snapper said.

"Maybe too tough," Jencks said.

"We'll talk about that too."

He stood up.

"We're free to go?"

Jesse nodded again. Jencks took hold of his son's arm and stood him up from the chair. Snapper didn't resist. His father's hand seemed to make him still.

"Come on, Snap," Jencks said, and they walked from the room without looking at Kay or Charles Hopkins as they went.

"I don't know why you hang out with a boy like that. No mother, father working all the time. No wonder he gets in trouble."

"Mrs. Hopkins," Jesse said.

"Snapper's got problems, but he's a stand-up kid. He didn't blame either of your sons, and when he heard them blaming him, he didn't deny it."

"So?"

"So your own two kids are a mess. They're criminals. They burned down a couple's house because the couple was gay, if they even know what it means. Neither would accept any blame.

They blamed Snapper. They blamed each other. Not much honor there, not much loyalty. No pride at all."

"Don't you lecture me about my children," Kay said.

"Lecture's over. But here's a warning. Every day one of us will look at them. We catch them breaking the law, we will do our best to get them the maximum punishment allowed."

"And I'll have you for harassing them."

"Put that energy into getting them some help, ma'am."

Everyone was quiet for a moment. Then Petrocelli spoke again.

"So," he said, "you bringing suit or no."

Fogarty looked at his clients.

"Your call," he said.

Kay Hopkins said, "Well, you're the damned lawyer, Brendan, what do we pay you for?"

"I pay him," Charles Hopkins said.

"No, we won't bring suit."

"Then I see no reason to linger," Fogarty said and stood up.

"You need a ride, Abby?"

"No, I'll stay and talk with Nick and Chief Stone for a minute," she said.

"Okay."

Fogarty looked at his clients.

"We should go," he said.

Charles and Kay Hopkins and their sons stood and walked out without a word. Fogarty nodded at Petrocelli, and at Jesse, and went out after them and closed the door.

TWENTY-FIVE.

"We need more walking-around money," Macklin said.

"How much you figure?" Crow said.

"Got a lot of mouths to feed," Macklin said, "including yours. Still got some preparation time. I figure maybe twenty, twenty-five would do it."

"You got any thoughts?" Crow said.

"Nope. You're the force guy-go force us some money."

When Crow smiled, deep vertical lines indented on each side of his mouth.

"Small bills?" Crow said.

"Be nice," Macklin said.

"See what I can do," Crow said.

When Crow was gone, Macklin went into the kitchen and had coffee and raspberry pie with Faye.

"Think he'll come up with the money?" Faye said.

"Yeah. Crow's the best."

"I thought you were the best, Jimmy."

"Well, yeah, I am, but Crow thinks he's some kind of fucking Apache warrior, you know?"

"Is he Apache?"

"Hell," Macklin said, "I don't know. Says he is."

"I don't like him," Faye said.

"Faye, nobody fucking likes Crow. But he's good at his work and he keeps his word."

"Has he got anybody?" Faye said.

"You mean like a wife or a girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"I don't know," Macklin said.

"I don't know anything about Crow, except what he can do."

"Which is kill people?"

Macklin nodded.

"He can kill you with his hands, with a gun, with a knife, with an axe, with a stick, with a length of rope, a sock full of sand, a brick.

He can kick you to death. He can drop you from fifty feet with a knife, fifty yards with a hand gun, five hundred with a rifle. He can shoot a bow and arrow. He can probably throw a spear."

"Does he like it?" Faye said.

"He doesn't mind it," Macklin said.

"Neither do you."

"That's right, but he's not like me. He's... I've seen guys that like it. I seen guys come off when they kill somebody. He's not like them, either. It's that warrior thing. It's like this is what he does because that's who he is, you know?"

Macklin cut another piece of pie and slid it onto his plate. Faye poured more coffee into his cup.

"You scared of him?" she said.

Macklin looked startled.

"Me? No. You know me, Faye, I don't give enough of a shit to be scared of anything."

Faye smiled and nodded. She had only eaten a bite of her pie.

"What do you give a shit about, Jimmy? I've known you since I was a kid, and I'm not sure if there's anything."

"You, Faye. You gonna eat the rest of that pie?"

Faye shook her head, and Macklin slid her plate over in front of him.

"You do," she said.

"Don't you.", "Care about you?"

"Yes."

"I don't care about much else."

"Money," Faye said.

"Oh yeah," Macklin said.

"Actually that's not even exactly right," Faye said. She sipped a little coffee and held the cup up in front of her face with both hands, looking at Macklin over the rim.

"It's not quite the money."

"Money's good," Macklin said.

"We got any cheese?"

"Refrigerator," Faye said.

"In the door thing."

Macklin got up and got the cheese from the compartment in the door of Faye's refrigerator.

"What you really like is stealing it," Faye said.

"If I had to earn it, we'd be poor," Macklin said.

"I doubt it, but that's not the point. You don't want to earn it.

You love this-planning, putting together a crew, drawing maps, buying guns, stealing money to keep us going. You like this better than anything."

"No," Macklin said.

"I like you better than anything."

"If I asked you to give this up, would you?"

Macklin put down his fork and sat quietly for a moment while he thought about that.

Then he said, "Yes."

Faye sat quietly for longer than he had.

Then she said, "Well, I won't ask you to."

TWENTY-SIX.

"Very cute," Abby said when they were alone.

"How'd you know she'd be a jerk?"

"Given their kids, you had a pretty good shot that one of them was a jerk," Jesse said.

"Even if she weren't, we'd have found occasion to play the tapes," Petrocelli said.

"Once they heard them, they weren't go-:i.

ing to press the suit."

"What do you think about the kids Abby said.

"Snapper maybe has a chance," Jesse said.

"Canton and Brown still thinking about a civil suit?"

"Yes, thanks for the business," Abby said.

"I referred them to a woman I know at Cone, Oakes."

Petrocelli took his feet down and swiveled his chair around slowly with feet off the ground. He came to rest with his chair tilted back as far as it would go and his toes just touching, in nearly perfect balance.

"Think they'll go forward?" Petrocelli said, looking straight down his nose at nothing.

"They were pretty mad," Jesse said, "when I talked with them."

"The tapes may get played after all," Petrocelli said.

"Who'd you send them to?"

"Woman named Rita Fiore," Abby said.

"Used to be a prosecutor," Petrocelli said.

"South Shore?"

"Yes. Norfolk County. You know her?"

"She kicked my ass in a thing about two years ago," Petrocelli said.

"She's tougher than Jesse."

"No one's that tough," Abby said.

"You think they might admit the tapes in a civil case?" Jesse said.

"Rules of evidence are a little different," Petrocelli said.

"And if anyone can get them in, it's Rita."

They were quiet. No one wanted to leave yet. They lingered like players after a game. Jesse got up and walked to the water cooler and got three small plastic cups from the container. He came back and lined them up on his desk. Then he sat back down, took a bottle of Black Bush out of his drawer, and poured a shot into each cup. He handed one to Abby and one to Petrocelli. All three drank sparingly.

"I know you, Jesse," Abby said.

"So I heard," Petrocelli said.

Abby laughed, her face flushing, and continued.

"You must have known you were in danger of tainting the evidence."

Jesse said, "We're all off the record, I assume."

"Right now we're just three friends sitting around talking," Abby said.

"I'm surprised you had to ask."

"I knew they did it, but the way I knew it wouldn't stand up in court. I had to get them to confess."

"And you tricked them into thinking each had tattled on the other," Abby said.

"In school," Petrocelli said, "it's tattling. In police stations, it's ratting."

"It's an old cop trick, and if the kids were older and smarter they wouldn't have fallen for it. Snapper didn't fall for it now. Next time the Hopkins kids won't."

"And there'll be a next time?" Abby said.

"Unless this was the kind of wakeup call that can help them turn it around."

"You think?" Abby said.

"No."

"And you can't help them," Abby said.

"No."

"He did what he could," Petrocelli said.

"Yes," Abby said.

"That's why you did it, isn't it? You knew you probably couldn't get them into court, but if you got a taped confession, you might be able to get the parents' attention."

"I didn't want them to think they could burn down some guys' house and walk away from it," Jesse said.

"There needed to be consequences," Petrocelli said.

"He created some."

They all thought about that while they sipped their whisky.

"You're a little more than I thought you were," Abby said.

"I

thought you were a tough guy with an ex-wife."

Jesse nodded.

"Still got the ex-wife," he said.

"And when all that was going on with Jo Jo and the Horsemen last year..." She paused in mid-sentence and sipped from her second cup of whisky.

"I was scared."

Jesse nodded. The room was quiet. Petrocelli was examining the empty space three feet in front of him.

"There was a lot to be scared of," Jesse said.

"For you too."

"That's sort of supposed to be part of the job," Jesse said.

Abby looked at Petrocelli.

"You ever wonder if he can say more than one sentence at a time?" she said.

"I like brevity in a client," Petrocelli said.

"Are you trying to tell him you made a mistake last year?"

"I'm trying to apologize for misjudging him."

Petrocelli smiled and swiveled slightly toward Jesse.

"Learned counsel says..." Petrocelli began.

"I heard her," Jesse said. He looked at Abby.

"No apology required. I am a tough guy with an ex-wife."

"Maybe," Abby said.

And the three of them were quiet again for a while, sipping their whisky together in the bright room before they went home for the night.

TWENTY-SEVEN.

Crow sat in the back booth of a storefront Chinese restaurant on Tyler Street with a sleek Asian man who said his name was Bo.

Bo was wearing a silver-gray leisure suit and a black silk shirt buttoned to the neck.

Leaning against the wall behind the booth was a heavyset Chinese man.

"You Portagie?" Bo said.

"Apache."

Bo looked puzzled.

"Indian," Crow said. "Native American."

"Ah," Bo said.

"Whores say to pimp you asking about buy a key.

Pimp tell someone, someone tell me."

"That's right," Crow said.

"You mind feel for wire?"

Crow smiled and stood and held his arms from his sides.

The heavyset man stepped forward and patted Crow down.

When he was finished, he said something in Chinese.

"You have gun," Bo said.

"Yes."

Bo shrugged.

"No problem," he said.

"You have money?"

"Not with me," Crow said.

"How you buy? No money?"

"You got the blow?" Crow said.

Bo smiled.

"No with me," he said.

"How you sell, no blow?" Crow said.

Bo shrugged.

"Why you come?"

"Thought I'd look at the product," Crow said.

"I like it, we'll arrange something with money."

"You look see blow?"

"Uh-huh."

"You give gun to Vong," Bo said.

"Sure," Crow said.

He took the 9-mm Clock off his hip and handed it butt-first to Vong. Vong took it and dropped it in his side pocket.

"We go," Bo said.

He went out the front door of the restaurant. Crow followed him, and Vong followed Crow. There was a parking lot next door.

Bo walked straight to an old Dodge van with Chinese lettering on the side, and in English, hand painted below the Chinese characters were the words FINE PRODUCE. Bo unlocked the back door, climbed in the van, moved some crates around, and came up with a maroon athletic bag with gray lettering on the sides. He dragged the bag by its shoulder strap to the lip of the van bed and opened it. Inside were several kilos of white powder in transparent plastic bags.

"Lemme try," Crow said.

Bo untwisted the plastic tie that closed one of the bags. Crow tasted it.

"Been stepped on some," he said.

"Sure, but it's good stuff. No cut and..." Bo rolled his eyes and pretended to fall over.

"Yeah."

Crow picked up the plastic tie and closed the bag. Then he half turned and drove his right heel into Vong's groin. As Vong bent over, he put both hands on Vong's head and snapped his neck with one twist. Crow moved so quickly that Bo was only half out of the truck when Crow got a handful of his hair and yanked him all the way out and slammed his head against the car bumper. He let go of Bo's hair and Bo fell face down on the asphalt. Without any hurry, Crow went to Vong's body and took his Clock out of Vong's pocket. He shot Vong between the already lifeless eyes, and then turned and put one bullet into the base of Bo's skull. Then he put the cocaine back in the bag, zipped it up, picked up the bag, and walked out of the parking lot. There was an attendant in the booth, a thin black man with Rastafarian hair. He was crouching down, trying to hide. Crow walked to the booth and shot him in the head.

Then he put his gun back in his holster and walked off down Tyler Street toward Kneeland Street, carrying the maroon Nike bag over his shoulder.

TWENTY-EIGHT.

Jesse stood off-camera on the news set at' Channel 3 and watched Jenn expertly describing isobars and cold fronts and other things about which he knew she had no clue. She made confident sweeping hand gestures against an empty blue background. Jesse knew that somewhere between Jenn and the television audience the empty blue backgroimd acquired a weather map, though he didn't know how.

did he care.

The floor director counted her down.

Jenn said, "Back to you, Tony."

When Tony Salt, the news anchor, replaced her on the monitors, Jenn came past the cameras with her finger to her lips, stood beside Jesse, and gave him a small bump with her hip. They stood silently until a commercial break, and then Jenn led them out through the heavy door into the corridor.

"Hi," she said.

"A low-pressure area dominating our weather system?" Jesse said.

Jenn smiled.

"They write it. I read it," she said and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him lightly on the lips.

"Where shall we eat?"

"Up to you," Jesse said.

"I usually have pizza."

"You know what I'd love?" Jenn said.

"I'd love to have some fried clams at that little restaurant on the harbor in Paradise."

"The Gray Gull," Jesse said.

"Yes. Do you mind driving all the way back?"

"No, of course not," Jesse said.

"Oh good. Let me get my purse and stuff, I'll be right back.

Don't go anywhere."

Like I would, Jesse thought.

He didn't mind driving forty-five minutes back to Paradise. He would be alone with her. Jenn would sit sideways in the seat next to him, tuck her knees under her, and talk. He had always loved to listen to her talk. She didn't even need to be talking to him. When they had been married, he used to enjoy listening to her talk on the car phone to her agent, her manager, casting directors, girlfriends, hairdressers.

"It's not really about telling people the weather," she said, as they went north through the Callahan Tunnel. The rush hour was over and the traffic was light.

"It's about marketing the weather person as a way to market the station," she said.

"Otherwise the anchor could just tell you it was going to rain tomorrow as part of the newscast. But that's not the point. There's three of us, for Christ's sake. Clark does noon and eleven. I do six, and Dinah does weekends. I visit schools and street fairs and do remotes from somebody's lobby. That's why I only do six, so they can market me."

"Long day for Clark?" Jesse said.

Jenn nodded.

"He loves it," she said.

"Gives him more air time."

"So why you?"

"I got a better ass than Clark." ;

"I think that's right," Jesse said.

"How about Dinah?" ( Jenn shrugged. :..

"Girls with bad asses don't get hired." :

Jesse wasn't looking at her. He was watching the road in front of him.

"But she is the weekend weather girl, isn't she," Jenn said. ;

And Jesse knew without looking just the way her eyes gleamed when she said it.

Jesse took a deep breath and let it out audibly.

"How's Tony Salt," he said.

"Is it serious?"

"Not yet."

Jesse felt the thickness in his chest. It began near the solar plexus and reached the lower part of his throat.

"I don't know, Jesse. I'm just dating. It's not serious like you and me, if that's bothering you."

"Could it get that serious?"

"I don't know. I can't promise. I have to be able to see who I want to see, and tonight I want to see you."

"I haven't spied on you again."

"Good."

Jenn didn't say anything, though he was aware that she shifted in the seat so she could look at him more directly.

"I'm ashamed of it," Jesse said.

Jenn nodded.

"Knowledge is power," she said.

"That's exactly the phrase my friend used when I told her."

"Your friend's had psychotherapy," Jenn said.

"It's a shrink thing to say. This the lawyer lady?"

"No. It's a woman named Marcy Campbell. She sells real estate."

"You fucking her?"

"Yes."

" "How come?"

"Well, hell, Jenn, adults fuck, you know?"

"Yep, I know. You love her?" , "No. I like her. I like her a lot. But I don't love her or her me."

Jenn didn't say anything. Jesse drove a quarter way around Bell Circle and headed north past the dog track.

"You think you'll stake me out again?" Jenn said.

"No. You have my word."

"It's a human thing to do, Jesse."

"But not a useful thing," Jesse said.

"No. I have to live my life and see who I wish to see and go where I wish to go and not be trapped in a single commitment."

"Forever?"

"No, just until I don't have to."

"You know when that will be?"

"No. And pushing me on it is counterproductive."

"I know."

"I can't make you promises, Jesse. I can't give you any guarantees. It scares me even to talk this much about it. But you have to remember that you and I are connected in a way that I've never been connected to anyone else."

"You love me?"

"Yes."

"That's a good basis," Jesse said.

"Yes, it is. I think it is possible to love other people too. I think people can love more than one person. On the other hand, so far, I haven't."

"That's encouraging too."

"I want to encourage you as much as I can, Jesse. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't lose me," Jesse said.

TWENTY-NINE.

Mrs. Campbell was wearing a tailored brown suit with a vertical blue stripe. It was tight on her but tight in a good way, Macklin thought. It didn't look like it was too small; it just fit her close.

"Just wanted to be sure it would be okay to bring a couple of guys over. My contractor and maybe one of his people?"

"Of course, Mr. Smith," Mrs. Campbell said.

"Harry."

Mrs. Campbell smiled.

"People do it all the time, Harry. We realize it's a large investment, and we encourage them to take their time, make sure they're happy. Satisfied customers are our best marketing tool."

"I'll bet most of your customers are satisfied," Macklin said.

Mrs. Campbell met his look. Her face looked a little flushed to him. He could smell her. Soap, shampoo, perfume.

"Most," she said.

"May I call you Marcy?" Macklin said.

"Please."

"Marcy, I'd like to try the restaurant on the island, and I hate to eat alone. You free for lunch?"

"As a bird," Marcy said.

The restaurant was called Stiles'. They got a table by the big picture window and ordered drinks. Looking out at the ocean, Macklin could see what Freddie had meant. The sea burst in upon a random scatter of rust-colored boulders that littered the coast of the island in both directions. The water among the boulders was creamy with foam.

Marcy had a glass of white wine. Macklin ordered a martini.

"Be tough sailing off this side of the island," Macklin said.

"Certainly would be," Marcy said.

"It's why the docking facilities are on the harbor side."

"Do any sailing?" Macklin said.

"No." Marcy smiled.

"I'm a dry land girl, I'm afraid."

"Indoor sports, so to speak," Macklin said.

Again Marcy met his look. Her face still had a lot of color to it.

Maybe she was just naturally high colored. And maybe he was going to get her. More than maybe. Faye would understand. Marcy Campbell would be useful. He'd understand if it were the other way.

"So to speak," Marcy said.

They both smiled. The spray from the turmoil below them spattered up sporadically against the stained glass. The dark paneled dining room was nearly empty, and the people that were there spoke quietly.

"What's your husband do, Marcy?" Macklin said.

"Ex-husband," Marcy said.

"Ah," Macklin said.