Текст книги "Stone cold"

Автор книги: Robert B. Parker

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them in front of a judge tomorrow and get them released on bail. I am confident that I can forestall a remand.”

“What’s a remand,” Mrs. Drake

said.

“Remand to jail to await trial.”

“My God, is that what’s going to happen now?”

“No. It won’t happen at all. But now the police will hold your

son until tomorrow when we can get them before a magistrate.”

“They’re children. They can’t

have to be thrown in with the

general prison population,” Mrs. Drake said.

“We’ll hold them here,” Jesse

said. “It’s a four-cell lockup.

They will be the general prison population.”

“This is crap,” Troy said.

His mother put her hand on his arm. Jesse could tell that neither Troy nor Bo Marino liked the talk about them being children.

“You got that right,” Bo said.

“That little wimp prick is

lying.”

“Please be quiet,” Rita said to both boys.

“The wimp prick being Feeney?” Jesse said.

“Sure. You got him and the fucking baby says whatever you want

him to, so he can get off.”

“And Candace?” Jesse said.

“Bitch would say anything to get me in trouble,” Troy said.

“She’s been hot for me since ninth grade, and I won’t give her a

nod.”

“Is she hot for Bo, too?” Jesse said.

“Be quiet,” Rita said to both boys.

“Let ‘em talk, lady,” Joe Marino

said. “Somebody’s trying to

frame my kid and you’re telling him not to say anything?”

“They’re not doing themselves any

good,” Rita

said.

“She hot for Bo?” Jesse said to Troy.

“I don’t know. Maybe Bo did her for all I know, him and Kevin

was always talking about doing this broad and that one.”

“You cocksucker,” Bo said.

Mrs. Marino paused in her crying long enough to say,

“Bo!”

No one paid any attention.

“So maybe they did her,” Troy said,

“and the bitch thought when

she got them she could throw me in there and get even.”

“Shut up.” Rita’s voice was

sharp in the room.

But the genie was out of the bottle.

“So why did Kevin name you as well,” Jesse said.

“Fucking loser,” Troy said.

“He’s always sucking up to

Bo.”

Rita’s hand slammed flat on the tabletop and her voice was like

a blade.

“Shut fucking up,” she said.

Everyone looked at her. The room was suddenly still except for Mrs. Marino’s crying. Joe Marino made a cool it gesture at his son.

Mrs. Drake squeezed Troy’s hand as hard as she could.

“You keep talking and you’ll talk

yourselves right into a mess I

can’t get you out of. Do you understand me?”

No one said anything. Bo and Troy looked suddenly scared.

“Good,” Rita said. “You will

talk to no one unless I’m present,

or Barry. You will say nothing unless I say to, or Barry.”

“Rita,” Marty Reagan said. “This

doesn’t look like one for all

and all for one.”

“I know,” Rita said.

She looked at her clients.

“What Mr. Reagan means is that I can’t represent clients in

circumstances where the best interest of one might collide with the best interests of the other.”

Both families looked a little blank. But she had frightened them

enough to make them docile.

“So,” she said. “Let them stay

here tonight. Tomorrow Barry or

I, it will probably be Barry, will get them out on bail, and then we’ll organize your legal representation.”

“You can’t pull out on us now,”

Joe Marino said.

“I can’t represent both of the

boys,” Rita said.

“So let him represent Troy,” Marino said.

“Same firm, Mr. Marino. I’ll see to it that you are both well

represented, but this is not the place, and now is not the time.”

She turned and nodded very slightly to Jesse.

“Okay, Molly,” Jesse said. “You

and Suit read the words and take

them down to a cell.”

Mrs. Marino’s crying rose to a wail. Both Bo and Troy looked as

if they had trouble swallowing. Joe Marino started to argue. Mrs.

Drake seemed frozen in place. Molly said the Miranda for both of them and she and Simpson took them from the room. Their parents went with them.

“Checking the accommodations,” Reagan said when they were

gone.

Rita Fiore said, “When are you going to arraign them,

Marty?”

“You should have them there at nine A.M.,”

Reagan

said.

“Salem?”

“Yep.”

“Can you take care of that, Barry?”

Feldman nodded and made a small entry in his notebook.

“Now,” Rita said. “In the event

that I’m still representing

someone in this cluster fuck, it seems to me like there are deals to be made.”

“Let’s permit the dust to

settle,” Reagan said, “before we start bargaining.”

“Just as long as you see what I see,” Rita said.

Reagan smiled, and got to his feet.

“We done here?” he said.

Jesse nodded. So did Rita.

“Barry,” Rita said.

“I’ll be along in a little while. Why don’t

you get the car warmed up.”

Feldman stowed the notebook in his inside pocket and stood and picked up his briefcase.

“Nice meeting you all,” he said.

“I’ll walk you to your car,”

Reagan said, and both men

left.

40

Rita stood and came down the length of the table and sat on the

edge of it near Jesse. Jesse understood that she was letting him get a look at her. She knew she was very good-looking.

“I did a little background research,” Rita said.

“Thorough,” Jesse said.

“I am very thorough,” Rita said.

“I also have the resources of a

huge law firm.”

“Fortunate,” Jesse said.

Rita smiled.

“Try not to babble,” she said.

“Hard,” Jesse said.

Rita smiled and nodded.

“You were a homicide detective in Los Angeles,” Rita said.

“Captain Cronjager out there says you were very good.”

Jesse nodded.

“But your marriage went south and you had a drinking problem.”

Jesse nodded again.

“How’s your marriage?” she said.

“South,” Jesse said.

Rita smiled.

“And the drinking?”

“Better.”

“My paralegal talked with the state police homicide commander,”

Rita said.

“Healy,” Jesse said.

“Usually you get into one of these suburban towns and they have

a homicide, the state police take over the investigation pretty quickly.”

Jesse nodded.

“Healy says it’s not the case

here.”

“We do as much as we can in-house,” Jesse said.

“Healy says you know what you’re

doing.”

“I do,” Jesse said.

“I also know,” Rita said, “like

about everyone else in the

damned world, that you got a serial killer operating here.”

“I do.”

“You must be stretched pretty thin.”

“We are.”

“But you had time to run this down.”

Jesse nodded. He could feel the force of Rita’s sexuality. All

her movements, every gesture of her head, every verbal tone, was carnal. He knew it was real, and he knew she used that.

“These kids do it?” Rita said.

“Absolutely,” Jesse said.

“No reasonable doubt?”

“None,” Jesse said.

“Well,” Rita said. “Maybe I can

create one.”

“Hope not,” Jesse said.

Rita stood and smoothed her skirt down over her thighs.

“I just like to get a feel for the case,”

she said. “Healy told

us you were a, what did he say? It was kind of cute. Oh, he said you were a straight shooter.”

“That is cute,” Jesse said.

Rita smiled and put on a coat with a big fur-trimmed hood, which

she put up carefully over her hair.

“I hope we can talk again,” she said.

“You know where to find me,” Jesse said.

Rita looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.

“Do you want me to find you?” she said.

“I believe I do,” Jesse said.

41

Healy pushed his way past the cluster of reporters outside the Paradise Police Station. One of the print reporters recognized him.

“Captain Healy,” he said. “Is

there a break in the sniper

case?”

Microphones were pressed upon him. Television cameras came suddenly to life.

“Have the state police taken over the case? Are you planning to

offer a reward … Is there forensic evidence … Why are

you here … Do you think the Paradise police are competent to handle a case of this magnitude … Is the FBI involved

…

Is there a chance they will be … Do you have a theory of the case … Are you comfortable working with Chief Stone

…?”

Healy ignored it as if it were not there. He went in through the

front door and closed it behind him. He said hello to Molly and went past her to Jesse’s office.

“There are a hundred and twenty-three thousand people in this

great Commonwealth,” Healy said, “who have bought a twenty-two

weapon, or twenty-two ammunition in the past year.”

He sat down.

“Their days are numbered,” Jesse said.

“Or his, or hers,” Healy said.

“I think it’s two people,” Jesse

said.

Healy was quiet for a moment, thinking about it.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do

too.”

“How many of those hundred and twenty-three thousand live in

Paradise?”

“One hundred and eighty-two,” Healy said.

“And how many of them own a late-model red Saab ninety-five?”

“Three.”

Jesse felt his solar plexus tighten.

“And,” he said, “how many of

those three Saabs were parked up at

the Paradise Mall when Barbara Carey got shot.”

“According to the plate numbers your people collected,” Healy

said, “one.”

Jesse felt himself coil tighter.

“And the lucky winner is?” he said.

“Anthony Lincoln,” Healy said.

He put a note card on the desk.

“Name, address, phone,” Healy said.

“He has no criminal

record.”

Jesse picked up the card and looked at it.

“He has a class-A carry permit,” Healy said. “In the past year

he has purchased a Marlin twenty-two rifle, model nine-nine-five, semiauto with a seven-round magazine, and two boxes of twenty-two long ammunition.”

“The son of a bitch,” Jesse said.

“Be useful if we could tie the rifle to the shootings,” Healey

said.

“Funny gun for the kind of shooting we’ve been seeing,” Jesse

said. “I’d have said handgun.”

“People use the guns they can get,” Healy said.

“Think we got enough to confiscate it?”

“No. All you got is he owns a twenty-two and his car was parked

near one of the murders.”

“And it’s a Saab,” Jesse said.

“Like the one at the church

parking lot.”

Healy shrugged.

“Talk to the ADA on the case,” Healy said.

“Maybe he’s tight

with a judge.”

“Even if we can’t compel him,”

Jesse said. “Any good citizen

would be willing to submit his gun for forensics testing, unless he had something to hide.”

Healy smiled.

“Unless he wished to vigorously resist the intrusion of

government on the individual’s right to privacy,”

he

said.

“Unless that,” Jesse said. “I

guess I’ll go and visit

him.”

“You might want to be a little careful with this guy,” Healy

said. “If he’s your man he’s already killed four

people.”

“I’m a little careful with

everyone.”

“The hell you are,” Healy said.

“The last one killed, the Taylor

woman, didn’t you used to go out with her?”

“I did.”

“It will not be good,” Healy said,

“if you take it too personal

and turn into Rambo on us.”

“It’s the trick of being a good cop, isn’t it,” Jesse said. “You

got to care about the victim, and you got to care about the job.”

Healy nodded.

“And you got to be unemotional at the same time.”

“ ‘Course not everyone is a good

cop,” Healy

said.

Jesse was silent for a moment, looking at the top of his desk.

Then he raised his head and looked at Healy.

“I am,” Jesse said.

“Good point,” Healy said.

42

Anthony Lincoln’s address was a condo that had been rehabbed out

of an old resort hotel on the south side of Paradise, where it faced the open ocean. With Jesse in the front seat beside him, Suitcase Simpson parked the cruiser in a guest parking space off the cobblestone turnaround to the right of the entrance. A discreet sign said ONE HOUR PARKING. VIOLATORS WILL BE TOWED.

“That’s welcoming,” Jesse said.

The building was an overpowering display of weathered shingle architecture, punctuated with brick and brass and copper that was greening beautifully. A dark green sign, larger than it needed to be, said SEASCAPE, in gold-colored scroll.

Simpson was in

uniform. Jesse wore a leather jacket, jeans, and sneakers.

The lobby was two stories high. The floor was a gray marble.

The

moldings and door casings were driftwood, or something that had been processed to look like driftwood. A concierge desk stretched along one side of the lobby, and a bank of elevators faced them.

The third wall of the lobby was glass, overlooking the beach and the ocean. Jesse held his badge out for the concierge to see. She looked at it carefully.

“Are you the chief?” she said.

“I am,” he said. “Jesse Stone.

This is Officer, ah, Luther

Simpson.”

“What can I do for you?” the concierge said

carefully.

Hers was a job that could be lost by one indiscretion.

“Anthony Lincoln live here?” Jesse said.

“Yes sir, the penthouse unit.”

“Anyone live here with him?”

The concierge was pale-skinned. Her dark hair was up. She was dressed in a dark skirt-and-blazer outfit with a small yachting crest on the blazer. She thought about the question.

“Well, Mrs. Lincoln, of course.”

“And her first name is?” Jesse said.

“Ah.” The concierge tapped the computer built into her desktop.

“Brianna, Brianna Lincoln.”

“Thank you,” Jesse said.

“We’ll go up.”

“I can call up for you, sir.”

“No need,” Jesse said as he and Simpson walked to the

elevators.

When they got to the penthouse floor, the elevator opened into a

small foyer furnished with a tan leather wing chair and a Chinese red-lacquered end table. Anthony and Brianna Lincoln were waiting for them at their door.

“Chief Stone?” Anthony said.

“The concierge called ahead.”

“I’m

Jesse Stone,” Jesse said. “This is Luther Simpson, may we come

in?”

“Of course,” Anthony said. “Tony

Lincoln, this is my wife,

Brianna.”

The room was spectacular, Jesse thought. Glassed in on three sides, it overlooked the beach, the ocean, and the stretch of hard coast, where expensive houses had been built among the rocks. There was a vast white rug, blond furniture, and cream-colored full-length drapes that looked as if one could close them if one tired of the view. Everything matches, Jesse thought.

Everything is clean and exact and just right, and it looks like

nobody lives here. Simpson looked around uneasily.

“We’ll need to talk,” Jesse

said. “This all right?”

“Of course,”

Brianna said. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Sure,” Jesse said.

“Cream and sugar. Suit?” Simpson shook his head. He was still

standing. “No coffee for me,” he said. Brianna smiled and went to

the kitchen. “Why don’t you sit there, Suit,” Jesse said, “by the

door.” Tony Lincoln was slim and tall. His hair was combed back in

a neat wave, parted on the left side, and so blond that it was almost white. He had a deep tan which, Jesse thought, meant either winter vacation or tanning lamp. It balanced well with his pale hair. His eyes were very blue and his movements were alert and graceful.

“What did you call him?” Anthony said.

Brianna returned from the kitchen.

“Coffee is brewing,” she said.

Jesse nodded and smiled at her. Then he answered Tony’s

question.

“Suit,” Jesse said. “Short for

Suitcase.”

“Harry ‘Suitcase’

Simpson,” Anthony said. “The baseball player.”

“Exactly,” Jesse said.

Tony not only knew baseball, Jesse thought, he’d remembered

Suit’s last name.

“Tony remembers every baseball player that ever lived,” Brianna

said. “And most other things, too.”

Brianna was as slim as her husband and nearly as tall, with thick black hair worn short. She was as tan as Anthony, and carefully made up. Her mouth was wide and her dark eyes were very big. She was barefooted in faded jeans and a scoop-necked white T-shirt. Her husband was wearing gray suede loafers with no socks, satin sweatpants, and a V-necked black cashmere sweater. The sleeves of the sweater were pushed up over his forearms. He smiled.

“Great game,” he said.

“It is,” Jesse said.

“Ever play?” Tony said.

“I did,” Jesse said.

“I did too,” Lincoln said. “And

I’ve never liked anything so

well again.”

“Well, excuse me,” Brianna said.

Tony smiled.

“Except you,” he said.

“You’re just saying that because you want coffee,” Brianna said,

and got up and went again to the kitchen.

Tony laughed before he turned to Jesse.

“So what can we do for you, Jesse? Okay if I call you

Jesse?”

“You bet,” Jesse said.

“Let’s wait until Mrs. Lincoln comes back.”

“Brianna,” Tony said. “Tony and

Brianna. We don’t stand on a lot

of formality here.”

Jesse nodded. He smiled to himself. Suit looked very large and uncomfortable in the fancy chair by the door. Brianna came back in with coffee on a small tea wagon. Good china. Good silver.

When they had settled back with their coffee, Jesse said,

“First, thanks for being so gracious. This is a routine investigation, we’ve cross-referenced a lot of data and now we just

have to boil it down by eliminating the people we’ve come up with.”

“Is it the killings?” Brianna said.

Even sitting across from her he could smell her perfume.

And heat, Jesse thought. I can

almost feel heat

from her.

“Yes, ma’am, it is,” Jesse said.

Jesse could see Suit, by the door out of sight of the Lincolns,

staring at Jesse.

“We’re trying to run down every

twenty-two-caliber firearm owned

by a resident of Paradise.”

“Ah,” Tony said and smiled.

“That’s it.”

Jesse nodded. He took a small notebook out of his jacket pocket

and opened it.

“You appear to own a twenty-two rifle,” he said, reading from

the notebook, “Marlin model nine-nine-five, semiauto with a seven-round magazine.”

“We do,” Tony said, and grinned at Jesse,

“if you know that, you

probably know that we have a permit.”

“I do,” Jesse said. “You also

bought two boxes of twenty-two

long ammunition for it.”

“Yep, got about a box and a half left. We got a country place in

the Berkshires and when we’re out there we like to plink vermin.”

Jesse nodded.

“Do you have the gun here, Tony?” he said.

“Sure, we keep it locked up in the bedroom closet.”

“May we see it?”

“Sure, Brianna? You want to get it for us?”

“Of course,” she said and hurried out of the

room.

Jesse admired her backside, then shifted his glance to the big picture window. The ocean looked silvery blue today with the sun shining on it.

“Great view, isn’t it,” Tony

said.

“I assume you pay for it,” Jesse said.

“Oh, boy,” Tony said, “you got

that right.”

“What do you do for work,” Jesse said.

Tony smiled.

“Mostly, these days, I manage our money,”

he said. “I used to be

an ophthalmologist. Then one day I invented an ocular scanning device that became the standard for the profession.”

He smiled again.

“Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good,” he

said.

“And you don’t practice medicine

anymore?” Jesse

said.

“Why, do you have something in your eye?”

Jesse smiled.

“Just wondered.”

“No, I don’t practice anymore,”

Tony said.

“You miss it?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

Brianna came back into the room carrying the rifle in both hands. Jesse was aware that Simpson shifted a little in his seat by the door. Brianna gave Jesse the gun. He pointed it at the floor, released the magazine into his hand and put it on the table beside him, worked the action a couple of times, then opened the bolt and looked at the barrel.

“Nice and clean,” he said.

“Good workman takes care of his tools, right, Jesse?”

Jesse nodded.

“We’d like to borrow this for a couple of days. I’ll give you a

receipt, and test-fire it so we can cross you off the list.”

“Be pretty suspicious,” Tony said,

“if we didn’t let

you.”

“It would,” Jesse said.

“Could they make a mistake?” Tony said.

“No,” Jesse said. “This is

pretty straightforward

ballistics.”

“Okay with me,” Tony said. “You

go along with that,

Brianna?”

“Certainly.”

Jesse stood and handed the rifle to Simpson.

“Thanks,” Jesse said.

“We’ll get it back to you

promptly.”

“That’ll be fine, Jesse,” Tony

said.

He and Brianna were both on their feet.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Jesse said.

“We enjoyed the company,” Brianna said.

“Good luck with the

dreadful murders.”

“Yes,” Tony said. “And if you

come up with a case of

conjunctivitis, give me a call. You too, Suitcase.”

They shook hands and Tony walked them to the elevator.

“I hope you get the sonovabitch,” he said.

“Sooner or later,” Jesse said.

The elevator door opened, Jesse and Suit got in. Jesse punched one and the door glided shut.

43

As they drove back along Atlantic Avenue, Suitcase Simpson said

to Jesse, “We are cops, are we not?”

“We are.”

“And there’s a donut shop down here on the right past the

Catholic church, is there not?”

“And you feel that in order to certify our cop-ness we have to

go in there and scarf some down?”

“Yes,” Simpson said. “I

do.”

“You’re right,” Jesse said.

“It’s been too long.”

Suit swung the car into the Dunkin‘ Donuts parking lot. Simpson

kept the car idling, while Jesse got out and went in and bought a dozen donuts and two large coffees.

“A dozen?” Suit said.

“We’re not going to eat a dozen

donuts.”

“Sooner or later,” Jesse said.

Suit put the cruiser in gear.

“Care to dine with an ocean view?” Suit said.

“Sure,” Jesse said. “The wharf

would do but make it quick. Don’t

want the donuts to spoil.”

“Donuts don’t spoil,” Suit said

and drove them to the

wharf.

They left the motor on against the chill as they ate donuts and

drank coffee and looked at the boat traffic, even on a cold day, moving about on the harbor.

“Seem like a nice couple,” Suit said.

“The Lincolns?”

“Who’d you think I meant,” Suit

said. “Us?”

“Wise guys don’t make sergeant,”

Jesse said.

Suit grinned.

“You got some problem with the Lincolns?”

he

said.

“Too nice,” Jesse said. “Too

cooperative.”

“You’d prefer they were surly?”

“Suit, you been studying up,” Jesse said.

“Surly?”

“I’m a high school grad,” Suit

said. “I know a bunch of words.

Sometimes I say enticing, or symbolic.

What’s

wrong with the Lincolns?”

“They bother me. Lot of people are a little uncomfortable when

the cops come and want to look at your gun.”

“They knew nobody got shot with their gun,” Suit

said.

“Some people would want to check with their attorney before

letting us test their weapon,” Jesse said. “People are uneasy with

cops.”

“Maybe, since they had nothing to hide they didn’t want to act

like they did.”

“Maybe,” Jesse said.

“Well, soon as we fire the thing we’ll know.”

“We’ll know the bullets that killed our people weren’t fired

from that gun,” Jesse said.

“You think they had another gun?”

“Two.”

“You think they did it?”

“Until I got a better suspect,” Jesse said,

“yes.”

“Her too?”

“Yes.”

“Even if the gun don’t match,”

Suit said.

“It won’t match,” Jesse said.

“They knew that when they gave it

to us.”

“You never said nothing to them about their car being parked up

at the Paradise Mall when Barbara Carey got killed,” Suit said.

He wiped cinnamon sugar off his chin with the back of his hand.

“No need to tell them all we know,” Jesse said.

“Because you got some kind of instinct that they’re the ones?”

Suit said.

“Because there’s something very phony about them,” Jesse

said.

“Lot of that going around in Paradise,”

Suit

said.

“But they’re the only phonies whose car was parked ten feet from

a homicide,” Jesse said.

“Well,” Suit said.

“Yeah.”

44

They sat together on the couch in the living room with their feet up on the coffee table. It was so still that they could hear the small click of the ice maker in their freezer. On the far horizon was the low profile of an oil tanker heading toward Chelsea Creek.

“Looking at the water,” he said,

“it’s like you can see

eternity.”

With her head resting against his shoulder, she said,

“You

always say that.”

“Well, it’s always so.”

“It’s always so, for you,” she

said.

“You and I are one and the same,” he said.

She was quiet. The oil tanker disappeared behind the coastline curve to the east.

“Do you think the cop will forget about us after the gun doesn’t

match?” he said.

“He was so polite,” she said. “I

thought he was

nice.”

“In an odd way, I hope he doesn’t forget about

us.”

“Makes it more exciting?” she said.

“I guess so,” he said.

“What if he catches us?”

“You think he’s going to catch us? Him and his bumpkin

buddy?”

“He didn’t seem to know very

much,” she said. “Actually I think

we sort of intimidated them.”

“I know,” he said. “Did you see

how stiff the big one was

sitting by the door?”

The ocean was empty now, stretching out from the empty beach below them. They watched its blue gray movement and the scatter of whitecaps where the wind ruffled the surface.

“They can’t find out anything from the gun,” she

said.

“Of course not,” he said. “We

haven’t even fired the damn

thing.”

“I know. I just worry sometimes.”

“Do you really think some flatfooted cop has a chance against

us? You and me?”

“He didn’t seem so stupid to

me,” she said, “more like he was

polite.”

“He was looking at your ass, for God’s sake.”

She smiled and banged her head gently against his shoulder.

“See, I told you he wasn’t

stupid.”

He put his hand inside her thigh, and she snuggled down a little

against him.

“Do that, myself,” he said.

“I know.”

Two gulls rose outside their window, effortlessly riding the air

currents. They never seemed cold in the winter, nor hot in the summer; they were just always there, circling, soaring, looking for food.

“It might be fun to kill him,” he said.

“The cop?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that asking for trouble?”

“Isn’t that what we do,” he

said. “Ask for trouble? Would it be

as thrilling doing what we do, if there were no risk of getting caught.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she

said. “I never thought of it that

way.”

“Would you have fun playing baseball if you knew you couldn’t

lose?” he said.

“I never played baseball,” she said.

“Or gambling.” He was very intense.

“The possibility of losing

is what gives it juice.”

“It would be something,” she said,

“afterwards.”

“It would,” he said, “be the

fuck of our lives.”

“Oh my,” she said.

“We should think about it,” he said.

“Yes. Even if we decide to do it, though, we shouldn’t do it

yet.”

“Let’s see how close he can get without catching us,” he

said.

“And then if we kill him,” she said,

“it will be in the nick of

time.”

She smiled up at him.

“What kind of fuck would that be?” she said.

45

Together again, Jesse thought, as he looked at Candace

Pennington sitting across his conference table from Bo Marino.

Chuck Pennington was there with Candace, and Joe Marino was with Bo.

“He threatened Candace,” Chuck Pennington said quietly. “He told

her if she testified against him he’d kill her, and if he had to

he’d kill Feeney too.”

“The hell he did,” Joe Marino said.

“He told her anything it was

she should stop lying about him.”

“Anyone else hear the threat, Candace?”

Jesse

said.

“No, but he said it.”

“Liar,” Bo said.

“See, nobody heard him,” Joe Marino said.

“It’s just his word

against hers.”

“Don’t force me to make that

choice,” Jesse said.

“What’s that mean,” Marino said.

“It means that I have found Bo to be a chronic liar, and a bad

creep.”

“See that, they’re all out to get me. I didn’t do nothing to the

bitch.”

Chuck Pennington stood up quite suddenly. He showed no change of

expression as he reached across the table and yanked Bo Marino out of his chair and dragged him headfirst over the table.

“Hey,” Joe Marino said and stood up.

Chuck Pennington punched Bo twice in the face with his left hand. Bo’s father grabbed Chuck from behind and wrestled him away

from Bo. Pennington shrugged Marino off, and turned and hit him a right hook that set Marino back on his heels and another one that knocked him down. Jesse put a hand softly on Candace’s shoulder.

Otherwise he did nothing. Bo floundered across the tabletop, his nose bleeding. He was a big kid, a weight lifter and a football player, but he looked like neither with the blood running down his face and tears welling in his eyes. He swung wildly at Chuck Pennington, who tucked his chin inside his left shoulder and let the punch slide off his arms. Then he hit Bo with a straight left and a right cross and Bo sat down hard on the floor. Bo’s father

was scrambling to his feet.

“Arrest him,” Joe Marino screamed at Jesse. “You saw it. I want

the sonovabitch arrested for assault.”

“Assault?” Jesse said.

“You seen him,” Marino shouted.

“Sit down, Mr. Pennington,” Jesse said.

“I promise you they

won’t assault you again.”

“Wait a minute,” Marino said.

“You was sitting right

here.”

Pennington sat down. He still had no expression on his face but

he was breathing a little harder. He didn’t look at his daughter,

who stared at him with her mouth open.

“And I saw you and your son insult Candace Pennington and

assault her father,” Jesse said. “You see it any different?”

“That’s the way I see it,” Chuck

Pennington said.

“Me too,” Candace said.

Her small voice was startling in the big room.

“He punched my kid for no reason,” Marino said.

Bo had gotten to his feet and was holding a paper napkin against

his bloody nose. He was crying.

“I think there was a reason, Mr. Marino,”

Jesse

said.

46

Jesse came into the Gray Gull out of the bright winter day, and

stood for a minute to let his eyes adjust. The maitre d‘ saw him

and came over with some menus under his arm.

“This isn’t a raid, is it,

Jesse?”

Jesse smiled.

“I’m meeting someone,” he said.

“I know, she’s here already. I put her by the window, that

okay?”

“Swell,” Jesse said.

Rita Fiore was sitting sideways to the table with her legs crossed, sipping a glass of white wine. She was wearing a black suit with a long jacket and a short skirt. Her white blouse had a low scoop neck, and the sun reflecting through the window off the harbor made her thick red hair glisten. She smiled at Jesse.

“I feel like I walked into some kind of fashion shoot,” Jesse

said.

“Yes,” Rita said as he sat down.

“My plan is that you’ll be so

taken with my appearance that you’ll do whatever I want.”

“It’s working,” Jesse said.

The maitre d‘ put the menu down in front of Jesse, took Jesse’s

order for a cranberry juice and soda, and departed.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Rita said.

“Didn’t want to run the press

gauntlet?”

“I thought it might be nicer if we stayed away from all of

that,” Rita said.

She sipped her wine and looked out at the harbor.

“This is a lovely spot,” she said.

“How’s the

food?”

“Adequate,” Jesse said. “The

view’s better.”

A waiter brought Jesse his cranberry and soda. He looked at Rita’s glass, and she shook her head. Sitting across from her,

Jesse could feel her energy. There was a sense of intelligence and of kinetic sensuality that radiated from her in equal portions.

“Are you thinking long thoughts?” Rita said.

“Mostly I’m thinking, wow!”

“Good,” Rita said. “I like

wow.”

“In the small moments between thinking wow, I’m wondering why

you wanted to see me.”

Rita looked at him for a while without speaking. Somehow she managed to sit with a wiggle. I wonder how she does that?

“Like so much in life,” Rita said,

“there are several reasons,

including the hope that you might in fact think wow.”

Jesse smiled. The waiter came. Rita ordered a Caesar salad.