Текст книги "Stone cold"

Автор книги: Robert B. Parker

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“Will they keep doing this?” Jesse said.

“No reason for them to stop.”

“Why was he flirting with me about this?”

Jesse

said.

“Maybe the same reason people like to have sex in nearly public

places,” Dix said.

“Phone booths and movie theaters,” Jesse said. “Stuff like

that?”

“The danger of being caught increases the guilty pleasure.”

“So they know it’s wrong?”

“The Lincolns? Sure. Its wrongness is its appeal.”

“What will they do next?”

“I have no idea,” Dix said.

“What I’ve been giving you are

informed, or at least experienced, guesses. I’ve talked with a lot

of wackos in my life. All I can say by way of answer is that there is often an element of ritual in these kinds of crimes, and thus they would tend to keep repeating the ritual.”

“Doing the same thing over and over.”

“Yes.”

“In exactly the same way?” Jesse said.

“Yes.”

“Why do you suppose they were photographing my home?”

“I don’t know,” Dix said.

“Maybe they like to first possess the victim’s image.”

“Victim?”

“What do you think?”

“I think they want to kill me next.”

“They might,” Dix said.

54

It was snowing again. Pleasantly. Not the hard nasty snowfall of

a Northeast storm. This was the kind of fluffy downfall that would leave the town looking like a winter wonderland. In a day or two, the reemerging sun, and the strewn salt from the streets, would shrink it in upon itself, and it would become an implacable mix of dirt and ice, marked by dogs, and littered by people. But right now it was pretty.

“Pretty doesn’t have a long shelf

life,” Jesse

said.

“Are you speaking of the snow?” Marcy said. “Or

me.”

They were on the sofa looking through the window in the living room of her small house in the old downtown section of Paradise where the winding streets made the pre-revolutionary town seem older than it was. Marcy was drinking white wine. Jesse had club soda and cranberry juice.

“Snow,” Jesse said.

“It’ll be ugly by Thursday.”

“And I won’t.”

“No,” Jesse said. “You got a

long time yet.”

Marcy was wearing a gray dress. She had kicked off her heels and

put her stocking feet beside Jesse’s on the coffee table.

Jesse

drank some cranberry and soda.

“No wonder you have a drinking problem,”

Marcy said. “You drink

a lot of whatever’s in front of you.”

“Yeah, but think how clean my urinary tract is,” Jesse

said.

“Well, that’s certainly a

comfort,” Marcy said.

They were quiet, watching the snow. There was a small fireplace

faced with maroon tiles on the far wall of Marcy’s living room.

Jesse had made a fire.

“How long since you’ve had a

drink,” Marcy said.

“Two weeks.”

“Good for you,” Marcy said.

“I don’t drink anymore,” Jesse

said.

“You’re so sure?”

“Yes.”

“Whatever happened to ‘one day at a

time’?”

“I know what I know,” Jesse said.

“You think you’ll ever drink

again?”

“Not to excess,” Jesse said.

“You’re so sure.”

“I am.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Jesse said.

“Stuff changes.”

“How about Jenn,” Marcy said.

“How is she?”

“Don’t know. I haven’t seen her

in a couple of weeks,

either.”

“Will you see her again?”

“Yes,” Jesse said.

“So some stuff doesn’t change.”

“Maybe it does,” Jesse said.

“Just not as, what? … not as

simply as yes or no.”

“Relationships are hard,” Marcy said.

“Except ours,” Jesse said.

“We have a great advantage in ours,” Marcy said. “We don’t love

each other.”

“I know,” Jesse said.

They each took a drink. The snow came down very smoothly past the window.

“You got the kids that raped that girl,”

Marcy

said.

“Yes. They copped to a plea. Probation and community service.”

“No jail?”

“No jail,” Jesse said. “Kids.

First offense

…”

Jesse smiled slightly.

“On the other hand,” he said,

“their community service

assignment is me.”

“You rigged that, didn’t you.”

“I did.”

“Well, maybe they will get a taste of justice, at least.”

“Candace won’t,” Jesse said.

“You think she won’t get over

it?”

“I think the other kids won’t let

her.”

“Some of them will be kind,” Marcy said.

“And some of them won’t,” Jesse

said.

“And you can’t protect her.”

“No,” Jesse said. “I

can’t.”

“Well,” Marcy said. “You did

what you could, you closed the

case.”

“You been hanging around with me too long,” Jesse said. “You’re

starting to talk like a cop.”

“Or at least like you,” Marcy said.

“I’m a cop,” Jesse said.

“I know.”

“Sometimes I think that’s all I am,

everything I

am.”

“There are worse things,” Marcy said.

Jesse smiled at her.

“Like serial killing?” Jesse said.

“That would be worse,” Marcy said.

“Are you getting anywhere

with that?”

“Yes and no,” Jesse said. “I

know who they are. I can’t prove

it.”

“Who are they?”

“A couple, live over in the Seascape condos.”

“By Preston Beach,” she said.

“Yep.”

“What are their names.”

“Tony and Brianna Lincoln,” Jesse said.

“My God,” Marcy said. “I think I

showed them a house

once.”

“Recently?”

“No, maybe three years ago. Before they bought their condo.”

“Form any impressions?”

“No, yes, actually, I did. They were a pleasure. You know, you

bring a husband and wife to look at property and they usually are on each other’s case the whole trip. The Lincolns were great, really together. I remember thinking how nice it is to see that.

He’s not scornful of her questions about the house. She doesn’t

smirk at me when he speaks. They acted like people who liked each other and respected each other’s ideas.”

Jesse laughed a little.

“Still do,” he said.

“And you know it’s them?”

“There’s some evidence. They own

twenty-two ammunition. Their

car was parked in the row next to the one where the woman was killed at the Paradise Mall. A car that resembled their car, we didn’t get a number, was parked in the church lot where the guy got

killed coming home from the train. But we have no hard evidence. No ballistics, no prints, no eyewitness – God knows, no motive.”

“And you can’t just arrest them on cop-ly intuition?”

“Doesn’t seem fair, does it,”

Jesse said.

“So what will you do?”

“We’re excavating their past,”

Jesse said, “which seems to have

taken place in Cleveland. We’re trying to keep an eye on them twenty-four/seven.”

“You sound like that’s hard.”

“It is, in a small department in a small town. My guys haven’t

much experience.”

“You do.”

“Yes, I do,” Jesse said. “But I

can’t spend all day and night

keeping them under surveillance. I have to eat, to sleep, to conduct other police business, to fuck you.”

“Yes, fucking me is important.”

“Right now it seems like the only thing I’m any good at,” Jesse

said.

“Pays to specialize,” Marcy said.

“And if you’re fishing for a

compliment, you are very good.”

“Thank you.”

“State police can’t help with the

surveillance?” Marcy

said.

“They’ve taken over the routine night patrols for us,” Jesse

said.

“How about the gun, they must have a gun, if they buy

bullets.”

“We test-fired it,” Jesse said.

“The gun they own didn’t fire

the bullets that killed the victims.”

“So all you can do is watch and wait?”

“Maybe something will turn up in

Cleveland.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“We do have one other small something.”

“Really?”

“They came out one night after supper and took pictures of my

home.”

“You saw them?”

“I tailed them there,” Jesse said.

“Well, what on earth …”

“Don’t know,” Jesse said.

“But they seem to have an interest in me and maybe we can encourage them to develop it.”

“Interest?” Marcy said “What

kind of interest.”

“Don’t know yet, but we know that they have one.”

“Both of them, you think?”

“Two guns,” Jesse said.

“So these people have an interest in killing people, and now

they seem interested in you?”

“Is it a great country,” Jesse said,

“or what.”

Marcy took a sip of wine and stared at him for a time without swallowing. She took a deep breath in through her nose, and, finally, swallowed her wine.

“You are going to be bait,” she said.

“Careful bait,” Jesse said.

“My God, how can you be careful bait?”

“Body armor, stay alert,” Jesse said.

“Maybe we’re not in love,” Marcy

said. “But you are the dearest

friend I’ve ever had. I would be devastated if you got killed too.”

“Good to know someone would,” Jesse said.

“But I’m pretty good

at this.”

“Better than they are?”

“Maybe we’ll find out,” Jesse

said.

“If I could talk you out of it, I would,”

Marcy said. “But I

can’t.”

Jesse nodded. Marcy emptied her wineglass. Jesse took the bottle

from the ice bucket and poured her half a glass more.

“So,” she said, “my fallback

position is let’s

fuck.”

Jesse grinned at her. Her dress had buttons all the way down the

front.

“It’s important to keep my hand

in,” he said.

Marcy began to unbutton the dress.

“Or whatever,” she said.

55

Suitcase Simpson came into Jesse’s office with a thick manila

folder.

“I heard back from Cleveland,” he said.

Jesse gestured to a chair. Simpson sat down and put the folder in his lap and opened it.

Simpson said, “Anthony Lincoln was in fact a resident in

ophthalmology at Case Western Medical Center from 1985 to 1990. He married Brianna Douglass in 1988. Her address at that time was twelve twenty-one Buckeye Road, which is in Shaker Heights. Her occupation was listed as attorney.”

“Either of them have a record?”

“No.”

“Cleveland cops have unsolved serial-type killings?”

“One case, not really a clear-cut serial thing. In 1989, a

cabbie was shot in his car on Euclid Ave., presumably by a passenger, two in the back of the head. In 1990 a seventeen-year-old girl was shot at a bus stop in Parma, which is near Cleveland.”

“I know where Parma is,” Jesse said.

“Two in the chest.”

Jesse nodded.

“Both people were killed with twenty-twos.”

“Same gun?” Jesse said.

“No. Cabbie and the girl were both killed with the same two

guns, one shot each time from each gun.”

“Hello,” Jesse said.

“Then it stopped. Cleveland can’t find any connection between

the cabbie and the girl. Neighborhoods are different. They never found the gun. No clues. Nothing.”

“You got someone you’re talking to at Case Western?”

“Yeah, broad in the administration office.”

“Call her back, find out where Tony

Lincoln’s first

post-residency position was, and when he took it.”

“Roger.”

“And while you’re at it,” Jesse

said, “see if you can find out

where Tony did his undergraduate work.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Jesse said.

“Jeez,” Simpson said. “No wonder

you’re the chief and I’m just a

patrolman.”

“And get hold of the Ohio Bar

Association,” Jesse said. “Find

out whatever you can about Brianna Douglass Lincoln.”

Simpson wrote himself a note in a little yellow spiral-bound notepad that he took from his shirt pocket.

“When I go out,” he said, “and

the press asks me what’s up, does

this permit me to say we’re following up several leads?”

“It does,” Jesse said. “Call

them promising leads if you

want.”

“Yeah,” Simpson said. “Promising

leads. I like

it.”

After Simpson left, Jesse sat and looked out the window. The TV

trucks were still parked across the street. Anthony deAngelo and Eddie Cox were wasting important man-hours keeping the press at bay, and the traffic moving past the trucks. A young man with longish hair, a microphone, and a trench coat was standing in the snow on the lawn, doing a stand-up in front of the station. It seemed to Jesse that all day someone was doing a stand-up. He wondered how many people in the viewing audience were tired of seeing the front door of the Paradise Police Station.

Across the street a red Saab sedan pulled up and stopped in a space between two television trucks, with the passenger side facing the station house. The window slid silently down. Jesse got a pair of binoculars from a file drawer and focused in on the car. Brianna Lincoln was holding a camera, filming the scene. After several minutes, she put the camera down. The window slid silently up. And the Saab pulled away.

Nothing really incriminating. Half a dozen people had come

by since the circus had started, and taken pictures. Jesse rocked slowly against the spring in his swivel chair. Nobody had gone to his house and photographed him, though. Just the Lincolns. Formerly of Cleveland. Why had they taken pictures of where he lived?

The closet in Jesse’s office was located so that one had to

close the office door to open the closet. Jesse did so, and opened the closet door and took out a Kevlar vest. He hefted it, not so heavy. He slipped it on and fastened the Velcro. He put his jacket on over it and zipped up the front. It looked okay. It should work okay, too. Unless they changed their MO.

56

The three boys stood uneasily in front of Jesse’s desk.

“Miss Fiore said we was supposed to come here after school,” Bo

said.

None of the three was defiant. None of them met Jesse’s

gaze.

“You understand why you’re

here,” Jesse said.

“Community service,” Bo said.

“Which the court requires of you.”

They nodded.

“Why?” Jesse said.

“ ‘Cause of Candace,” Kevin

Feeney said.

“What about Candace?” Jesse said.

“Oh come on, man, you know.”

“Don’t call me

‘man,’” Jesse said. “All three

of you copped to

raping her. Is that right?”

Bo said, “Yes, sir.”

The other two nodded.

“So you are not some public-spirited high school kids, doing

some volunteer chores,” Jesse said. “You are three convicted

rapists.”

They all nodded.

“Just so we’re clear,” Jesse

said.

They all nodded again.

“I regret that you’re not doing

time,” Jesse said. “And if you

fuck up here, maybe I can still get you some. You understand?”

Bo Marino said, “Yes, sir.”

The other two nodded.

“I have no respect for you,” Jesse said.

The three boys didn’t say anything. They didn’t look at Jesse or

each other.

“I think you three are punks.”

None of the three had any answer.

“I am going to make your time here as unpleasant as possible,”

Jesse said.

The three boys looked at the floor. Jesse looked at them for a while without speaking.

“Okay,” he said finally, “go see

Officer Crane at the front

desk. She’ll tell you what to do.”

57

Jesse sat drinking coffee with Captain Healy in the front seat of his Ford Explorer, while the fine snow came down steadily in the parking lot behind the courthouse in downtown Salem.

“You have everything you need but

evidence,” Healy

said.

“That’s all that’s

missing,” Jesse said.

“Except motive.”

“Well, yeah, that too.”

“Gee,” Healy said. “Hot on the

trail.”

“They did it,” Jesse said.

“I believe you,” Healy said.

“But I’m not the one that needs to

believe you.”

“I know,” Jesse said.

He drank some coffee.

“I can’t even get a search

warrant.”

“Judges hate to issue them on cop

intuition,” Healy said. “Want

some surveillance help?”

“No,” Jesse said.

“Might prevent them from killing the next one,” Healy

said.

“I think I’m the next one,”

Jesse said.

Healy looked at him and raised his eyebrows and didn’t say

anything.

“They’ve been taking pictures,”

Jesse said.

“Of what?”

“My home, the station.”

Healy frowned, watching the steam rise from the triangular tear

in the plastic top of his coffee cup.

“They’re interested in you,”

Healy said.

“I’d say so.”

“And they’re serial killers,”

Healy said.

“I’m convinced of it.”

“And they kill people at random, for no obvious reason,” Healy

said.

“They seem to.”

The snowflakes were very small, and with no wind they fell straight down, like white rain.

“You figure you’re being penciled in as their next victim,”

Healy said.

“Yes.”

“And you figure the picture-taking is foreplay?”

“Something like that.”

Healy said, “I can give you a couple of troopers to watch your

back.”

Jesse shook his head.

“This might be an opportunity,” Jesse said.

“They try to kill you and you catch them in the act?”

“Yeah.”

“Serial killers like ritual,” Healy said.

“So they’ll come at

you from the front, and shoot you one time each.”

“Probably at the same time.”

“Simultaneous climax,” Healy said.

“You think you can keep them

from killing you?”

“Yes.”

“You trust them to come at you the same way,” Healy

said.

“People like these people, they’ll do it the

same.”

“Let’s hope so,” Healy said.

“And, if I fuck up,” Jesse said,

“you can avenge

me.”

58

It was twenty minutes to midnight when Jenn called and woke Jesse up.

“I just did the eleven-o’clock

news,” Jenn said. “Did I wake

you.”

“No,” Jesse said. “I was

awake.”

“Your voice sounds like you were

sleeping,” Jenn

said.

“I’m awake,” Jesse said.

“I wanted to apologize,” Jenn said.

“Okay.”

“You were sleeping.”

“And you called to apologize for waking me?”

“No, silly, for the other day, when I wanted you to give me

special access.”

“Which is more than I get,” Jesse said.

“I know,” Jenn said. “But what

was so bad about it was, here you

are with this huge serial killer problem to deal with, and I’m

thinking only about what would be best for me.”

“What’s new,” Jesse said.

Jenn was silent for a moment.

“Well,” she said. “You are

grouchy.”

“I am,” Jesse said.

“It’s okay,” Jenn said.

“You deserve to be.”

“Thanks.”

“What I want you to know is that I realize I was thinking only

about myself and my career when I asked you to let me in with a camera.”

Jesse was silent.

“And I realize that I have often been that way with you.”

“I know,” Jesse said.

“You’re not going to help me with

this,” Jenn said. “Are

you?”

“You’re doing fine by yourself,”

Jesse said.

“I’m going to try to be better,”

Jenn said.

Jesse waited.

“It’s a hard balancing,” Jenn

said. “If I go too far the other

way, I give myself away. I become entirely dependent on someone else to direct my likes and dislikes, what I want to do, what I should do. You know?”

“Yes,” Jesse said.

“And after a while I resent it, and the resentment builds, and

after a while I explode and go the whole other way. Instead of being all about you, it becomes all about me.”

“Be nice if you could find a middle

ground,” Jesse

said.

“Yes,” Jenn said.

Jesse was lying on his back in the dark, with the phone hunched

in his left shoulder. His handgun was on the night table beside the bed. There was no sound in the apartment.

“Maybe I can,” Jenn said.

“We both have changes to make,” Jesse said.

“I wonder who we’ll be when

we’ve made them,” Jenn

said.

“Whoever we are,” Jesse said,

“we won’t be

worse.”

“I can’t seem to get you out of my

life,” Jenn

said.

“I know,” Jesse said.

“Can you wait?” Jenn said.

“Until I get better?”

“I have so far,” Jesse said.

“But will you still?”

“I don’t know, Jenn. I try not to plan too far

ahead.”

“I don’t want a life without you in

it.”

“That’s not entirely up to you,

Jenn.”

Jenn was quiet for a time. The bedroom was in the back of the apartment, away from the harbor. There was a dim hint of light from the street made a little brighter by the snow cover.

“Is there anyone else?” Jenn said.

“Not yet,” Jesse said.

“But there might be?”

“Jenn,” Jesse said. “My life

would be far less complicated if I

could be happy without you.”

“I know,” she said.

“But so far,” Jesse said, “I

can’t.”

They were both quiet, still connected by the phone line, with nothing much else to say. The silence extended.

“The pressure about those serial murders must be awful.”

“Everyone feels it would be good to catch them,” Jesse

said.

“Including you,” Jenn said.

“That’s where the most pressure

is.”

Jesse didn’t comment.

“And you have to carry it alone.”

“Not entirely,” Jesse said.

“I wish I could help you,” Jenn said.

“Be good if you could,” Jesse said.

Again they allowed the silence to settle.

“I’m sorry,” Jenn said.

“I know.”

“I’m working on it,” she said.

“I am too.”

“I know.”

There was more connective silence.

“We’ll get there,” Jenn said

finally.

“We’ll get somewhere,” Jesse

said.

59

When Jesse came into the station house Molly was at the front desk.

“You’ve reached new heights of

popularity,” she

said.

“Hard to believe,” Jesse said.

“Tony Lincoln called,” Molly said.

“He and Mrs. Lincoln will be

downtown this morning and would love to buy you lunch.”

“I have reached new heights,” Jesse said.

“Told you,” Molly said.

“They say where?”

“Gray Gull,” Molly said.

“Twelve-thirty.”

“Call them back,” Jesse said.

“Tell them I’ll meet them

there.”

“What do you suppose they’re

doing?” Molly said.

“Maybe they’ll tell me,” Jesse

said. “At lunch.”

“You might think about being a little careful,” Molly said.

“Bring some backup maybe?”

“Don’t want to discourage them,”

Jesse said.

“We don’t want them discouraging you, either,” Molly said. “In a

manner of speaking.”

“If it comes to confrontation,” Jesse said, “I figure I’m better

than they are.”

“And if you’re not?” Molly said.

Jesse shrugged.

“Jesse, you’re a good man and a good cop,” Molly said. “Better

than this town deserves.”

“Thank you.”

“It matters what happens to you,” Molly said.

“The ugly truth of it, Moll, is that it doesn’t matter a hell of

a lot to me.”

Molly looked at him silently. After a time she said,

“A lot of

people love you, Jesse.”

Jesse smiled. “Including you?”

“Especially me,” Molly said.

“And don’t shut me off by being

cute.”

“It’s hard for me not to be

cute,” Jesse said.

“I give up,” Molly said.

They were both silent for a moment.

Then Jesse said, “Thanks, Molly,” and went on into his

office.

At quarter past twelve Jesse showed up at the Gray Gull, and got

a seat by the window, in a corner, where it would be easier to talk. The Lincolns showed up at 12:30. They came in bubbling with good cheer. Tony was wearing a navy pea coat and a gray turtleneck sweater. Brianna had on fur. Jesse didn’t know what kind.

Jesse

stood as they approached.

“Hi,” Tony said. “Thanks for

coming.”

“Never turn down a free lunch,” Jesse said.

“Well, I know how busy you must be, but Brianna and I really

enjoyed talking to you before, and since we were in the neighborhood.”

Jesse nodded. The Lincolns took off their coats and piled them on the empty fourth chair at the table.

“Please,” Brianna said.

“There’s no need for you to

stand.”

“I’ll wait for you,” Jesse said.

When they were all seated, the waiter brought menus.

“You come here very much, Jesse?” Brianna said.

“Yes.”

“What’s good?”

“The view,” Jesse said.

Both Lincolns laughed.

“Oh my,” Brianna said.

“That’s not too

encouraging.”

“I guess we’d best not test the

kitchen,” Tony said. “Sandwiches

okay?”

“Sure,” Jesse said.

“It’s after noon,” Tony said.

“Shall we have a

cocktail?”

“We really ought to,” Brianna said.

Jesse nodded. Both the Lincolns ordered a cosmopolitan. Jesse had cranberry juice and soda.

“Of course,” Tony said. “How

thoughtless of us. You’re on

duty.”

Jesse let it go.

“The view is certainly everything it should be,” Brianna

said.

The day was bright, the neck across the harbor was covered with

new snow. The ocean water reflected the blue sky.

“It’s what they’re

selling,” Tony said. “If Jesse is right about the food.”

Jesse ordered the club sandwich again. Tony and Brianna each had

tuna salad on toasted whole wheat. Goes great with the cosmopolitan, Jesse thought.

“How’s the investigation going?”

Tony said.

“The serial killings?”

“Yes. Oh, of course,” Tony said.

“Talk about an amateur. It

never occurred to me that you had other cases.”

Jesse smiled.

“So in the serial killings,” Tony said.

“Are you getting

anywhere?”

Brianna was silent, listening to her husband, watching Jesse.

“There’s progress,” Jesse said.

“Really,” Tony said. “Are you at

liberty to talk about

it?”

Jesse shook his head.

“I understand,” Tony said.

“I hope none of them suffered,” Brianna said.

“The victims?” Jesse shook his head.

“It was over pretty

quick.”

“Good,” Brianna said.

“Do you think they knew, before they were shot, that they were

going to be shot?”

Jesse shrugged.

“What must it be like,” Brianna said.

“To know you’re going to

die.”

“Brianna,” Tony said. “Everybody

knows that.”

“It’s one thing,” Brianna said,

“to know you’re going to die

someday, and quite another to know you’re going to die in the next

moment.”

Tony nodded.

He said, “Have you ever been in that position, Jesse?”

“Facing death?” Brianna said.

Jesse smiled.

“I’m just a small-town cop,”

Jesse said. “Mostly we give out

parking tickets.”

He noticed that Brianna had put her hand on her husband’s thigh.

Neither of them had eaten much of their sandwiches.

“It must make everything very intense,”

Tony

said.

“I always wondered what it was like for the shooter,” Jesse

said. “That might be intense.”

“Exercising the ultimate human power,”

Tony said.

“If the shooter thinks about that kind of stuff,” Jesse

said.

“Do you think they do?”

Again Jesse shrugged.

“I’m just a small-town cop,”

Jesse said. “Mostly we give out

parking tickets.”

“I read somewhere that you came here from Los Angeles,” Tony

said.

His wife’s hand was still resting on his thigh. He had covered

it with his hand as they talked.

“Everybody has to come from someplace,”

Jesse

said.

“I think you are being modest,” Brianna said. “I think you might

know a lot about being a policeman.”

Jesse grinned at them.

“I’ve got a lot to be modest

about,” he said.

Tony gestured to the waiter for the check.

“You are a very interesting man,” Tony said.

“You certainly are,” Brianna said.

“I hope you haven’t minded us

asking you all these dumb questions.”

“Not at all,” Jesse said. “I

wish more citizens were as

interested in the police department.”

“Well, I don’t know why they’re

not,” Tony said.

He stood and put out his hand.

“I know you must be pressed for time.”

“A little,” Jesse said.

“Go ahead,” Tony said.

“I’ve got the check.”

“Thanks,” Jesse said.

“It’s been a nice break to talk with you.”

“Oh, how nice,” Brianna said.

“We must do it again

soon.”

Jesse stood, shook Tony’s hand, and

Brianna’s, and walked to the

door. Tony and Brianna watched him go. When he was out of the restaurant they sat back down at the table.

“Can he be as simple as he seems?” Brianna said.

“He probably is,” Tony said.

“But even if he isn’t, what

difference does it make. He’s simpler than we are.”

“You’re so sure,” Brianna said.

“You can’t seriously think that some small-town cop is as smart

as we are.”

“He didn’t say he wasn’t from

Los Angeles,” Brianna

said.

“I don’t care if he’s from

Mars,” Tony said. “People don’t

become policemen because they are great thinkers.”

“Are we great thinkers,” Brianna said.

“We’re not ordinary, Brianna. Never forget that we are not

ordinary.”

She leaned toward him and kissed him on the mouth and let the kiss linger.

“I’ll try to remember,” she said.

60

Jesse drove up Summer Street with Candace in the front seat beside him.

“I don’t even know what a vizsla

is,” she said.

“It’s a Hungarian pointer,”

Jesse said. “Sort of like a smallish weimaraner, only gold.”

“Do they bite?”

“I don’t think so,” Jesse said.

“Are you having second

thoughts?”

“No. I want him. I’m just

nervous.”

“Your parents are okay with this,” Jesse said.

“I don’t think my mother likes it too much,” Candace said. “But

my father said yes.”

“So it’s yes.”

“My mother does what Daddy says.”

“And why do you want the dog?”

“I want somebody I can love,” Candace said.

“Right answer,” Jesse said. “But

loving isn’t enough, you know.

You have to take care.”

“I know. Feed him. Walk him.” She wrinkled her nose. “Clean up

after him. I went over all this with my mother and father.”

“How is it at home?” Jesse said.

“My mother is kind of, like …

sulky.”

“And your father?”

“Daddy’s great.”

“Your mother will get over it,” Jesse said.

Like I know.

“I never saw Daddy fight with anybody before.”

“Like with the Marinos?”

“Yes. He never even gets mad, very much.”

Jesse nodded.

“You didn’t try to stop it,”

Candace said.

Jesse smiled. “He was winning,” he said.

“You wanted them to get punched up,” she said.

“I did.”

“Daddy boxed in college, you know.”

“I know.”

“Did you ever box?”

“I don’t box,” Jesse said.

“I fight.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Rules,” Jesse said. “How is it

for you at

school.”

“Sometimes Bo or Troy will, like, smirk at me when I pass one of

them. But they don’t say anything. A lot of the kids are great

about it. Some of the other boys, football players and stuff, they call me Centerfold.”

“Like Playboy

Centerfold,” Jesse said.

She nodded.

“That sucks,” Jesse said.

Candace shrugged. Jesse pulled off of Summer Street onto a narrow road that led down to Pynchon Pond.

Bob Valenti lived at the edge of Paradise in a small yellow house that backed up to the pond. The house was right next to the street, and the modest backyard had been enclosed with a wire fence. Jesse pulled his car up in front of the house. He parked without shutting off the engine, so he could leave the heater running.

“There’s Goldie,” Jesse said.

The vizsla was sitting in the back corner of the yard, motionless, looking through the fence. He saw the car and followed it with his eyes as it parked. He didn’t bark.

“Omigod,” Candace said. “The

poor thing.”

“Things will be better for him,” Jesse said.

“Yes,” Candace said. “I will

really take care of

him.”

“Remember,” Jesse said.

“He’s lost one owner, and is now

relocating again.”

“I never had a dog before,” Candace said.

“Your father said he did.”

“Yes.”

“He’ll be nervous for a while,”

Jesse said.

“But if I love him …”

“He’ll get over it,” Jesse said.

“I hope my mother isn’t mean to

him.”

“That would be a bad thing,” Jesse said.

“Can you talk to your

father about that?”

Candace nodded.

“Daddy says she won’t be mean.”

“Your mother probably loves you,” Jesse said.

“Of course she does.”

“Then we should be able to bring her around if we have to,”

Jesse said.

“Can I change his name? I hate Goldie for a name.”

“Sure, just go slow. Wait until he’s used to

you.”

“I have to think of a new name anyway.”

“You might ask your mother to help you think of a new name,”

Jesse said.

“So she’d feel like he was hers

too?”

“Something like that,” Jesse said.

They were still for a minute. The heater still on, the motor still running, Candace looking through the car window at the motionless dog.

“It’ll be all right?” she said.

“It will,” Jesse said. “But you

have to give it

time.”

They sat silently for another moment.

Then Candace said, “Can we get him now?”

“Sure.”

They got out of the car and walked through the old unlovely snow

toward Valenti’s front door. The dog watched them for a moment, and

then stood and came down the fence line toward them.

61

Parking on Beacon Hill was impossible in mid summer. In winter,

with plowed snow choking the narrow streets, it had become unthinkable. Jesse finally settled for a hydrant on Beacon Street down from the State House, and walked in along Spruce Street, carrying a flowered bottle of Perrier-Jouet.

Rita lived at the Mt. Vernon Street end of Louisburg Square in a