Killing the Blues (14 page)

Jesse reached for the phone and called Gino Fish.

“Your dime,” Gino said.

“Remember our discussion about neutrality?”

“I'm listening,” Gino said.

“We need to revisit the subject.”

“Something personal?”

“We need to talk.”

“I shall look forward to it, Jesse Stone,” Gino said.

W
hen Phyllis Canter had finished interviewing Lisa Barry, she stuck her head into Jesse's office. She was a pleasant-looking woman of indeterminate age. Her mouth curled with a hint of a smile. Her rich brown eyes sparkled with intelligence. He stood to greet her.

“Phyllis,” he said.

“Hello, Jesse,” she said.

“How's Lisa?”

“Better than I would have expected. She's motivated by anger. Very likely misplaced, however.”

“Meaning?”

“May I speak shrink talk?”

“Only if you'll provide a running translation,” Jesse said.

Dr. Canter smiled.

“Her anger is directed at her mother. For having died and abandoned her. She hasn't dealt with that anger. Nor with her grief, either. I'd like to see her some more. I can help her.”

“When I see her father, I'll talk to him about it,” Jesse said. “He's not picking up his cell. I'm gonna track him down.”

“The father may very well be an emotional cretin. You need to make certain he doesn't stand in the way. You'll have to be at your persuasive best.”

“One emotional cretin to another,” Jesse said.

“I didn't want to bring it up,” Dr. Canter said.

In the late afternoon, Jesse drove Lisa to her father's office. She had mentioned that he rarely came home until late. Sometimes even after she had gone to bed.

“How did you like Dr. Canter,” Jesse said.

“She's all right,” Lisa said.

“What did you talk about?”

“Stuff.”

“Do you want to tell me?”

“Not really.”

“Do you want to see her again?”

“Yes. Maybe. Yes.”

“So you liked her?”

“She was all right,” Lisa said.

 

 

 

T
hey arrived at Leonard Barry's office, which was located in a small warehouse on the outskirts of town. Barry was involved in some sort of import/export enterprise. A panel truck with his name painted on it was parked out front. Lisa led the way inside.

“What are you doing here,” her father said, when he saw her. “Who's this?”

“Jesse Stone,” Jesse said. “Paradise chief of police.”

“I heard of you,” Leonard Barry said. “What can I do for you?”

He was looking at Lisa, who was looking at the floor. Jesse told him everything that had transpired at the school. He also mentioned Dr. Canter.

“Is Lisa under arrest,” Mr. Barry said.

“No,” Jesse said.

“Because?”

“Because arresting her wouldn't be the right thing to do. Lisa has been the victim of considerable abuse. What she did, she did in self-defense.”

“So what do you want from me?”

“Parental responsibility.”

Lisa was sitting quietly, looking at her father, listening. Her father occasionally looked at her.

“You think I'm not a responsible parent,” Leonard Barry said.

“This incident might be an indicator.”

“I work my ass off so that she can have what she needs.”

“What she needs is you involved in her life,” Jesse said.

“I am involved in her life.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Did you know she was dealing with some serious issues?”

“She never said anything.”

“Perhaps she never had the chance.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“If you're not around to listen, how can she tell you anything ? Responsible parenting means being present and available. Being attuned to all of the signals.”

Mr. Barry didn't say anything.

“Lisa showed up at school today with your pistol,” Jesse said. “Did you know she had it? That she not only threatened the principal's life with it but her own life as well? That's a big signal to have missed.”

Mr. Barry looked down.

“Lisa is still reeling from the loss of her mother, which is trauma enough. It also seems as if she's lost her father as well. Something's not right here.”

Mr. Barry didn't say anything.

“Perhaps you could talk with her about what's been going on in her life,” Jesse said. “And maybe pay close attention to what she has to say. There's nothing more important for either of you.”

Mr. Barry looked up.

Jesse stood.

“I'm gonna have a talk with the Lincoln Village girls tomorrow,” he said.

“You are,” Lisa said.

“I am.”

“Wow,” she said.

J
esse couldn't sleep. His mind was on overload, which finally drove him out of bed and downstairs, where he fixed himself a scotch.

When he brought it into the living room, he was surprised to find the cat asleep on one of his two leather armchairs. It barely raised its head when Jesse sat down in the chair next to it.

Jesse took a sip and smiled. He had become attached to the cat. Or, more likely, he was now owned by it. Which gave him purpose. He put his feet up and continued to sip the scotch.

He had narrowly avoided being killed today. And in turn, he had killed a man. The fact of which had barely registered amid the chaos of the day. The man was still unidentified and lay on a slab at the morgue.

A life,
thought Jesse.
A man's life. Given up in the service of what? Defending the interests of some psychopath?

He thought about Lisa Barry. Alone. Bullied by a group of privileged adolescents who were acting out psychological issues that probably had nothing to do with her. Rebuffed by a desensitized authority figure. Begging for parental attention.

He thought about the odd series of events that had been plaguing Paradise. Animal killings. Arson.

What am I missing,
he asked himself.
What's the connection?
He considered Alexis Richardson. What was he doing with her? He had pushed Sunny Randall away. He had permanently shut the door on Jenn. He was just beginning to feel comfortable being alone. Now, suddenly, there was Alexis. Why?

Songs from the past kept running through his mind. Songs about summer love, summer romance. He was having a summer fling is what he was doing. With apparently no strings attached. Maybe.

What's the connection,
he asked himself again.

An unfamiliar noise registered in his now somewhat sodden consciousness. Something outside.

He picked up his Colt Commander and his Smith & Wesson tactical high-beam flashlight. He opened the porch door and went outside. He stood there, listening. Then he switched on the flashlight and began a slow tour of his grounds. He circled the house. He didn't detect anything strange. He went back inside.

He sipped the last of the scotch.

What's the connection,
he said again.

Finally, he turned off the lights and went upstairs to bed.

 

 

 

A
fter a while, Rollo dared to move. He carefully climbed out of the thorn bushes in which he had been hiding. He looked at the darkened house.

“Dead man walking,” he said.

Then he crossed the footbridge and hurried away.

W
ar Memorial Park was fairly deserted. A couple of joggers, a dog walker. Jesse sat, staring at the memorial statue. It was meant to be a postmodern version of the
Winged Victory,
but to his eye, it was a steel-and-concrete disaster. A waste of what he surmised had been significant funding.

Gino Fish sat next to him, also looking at the statue.

“Atrocious,” he said.

“Worse than that,” Jesse said.

“May I tell you a story, Jesse Stone,” Gino said.

“As long as it begins with ‘Once upon a time,'” Jesse said.

“It begins with a killing.”

“I don't like killings,” Jesse said.

“This particular killing, however, brought a certain minor player out of obscurity and into the spotlight. He must have been blinded by it, because instead of retreating from it, he embraced it. He started to behave erratically. He reached for the stars, so to speak. Are you following me so far, Jesse Stone?”

“It's hard, but I'm doing my best,” Jesse said.

“In no time, the player began to wear out his welcome. He overstepped his bounds. His friends began to shy away from him. Soon he stood alone. He had become expendable.”

“This is a very sad story,” Jesse said.

“For the player, it is.”

Gino didn't say any more.

“Is that the end,” Jesse said.

“Almost,” Gino said.

The two men sat silently for a while, staring at the statue.

J
esse arrived at the junior high school and headed directly to

Eleanor Nelson's office. He told her he wanted to interview the four Lincoln Village girls. She told him to wait in the conference room.

Once there, Jesse opened the file Molly had prepared. It contained the identities of each of the girls as well as brief descriptions of them and their families.

One by one the girls began to file in. After they were all present, Jesse closed the door and sat down at the conference table across from them.

“I'm Jesse Stone,” he said. “The police chief of Paradise. Thank you for joining me.”

He asked each of them their names. They nervously told him.

One of the girls, Julie Knoller, appeared to be the ringleader. She was pre-punk. She wore a black T-shirt and heavily studded black jeans. Her eyes were lined in black. All that was missing were the piercings, which would surely come when she was older.

“I asked you here because it has come to my attention that you have been behaving in a manner unbecoming of young ladies and have been disrespectful of the rights of other students. Do you know what I'm talking about?”

“No,” Julie Knoller said.

“You don't know what I'm talking about?”

“No.”

“Do you know a girl named Lisa Barry?”

“No,” Julie Knoller said.

“This isn't going well,” Jesse said. None of the girls said anything.

“Let me start over,” he said. “We're having this conversation because I didn't want to arrest you and create a brouhaha involving your parents and the district attorney and lawyers and a whole lot of grief. This state has anti-bullying laws, which you have violated. If you continue to be uncooperative, I will arrest you and place you in the criminal justice system, and things will become much more difficult for you.”

The girls began to fidget and to exchange nervous glances with one another.

“Do you understand why we're having this conversation,” he said to Julie Knoller.

“I guess,” she finally admitted.

“Do you know a girl named Lisa Barry?”

Julie nodded.

None of the other girls would look at Jesse.

“Did you repeatedly attack her?”

Jesse looked at one of the girls.

“What's your name again,” he said.

“Lesly Berson,” she said.

“What have you got against Lisa Barry, Lesly?”

Lesly shrugged.

“Answer the question.”

“We didn't like her, okay,” Lesly said.

“You didn't like her enough to beat the crap out of her on a regular basis?”

She shrugged.

“Answer me,” Jesse said.

Lesly looked around the table at the other girls.

“We all decided that she'd be the one.”

“She'd be the one what?”

“The one we'd hammer.”

“Because?”

“She was a loser. She didn't have any friends. She pissed us off.”

Jesse looked at one of the other girls.

“Tell me your name,” he said.

“Shauna Hatt,” the girl said.

“Did Lisa ever do anything to you, Shauna,” Jesse said.

“I don't know.”

“You don't know,” Jesse said.

“She was a jerk.”

“That's why you ganged up on her?”

“She acted like a retard,” Bonnie Wilder said.

“She didn't have a mother,” Shauna said.