Killing the Blues (16 page)

“Speaking of the ill-informed,” Jesse said.

A
ssistant District Attorney Martin Reagan relaxed in his chair and smiled at his visitor.

“It's so rare that we get to see an actual police chief,” Reagan said. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“I wanted to bask in the glow of your greatness,” Jesse said.

“Bask all you want,” Reagan said. “Just don't touch anything. What brings you to the hallowed halls of justice?”

“An incident that took place at the junior high school. Fourteen-year-old girl took Eleanor Nelson hostage. Held her at gunpoint. On the surface, it would appear as if the girl acted criminally. When you look deeper, however, turns out she was the victim of continued abuse by a gang of other girls. When she reached out to Mrs. Nelson, she was backhandedly dismissed. Kid thought about killing herself. Nearly a repeat of the situation in South Hadley. Kid killed herself because no one stood up for her.”

“And you're going to stand up for this kid,” Marty Reagan said.

“You bet I am.”

Reagan flashed Jesse a smile. Then he said, “Are you thinking you might want to bring charges against the principal?”

“I might be.”

“Why?”

“She should be held accountable. She behaved unconscionably.”

“You think she broke the law?”

“That's a lawyer question, not a policeman question,” Jesse said.

“Was there anything else?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Not yet.”

“Do you want to give me a hint?”

“There's a likelihood of sexual misconduct on the part of one of the junior high teachers.”

“A likelihood?”

“Yes.”

“And you're investigating this likelihood,” Reagan said.

“Yes.”

Reagan sat thinking for several moments.

“Get me the information. I'll work with you on this, Jesse.”

“Thanks, Marty,” Jesse said, as he stood up. “It's always a pleasure.”

The assistant district attorney stood and reached for Jesse's hand.

“Carole keeps asking when we're going to see you. It's been too long.”

“It has. Let me get the season under way. This one promises to be a doozy.”

“A doozy?”

“Pretty much.”

 

 

 

J
esse was waiting when Stuart Tauber left the junior high school in the late afternoon. Tauber was headed for the parking lot when Jesse intercepted him.

“Mr. Tauber,” he said.

Tauber slowed and looked at Jesse. He was soft and overweight, which he tried to conceal behind a houndstooth jacket and baggy slacks. He was pasty-faced, with thinning hair. His eyes darted this way and that, avoiding contact with Jesse's.

“Yes,” he said.

“Have you got a moment,” Jesse said.

“Only just,” Tauber said. “What can I do for you?”

“Jesse Stone,” Jesse said.

He didn't extend his hand.

“I know who you are,” Tauber said. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“Oh,” Jesse said. “What reputation is that?”

“Your serious alcohol-related issues.”

“And you know about that because . . .”

“Let's just say that people in a small town have a tendency to talk.”

“So that's it, then? That's the talk? My whole reputation?”

“That's not enough,” Tauber said.

“What about the good stuff?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The good stuff. Isn't any good stuff a part of my reputation?”

“I heard you had a smart mouth. Is this an example of it?”

“I don't think you like me, Mr. Tauber.”

“For the record, no, I don't like you or what you stand for.”

“For the record,” Jesse said.

“Was there something you wanted to see me about, Chief Stone?”

“Actually, there was.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I wanted to see who you were.”

“Because?”

“Because your reputation precedes you.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know what it means.”

“I think this conversation is over,” Tauber said, as he started to walk away.

“You're in my sights, Tauber.”

“Is that some kind of threat, Stone?”

“It is what it is,” Jesse said.

“You keep away from me,” Tauber said.

“Is that some kind of threat, Tauber?”

“I'm a respected member of the education community,” Tauber said. “I don't take kindly to harassment.”

“Harassment ?”

“You heard me.”

“You've only just begun to hear me, Mr. Tauber,” Jesse said.

“Keep away from me, Stone,” Tauber said. He hurried off.

Jesse watched him go.

I
t's a girl,” Jesse said.

“Excuse me,” Alexis said.

“The cat. It's a girl.”

They were sitting on Jesse's porch. The cat was asleep on her lap. Alexis was sipping a vodka and lemonade; Jesse a scotch. They were contemplating dinner.

“Mildred Memory,” Jesse said.

“What,” Alexis said.

“That's what I named her. Mildred Memory.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“It was the name of my favorite high school teacher.”

“Mildred Memory?”

“Yes.”

“So how exactly will you address the cat?”

“As Mildred Memory.”

“You mean you'll say things like ‘Here, Mildred Memory.' ”

“Exactly.”

“Doesn't that seem a bit eccentric?”

“Not to us,” said Jesse.

“Us?”

“Mildred Memory and me.”

Alexis sipped her drink and didn't say anything.

Jesse didn't say anything.

Mildred Memory didn't say anything.

“I've booked my first festival,” Alexis said.

“You have,” Jesse said.

“Fourth of July weekend.”

“And Uncle Carter has approved?”

“He has.”

“Congratulations. What's the show?”

“An all-day rock concert, of course. I booked a whole bunch of bands. July fourth. The high school stadium. The show will start at three o'clock and go for as long as it goes.”

“Not past eleven o'clock,” Jesse said.

“More likely until two or three.”

“Not past eleven o'clock.”

“What do you mean?”

“Curfew,” Jesse said.

“Curfew ?”

“Eleven p.m. Town law. You could look it up.”

“Why didn't you mention this before?”

“You never asked.”

“That's awful,” she said.

“Not for the people who live near the stadium,” Jesse said.

“Do you think Uncle Carter could get an exception?”

“Not while I'm around.”

“Couldn't you look the other way?”

“I don't think you should be asking me that question,” Jesse said.

“But this changes everything.”

“Why?”

“Because concerts like this don't generally end until well after midnight.”

“This one will.”

“People might not want to attend a concert that ends so early.”

“Why not?”

“Because that's when things really start happening.”

“You'll have to stop the music at eleven,” Jesse said.

“Do you realize how important this is to me, Jesse,” Alexis said.

“I do.”

“And you won't bend the rules? Even for me?”

“No,” Jesse said.

“How can you be so intransigent?”

Jesse didn't say anything.

“What if we don't stop?”

“I'll have to stop it for you.”

Alexis looked at Jesse. She put down her drink and stood up.

“You don't give an inch, do you?”

“Not where the law is concerned,” Jesse said.

“And where I'm concerned?”

“I've told you where I stand.”

“You stand alone,” she said, and left.

R
ollo set the fire in a garbage can that he had taken from a neighboring house. He had lined the can with pieces of newspaper and had added a bundle of kindling wood that he had purchased at the market. He emptied nearly an entire can of lighter fluid over the paper and the wood. He lit it, then melted into the shadows to await the results.

The fire burned for twenty or so minutes before there was any response. Then a silver Chevy sedan pulled up alongside the burning can. A man got out of the sedan and opened the trunk. He grabbed a fire extinguisher and began to spray it on the fire.

Rollo came out of hiding and approached the man from behind. He knew that the man was part of the night patrol on the lookout for the dog killer. He assumed the man was a police officer.

Before the man could react, Rollo grabbed his head in both of his hands and violently twisted it until he heard the man's neck break.

Then he let go, and the man fell to the ground. Rollo watched him die.

Afterward he dragged the man back to his vehicle. He lifted him up and put him inside.

Then he reached inside and popped the Chevy's gas tank cover. He walked to the side of the car and unscrewed the cap.

He placed a string of twisted toilet paper inside the gas tank and unrolled the paper until it stretched to a fair distance away from the car. He doused the paper with lighter fluid. He lit the end of the paper, and as it began to burn its way toward the gas tank, Rollo ran from the car.

He had reached the street corner when he heard the explosion. He turned back in time to see a massive ball of flame erupting from the car. He could feel the heat.

He hugged the shadows and got away as fast as he could.

 

 

 

J
esse was watching the old-movie channel when the phone rang. The movie was
The Graduate,
and it was just getting to the part where Ben disrupted Elaine's wedding.

“Shit,” he said, and answered the phone.

“Jesse, it's Rich. We've got a situation.”

B
y the time Jesse got to the scene, the fire had been extinguished. The charred remains of the car were still smoldering.

Mickey Kurtz was watching the smoke rise. Rich Bauer stood with him. Jesse walked over to them.

“We've got a body here, Jesse,” Kurtz said.

“Who,” Jesse said.

“Steve Lesnick was on patrol with me tonight,” Bauer said.

“We can't make any positive identification yet,” Kurtz said. “But in all likelihood it's Steve.”

Jesse stepped away and took a moment to collect himself. He walked to the fire-damaged automobile and looked inside. He gazed at Steve Lesnick's remains. A fellow officer. A friend.

The body was burned beyond recognition. Jesse thought it strange that it was lying on the seat. He looked more closely and saw that the head was tilted at an odd angle. He called to Captain Kurtz.

“Mick,” he said. “Have a look at something, will you?”

Kurtz joined him beside the car.

“Look at the angle of the head,” Jesse said.

“Odd,” Kurtz said. “Almost as if . . .”

“. . . Yeah,” Jesse said.

“I better have forensics take a closer look,” Kurtz said.

“Good idea,” Jesse said.

T
he Lesnick funeral was attended by seemingly everyone in Paradise. The crowd overflowed the church. Many of the attendees listened to the service over a loudspeaker that had been placed on the sidewalk.

It wasn't the first time that a Paradise police officer had been killed in the line of duty. But it was the first time Jesse had worn his uniform.

“Steve would have loved that you attended in uniform,” Molly said.

“Especially my discomfort,” Jesse said.

He and Molly were outside the church, looking around.

Jesse spotted Alexis Richardson standing with Carter Hansen. He and Alexis hadn't spoken since the night of Steve's death. Which was also the night they'd fought.

After the service, following a brief moment spent with the Lesnick family, Jesse joined the crowd as it made its way out of the church. He caught up with Alexis. She looked at him but said nothing.