Killing the Blues (8 page)

“We'll give him a little time to cogitate.”

“Cogitate,” Suitcase said.

“You could look it up,” Jesse said.

He left the safe house and drove away.

M
olly stuck her head into Jesse's office, saw him at his desk, then walked in and sat down.

“You've had phone calls from Captain Healy and Lucy Jameson.”

“Who's Lucy Jameson?”

“You don't know?”

“Would I be asking if I did?”

“There goes my five bucks.”

“Excuse me?”

“I bet Suitcase she was your current squeeze.”

Jesse stared at her.

“Taking recent history into consideration, it wasn't a bad bet,” Molly said. “She said she'd call again.”

“Did she say what it was about?”

“No. She seemed upset. We thought it was because you'd dumped her.”

“Was there anything else?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Molly stood, sighed, and strolled out of Jesse's office.

Jesse called Healy.

“Do you have anything on a pair of lowlifes from Fall River named Santino Valazza and Robert Lopresti,” he said.

“And good morning to you, too.”

“Robert Lopresti and Santino Valazza.”

“Santino as in Sonny Corleone?”

“Nice existential leap.”

“I'm trying to live down the dolt sobriquet.”

“Sobriquet?”

“Guy can't try too hard.”

“Valazza and Lopresti.”

“Does this have something to do with what I think it has to do with?”

“Elliptical, aren't we.”

“Might take me a while. I'm the state homicide commander, and I do have work of my own.”

“You do?”

“Some. But I've put your name at the top of my to-do list.”

“Gee, I had no idea the homicide commander kept such a list.”

“He doesn't. I lied. I'll get back to you.”

Jesse hung up and sat back in his chair.

“It's Lucy Jameson,” Molly said. “Line two.”

Jesse answered the call.

“Jesse Stone,” he said.

“Chief Stone. Lucy Jameson. I wanted you to know that some son of a bitch killed my Rufus. Snapped his neck like it was a pretzel.”

“And Rufus would be . . .”

“My dog.”

“Oh,” Jesse said. “When did this happen, Ms. Jameson?”

“Lucy.”

“When did this happen, Lucy?”

“Last night. I found him this morning.”

“Have you any idea who might have done it? A neighbor? An enemy? Anyone?”

“Rufus did his share of barking, I will say that. But folks around here weren't upset by him. He wasn't vicious. He wasn't a biter. I can't imagine who could have done such a thing.”

“I'm terribly sorry for your loss, Ms. Jameson. Lucy. I'll send one of my officers. Perhaps he might be of service.”

“Thank you.”

Jesse called for Rich Bauer, who quickly appeared in his doorway.

“Go take a look at Lucy Jameson's dog, will you, Rich? Maybe you can detect something.”

“You bet, Skipper,” Bauer said.

“Rich,” Jesse said, “may I ask you a favor?”

“A favor? Sure thing, Skipper. Name it.”

“Quit calling me Skipper.”

 

 

 

J
esse left the office and drove off in his cruiser. He needed some down time, and he chose to take it patrolling Paradise in search of miscreants. Showing the flag, so to speak.

He found a few illegally parked cars and stopped to write the citations. He took comfort in the unseemly chore of writing parking tickets.

He thought about the Robert Lopresti adventure. He knew he was operating outside of the law. Ironically, as a small-town police chief, Jesse had always believed that acting outside of the law was a perk. He was well aware of the personal risk he was taking. But he was intent on stirring the pot.

Gino Fish ran organized crime in Massachusetts. Gambling, prostitution, vending machines, construction, sanitation. He had relinquished narcotics because they were against his principles.

Although he didn't know who was running the car theft operation, Jesse was certain that Gino Fish was pulling the strings from behind the scenes. Perhaps a meeting with him was in order.

He wrote another handful of tickets, then went home.

I
t was after dark when Molly Crane finished work and was finally able to leave the station. Everyone else had already gone.

She went around the office turning off lights. She checked to make certain the coffeemaker was off. She grabbed her coat and her bag and left the building.

Once outside, she locked the door behind her. She took a couple of deep breaths and headed for her car.

Then she stopped and stood still. She looked around. She thought she heard something. She listened for a few moments. Then she walked to her car. After looking around once again, she got in and drove away.

Secure in the knowledge that she was gone, Rollo Nurse slipped out of the hedges alongside the building.

Not yet,
the voices had said to him.

O
nce home, Jesse put away his paraphernalia, and began to straighten up the house. He wore a T-shirt and boxer shorts, and was feeding the cat when he heard knocking on his door.

“Dammit,” he said.

He picked up his pistol from the kitchen console and press-checked it on his way to the door.

He was stopped dead in his tracks by the appearance of Alexis Richardson. She stood in the doorway, a sack of Chinese takeout in her hand.

“Nice outfit,” she said.

Jesse looked at her.

“I took a chance,” she said.

He didn't say anything.

“I always find Chinese a safe bet. You haven't eaten, have you?”

Jesse stared at her.

“Are you going to ask me in or shoot me,” she said.

Jesse realized that his pistol was still in his hand.

He lowered it. Then he opened the door wider so she could enter.

She stepped inside.

He looked down at himself for a moment. Then he looked up at her.

“I'll be right back,” he said.

When Jesse went upstairs, Alexis wandered into the living room.

“I've never actually been inside the home of a police chief before,” she called to him.

When he didn't respond, she stopped to look at the picture of Ozzie Smith which hung on the wall above the fireplace. She studied it for a while. It was an incredible photo. It created the illusion that the Hall of Famer was flying. His body was floating lengthwise in the air, hovering above the ground, his glove hand extended, a caught ball lodged inside the glove.

When Jesse returned, wearing khakis and a blue shirt that he hadn't tucked in, she asked him about it.

“He was the best shortstop I ever saw,” Jesse said.

“And you wanted to be like him,” she said.

“I was never that good,” he said. “All I wanted was to make the show. Have a shot.”

“But you got hurt,” she said.

“My shoulder,” he said.

“Do you miss it?”

“Every day.”

They wandered over to the French doors.

“It's very secluded here,” Alexis said.

“I like secluded,” Jesse said.

“Am I safe in the assumption that you live here alone?”

“Of late, there's been a cat hovering about. Other than that, you're safe.”

He suddenly remembered his manners.

“Forgive me,” he said. “Can I get you anything?”

“You can take the food,” she said.

He took the food.

“Is there vodka,” she said.

“I think so.”

“You think so? You mean you don't know for certain?”

“I'm a big-picture guy,” he said. “Sometimes the small stuff eludes me.”

“I guess that eliminates the possibility of tonic.”

“Not necessarily. Let me go look.”

He left her and went to the kitchen.

When he returned, he found her outside on the porch.

He was carrying a vodka and tonic, garnished by a slice of a somewhat tired lime. He stepped outside.

He was surprised to see her holding the black-and-white cat. She was seated on the love seat, and the cat was nestled comfortably on her lap, where it allowed itself to be petted. It appeared to be purring.

“I love cats,” she said.

Jesse didn't say anything.

He started toward the love seat, but somehow the cat misunderstood and, without warning, it leapt from Alexis's lap and jumped off the porch.

“We just recently met,” Jesse said. “It likes what I feed it, but it's very standoffish.”

“Be patient,” Alexis said.

She stood up and walked over to him. She took the drink from his hand and sipped it. Then she put it down.

She placed her arms around his neck and kissed him.

She leaned back and looked in his eyes.

“Hello, Jesse Stone,” she said.

Then she kissed him again.

He kissed her back. She tasted of vodka and tonic and old lime and life.

“I hardly know you,” he said.

She looked at him.

“Who are you, Alexis?”

“I'm an ambitious careerist who finds herself in a strange town and has discovered a mysterious man whom she finds attractive.”

“I don't think it's such a good idea.”

She looked at him.

“Why,” she said.

“I'm unreliable,” he said.

“Me, too,” she said.

“I'll run at the first sign of trouble,” he said.

“Me, too,” she said.

“Aw, hell,” he said.

He kissed her. Then he kissed her again.

“Be tender, Jesse,” she said.

He looked at her for a moment.

Then he picked her up and carried her upstairs.

 

 

 

A
fterward they feasted on Chinese. Jesse wore his boxer shorts; Alexis wore his T-shirt. They ate prodigious amounts of kung pao shrimp, chicken in garlic sauce, and barbecued beef, which they washed down with several bottles of Tsingtao beer, which Jesse kept on ice.

“How is it you're not spoken for, post-Jenn,” Alexis said.

“I thought I was. But I don't think so anymore.”

“Who?”

“A private detective from Boston. I met her on a case. She's somewhere in Europe now. Have you heard of the movie actress Moira Harris?”

Alexis shrugged.

“Moira Harris was shooting a picture in Boston, and Sunny was hired as her security.”

“Sunny?”

“Sunny Randall,” Jesse said. “Moira got a movie shooting in London and Prague. She asked for Sunny. That's where she is now.”

“Do you love her?”

“That's a loaded question. There was a time when I thought we'd be together. She thought so, too. But somehow things didn't go that way.”

“Why?”

“History, I guess. Each of our marriages had ended badly. We were both damaged goods. All the king's horses and all the king's men . . . We couldn't be put back together again. We tried. Then she took the movie. When she left, I thought I'd miss her, but I don't, really. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose.”

“Are you over her?”

“I don't know,” Jesse said.

Alexis didn't say anything.

“And you? Have you ever been married,” Jesse said.

“God, no. Married to a job, perhaps. I'm not a good catch. I'm an anathema. Guys take one look at me and start clutching their balls.”

They sat silently for a while.

“Thank you for being honest,” she said.

Jesse didn't say anything.

Alexis stood up and walked over to his chair. She insinuated herself onto his lap.

“That kind of honesty is rare in a man.”

Jesse didn't say anything.

She leaned back and looked at him. She traced his cheek with her finger. She kissed him.

After a while they went back upstairs.

W
hen Jesse arrived at his office, Molly was already on her feet.

“Coffee,” Jesse said.

“Dogs,” Molly said.

“Excuse me?”

“Two of'em. Necks broken. Different parts of town. Owners phoned this morning.”