"What are you thinking about?" she said.
I smiled at her. "What would be your guess?" I said.
"Oh," she said, "that."
"In a manner of speaking," I said.
"Could we finish dinner first?"
"I suppose we have to," I said. "If we ever want to eat here again."
45
The Registry of Motor Vehicles told Quirk that Sarno Karnofsky had two Mercedes sedans and a Cadillac Escalade, registered in Massachusetts. Quirk told me and gave me the plate numbers. I had the three numbers written on a piece of paper taped to my sun visor as Hawk and I sat in my car with the motor off and the windows open to let the sea breeze in. Hawk had parked his car beside me and come to sit in mine. We were in a parking lot along with maybe fifty other cars, at a public beach, on the mainland end of the causeway that connected Paradise Neck with the rest of the town.
"So we going to sit here," Hawk said, "until hell freeze over or one of Sonny's cars comes off the Neck."
"Exactly," I said.
"And then we follow the car until we find Bonnie."
"Right," I said.
"You think that'll work?" Hawk said.
"I have no idea," I said.
"So why we doing it?"
"Because I don't know what else to do," I said.
Hawk was wearing black Oakley sunglasses and a white silk T-shirt. He watched a tanned young woman in a small black bathing suit walk toward the beach.
"That be your version of Occam's razor," Hawk said. "I'll do it because I don't know what else to do."
"Occam's razor?" I said.
Hawk shrugged, his eyes still following the woman in the meager bathing suit.
"I read a lot," Hawk said.
I nodded. The young woman sat down on a blanket near another woman in an equally insufficient bathing suit.
"You got a better suggestion?" I said.
"No."
"Then you agree we might as well do this."
"Yes."
An overweight woman wearing flip-flops and one of those two-piece suits with a little skirt walked by. She was pale-skinned. Her stomach sagged. Her hair was very blond and very teased. We watched her pass.
"The lord giveth," Hawk said, "and the lord taketh away."
"Have you ever thought we might be guilty of sexism here," I said.
"Yes," Hawk said.
A silver Mercedes sedan cruised past us, coining from the Neck. We checked the plates. It didn't belong to Sonny.
"For all you know," Hawk said, "Bonnie moved to Scottsdale twenty years ago to work on her tan."
"Sonny's going to all this trouble to cover her up," I said. "He might want her close."
"Or he might want her far," Hawk said.
"Well, yes," I said. "That too is a possibility."
"So we could be wasting a lot of time."
"Remember Occam," I said.
To watch the causeway, we had to sit with our backs to the ocean. But we could hear it and smell it and feel the breeze coming off it. Across the causeway, we could see the harbor, where the masts of the pleasure boats stood like marsh reeds. Herring gulls wheeled and squawked and got into a loud scrum over a remnant of hot dog roll on the edge of the street in front of us. A red Porsche Boxster went by with the top down. A slate gray Lexus SUV came by in the other direction. Then nothing. Then, after awhile, a blue Subaru Forester.
"Probably a servant," Hawk said.
"Can't be sure," I said. "The Yankees are a thrifty lot."
A black BMW came by, and a dark brown Mercedes sedan. Wrong license number. We could smell hot dogs cooking in the snack bar in back of the beach house. At 2:30, Hawk took action. "Want a hot dog?" he said.
"Two," I said. "Mustard and relish."
"Want to pay for it?" Hawk said.
"No."
Hawk nodded. "Irish are a thrifty lot," he said, and moved off toward the stand.
We had eaten our hot dogs and drunk our coffee and taken turns at the men's room in the beach house. An Explorer and a couple Volvo wagons had gone by. An unmarked police car with a whip antenna pulled into the parking lot and stopped behind us. The driver got out and walked toward the car. He was a young guy, medium-sized, built like a middleweight boxer, moved like an athlete. He wore a short revolver on his belt and handcuffs and a badge. He came to the car on my side.
"How you doing," he said.
I nodded to indicate we were doing fine.
"My name's Jesse Stone," he said. "I'm the chief here in Paradise."
He didn't look like a small-town cop. Something about the eyes and the way he walked.
"Nice to meet you," I said.
Behind his Oakleys, Hawk did not appear to be looking at Stone.
"You been sitting here since seven-thirty this morning," Stone said.
"Pretty good," I said. "You picked us up fast."
"We got a nice little department here," Stone said. "I don't wish to intrude, but what are you doing?"
"My name's Spenser," I said.
"I know. We already ran your plates."
"I'm trying to locate Sonny Karnofsky's daughter, Bonnie," I said. "There's a state cop named Healy can probably vouch for me."
"I know Healy," Stone said. "He still doing vice?"
"He never did vice," I said. "He's at One Thousand Ten Commonwealth. Homicide Commander."
Stone smiled slightly. "Why do you want Bonnie Karnofsky?"
"Long story," I said. "The short version is we think she's a witness in a murder investigation."
Stone nodded. "You want coffee?" he said.
"Sure," I said.
Without speaking, Hawk held up two fingers. Stone smiled again.
"Cream and sugar?"
"Both," I said.
"I'll be back in a couple minutes," Stone said.
He walked back to his car.
"He ain't no small-town shit-kicker," Hawk said.
"I know."
Stone reached into his car through the open side window, took out the radio mike, talked for a couple minutes, and put it back. Then he strolled toward the snack bar. While he was gone, five cars crossed the causeway, none of them registered to Sonny. In a few more minutes, he came back from the snack bar carrying three cups of coffee in a cardboard carrying tray. Balancing the coffee comfortably, Stone got in the backseat, sat, and distributed the coffee.
"Healy tell you I was everything a crime fighter should be?" I said.
"No. He said you'd probably do more good than harm."
"Ringing endorsement," Hawk said.
Stone nodded at Hawk. "He said you should be in jail."
"Nice of you to check," Hawk said.
With a pocket knife, Stone cut a little hole in the plastic lid of his coffee cup. He drank some coffee.
"Tell me the long story," Stone said.
I told him the story, editing out the shooting at Taft. He listened soundlessly. Three more cars passed us on the causeway. None of them Sonny's. When I was through, Stone stayed quiet for awhile, drinking his coffee.
"Sonny hasn't got her," he said finally.
"You know that," I said.
"Yeah."
"You know where she is?"
"No."
"How do you know she doesn't live with Sonny?" I said.
"Sonny's lived here awhile; we like to keep tabs on him."
"You've had him under surveillance?" I said.
"Yep."
"Has he spotted you?"
"Nope."
"How are you doing it?"
"One of his neighbors is a good sport," Stone said.
"You're in a house."
"Yep."
"You do camera surveillance?" I said.
"Yep."
"You have any pictures of Bonnie?"
Stone drank some more of his coffee. He seemed to like it. Another car went fruitlessly by on the causeway. Then he said, "Yep."
46
I was in Stone's office at the Paradise Police Sta
tion. Hawk was still at the causeway. On Stone's desk were four somewhat grainy black-and-white head-shot blowups of a middle-aged woman. They weren't great pictures, but Bonnie was fully recognizable in them.
"So how come you never found out where she lived?" I said.
"No reason."
"Did you get her license number when she visited?"
"Sonny always sent a car for her."
"And you never followed her?"
"I got a twelve-man force," Stone said. "The surveillance is voluntary. We're lucky to get him covered as much as we do."
I nodded. On top of a file cabinet there was an expensive and often used Rawlings baseball glove.
"Sonny's daughter would have been about sixteen when he bought the house."
Stone turned one of the head shots toward him and looked at it for a minute.
"That would make her, what, fifty-seven?" Stone said.
"Somebody must have known her."
"You'd think," Stone said.
"She go to school here?"
"Don't know," Stone said. "I can find out."
"And find out if anyone knew her?"
"Probably," Stone said.
"Without getting Sonny all worked up," I said.
"I got the impression Sonny was already worked up," Stone said.
"I don't want him to bury her where I'll never find her," I said.
"According to Healy, that would have to be pretty deep."
"Wow," I said. "He likes me."
"I wouldn't go that far," Stone said.
I shrugged. We were quiet for a moment, looking at the photos on the desk.
"You ever do business with the Bureau?" I said.
"FBI?" Stone said and smiled. "Yes."
"What do you think?"
"I think a lot of the agents could have used more street time."
I nodded.
"You've had some," I said.
"Yep."
"Where?"
"L.A."
"You know a homicide guy named Samuelson out there?"
"I know the name," Stone said. "I worked for Cronjager."
"Don't know him," I said.
I took out one of my cards. "You learn anything, let me know," I said.
Stone took my card and slid it under the corner of his desk blotter. Then he picked up the photographs and slid them into a manila envelope.
"Take these along," he said. "I got more."
"Thanks," I said.
"Be my pleasure to bag Sonny," Stone said. "I don't like him."
I started for the door. Stone followed me.
"You being alone," Stone said, "I'll tail along back to the causeway."
"How kind," I said.
"Sonny murders you in my town," Stone said, "it'll fuck my chances for a pay raise."
47
I was at the Hotel Meridian with Susan, at a fundraiser for Community Servings, which was, like me, a nonprofit to which Susan was devoted. Hawk was with us, leaning against the wall, monochromatic in black and no more noticeable than a machine-gun emplacement. I myself was everything the date of a prominent psychotherapist should be: unobtrusive in a dark blue suit, dark blue shirt, pale blue silk tie, and a pair of sapphire cufflinks that Susan had given me to celebrate my virility. Susan was amazing in red silk and painful shoes. There were hors d'ouevres in quantity, an open bar, and an ice-sculpture fountain from which flowed free and endless martinis. This seemed a great invention to me, and I felt privileged to have seen it.
The evening was called Life Savor and, in addition to Hawk, it drew a celebrity crowd. I spotted Oedipus, who was the program director for the big rock station in town and admitted to no other name. Will McDonough was there, and Bobby Orr, and Bill Poduska, the helicopter guy, and Fraser Lemley. I talked with Mike Barnicle and David Brudnoy. I was introduced to Jenifer Silverman, who assured me she was not related to Susan. I chatted with Chet Curtis. The Mayor came by, and a candidate for governor. Susan was on the board of this organization and raced around the room, greeting people and charming the ass off anyone lucky enough to be in her path. For a moment, that person was me.
"If the atmosphere gets any more rarified," I said, "I may get a nosebleed."
"Don't get any on my dress," Susan said and zoomed across the room to talk with Honey Blonder.
I pushed through the crowd to the martini fountain, and, in the spirit of participation, had a martini. Hawk kept me in sight. He was entirely unthreatening. To the extent that he had an expression as he moved through the crowd, it was one of benign amusement. But people made room for him. Hawk never had to fight for space.
I plopped an olive in my martini and took a sip. I said hello to Joyce Kulhawik. She moved on to talk with Emily Rooney and I found myself in eye contact across the crowded room with Harvey. I smiled at him, and he shot me elaborately with his forefinger, cocking his thumb carefully as he aimed and bringing it down when he fired. Then he looked past me at Hawk. The benignity was gone from Hawk's face. In its place was the stare. Hawk had never seen Harvey and maybe didn't know who he was. But Hawk knew what he was.
The two of them looked at each other for a long time. Harvey met the stare, which, redirected, might have frozen the martinis. I unbuttoned my suit coat. I checked the room to see where Susan was. If anything transpired, I wanted her out of range. The room was crowded, and I couldn't see her. Hawk's jacket was unbuttoned, too. He moved gently along the wall toward Harvey. I moved around the fountain toward Harvey from the other side. Harvey smiled and drew his forefinger across his throat and made a spitting gesture with his mouth. Then he moved through the crowd away from us and disappeared. Hawk looked at me. I shrugged. Not a good place to shoot it out. Hawk nodded and leaned on the wall again.
I went and leaned beside him. "What do you think?" I said.
"He ain't no fund-raiser," Hawk said.
"Name's Harvey," I said. "Sonny's hired gun."
"He still think he going to scare you off?" Hawk said.
"I doubt it."
"So why you think he's here?"
"I don't know," I said. "You got a theory?"
"He's a freak," Hawk said. "He like shooting people."
"He's not going to shoot me here," I said.
"No," Hawk said. "This be foreplay."
I scanned the room for Susan and spotted her talking with Bob Kraft. Good.
"That makes sense," I said.
"It do," Hawk said. "He giving himself a little thrill, come here, flirt with you. Go home. Think about it. Make his night."
"Usually, it's women," I said.
Hawk smiled. "Sometimes you got to settle," he said.
48
I was at my desk with pictures of Bonnie Karnofsky spread out on my desk. Hawk and the shotgun were settled in together on my office couch. Hawk was drinking coffee and reading The New York Times. I was drinking coffee and looking at the photos. In her adulthood, Bonnie was pretty good-looking, in a blonde, big-haired kind of way. However, information crucial to any decision of how good-looking she was had been omitted. The blown-up photographs were only of her face. They were useful for identification purposes only.
The phone rang and I answered.
"Hi," a woman said. "I'm officer Molly Crane from the Paradise Police. Chief Stone asked me to call and give you some information."
"Shoot," I said.
"Be careful what you say to an armed officer of the law," she said.
"Ill-phrased," I said. "What have you to tell me?"
"Bonnie Karnofsky did not attend any school in Paradise," she said.
Robert B Parker - Spenser 30 - Back Story Page 14
