Robert B. Parker's Damned if You Do
Page 1
NOVELS BY ROBERT B. PARKER
THE SPENSER NOVELS
Robert B. Parker’s Wonderland
(by Ace Atkins)
Robert B. Parker’s Lullaby
(by Ace Atkins)
Sixkill
Painted Ladies
The Professional
Rough Weather
Now & Then
Hundred-Dollar Baby
School Days
Cold Service
Bad Business
Back Story
Widow’s Walk
Potshot
Hugger Mugger
Hush Money
Sudden Mischief
Small Vices
Chance
Thin Air
Walking Shadow
Paper Doll
Double Deuce
Pastime
Stardust
Playmates
Crimson Joy
Pale Kings and Princes
Taming a Sea-Horse
A Catskill Eagle
Valediction
The Widening Gyre
Ceremony
A Savage Place
Early Autumn
Looking for Rachel Wallace
The Judas Goat
Promised Land
Mortal Stakes
God Save the Child
The Godwulf Manuscript
THE JESSE STONE NOVELS
Robert B. Parker’s Fool Me Twice
(by Michael Brandman)
Robert B. Parker’s Killing the Blues
(by Michael Brandman)
Split Image
Night and Day
Stranger in Paradise
High Profile
Sea Change
Stone Cold
Death in Paradise
Trouble in Paradise
Night Passage
THE SUNNY RANDALL NOVELS
Spare Change
Blue Screen
Melancholy Baby
Shrink Rap
Perish Twice
Family Honor
COLE/HITCH WESTERNS
Robert B. Parker’s Ironhorse
(by Robert Knott)
Blue-Eyed Devil
Brimstone
Resolution
Appaloosa
ALSO BY ROBERT B. PARKER
Double Play
Gunman’s Rhapsody
All Our Yesterdays
A Year at the Races
(with Joan H. Parker)
Perchance to Dream
Poodle Springs
(with Raymond Chandler)
Love and Glory
Wilderness
Three Weeks in Spring
(with Joan H. Parker)
Training with Weights
(with John R. Marsh)
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Publishers Since 1838
Published by the Penguin Group
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For more information about the Penguin Group visit penguin.com
Copyright © 2013 by the Estate of Robert B. Parker
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Published simultaneously in Canada
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Brandman, Michael.
Robert B. Parker’s Damned if you do / Michael Brandman.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-101-63648-0
1. Stone, Jesse (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. City and town life—Massachusetts—Fiction. 3. Police chiefs—Massachusetts—Fiction. I. Title. II. Title: Damned if you do.
PS3602.R356R63 2013 2013019293
813'.6—dc23
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For Joanna,
who makes every day an adventure . . .
and for Joan and Bob
Contents
Novels by Robert B. Parker
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Acknowledgments
Jesse Stone was sprawled out on the back porch love seat, having finished the last of his coffee, waiting for the caffeine to kick in.
The sun was steadily climbing toward its zenith in the cloudless sky. The spring air was flush with currents of warmth. In the distance, a pair of quarreling gulls screeched relentlessly, putting an end to the tranquil spring morning.
His cell phone rang, and he reached over and picked it up.
“We’ve got a body, Jesse,” Suitcase Simpson said. “Surf and Sand Motel. It’s bad.”
“I’m on my way,” Jesse said.
He press checked and holstered his Colt, closed up the house, and headed out.
• • •
Jesse pulled his cruiser to a stop in front of the Surf & Sand Motel, a classic bungalow colony from the early 1950s, located a short walk from the beach.
At one time, the bungalows were a favorite vacation spot for middle-class families seeking a more affordable alternative to Paradise’s higher-end beach resorts. For decades it did a bustling summer business, but times changed. The bungalows fell into disfavor, then disrepair, and the tourist trade vanished.
Ownership had remained in the hands of the Sloan family. Jimmy Sloan, the eldest son of the original proprietors, still ran the place. He scraped by with the occasional bungalow rental and income from the motel’s bar and grill, which attracted a decidedly low-rent clie
ntele. Jimmy was standing in front of the motel talking with Suitcase when Jesse arrived.
“Bungalow twelve,” Suitcase said. “Young woman. Stabbed to death.”
Jesse looked at Jimmy Sloan, who nodded his greeting.
“You knew her,” Jesse said.
“She’d been here before.”
“Hooker?”
“Yeah.”
“You see the john?”
“No. She paid for the room herself. He must have met her there.”
“Is it open?”
“Yeah.”
“Suit?”
“I came as soon as Jimmy phoned,” Suitcase said. “No one’s been in there except me.”
Jesse headed for bungalow twelve. Like its neighbors, it was a stand-alone unit, constructed at a time when redwood was inexpensive and plentiful. It had a shingled roof and a small porch with two metal rocking chairs and a table.
The flooring creaked audibly as Jesse climbed the three steps to the porch. The first thing he saw when he opened the door was a young woman’s body lying faceup on the bed. She appeared to have suffered a single stab wound to the heart that killed her instantly.
The bungalow’s interior was bleak. The patterned carpet was threadbare and the brass-framed double bed sagged in the middle from age and overuse. Fifties-era commercial furniture bore the scars of cigarette burns and spilled beverages. Yet despite the wear of the decades, the room was clean and orderly, as if someone had taken pains to make it presentable.
Jesse approached the body. The girl on the bed couldn’t have been much more than twenty. She might not have been beautiful in the classic sense, but she had certainly been attractive. Her dyed blond hair was cut in an early Jennifer Aniston–type shag, and a heavy hand with makeup made her seem older at first glance than she actually was. Powder attempted to camouflage skin blemishes, and bright red lipstick was now smeared across her face. She was naked, her slender body more that of a girl than a woman.
Jesse looked at her more closely. Something about the girl caught his attention. He had the unsettling feeling that he had seen her before, but he couldn’t quite place where. Which was unusual for him. He prided himself at being good with names and faces, and he generally remembered them all.
He stepped outside and took a deep breath. He looked at Suitcase.
“Call it in to State Homicide,” he said. “We’ll need a forensics team. See if Mel Snyderman is around and ask him to get here ASAP.”
“I’m on it, Jesse.”
Jesse walked over to Jimmy Sloan. Sloan was a tired-looking guy in his mid-sixties. He had thick bags beneath his eyes and his weak chin ran right into his thick neck. His paunch hung heavily over his belt. Angry veins on his nose hinted at a fondness for alcohol.
“She got a name,” Jesse said.
“She’s got the name she signed on the register,” Sloan said. “I can’t vouch for it being her real one, though.”
“Credit card?”
“Cash.”
“You said she was here before?”
“A couple of times.”
“She use the same name each time?”
“I’d have to look it up.”
Sloan started toward the motel office.
“Jimmy,” Jesse said.
Sloan stopped.
“You playing host to hookers these days?”
He shrugged. “I gotta make a living, Jesse.”
“So you look the other way?”
“I don’t see nothin’ wrong with it. Consenting adults. I rent rooms here. I don’t ask what goes on inside them.”
“The law doesn’t see it that way.”
Sloan didn’t say anything.
“She have a pimp?”
“I wouldn’t know. Girl paid for the room. I left her alone.”
“You might not ask what goes on inside your rooms, but you should know just the same. Hell, Jimmy, there’s a dead kid in there.”
“I’m one guy just trying to hang on, Jesse. Business isn’t good. The place is a hole. I’m this close to bankruptcy. What the fuck you want me to do?”
The sound of approaching sirens grew louder.
“Homicide might have an answer for that question.”
“What, they’re gonna put me out of business?”
“You should probably ask if they’re going to put you behind bars.”
“Behind bars? That’s a load of crap. Nothin’ like this ever happened before. I ain’t runnin’ no whorehouse here, Jesse. It’s still a respectable place. I didn’t kill anyone.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“I grew up in this motel. I worked hard here my entire life. I kept my nose clean. This place is all I got to show for it. The American dream? That’s for the bankers and the mortgage brokers. The unregulated big shots. For guys like me, it’s a nightmare.”
Sloan kicked at the patch of dirt in front of him.
“Fuck it,” he said. “Let ’em put me in jail. At least in jail I won’t have to worry about how I’m gonna pay my bills.”
“I’ll do what I can, Jimmy,” Jesse said.
“Yeah. I know you will, Jesse,” Sloan said.
Jesse was in his office, talking on the phone with Captain Healy.
“I’m drawing blanks,” Healy said. “I got nothin’.”
“Prints?”
“She doesn’t appear to be in the system.”
“Car?”
“Stolen. In Boston. Six months ago. Plates were lifted from a vehicle in Framingham.”
“Missing persons?”
“One or two possibles that turned out to be duds. She’s a Jane Doe, Jesse, and likely to remain one. My guys are rousting the pimps and making inquiries everywhere. Early results suggest she was an independent.”
“No leads regarding the john?”
“None. No one saw anything. No one heard anything. Guy probably parked off-site and hoofed it. So as to avoid being IDed.”
“I’ll sniff around up here,” Jesse said.
“I’m checking schools, apartments, anything that might be relevant, but this one feels like a dead end.”
“You’ll let me know if you find anything?”
“I will. But I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you,” Healy said, and ended the call.
Jesse slowly returned the receiver to its cradle. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that he had seen the dead girl before.
“Is it possible that I knew her,” he mused.
He couldn’t come up with the answer.
He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his cold coffee.
“Molly,” he said.
“No,” she said, calling out from her desk.
“No what?”
“Get your own.”
“How did you know what I was going to ask?”
“I know.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
She got up and walked into his office.
“You think I was born yesterday,” she said. “You think I don’t know that your coffee’s cold?”
“So?”
“So I made fresh.”
“I know. I can smell it.”
They looked at each other for a while. Neither of them made a move.
Jesse then stood and went for the coffeemaker. Once there, he poured himself a fresh cup and grabbed the last remaining donut from the box. He returned to his office to find Molly seated in the chair opposite his desk.
“Thanks,” he said.
“My pleasure. I see you couldn’t resist the stale donut.”
“A donut is a donut. Stale doesn’t necessarily mean bad.”
“Certainly not in your case.”
“Was there something you wanted, Molly?”
Jesse dunked the donut in his coffee and took a rather large bite of it. Molly sat watching him. Finally she said, “I think you should know that Donnie Jacobs has gone missing. He wandered out last night and never came back.”
“Anyone try to find hi
m?”
“The security guards at the home had a shot at it.”
“A bunch of morons,” Jesse said.
“Needless to say, they didn’t find him.”
Jesse dunked his donut again and then finished it.
“Want me to run up to Winkie’s and get you another box,” she said.
“Would you?”
“Not in this lifetime.”
Jesse looked at her.
Then he said, “I think I know where to find him.”
“I had a feeling you might.”
Jesse parked his cruiser in front of the yellow Cape Cod cottage on Peterman Drive. It was as he had last seen it, deserted and forlorn, the victim of a failing real estate market, unsold for nearly a year.
Donnie Jacobs had originally bought it for his bride, Dolly. Their daughter, Emma, grew up in it. Now it was empty.
Jesse climbed the steps to the porch, where Donnie was sitting on an ancient wicker rocking chair. He looked older than his years. He had on blue-and-yellow golf pants, a faded short-sleeved polo shirt, and a worn Red Sox windbreaker with a slight tear in the right shoulder. His large brown eyes, once full of life, now reflected the freight of an illness that was inexorably robbing him of his essence.
“Morning, Donnie,” Jesse said, resting against the porch railing.
“Jesse?”
“None other than.”
“I thought it was you.”
“What are you doing here, Donnie?”
“That’s a good question. I don’t really know.”
“You came here on your own?”
“I guess I must have.”
“You walked?”
Donnie shrugged.
“I don’t remember, Jesse. My memory’s not worth a damn these days. Why are you here?”
“I got a call from Golden Horizons saying you had disappeared. I figured this was where you might be.”
“Damn. I must not have told them. Emma’s gonna be pissed.”
“You can’t just walk off like that, Donnie.”
“I’m trying, Jesse. It’s just that I get so confused sometimes. Last week I got dressed to go to the office and then I remembered that I don’t have an office anymore. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m terrified by the thought of me sitting alone in some fucking home, not even knowing who I am.”
“No one’s going to allow that to happen, Donnie. That’s the reason you’re at Golden Horizons.”
“So that the people there can remind me of who I am?”
Jesse nodded.
“It’s so pathetic, Jesse. I used to be somebody. Everyone knew my name. Now half the time I don’t even know it myself.”