Jesse ushered her into a small sitting area where she could collect herself.
“I’m ready to leave,” she said after a few minutes. “Thank you for making this less painful than it might have been.”
Jesse nodded.
“Is there anything you’d like to do now,” he said.
“I’d like to go home.”
Jesse helped her into his Explorer, and they set off for Martha’s house.
“Do you have any ideas as to why this happened to her,” she said.
“It’s still under investigation.”
“Have you any suspects?”
“None yet,” Jesse said. “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”
“Not at all.”
“Was Janet still living with you?”
“Up until a few months ago she was.”
“Did she have some kind of a job?”
“You might say that.”
“Meaning?”
“She was hooking.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“After high school, she went to live in Boston for a while. She thought she’d be able to find a decent job there. But with only a high school degree, and in this economy, nothing opened up for her. She came back home about a year ago, very dispirited.”
Martha was silent for a while.
“She wasn’t terribly communicative when she came home. She slept all day, and then she’d be out until all hours of the night doing God knows what. We weren’t getting along. There was a great deal of tension in the house.”
“And?”
“About six months ago she told me what she was doing.”
“How did you respond to that?”
“I don’t know, Jesse. Obviously I wasn’t happy about it, but I don’t think my opinion mattered to her one way or the other. I tried talking with her. About how she was going about protecting herself. I succeeded only in heightening the tension between us. Shortly after, she moved out.”
“Do you know where she went?”
“No. I hadn’t heard from her since. Somehow I failed her.”
“Perhaps she failed herself,” Jesse said.
They came to a stop in front of Martha’s house. Jesse looked at her.
“Did she have her own room in the house,” he said.
“She did. Yes.”
“May I see it?”
“Of course.”
• • •
Jesse stood in the doorway to Janet’s room and looked around. It appeared to be that of an average American teenager. Framed posters of Lady Gaga and Justin Bieber hung on the walls. A collection of stuffed animals was neatly arranged on the bed.
Jesse looked through the dresser drawers and into her closet. He searched her desk and found a calendar/diary that he skimmed and then put aside for further examination.
He looked inside her medicine cabinet, but if there had once been anything of interest there, she must have taken it with her.
Nothing else caught his attention. He was just wrapping up when Martha knocked on the door and stepped inside.
“Anything,” she said.
“I found a datebook that I’d like to look at more closely. Would you mind if I borrowed it?”
“Not at all.”
“I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
She looked at him with sad, troubled eyes.
“Thank you for what you did today,” she said. “I’m very grateful.”
“I feel terrible about this. I didn’t do enough for her.”
Martha didn’t say anything.
“I didn’t even recognize her,” Jesse said. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this, Martha.”
She looked at him.
“I swear it,” he said.
• • •
It was late by the time Jesse got home. He was tired and cranky. He treated himself to a glass of scotch, fixed a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, and sat down to study Janet Becquer’s calendar/diary. He read through the pages carefully. On most of the days, there weren’t any notations. A couple of the days were marked with doctor appointments. On certain other days, she had made cryptic notations beside the printed time of day.
On Thursday, April 14, for example, on the line marked four p.m., the letter C had been jotted down.
The same letter showed up on several other pages, as did the letter M. There were two references to the letter R, and another reference to the letter F. There were also references to the letters B, T, and W. There were more puzzling notations, such as the three references to TSS and the one to NSS.
Jesse took a sip of scotch and thought for a while. He couldn’t figure out what it all meant. He stared at the pages until they became a blur. Then he put down the diary, took a final sip of scotch, climbed the stairs, and went to bed.
When Jesse arrived at the station early the next morning, Molly followed him into his office.
“There’s good news and bad news,” she said. “Which do you want first?”
“What’s the bad news?”
“Carter Hansen wants to see you.”
“And the good news?”
“I lost five pounds.”
Jesse stared at her. She stared back.
“What does Hansen want,” he said.
“He didn’t say.”
“When does he want to see me?”
“As soon as possible. He didn’t sound happy.”
“He never sounds happy.”
“He does when he’s talking about himself.”
“Were there any other calls?”
“Alan Hollett.”
“What did he want?”
“He said to expect a call from Carter Hansen.”
Jesse looked at her.
“It might have something to do with the Golden Horizons inspections,” Molly said.
• • •
Jesse phoned Healy from his cruiser on his way to Town Hall.
“I got a name,” he said.
“Buddy Holly,” Healy said.
“It’s not Buddy Holly.”
“Yes, it is. He died in a plane crash with Ricky Nelson.”
“First of all, it was Jim Croce. And it wasn’t Ricky Nelson. It was The Big Bopper.”
“Ricky Nelson died in a plane crash with The Big Bopper?”
“No. Buddy Holly died in a plane crash with The Big Bopper.”
“But he still wrote ‘I Got a Name’?”
“Gimbel and Fox wrote it. Croce sang it.”
“Damn. I think maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right.”
“But didn’t Ricky Nelson die in a plane crash?”
“He did. But not with any of those guys.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah.”
“How did we get started on this?”
“I said I got a name.”
“You meant the name of the dead girl.”
“I did.”
“Right. Do you want to tell me?”
“Janet Becquer,” he said.
“Becker?”
“B-E-C-Q-U-E-R.”
“I’ll run it,” Healy said.
“You’ll let me know?”
“The minute I know.”
“Thanks.”
“I could’ve sworn it was Buddy Holly,” Healy said, and ended the call.
• • •
Carter Hansen made a big show of closing his office door behind him. Jesse, already seated in the chair in front of Hansen’s desk, watched him.
“Would it be too much to ask what’s going on,” Hansen said.
“Going on how?”
“Don’t play footsie with me, Jesse. You know goddamned good and well what I mean. What’s with these inspections,” Hansen said.
“What inspections?”
“The goddamn Golden Horizons inspections. I must have had ten calls from the idiot who runs the place.”
“Binky?”
“Yes, Binky.”
&
nbsp; “What about?”
“About the results of at least two inspections.”
“Excuse me, Carter, but I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Jesse. I know you’re behind this.”
Jesse looked at him.
“Why would both the fire department and the buildings department conduct inspections of the same place in the same week?”
“Beats me,” Jesse said. “What were their findings?”
“Lots of violations. Dozens of them.”
“That’s not good. Are they prepared to correct these violations?”
“The idiot isn’t saying.”
“That’s not good, either. Be a shame to have to close them down.”
“Close them down?”
“If the violations are serious enough.”
“Jesus,” Hansen said.
The intercom on Hansen’s phone began to buzz.
“What,” he said when he picked up the receiver.
He listened.
Then he said, “Shit.”
He looked at Jesse. Then, into the phone, he said, “No, no. I’ll take it.”
He put his hand over the mouthpiece.
“It’s the idiot,” he said to Jesse.
“Send him my regards,” Jesse said.
Hansen glared at him. Then into the phone he said, “Carter Hansen speaking.”
He listened for quite a while. Jesse could detect a raised voice on the other end of the line but couldn’t make out what was being said. Without ever saying another word, Hansen hung up the phone.
“Jesus,” he said.
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“They’ve had another inspection. The Department of Health. Apparently the kitchen is a biological disaster, too.”
Jesse stood.
“Strange,” he said.
“What’s strange,” Hansen said.
“Three inspections in the same week.”
Jesse met Clarice Edgerson and Thomas Walker at the same bench on the Boston Common. Jesse sat next to Clarice. Thomas stood.
She had on a short gray sweater dress that she wore over a black leotard. Several shards of her luxuriant auburn hair escaped from beneath the floppy green hat that covered her head. She had on the same red-framed Ray-Ban sunglasses that she had worn before, which were noticeably more suitable for the clear skies and bright sunshine of the warm spring day.
Thomas had on a classic Armani blazer, a button-down dress shirt that was open at the neck, and a pair of crisply pressed jeans.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me again,” Jesse said.
“It’s my greatest pleasure to be making these little forays out here to see you,” Clarice said. “How’s tricks?”
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”
She chuckled. A rich, low, ripe chuckle that lit up her beautiful face.
“I don’t quite know why, but you do manage to tickle me,” she said.
“Happy to be of service.”
“Whatever is it that brings us here this time?”
“I now have the dead girl’s name, but it’s yielding no clues.”
“I was under the impression that all you wanted was her name,” Clarice said.
“That’s right.”
“But now you want more. I should’ve expected it. Men always want more.”
“I was hoping that perhaps you might know her.”
“Know her? Why would you think I might know her.”
“I was hoping.”
“Is it your plan to drag me out here every time you can’t figure something out for yourself? Just because you have Mr. Fish on your side?”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“I hate the feeling of being used. Please don’t play us for a pair of jerks.”
“That’s hardly my intention,” he said.
“Allow me a few minutes to try and believe that.”
“What’s the girl’s name,” Thomas said.
“Janet Becquer,” Jesse said. “With an odd spelling. B-E-C-Q-U-E-R. Does it ring a bell?”
After several moments, Clarice said, “I remember interviewing a young woman who was seeking employment. It was a couple of months ago, maybe. I’m not certain that her last name was Becquer, but I do believe that her first name may have been Janet. Do you remember her, Thomas?”
“She was the blond looked kinda like Jennifer Aniston.”
“That’s the one,” Clarice said.
“So you did meet her,” Jesse said.
“Yes,” Clarice said.
“Did you hire her,” Jesse said.
“Strange child, that one,” Clarice said.
“How so?”
“I tried to hire her, right there on the spot. As I remember, she had a nice quality about her. I liked her. But she said she needed to think about it.”
“You mean she didn’t accept the job?”
“That’s right.”
“And the job she was interviewing for was that of a call girl?”
“We like to refer to our people as service representatives. Kind of sugars the pill, if you get my drift.”
“And she didn’t accept the job.”
“We never heard from her again.”
“Did she leave any contact information?”
“Thomas would know about that,” Clarice said. “Thomas, did this child leave you her info?”
“Not that I remember,” he said.
“How do you find the women you interview for these positions,” Jesse said.
“How do we find them,” Thomas said.
“Yes.”
“Most come by recommendation.”
“You mean people contact you with the names of candidates for these jobs?”
“Something like that,” Thomas said.
“So they come by appointment,” Jesse said.
“Yes.”
“And they make the appointments directly with you?”
“They do.”
“Do you generally get their contact information prior to making these appointments?”
“You know something,” Thomas said. “I think we’re done here. We’ve paid our debt to Mr. Fish. We interviewed this girl. We offered her a job. She declined. That’s all we know. I believe this ends our relationship, Mr. Stone.”
Thomas nodded to Clarice, who stood.
“I do so hope you find what you’re looking for,” she said to Jesse.
“I don’t think you’re a pair of jerks,” he said to her.
“That’s very comforting. I feel a whole lot better now.”
Clarice smiled.
“It’s been nice knowing you, Jesse Stone,” she said. “I have to say that you behaved honorably. Unusual for someone in your profession. Especially when it involves someone in my profession. You’ve given me heart. Yessir, you have surely given me heart.”
Thomas took her by the arm. Somewhat roughly, Jesse noticed. He avoided further eye contact with Jesse. He pulled Clarice away, and together they left the Common. Jesse watched them go.
• • •
He spent the evening studying Janet’s diary. He kept returning to the anomaly. The four sets of three initial notations, three references to TSS and one to NSS.
He played with as many solutions as his mind could manufacture but found none of them satisfactory.
Finally he went to bed. It was many hours later, after having been sleeplessly haunted by the notations in Janet’s diary, that he stumbled on the answer.
Jesse drove his cruiser into the Surf & Sand Motel parking area early the next morning. Jimmy Sloan was at the front desk, poring over a pile of bills. He looked up when Jesse entered.
“Am I in more trouble,” he said.
“Not that I know of,” Jesse said.
“You’re not here to arrest me?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m not really sure. Mostly on a hunch.
I’d like to have a look at your register for the months of March and April. Your sign-ins. You keep them, don’t you?”
“I have to keep them. By law I have to keep them.”
“So I’d like to see them.”
“Why,” Sloan asked.
“Because I’m the police chief, that’s why. Try not to be a dick about this, okay, Jimmy.”
“Hey. I’m just asking, is all. If you don’t have a warrant, I’m not compelled to show anything to you. I just want you to be aware of the fact that I’m doing it in the spirit of cooperation.”
“Okay. I’m aware of it. Show me the registers.”
Sloan stared at Jesse for a moment. Then he went into the back room. Jesse could hear him rooting around. He returned carrying two sets of hotel registration sheets. He placed them in front of Jesse.
“Enjoy yourself,” he said.
Jesse picked up the registration sheets and took them into the bar adjacent to the office. He dropped them on an empty table and sat down heavily.
With a glance back to Sloan, who stood in the doorway watching him, Jesse turned his attention to the sheets. He scanned them, searching for four specific dates. Once he found them, he removed each of the sheets from the pile and placed them side by side on the table.
He carefully read the names of the guests who had registered on each of the dates. On three of the four days, he spotted the name Jane Beck. On the fourth day, a woman had registered under the name Janice Baker.
Jesse asked Jimmy Sloan to step into the bar. When he did, Jesse showed him the pages.
“Do these names mean anything to you,” Jesse said.
“Not off the top of my head,” Sloan said.
“You don’t remember this person at all? Jane Beck? Did she provide you with any ID? Did you check her driver’s license?”
“I don’t usually do that. Not with cash customers.”
“She was a cash customer?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know that?”
“I might remember her. She wasn’t too bad-looking, if it’s who I’m thinking of. She looked like that actress, Jennifer Aniston.”
“And she registered under the name Jane Beck?”
“She might have.”
“And the fourth entry. The one for Janice Baker. Could she have been the same woman?”
“Possibly.”
“Could she be the murdered girl?”
“Maybe.”
“What name did she register under on the day she was killed?”
Robert B. Parker's Damned if You Do Page 7
