Killing the Blues

by Michael Brandman

  Carter Hansen took to the lectern and talked briefly before calling on a handful of prominent business leaders, the CEO of Paradise Memorial Hospital, the fire captain, and the head of the Sanitation Department.

  As was the case with Ms. Richardson, each of the speakers devoted their remarks to their own summer initiatives and their varying degrees of readiness.

  Jesse’s attention waned.

  His thoughts turned to Sunny Randall. Although they had decided to take the next step in their somewhat quixotic relationship, things had suddenly changed when she accepted a job that took her to Europe for the summer.

  Once she had gone, he began to feel the weight of his commitment easing. He began to have doubts. He was haunted by remembrances of his marriage to Jenn. He felt his psychic defenses reestablishing themselves. He found himself becoming more and more reclusive and increasingly secure in his solitude.

  He was suddenly wrenched from his reverie.

  “Jesse,” Molly said, “wake up. The meeting’s over.”

  3

  When Jesse and Molly left the Town Hall, they found clusters of people milling about on the sidewalk, talk-W ing in small groups.

  Alexis Richardson stood alone, her eyes searching the crowd.

  “Chief Stone,” she said, when she spotted Jesse.

  She approached him.

  “Jesse,” he said.

  He liked the way she looked. Even more so up close.

  “Alexis,” she said. “Do you think you could make some time for me, Jesse? I’d like to stop by and share my thoughts about the summer with you.”

  Jesse didn’t say anything.

  She moved closer to him and lowered her voice.

  “I have some ideas about how to successfully promote tourism,” she said. “I subscribe to the spring-break theory. All-day music festivals. Rock and roll. They’ll swarm to Paradise like they did to Woodstock. They’ll be sleeping fifteen deep on the beach.”

  “There’s no sleeping on the beach,” Jesse said.

  “I’m very serious about this, Jesse,” she said.

  Hasty Hathaway approached them.

  “Jesse,” he said.

  “Hasty,” Jesse said.

  Alexis took the moment to make her getaway. Looking at Jesse, she lifted her hand to her ear, thumb and pinky extended as if she was holding a telephone, and silently mouthed the words I’ll call you.

  “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” Hasty said, as he watched her walk away. “That girl has some pair of legs on her.”

  “I’m glad to see that some things don’t change, Hasty,” Jesse said.

  “What’s this about a car or two going missing,” Hasty said. “I heard a couple of Hondas disappeared.”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  “It’s a small town, Jesse. Things don’t stay secret for very long.”

  Jesse didn’t say anything.

  “If you ever need anything,” Hasty said. “Anything at all, you’ll be sure to let me know?”

  “I will.”

  “I hope you’re not just saying that.”

  “I’m not just saying that, Hasty.”

  “I hope not,” Hasty said. “You know, I’m very fond of you, Jesse.”

  Jesse placed his hand on Hasty’s shoulder for a moment, then turned away.

  He spotted Molly and walked toward her.

  The sidewalk crowd had thinned. Several of the lingerers greeted Jesse as he passed.

  “You running for office,” Molly said.

  “I’m a very popular figure here, Moll.”

  “That’s only because you’re the police chief.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “What I’m saying is that your popularity is an illusion. Something that comes with the job. Try not to let it go to your head.”

  “I’m crushed.”

  “I know. You just stick with me. It’s my job to keep you illusion-free.”

  “And it’s a fine job that you’re doing, too. Keep it up and there could be a big promotion in it for you.”

  “Promotion to what,” Molly said.

  “Let me get back to you on that,” Jesse said. They began walking toward Jesse’s cruiser.

  “You know something, Moll,” Jesse said.

  “What?”

  “I think we might just have our hands full with Ms. Richardson.”

  “In what way,” Molly said.

  “Rock and roll,” Jesse said.

  “Which means?”

  “Trouble. Right here in River City.”

  4

  It was early evening, and Jesse had already made several trips across the footbridge, each time carrying armloads of groceries and supplies.

  He strolled through the rooms of the small house, stepping around his boxes, acknowledging the existing furniture and trying to determine where he’d place his own.

  He walked onto the back porch, which overlooked the bay. He breathed in the crisp night air. The remoteness of the house offered a level of privacy and quiet that had escaped him when he lived in the condo.

  He went back upstairs. He scanned the boxes in search of the one marked “linens.” He found his sheets and pillowcases and proceeded to make up his bed.

  He had just stepped out of the shower when he realized that someone was knocking loudly on his front door.

  “Hold on,” Jesse said. “I’m coming.”

  He dried himself off as best he could and wrapped the towel around his waist. With water still dripping from his hair, he opened the door.

  Healy, now his neighbor, stood before him.

  “Have I come at a bad time,” he said.

  “What makes you say that,” Jesse said.

  “I was on my way home, so I thought I’d stop by to see how you were doing,” Healy said. “So how are you doing?”

  Jesse was not yet completely dry. His towel had come loose, and he only just managed to grab it before it fell to the floor.

  “Your fly is open,” Healy said.

  Jesse stared at him.

  “Would it be too much trouble if I asked you to entertain yourself while I tend to my dishabille?”

  “Your dishabille,” Healy said.

  “My clothing,” Jesse said. “A simple translation for the benefit of any dolts who might be standing in my doorway.”

  “Go right ahead,” Healy said. “Where do you keep the scotch?”

  “In the kitchen,” Jesse said, as he started up the stairs.

  Healy went inside, found the bottle, and helped himself to a healthy pour of Jesse’s Johnny Black.

  He opened the two French doors that led from the living room to the porch. He went outside.

  Haphazardly placed on the porch were a love seat, a couple of tables, and a pressed-wood armchair, none of which appeared to have ever been new.

  Healy sat down on the armchair, content to sip his scotch and stare silently at the sparkling reflection of the setting sun on the restless waters of the bay.

  Jesse, dressed in jeans and a sweater, joined him. He carried a scotch of his own.

  “Beautiful out here,” Healy said.

  Jesse nodded and sat down on the love seat.

  “Thanks for this,” Jesse said. “It already feels like home.”

  Healy smiled.

  “It’s a great house,” he said.

  Jesse smiled.

  They sat quietly for a while.

  “I gather you lost a couple of Hondas,” Healy said.

  “I wonder if there’s anyone in Massachusetts who hasn’t heard about those Hondas,” Jesse said.

  “This might not be an isolated incident,” Healy said. “My guys are noticing higher-than-usual incidents of car theft. The organized-crime unit thinks this might be the start of something.”

  “Something Mob-related?”

  “Yes.”

  “In Paradise?”

  “They think so,” Healy said.

  “Do the OC guys think that our friends
in the underworld are organizing chop shops in Paradise?”

  “We’re hearing that your so-called friends are sensing enormous potential in doing business in this neck of the woods,” Healy said.

  Jesse didn’t say anything.

  “Summer in particular appeals to them,” Healy said. “Large number of tourists. Lots of vehicles. They can slip in, snatch a car, strip it, chop it, and get rid of it in virtually no time.”

  “Hondas and Toyotas,” Jesse said.

  “Easiest to move,” Healy said.

  “Lucrative,” Jesse said.

  “Breathtakingly so,” Healy said.

  “Any thoughts on how to stop them,” Jesse said.

  “I’m with Homicide, not the Registry of Motor Vehicles.”

  “There must be a connection.”

  “When you find one, you’ll be certain to let me know,” Healy said.

  “A fine way to start the season,” Jesse said.

  “It could be worse,” Healy said.

  “How?”

  “It could be drugs.”

  “That would be worse,” Jesse said. “Any idea who’s running the operation?”

  “We’re still working on that.”

  “So was this the reason for your visit?”

  “This and a sincere interest in your personal well-being.”

  “Sincerity hasn’t always been your strongest suit.”

  “But at least I’m working on it,” Healy said.

  “Try not to hurt yourself,” Jesse said.

  They sat quietly on the porch, sipping their scotch, watching the sun slip lower over the horizon, appearing and disappearing amid the gathering clouds of evening.

  It was Healy who broke the silence.

  “There’s a cat sitting over there by the bushes.”

  “Where?”

  “There. Black and white. Scrawny-looking. Yours?”

  “Not mine,” Jesse said.

  Healy finished his scotch.

  “I gotta go,” he said. “You’ll let me know if this car thing escalates?”

  “You have my word on it,” Jesse said.

  “Goody,” Healy said.

  Jesse walked him to the door.

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” Jesse said.

  “Thanks for the scotch,” Healy said.

  Jesse walked with Healy to the footbridge.

  “You gotta carry your groceries across it,” Healy said.

  “I do if I want to eat,” Jesse said.

  “I don’t envy you that,” Healy said.

  “Me either,” Jesse said.

  After Healy left, Jesse washed the glasses, dried them and put them away.

  Then he went back outside to look for the cat.

  5

  The cat reappeared the next morning. Jesse spotted it as he gazed idly out the French doors while setting up his telephone answering machine.while setting up his telephone answering machine.

  It was sitting by the bushes that bordered Jesse’s yard.

  It was indeed black and white, but the fur on its face appeared to have been distributed comically. Above the nose it was black; below it, white. The fur on its back was black, but its stomach was white. This distinctive coloration rendered the impression that the cat might very well have been wearing a tuxedo and a mask.

  It was scrawny, as Healy had observed. Hungry, too. When it saw Jesse through the window, it mewed loudly.

  Jesse went into the kitchen and scrounged up his one can of tuna fish. He opened it and scraped the contents into a bowl, which he then carried outside.

  The cat eyed him warily from the bushes.

  Jesse placed the bowl on the deck. Then he went back inside and closed the doors. He watched to see what the cat would do next.

  After several moments, it stood up and stretched itself languorously. Then it suddenly sat back down and began to vigorously lick one of its paws. It stood up again and began to inch its way toward the house.

  The cat stopped inching when it reached the top step of the porch. There it sat down, all the while keeping its eyes on both the door and the bowl.

  It stayed that way for several minutes.

  Satisfied that no one was lying in wait, the cat sidled up to the bowl.

  At first it only sniffed the tuna. Then it licked it. Then it tentatively picked up a morsel and, after dropping it on the deck, crouched down and ate it.

  Following a brief moment of indecision, it returned to the bowl and gobbled the rest.

  Jesse smiled.

  He left the house and went to work.

  It was late afternoon when Molly called out to Jesse that Captain Cronjager, his old boss from the LAPD, was on line one.

  He couldn’t imagine why Cronjager would be calling him. They hadn’t spoken since the captain had phoned to congratulate him on getting the job in Paradise. Which had been years ago.

  When he picked up the call, he was greeted with Cronjager’s familiar sandpaper gargle.

  “Stone,” he said. “How the hell are you?”

  “Better since I gave up hope,” Jesse said.

  Cronjager laughed heartily.

  “To what do I owe the honor,” Jesse said.

  “Do you remember a dickhead called Rollo Nurse,” Cronjager said.

  “Remind me,” Jesse said.

  “He was the lughead you busted during a botched robbery attempt just before I shitcanned you.”

  “Eloquently stated,” Jesse said.

  “In case your memory needs jarring, you weren’t having one of your better days when you busted this guy. You managed to rough him up pretty good.”

  “I roughed up a lot of guys pretty good when I worked for you.”

  “Yeah, well, I thought you might like to know that this particular dirtbag got out of Lompoc on an early-release program. Seems that California is going broke, and the governor chose to spit out a fair-sized portion of the prison population in the interest of saving the state some dough. Rollo Nurse was one of them.”

  “And you’re telling me this because . . .” Jesse said.

  “Given what you did to him, he probably hasn’t forgotten. And now he’s out. One of the Lompoc bulls thinks he’s gone unhinged. We think he’s the type who might come looking for you.”

  “And what makes you think he would know how to find me,” Jesse said.

  “If he can work a computer, he could find you,” Cronjager said.

  “How?” Jesse said.

  “He could Google you,” Cronjager said. “I did it myself.”

  “Google me,” Jesse said.

  “Yep,” Cronjager said.

  “Shit,” Jesse said.

  “Yeah,” Cronjager said.

  “Google,” Jesse said. “What does it say?”

  “It lists you. Jesse Stone, Chief of Police, Paradise, Mass.”

  “Whatever happened to privacy,” Jesse said.

  “It went the way of the Pontiac,” Cronjager said. “He knows where you are.”

  “Or not,” Jesse said.

  “Or not,” Cronjager said. “In any event, forewarned is whatever the hell it is.”

  “Thanks for this, Captain,” Jesse said.

  “Don’t mention it, big guy. Healy tells me you’re doing good out there. I’m happy for you.”

  Then the line went dead as Cronjager ended the call. Jesse sat quietly for a while.

  “Rich Bauer on line one,” Molly said, calling out to Jesse from her desk.

  Jesse picked up the call.

  “What’s up, Rich,” Jesse said.

  “We got another one, Skipper. This one’s bad.”

  6

  Jesse, with Suitcase beside him, spotted the flashing lights of Rich Bauer’s Crown Vic as he pulled his cruiser into the Cineplex parking lot. A Paradise General ambulance was parked alongside Bauer’s cruiser. As they approached, Jesse told Suit to immediately institute containment procedures and to call for backup.

  Bauer was standing alongside his vehicle. The door
was open. A woman was seated inside, visibly shaken. The body of a man lay on the pavement before them. Two EMTs stood next to the body.

  Jesse motioned for Bauer to join him. “What’s happening here?” he said.

  “The woman and her husband were leaving the theater when they encountered someone attempting to steal their car. The husband confronted the guy, who then got out of the car and attacked him. Killed him.”

  Jesse looked at the body. The man’s neck lay at an odd angle, obviously broken.

  One of the EMTs looked back at Jesse and shook his head.

  “Did you call Mel Snyderman,” Jesse said to Bauer.

  “The ME?”

  Jesse nodded.

  “Not yet,” Bauer said.

  “You might want to give him a call. Fill him in on what happened.”

  “Will do, Skipper,” Bauer said.

  “You might also want to cover the body,” Jesse said.

  “Sure thing, Skipper,” Bauer said. “I’ll get right on it.”

  Jesse approached the woman, who was sitting quietly, staring blankly ahead.

  “Jesse Stone,” he said. “Paradise police chief.”

  The woman looked up at him.

  “Can you tell me what took place here, Mrs. . . .”

  “Lytell,” she said. “Nancy Lytell.”

  “Can you tell me what happened, Mrs. Lytell?”

  “Mike and I were at a movie,” she said. “We didn’t much care for it, so we left early. We saw this person inside our car. Mike, he always had a short fuse on him. He ran to the car and said something. I couldn’t hear. Then . . .”

  Jesse waited.

  “The man got out of the car and pushed Mike. He grabbed him and lifted him up. Then he threw him against the car.”

  The parking lot filled with the sound of sirens as two police cruisers arrived.

  “What happened then,” Jesse said.

  “I don’t know. Mike was on the ground. He wasn’t moving. The man got back in the car. He somehow managed to get it started, and he drove away.”

  “Can you describe the suspect?”

  “The suspect?”

  “The man who attacked your husband. Can you remember what he looked like?”

  “I’m not really certain. He was bigger than Mike. It all happened so fast. I can’t really remember.”