It was his first game in Albuquerque. He was in the on-deck circle, taking lazy swings with a weighted bat, his belly full of butterflies. Vic Prado was in the batter’s box. Jesse should have been focused on timing the pitcher, following the sequence of pitches, checking the size of the ump’s strike zone, eyeing where the other team’s players were positioned. Instead, all Jesse could see was the stunning black-haired girl in the second row behind the dugout. And just before Jesse strode to the plate, she smiled at him and gave him a slight wave of her hand. Jesse doubled up the alley in left, driving Vic home from first base. As Jesse stood on second base, he looked for the black-haired girl. She was staring right at him. When he got back to the dugout between innings, he passed her a note. After dinner, after their first kiss, after waking up together, Jesse envisioned a future awash in Dodger blue and black-haired sons. The future, as Jesse discovered on the rock-hard infield in Pueblo, pays little heed to human visions.
He supposed he didn’t much care about what happened to Vic. Whether Julio Blanco was full of shit or not, Vic had taken more from Jesse than his baseball career and his black-haired sons. And it hadn’t stopped with Kayla. Dee was just the latest thing Vic had robbed from him. How many times had he come in contact with people who coveted only what those closest to them had? He tried counting up how many murderers he had arrested who had killed out of jealousy or because they could not possess the thing or the person they desired. Jesse quickly ran out of fingers and toes.
He found himself heading toward the ocean. For a guy born in Tucson, Jesse’s life had largely played out within several miles of the Atlantic and Pacific. He found himself drawn to the ocean at the oddest times. He didn’t fool himself that he would find answers in the vast blackness or in the sound of the waves. Nor was he seeking solace. But as he turned toward the water, Jesse became aware of glowing headlamps in the mist. He could see their reflection in the darkened store windows ahead of him as he walked. He purposely turned at the next corner and at the next corner again. The lights seemed to follow him as he went. As he turned the next corner, he dipped into the shadows of a doorway and pulled his freshly cleaned .38 from his hip. He waited for the car to catch up to him, to turn the corner, to pass him. When it did, Jesse had the advantage.
The car slammed on its brakes, its red taillights glowing pink in the light rain. Jesse had led the car down a dead end and the driver had no choice but to risk reversing down the narrow cobblestone street or to K-turn. As the car pulled to the right to prepare to swing around, Jesse moved nearer, his back close to the storefronts. When the driver nosed the car left and stopped to put it in reverse, Jesse came out of the shadows, gun held down at his side.
“Stop right there!” he said, raising his revolver so the driver could see it clearly. “Roll your window completely down and put your hands on the steering wheel. Do it slowly and do it now!”
The driver did as ordered. But when Jesse got close enough to get a good look at the driver, he holstered his .38.
“Dee?”
“I got as far as New York,” she said.
“Move over. I’m driving.”
79
The Gray Gull didn’t have much to offer in the way of fine food. The sandwiches usually weren’t fatal. The best thing about the place was its view of the water, and the mist was ruining even that. But the Gull was nearly empty, and it offered a more comfortable place to get out of the wet than the front seat of Dee’s rented car. Jesse hadn’t said a word since he’d got behind the wheel. That hadn’t changed. He was desperate not to react. Not to show he was a mess inside.
Dee wasn’t her gorgeous self. She looked old somehow, and defeated. He was familiar with that look. He’d seen it on the faces of many suspects who were sure they were never going to get caught. It was the face of someone who glimpsed a very different future than the one they’d dreamed of or hoped for. He had seen it in the mirror a few times himself.
“You mind if I get something to drink?” she said, her hands unsteady. “I think I need a drink. You?”
He shook his head.
Dee walked up to the bar and came back to the table with a glass full of clear liquid on the rocks that, but for the smell of vodka, might’ve been water. Jesse kept quiet.
“I thought I would never see you again”—she raised her glass to him and sipped—“but I decided I had to come back to explain.”
He shrugged.
“Well, I never thought you were effusive. I kind of like that about you, but you could say something.”
“What happened to your Southern accent?”
She laughed. A reflex. No smile remained in its wake.
“My accent was put on,” she said.
“And your affection?”
“Nothing phony about that. I was falling in love with you, Jesse. I am falling in love with you.”
“I wasn’t talking about me,” he said. “I was talking about Vic Prado.”
Her jaw dropped and she took a big swallow of vodka.
“What are you talking about?”
“There was an incident at your hotel today. Some big guy roughed up the head of security and I went over there and had a look at some closed-circuit footage.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
Jesse ignored the question. “I think this big guy is the guy who killed Martina Penworth, the girl who was—”
“The murdered girl?”
“Her. This guy was asking about Vic and a woman who’d spent the night in his room.”
“It wasn’t me,” she said. “I swear.”
“I know it wasn’t you, Dee, but I asked to see all the video of Vic’s movements within the hotel. That was you that answered the door to room 323?”
She was at the vodka again.
“It wasn’t what you think,” she said. “You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“He kissed me. I didn’t kiss him back.”
Jesse was unconvinced.
“I’ve got to give Vic a lot of credit,” he said. “He spends the night with Lorraine Frazetta and then he hops downstairs for—”
Dee cut him off. “Vic was fucking Mike Frazetta’s wife?”
“How do you know who Mike Frazetta is?”
Dee reached into her bag, put a creased brown envelope on the table, and slid it across to Jesse.
She said, “That’s Mike and Lorraine Frazetta. The nasty-looking guy is Frazetta’s muscle, Joe Breen.”
While he looked at the surveillance photos inside, she spread open a black leather credential case and held it next to her face. She whistled to get Jesse’s attention. He looked up.
“I guess it’s time we were properly introduced. I’m Special Agent Diana Evans of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, but probably not for much longer.”
She explained about Harry Freeman’s murder and about the lie she’d been living for the past year.
“It was crazy,” she said. “I can see that now, to risk everything the way I did. I’ve pretty much thrown away my career. But Harry was the reason I got into law enforcement. Lord knows my parents didn’t encourage me. All they ever wanted me to do was to be pretty and marry money. Harry treated me like a person, not as a pair of tits and lips. I’m not saying I don’t like looking like I do. It’s opened a lot of doors for me. It’s made a lot of things easier for me, but it also makes people take me less seriously. After Harry was murdered, I couldn’t get anyone at the Bureau to pursue it. All they’d say to me was that I was too close to the situation or that it was a local police matter. That not even the folks at the SEC were suspicious. The more I kept at it, the less they listened to me, though I had one of my supervising agents say he’d think about it if I’d fuck him. That was a pretty risky thing for him to do, to make that deal. He risked his career to proposition me like that. I guess he must�
��ve been pretty desperate to have me. You know, the funny thing is I almost said yes. I felt like it was all I had to trade, and Harry was worth it to me. Same thing with Vic. I almost—”
“What did you say?”
“I’ve been talking for twenty minutes, Jesse. Which part?”
“About trading.”
“I said—”
“Never mind. Can you drive me back to the station?”
“Of course. What is it?”
“I need to talk to some people about a trade.”
80
When Molly looked up to see them standing in front of her, she had a puzzled look on her face.
Jesse held up his palms. “Don’t even ask.”
“You’re the boss,” Molly said. “I just work here.”
Jesse pointed at Cavanaugh. “Anything?”
“I did what you told me. I pumped him full of fresh coffee. When he yells ‘Bingo!’ I’ll come get you.”
“Anything else from the Sharon PD?”
She shook her head. “I’m worried about her, Jesse. I was thinking. We’re pretty sure it’s a kidnapping, right? Why don’t we alert the FBI? They might have something on Mr. Peepers we don’t know about, and they have resources not even Healy has.”
“Good idea. Di—Dee can advise you on who to—”
“Worried about who?” Diana wanted to know.
Jesse said, “Kayla. Molly, fill her in.”
“What?”
His palms were up again. “She’ll explain. And Molly, until I come out there,” he said, pointing at his office door, “no phone calls, no interruptions.”
She saluted him. “Yes, fearless leader.”
Jesse barely noticed. His head was already someplace else.
While the Boston-area underworld didn’t publish its hierarchy on the sports page of the Globe, it was generally believed that Gino Fish was at or near the top of the food chain. A guy like Mike Frazetta, as ambitious and powerful as he seemed to be, wasn’t nearly in the same league as Fish. Gino wasn’t an easy man to see, and he was an even more difficult man to get on the phone, but Jesse Stone and Gino Fish had had dealings before. It wasn’t as if they were pals, but they did share a healthy respect for each other. And, like most dealings between cops and criminals, their relationship was a thing born of mutual self-interest.
It took two preliminary phone calls for Jesse to reach Gino, the second to Vinnie Morris, Fish’s right hand. Vinnie was to shooting what Ted Williams had been to hitting a baseball, yet he was dangerous for more than his guns and everyone knew it. To come at Gino Fish you’d have to go through Vinnie, and not many rivals had been stupid or bold enough to try. Those that had were dead. Vinnie and Jesse also shared a mutual respect, but when Jesse explained to Vinnie why he needed to speak to his boss, he was surprised by Morris’s answer.
“Be careful, Stone. Don’t fuck with this guy.”
“He can’t be that good.”
“He’s better than that,” Vinnie said. “He’s the type of guy keeps me up nights.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Professional courtesy. Hang up and wait for the call.”
There was a rapping on the pebbled glass of his office door. Molly stuck her head in.
Jesse jumped to his feet. He didn’t scream very often, especially not at Molly, but Gino Fish wasn’t the type of man you told to hold on for just a second, not at a time like this. Maybe not ever.
“Didn’t I tell you not to—”
“I know. I’m sorry, Jesse, but this couldn’t wait. You want to come out or have us come in.”
He was already up, so he walked outside. When he did, all eyes were on him: Molly’s, Ed’s, Diana’s, Connor Cavanaugh’s, and a pair of eyes he didn’t expect to see.
“Suit,” Jesse said, “what are you doing in now? Your shift doesn’t start for a few more hours.”
“Yeah, I know, Jesse. Eddie called, said things were happening down here, so I thought I could come and help. You’re always after me to show initiative.”
“Thanks, Suit, but I don’t think Molly got me out of my office because you came in to lend a hand. For her sake, I hope not.”
Then Connor Cavanaugh, dark purple bags under his squinted eyes, held up one of the surveillance photos that Diana had showed Jesse.
“This is the guy, Chief. This is the guy who punched me in the throat.”
Diana spoke first. “Joe Breen is Mike Frazetta’s muscle.”
“He’s in the system,” Molly said. “Bad boy. Did a bid for assault with a deadly weapon. Last known address is in Boston.”
Jesse walked over to Connor Cavanaugh and stared him in the eyes. “You sure? If you’re not a hundred percent sure, now is the time to tell me.”
“As sure as I can be, Chief. That’s the prick that was at the hotel. I’ll pick him out of a photo array, a lineup, whatever. I’ll swear to it in court. He’s the one.”
Jesse shook his hand and thanked him. Told him to go home and get some sleep. Then he turned to Ed.
“Ed, print a picture of Breen up and put it in a photo array. Go over to the hospital and see if the Salter kid can pick him out. Then go over to the hotel and see if anyone else recognizes him. Find the caretaker at the old Salter place, Ethan Farley, and see if he recognizes him. Go! Molly, put Breen’s name out there, but for now, just as wanted for assault. We don’t want to tip our hand about the homicide. I’ll discuss it with Healy when I get a chance.”
When the phone rang, the stationhouse got very quiet.
81
This thing Vinnie tells me you want . . . I can’t do this for you, Stone” was what Gino Fish said.
“And here I thought you liked me.”
“I like you just fine, for a cop. We’ve done fine by each other in the past, but this . . . doing this, it cuts against my nature.”
“I’m not asking for you to give him to me, Gino. I only want five minutes with him, face time or on the phone.”
“Why, what’s so important to you?”
“That’s my business, Gino.”
“Not if you don’t want me to hang up the phone on you, it isn’t.”
“Fair enough. He’s going to hurt a woman that used to mean a lot to me.”
“You loved her?”
“It was a long time ago. We were young. I’m not sure I knew what love was then. Not so sure now, either.”
“Tell me about it.” Fish grunted. “Still, she must’ve done someone wrong for this guy to get hired to deal with her. He’s a specialist.”
“She’s not the target. She’s the bait, and you know what happens to bait.”
“It gets eaten by the bigger fish,” Gino said with a hint of irony. “You’re asking a lot to have me put myself in between this guy and his profession.”
“I know I am.”
“In the past, Stone, we did business because what benefited you benefited me. I don’t see how that works here. I’m not getting anything on my side of the balance sheet.”
“I don’t suppose doing the right thing counts,” Jesse said.
“Not this time. You got to understand my position. I did not hire this guy, so for me to put myself between him and his employer puts me on his employer’s shit list. Worse than that, it might put me on his shit list. You understand?”
“The employer’s no threat to you. I can promise you that, Gino.”
“What about the other half of that equation?”
“No guarantees, sorry, but I’ve got something I know he wants very much. Something he was willing to break into a police headquarters to get. I think he’d be pretty grateful you arranged for the opportunity for him to get what he wants.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone. Then, “Maybe, but this guy, I hear bad things about him, Stone. He even gi
ves Vinnie the shakes, and nobody gives Vinnie the shakes. I wouldn’t want this guy after me if this turns out to be a thing you made up just to save the woman. And I wouldn’t want to be you if I find out that’s what’s going on here, that this is a line of bullshit, because that I would take very personally. You know how Vinnie gets when I take things personally.”
“I know that.”
“But we’re back to that sticking point, Stone. Everybody is getting something out of this except me. The woman stays alive. You get the woman. This guy gets whatever it is you have. What’s in it for me beyond feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.”
“I’ll owe you a favor.”
Silence again.
“Gino . . .”
“I’m here. Listen, Stone, the kind of favor I would ask from you for this, it would be big.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t think you do, Chief. It would be the kind of favor a guy like you doesn’t like doing. It’s also the kind of thing I won’t let go of if you refuse. That’s another thing I take very personally. If you say you understand now, there’s no going back. There’s no unmashing the potatoes.”
Jesse didn’t hesitate. “I understand.”
“If I can get hold of this guy—and I’m not promising you I can—what do I tell him to give him incentive to talk to you? And be smart, Chief, don’t make it a threat. The only thing that will incentivize him to do is to kill you very slowly and as painfully as possible.”
“No threats, Gino. Just tell him I said that I hope he looks better in real life than in photos. Tell him to say cheese from now on. He’ll understand.”
“Okay, I got your numbers. Let me see what I can do.”
A half-hour later, Gino Fish called with instructions, an address, and a time. He reminded Jesse about their deal and warned him not to do anything stupid. For the first time in the many years they’d known each other, Gino Fish sounded a little scared for himself and worried for Jesse.
82
Robert B. Parker's Blind Spot Page 27
