Charlie Buck liked cowboy boots. He had never ridden a horse in his life, but he had seven pairs of cowboy boots. He liked the height they gave him. With his feet up on his desk he was admiring a new pair he was wearing for the first time, made from rattlesnake skin. He took a Kleenex from a box in the bottom left drawer of his desk, and rubbed a small stain off the toe of his right boot. It looked like a splash of coffee had dried on there. While he was doing this a uniformed deputy came in.
“Nice boots,” the deputy said.
“Rattlesnake.”
“I could see that. I got a guy downstairs, Charlie, wants to talk with somebody about the guy got blown up on Route Fifty-nine a while back.”
“That’d be me,” Charlie said.
He crumpled the Kleenex and put it in the wastebasket under his desk. Then he swung his boots down and stood up.
“Tell you anything else?” Charlie asked.
They started down the corridor to the elevator.
“Nope.”
“What do you have him for?”
“Armed robbery. Him and another guy tried to knock over the bank at the shopping center down on South Douglas.”
“You got him good?”
“Talk about a bad day,” the deputy said. “Two of our guys walked in on him, going to cash their paychecks.”
Charlie Buck smiled.
“So he hasn’t got much room to bargain.”
“He’s a lot of priors. He’s looking at twenty, easy,” the deputy said.
They got in the elevator and started down.
“What’s his name?” Charlie Buck asked.
“Matthew Ploughman. Says he’s from Denver.”
“He in the interrogation room?”
“Not yet. I didn’t know if you’d want to talk with him.”
“I’ll go in,” Charlie Buck said. “You bring him to me.”
The interrogation room was small with gray cinder block walls and no windows, and only a one-way observation port in the door. There was a shabby maple table and two chairs. A sign on the wall read “Thank You For Not Smoking.” Charlie went to the far end of the room and leaned on the wall. He waited silently while two deputies brought Ploughman in and left, closing the door behind them.
Ploughman was short and scrawny with a long beard and a lot of hair. His eyes were small and close together and his nose seemed insufficient compared to the rest of his face. He stood, not sure whether to sit, just inside the closed door.
“You got a smoke, man?” he said.
Buck nodded at the sign on the wall.
“Sit down,” he said.
Ploughman pulled out one of the chairs and sat, his clasped hands resting on the table edge.
“What have you got for me?” Buck said.
“I can help you with that bomb killing on Route Fifty-nine,” Ploughman said.
“Go ahead,” Buck said.
“Do I get something back?”
Buck shrugged.
“Hey, I ain’t trying for Eagle Scout, you know. I scratch your back, I want you to scratch mine.”
“Matthew,” Buck said. “You’re looking at twenty years, maybe more. You and I are not negotiating as equals.”
“Hey, don’t I know it. I’m the one sitting in a holding cell with no cigarettes. But I can help you, and if I do, you could get me a break in court.”
“Maybe.”
“Lemme get my lawyer in here, we can work out some sort of deal.”
Buck shook his head.
“You give me what you got, I like it, then we talk with your lawyer.”
“I got a right to an attorney,” Ploughman said.
“You been arrested, Matthew. You’re not being questioned. You asked to talk with me. You want to talk, talk. Otherwise I go back upstairs and finish my coffee.”
Ploughman was silent, the tip of his tongue ran back and forth across his lower lip. Buck waited a moment, then shrugged and started for the door. He knocked, and the door opened immediately.
“Wait,” Ploughman said.
“For what,” Buck said.
“I’ll do it your way,” Ploughman said.
Buck turned and walked slowly back to the end of the room and leaned on the wall. The door closed. Buck folded his arms on his chest.
“Go ahead,” Buck said.
Chapter 49
Jesse resisted the impulse to smile. “So,” he said, “she fools around.”
“She does with me, yes, sir.”
Simpson was like a good boy in the principal’s office.
“Stop calling me sir,” Jesse said. “You think she fools around with anyone but you?”
“I don’t know.”
“How’d you and she get started?”
“Jeez, Jesse, I’m sorry, but I don’t see where it’s any of your business, you know?”
Jesse knew that Simpson was right. Unless it connected to something, Jesse had no business asking him personal questions. There wasn’t any particular reason not to tell about Jo Jo. But Jesse didn’t know his situation, didn’t know quite what was going on, and when he found himself in circumstances like that his instinct was to close down, trust no one, and watch carefully. But he needed information, any information, and here was some and it might be helpful.
“I think Jo Jo killed the Portugal girl,” Jesse said.
“You think he killed the girl?”
“Yeah, and he had to let me know it.”
“He told you?”
“No, nothing I can arrest him for, but he told me.”
“Why the hell would he do that?”
“Because it’s about me and him,” Jesse said. “He did the patrol car and he did Captain Cat, because I knocked him around in front of his wife.”
“So why wouldn’t he come straight after you?”
“Because he’s afraid to. I’m a cop. I’ve got authority. I’ve got a gun. He assaults me and I can have him in jail.”
“So he does stuff to embarrass you?”
“Yeah. Just like I embarrassed him. But it’s no good if I don’t know it’s him, so he had to let me know.”
“What’d he do?”
“He stood across the common from me and smiled and mouthed ‘slut’ at me.”
“But that doesn’t mean he did it. He could be ragging you about it even if he didn’t.”
“He did it,” Jesse said. “I been at this too long to be wrong. He needed to tell me.”
“So what’s that got to do with Mrs. Hathaway?”
“Just before Jo Jo told me he did it, she was making goo-goo eyes at him over the cider table.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s having an affair with him.”
“It’s not something you expect to see,” Jesse said. “I see something I don’t expect, I want to know about it. The fact that I opened the door and you were behind it is an accident.”
Simpson sat and thought about this. Jesse waited. There’s too much coming at him, Jesse thought. He doesn’t know enough. He’s not old enough yet. He wants to talk about it, hell, he’s dying to, but he thinks it’s dishonorable.
“I met Mrs. Hathaway at the Yacht Club,” Simpson said. “Some kind of big wedding reception, I was doing a paid detail. She started talking to me, and at the end of the party she asked me to drive her home, because her husband was going out with a few of the men afterwards and she was tired. So I took her home and she asked me in and . . .”
“Okay,” Jesse said. “I don’t need the details. In effect she picked you up.”
“Yes.”
“And she was both affectionate and expert.”
“You better believe it,” Simpson said.
“Way to go, Cissy.”
<
br /> Simpson blushed more darkly.
“It’s not like she was my first,” he said. “But . . .”
“She was your first grown-up,” Jesse said.
Simpson nodded.
“She’s amazing,” he said.
“I don’t want to sound harsh here, Suit, but you might not be the only guy she ever picked up.”
Simpson shrugged.
“She say anything about her husband?”
“She said they get along fine, but the fire’s gone out.”
“In his furnace only,” Jesse said.
“I think she likes him though,” Simpson said.
“You think he knows?”
Simpson shook his head.
“I don’t know. She’s not all that careful. I don’t think he wants to know.”
They were quiet, until Simpson said, “I still don’t see what it’s got to do with Tammy Portugal.”
“I don’t either, Suit. Maybe I will later. If she’s connected to Jo Jo, and if Jo Jo did the Portugal girl . . . knowing is always better than not knowing.”
“Always?” Simpson said.
“If you’re a cop,” Jesse said, “always.”
Simpson sat for a time thinking. Jesse knew he didn’t believe it was always better to know. But he was getting older every minute, and Jesse knew he would believe it, if he stayed with the cops.
Chapter 50
“You know about the militias,” Ploughman said.
Buck nodded.
“Well, I know some guy from one of the militias, come to me, said he needed something done for a comrade in arms back east. That’s what he called him, a comrade in arms.”
Buck waited.
“They talk funny as a bastard, these guys, you ever notice? He says that there’s a guy out here that threatens the comrade in arms back east and he has to be deactivated.”
Ploughman waited for Buck’s reaction. Buck had no reaction and Ploughman looked disappointed.
“Deactivated! They want him clipped, why don’t they just say so, you know? So I tell this guy, No. I steal shit, but I don’t kill people. I mean I’ll carry a piece sometimes and make people think I would, you gotta make them think so, otherwise whaddya do, go in the bank and say gimme the money or I’ll yell at you? But I never used it. I ain’t a life taker. So I says no. And the militia guy kind of nods and looks at me like I’m a freaking enemy of the people and he says, well perhaps they will have to send someone.”
Ploughman stopped, looking pleased. Buck waited.
“And that’s it,” Ploughman said.
“That’s what you got to buy off twenty years?”
“Hell, it’s good. It tells you who ordered the hit and that they probably sent their own man. That’s golden, for crissake.”
“Who did they send?” Buck asked.
“I don’t know. They found out I wasn’t the man, they didn’t have anything else to say to me.”
“You hear of them approaching anyone besides you?”
“No.”
“How much were they going to pay you?”
“Five.”
“Five thousand?”
“Yeah. They’re all cheap bastards,” Ploughman said. “I never saw a militia guy willing to go first class.”
“Where in the east?”
“Didn’t say. But I figure you guys know where he came from.”
Buck didn’t answer. He stood with his arms folded, leaning on the wall, admiring his boots. Then he shifted his look to Ploughman.
“Tell your lawyer to see me,” Buck said finally.
“Can you work something out?” Ploughman said.
“Have him call me,” Buck said and went and knocked on the door.
Chapter 51
Jesse was drinking scotch at the counter in his tiny kitchen when Jenn called.
“Is it later there or earlier,” Jenn asked.
“It’s eight o’clock where you are,” Jesse said, “and eleven o’clock where I am.”
“Are you drinking?”
“I’m having one scotch before bed,” Jesse said.
“Just one?”
“Funny thing, Jenn. There’s a lot of pressure here all of a sudden, and it seems like I don’t need a drink. I haven’t had more than one since the pressure began.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“There is trouble,” Jesse said. “I don’t know yet if I’m in it.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“The trouble? Sure. The guy I replaced in this job got murdered in Wyoming. A woman got murdered and I think it’s a way of getting at me.”
“Was she close to you?”
“No, I didn’t know her. But I know who did it, and I think he did it to challenge me.”
“Are you scared?”
“Yes,” Jesse said. “It’s probably why I only have one drink.”
“So you’ll be ready?”
“Something like that.”
“Can’t you arrest the man?”
“I can’t prove anything,” Jesse said.
“Is the man in Wyoming part of this?”
“I don’t know. It’s crazy that a town like this, where there hasn’t been a killing in fifty years, suddenly has two in a month. It makes you want to think they’re connected.”
“But you don’t see a connection.”
“No. There’s some kind of militia group in town. Not like the National Guard, the other kind, and there’s something funky about them.”
“Do you like the men you work with?”
“I like them, but I don’t know who I can trust.”
“No one?”
“Well, I’m sort of forced to trust one of them. My guess is he’s okay.”
“What about that woman. Weren’t you seeing a woman?”
“Abby. She’s mad at me.”
“Have you broken up?”
“I don’t know. The last time I saw her she walked away in a huff.”
“What is she mad at?”
“I wouldn’t tell her about this.”
“ ‘This’ being the stuff you’re telling me?”
“Yes. She said it meant I didn’t trust her.”
“Does that mean you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Even though . . . ?”
“Even though,” Jesse said.
The phone line made phone line noise while both of them remained silent.
“You should come home,” Jenn said after a time.
“I don’t know where home is, Jenn.”
“Maybe it’s with me.”
“I got too much going on, Jenn. I can’t walk down that road right now.”
“Even if you don’t come home, why not get out of there? I’ve never heard you say you were scared before.”
“I can’t leave it, Jenn. You know when they hired me, I was drunk? Why would they hire a guy to be police chief who was drunk in the interview?”
“I don’t know,” Jenn said. “Maybe they didn’t know you were drunk.”
“They knew,” Jesse said.
Again the cross-country silence broken by the low-voltage sound of the circuitry.
“I’m scared, Jesse.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“Will you call me soon,” Jenn said.
“Yes.”
“I mean tomorrow, every day, so I’ll know you’re okay?”
“Yes.”
“I still love you, Jesse.”
“Maybe,” Jesse said.
“I do, Jesse. Do you still love me?”
“Maybe,” Jesse said.
Afte
r they had hung up he sat looking at the half-empty glass with the ice cubes melting into the whiskey. He picked it up and took a sip, and let it slide down his throat, warm and cool at the same time. His eyes felt as if they would fill with tears. He didn’t want them to, and he pushed the feeling back down.
Jenn, he thought. Jesus Christ!
Chapter 52
Michelle sat and talked with Jesse on the wall. A couple of other burnout kids sat farther down the wall pretending that they weren’t listening, and were too cool to pay any attention to the police chief if he chose to sit on the wall with them.
“You got a cigarette?” Michelle said.
“No.”
“You don’t smoke?”
“No.”
“You ever?”
“No.”
“How come?”
“I was a jock,” Jesse said. “I thought it would cut my wind.”
“That’s weird,” Michelle said.
Jesse stared at the leaves on the common, crimson now in places, and maroon, and yellow, the yellow tinged along the edges with green. It was something he’d never seen except on calendars, growing up in Arizona and California.
“I live next to your girlfriend,” Michelle said. “Abby Taylor.”
“That so?”
“Yes. Sometimes I see you come home real late with her and go in.”
“Un huh.”
“You have sex with her?”
“Why do you want to know?” Jesse said.
“I don’t, I don’t care. I just think if you’re going to be telling people what to do you shouldn’t be having sex with people.”
“Why not,” Jesse said.
“Why not?”
“Yeah, why shouldn’t I be chief of police and have sex with people?”
“I don’t care what you do, but it’s gross to do that and then be telling other people not to.”
“Have I ever told you not to?”
“You think I should?”
“There’s no should to it,” Jesse said.
“Well, that’s not what most adults think.”
“I’d be willing to bet,” Jesse said, “that you don’t know what most adults think. You know what a few of them think and you assume everyone thinks that.”
Robert B Parker: The Jesse Stone Novels 1-5 Page 17
