“Nice and clean,” he said.
“Good workman takes care of his tools, right, Jesse?”
Jesse nodded.
“We’d like to borrow this for a couple of days. I’ll give you a receipt, and test-fire it so we can cross you off the list.”
“Be pretty suspicious,” Tony said, “if we didn’t let you.”
“It would,” Jesse said.
“Could they make a mistake?” Tony said.
“No,” Jesse said. “This is pretty straightforward ballistics.”
“Okay with me,” Tony said. “You go along with that, Brianna?”
“Certainly.”
Jesse stood and handed the rifle to Simpson.
“Thanks,” Jesse said. “We’ll get it back to you promptly.”
“That’ll be fine, Jesse,” Tony said.
He and Brianna were both on their feet.
“Thanks for the coffee,” Jesse said.
“We enjoyed the company,” Brianna said. “Good luck with the dreadful murders.”
“Yes,” Tony said. “And if you come up with a case of conjunctivitis, give me a call. You too, Suitcase.”
They shook hands and Tony walked them to the elevator.
“I hope you get the sonovabitch,” he said.
“Sooner or later,” Jesse said.
The elevator door opened, Jesse and Suit got in. Jesse punched one and the door glided shut.
43
As they drove back along Atlantic Avenue, Suitcase Simpson said to Jesse, “We are cops, are we not?”
“We are.”
“And there’s a donut shop down here on the right past the Catholic church, is there not?”
“And you feel that in order to certify our cop-ness we have to go in there and scarf some down?”
“Yes,” Simpson said. “I do.”
“You’re right,” Jesse said. “It’s been too long.”
Suit swung the car into the Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot. Simpson kept the car idling, while Jesse got out and went in and bought a dozen donuts and two large coffees.
“A dozen?” Suit said. “We’re not going to eat a dozen donuts.”
“Sooner or later,” Jesse said.
Suit put the cruiser in gear.
“Care to dine with an ocean view?” Suit said.
“Sure,” Jesse said. “The wharf would do but make it quick. Don’t want the donuts to spoil.”
“Donuts don’t spoil,” Suit said and drove them to the wharf.
They left the motor on against the chill as they ate donuts and drank coffee and looked at the boat traffic, even on a cold day, moving about on the harbor.
“Seem like a nice couple,” Suit said.
“The Lincolns?”
“Who’d you think I meant,” Suit said. “Us?”
“Wise guys don’t make sergeant,” Jesse said.
Suit grinned.
“You got some problem with the Lincolns?” he said.
“Too nice,” Jesse said. “Too cooperative.”
“You’d prefer they were surly?”
“Suit, you been studying up,” Jesse said. “Surly?”
“I’m a high school grad,” Suit said. “I know a bunch of words. Sometimes I say enticing, or symbolic. What’s wrong with the Lincolns?”
“They bother me. Lot of people are a little uncomfortable when the cops come and want to look at your gun.”
“They knew nobody got shot with their gun,” Suit said.
“Some people would want to check with their attorney before letting us test their weapon,” Jesse said. “People are uneasy with cops.”
“Maybe, since they had nothing to hide they didn’t want to act like they did.”
“Maybe,” Jesse said.
“Well, soon as we fire the thing we’ll know.”
“We’ll know the bullets that killed our people weren’t fired from that gun,” Jesse said.
“You think they had another gun?”
“Two.”
“You think they did it?”
“Until I got a better suspect,” Jesse said, “yes.”
“Her too?”
“Yes.”
“Even if the gun don’t match,” Suit said.
“It won’t match,” Jesse said. “They knew that when they gave it to us.”
“You never said nothing to them about their car being parked up at the Paradise Mall when Barbara Carey got killed,” Suit said.
He wiped cinnamon sugar off his chin with the back of his hand.
“No need to tell them all we know,” Jesse said.
“Because you got some kind of instinct that they’re the ones?” Suit said.
“Because there’s something very phony about them,” Jesse said.
“Lot of that going around in Paradise,” Suit said.
“But they’re the only phonies whose car was parked ten feet from a homicide,” Jesse said.
“Well,” Suit said. “Yeah.”
44
They sat together on the couch in the living room with their feet up on the coffee table. It was so still that they could hear the small click of the ice maker in their freezer. On the far horizon was the low profile of an oil tanker heading toward Chelsea Creek.
“Looking at the water,” he said, “it’s like you can see eternity.”
With her head resting against his shoulder, she said, “You always say that.”
“Well, it’s always so.”
“It’s always so, for you,” she said.
“You and I are one and the same,” he said.
She was quiet. The oil tanker disappeared behind the coastline curve to the east.
“Do you think the cop will forget about us after the gun doesn’t match?” he said.
“He was so polite,” she said. “I thought he was nice.”
“In an odd way, I hope he doesn’t forget about us.”
“Makes it more exciting?” she said.
“I guess so,” he said.
“What if he catches us?”
“You think he’s going to catch us? Him and his bumpkin buddy?”
“He didn’t seem to know very much,” she said. “Actually I think we sort of intimidated them.”
“I know,” he said. “Did you see how stiff the big one was sitting by the door?”
The ocean was empty now, stretching out from the empty beach below them. They watched its blue gray movement and the scatter of whitecaps where the wind ruffled the surface.
“They can’t find out anything from the gun,” she said.
“Of course not,” he said. “We haven’t even fired the damn thing.”
“I know. I just worry sometimes.”
“Do you really think some flatfooted cop has a chance against us? You and me?”
“He didn’t seem so stupid to me,” she said, “more like he was polite.”
“He was looking at your ass, for God’s sake.”
She smiled and banged her head gently against his shoulder.
“See, I told you he wasn’t stupid.”
He put his hand inside her thigh, and she snuggled down a little against him.
“Do that, myself,” he said.
“I know.”
Two gulls rose outside their window, effortlessly riding the air currents. They never seemed cold in the winter, nor hot in the summer; they were just always there, circling, soaring, looking for food.
“It might be fun to kill him,” he said.
“The cop?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that asking for trouble?”
“Isn’t that
what we do,” he said. “Ask for trouble? Would it be as thrilling doing what we do, if there were no risk of getting caught.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “I never thought of it that way.”
“Would you have fun playing baseball if you knew you couldn’t lose?” he said.
“I never played baseball,” she said.
“Or gambling.” He was very intense. “The possibility of losing is what gives it juice.”
“It would be something,” she said, “afterwards.”
“It would,” he said, “be the fuck of our lives.”
“Oh my,” she said.
“We should think about it,” he said.
“Yes. Even if we decide to do it, though, we shouldn’t do it yet.”
“Let’s see how close he can get without catching us,” he said.
“And then if we kill him,” she said, “it will be in the nick of time.”
She smiled up at him.
“What kind of fuck would that be?” she said.
45
Together again, Jesse thought, as he looked at Candace Pennington sitting across his conference table from Bo Marino. Chuck Pennington was there with Candace, and Joe Marino was with Bo.
“He threatened Candace,” Chuck Pennington said quietly. “He told her if she testified against him he’d kill her, and if he had to he’d kill Feeney too.”
“The hell he did,” Joe Marino said. “He told her anything it was she should stop lying about him.”
“Anyone else hear the threat, Candace?” Jesse said.
“No, but he said it.”
“Liar,” Bo said.
“See, nobody heard him,” Joe Marino said. “It’s just his word against hers.”
“Don’t force me to make that choice,” Jesse said.
“What’s that mean,” Marino said.
“It means that I have found Bo to be a chronic liar, and a bad creep.”
“See that, they’re all out to get me. I didn’t do nothing to the bitch.”
Chuck Pennington stood up quite suddenly. He showed no change of expression as he reached across the table and yanked Bo Marino out of his chair and dragged him headfirst over the table.
“Hey,” Joe Marino said and stood up.
Chuck Pennington punched Bo twice in the face with his left hand. Bo’s father grabbed Chuck from behind and wrestled him away from Bo. Pennington shrugged Marino off, and turned and hit him a right hook that set Marino back on his heels and another one that knocked him down. Jesse put a hand softly on Candace’s shoulder. Otherwise he did nothing. Bo floundered across the tabletop, his nose bleeding. He was a big kid, a weight lifter and a football player, but he looked like neither with the blood running down his face and tears welling in his eyes. He swung wildly at Chuck Pennington, who tucked his chin inside his left shoulder and let the punch slide off his arms. Then he hit Bo with a straight left and a right cross and Bo sat down hard on the floor. Bo’s father was scrambling to his feet.
“Arrest him,” Joe Marino screamed at Jesse. “You saw it. I want the sonovabitch arrested for assault.”
“Assault?” Jesse said.
“You seen him,” Marino shouted.
“Sit down, Mr. Pennington,” Jesse said. “I promise you they won’t assault you again.”
“Wait a minute,” Marino said. “You was sitting right here.”
Pennington sat down. He still had no expression on his face but he was breathing a little harder. He didn’t look at his daughter, who stared at him with her mouth open.
“And I saw you and your son insult Candace Pennington and assault her father,” Jesse said. “You see it any different?”
“That’s the way I see it,” Chuck Pennington said.
“Me too,” Candace said.
Her small voice was startling in the big room.
“He punched my kid for no reason,” Marino said.
Bo had gotten to his feet and was holding a paper napkin against his bloody nose. He was crying.
“I think there was a reason, Mr. Marino,” Jesse said.
46
Jesse came into the Gray Gull out of the bright winter day, and stood for a minute to let his eyes adjust. The maître d’ saw him and came over with some menus under his arm.
“This isn’t a raid, is it, Jesse?”
Jesse smiled.
“I’m meeting someone,” he said.
“I know, she’s here already. I put her by the window, that okay?”
“Swell,” Jesse said.
Rita Fiore was sitting sideways to the table with her legs crossed, sipping a glass of white wine. She was wearing a black suit with a long jacket and a short skirt. Her white blouse had a low scoop neck, and the sun reflecting through the window off the harbor made her thick red hair glisten. She smiled at Jesse.
“I feel like I walked into some kind of fashion shoot,” Jesse said.
“Yes,” Rita said as he sat down. “My plan is that you’ll be so taken with my appearance that you’ll do whatever I want.”
“It’s working,” Jesse said.
The maître d’ put the menu down in front of Jesse, took Jesse’s order for a cranberry juice and soda, and departed.
“Thanks for meeting me,” Rita said.
“Didn’t want to run the press gauntlet?”
“I thought it might be nicer if we stayed away from all of that,” Rita said.
She sipped her wine and looked out at the harbor.
“This is a lovely spot,” she said. “How’s the food?”
“Adequate,” Jesse said. “The view’s better.”
A waiter brought Jesse his cranberry and soda. He looked at Rita’s glass, and she shook her head. Sitting across from her, Jesse could feel her energy. There was a sense of intelligence and of kinetic sensuality that radiated from her in equal portions.
“Are you thinking long thoughts?” Rita said.
“Mostly I’m thinking, wow!”
“Good,” Rita said. “I like wow.”
“In the small moments between thinking wow, I’m wondering why you wanted to see me.”
Rita looked at him for a while without speaking. Somehow she managed to sit with a wiggle. I wonder how she does that?
“Like so much in life,” Rita said, “there are several reasons, including the hope that you might in fact think wow.”
Jesse smiled. The waiter came. Rita ordered a Caesar salad. Jesse ordered a club sandwich. The waiter left. Jesse waited.
“First, I now represent only Bo Marino,” Rita said.
“Nice,” Jesse said.
Rita wrinkled her nose.
“Everyone is entitled to the best defense he can get,” she said.
“Which would be you.”
“Yes.”
“Reagan know?”
“I have so notified the Essex County DA.”
“So why tell me?”
Rita smiled.
“Because the Marinos wish to sue you for dereliction of duty.”
“Is that in the penal code,” Jesse said.
“Not exactly,” Rita said. “But pretty much everything is in there if you’re a good enough lawyer. They are also suing Chuck Pennington for assault.”
“Really?”
“They claim he assaulted them in your presence and you did nothing to prevent it.”
“It all happened so quickly,” Jesse said.
“I’m sure,” Rita said. “I can tell already that you’re kind of slow to react.”
“Well,” Jesse said, “the thing is Bo attacked Chuck, who responded in self-defense. Then Joe Marino jumped in and Chuck had to defend himself from both of them.”
<
br /> “And you?”
“Broke it up as soon as I could,” Jesse said. “Restraining the Marinos was difficult.”
Rita smiled faintly. “I’m sure,” she said.
The club sandwich was cut into four triangles. Jesse picked up one of the triangles and bit off the point.
“And,” Rita said. “If I were to talk with the Pennington father and daughter, I’d probably hear the same story.”
“Sure,” Jesse said.
“Verbatim,” Rita said.
Jesse smiled. “We all saw the same thing,” Jesse said.
“And that’s how you’ll all testify.”
“Absolutely,” Jesse said.
“So it will be your word against theirs.”
“And I’m a distinguished law officer here in Paradise,” Jesse said. “And Bo is a rapist.”
Rita nodded and ate a crouton and looked out at the harbor, and across at Paradise Neck, with Stiles Island at the tip, tethered by the new causeway.
“Did you know that Chuck Pennington was a boxer in college?” she said.
“I did,” Jesse said.
Rita ate another crouton and half a romaine leaf.
“Doesn’t that make Bo seem kind of foolhardy?” she said.
“Bo isn’t smart enough to be foolhardy,” Jesse said. “And, of course, he didn’t know what Pennington did in college.”
“Be hard to demonstrate that he did,” Rita said. “Ethically.”
“Ethically?”
“I know, it’s embarrassing, but . . .” Rita shrugged. “It will be difficult to enlist a jury’s sympathy for Bo Marino.”
“Who is, you will note,” Jesse said, “bigger than Pennington. So is his father.”
“Noted,” Rita said and finished her wine and waved the empty glass at the waiter.
They ate in silence for the short time it took the waiter to replace Rita’s glass.
When he was gone, Rita said, “This isn’t a winner for our side. I’ll persuade my clients to drop it.”
“And if they don’t?”
Rita smiled.
“They’ll drop it,” she said.
Robert B Parker: The Jesse Stone Novels 1-5 Page 77
