“I can’t seem to get you out of my life,” Jenn said.
“I know,” Jesse said.
“Can you wait?” Jenn said. “Until I get better?”
“I have so far,” Jesse said.
“But will you still?”
“I don’t know, Jenn. I try not to plan too far ahead.”
“I don’t want a life without you in it.”
“That’s not entirely up to you, Jenn.”
Jenn was quiet for a time. The bedroom was in the back of the apartment, away from the harbor. There was a dim hint of light from the street made a little brighter by the snow cover.
“Is there anyone else?” Jenn said.
“Not yet,” Jesse said.
“But there might be?”
“Jenn,” Jesse said. “My life would be far less complicated if I could be happy without you.”
“I know,” she said.
“But so far,” Jesse said, “I can’t.”
They were both quiet, still connected by the phone line, with nothing much else to say. The silence extended.
“The pressure about those serial murders must be awful.”
“Everyone feels it would be good to catch them,” Jesse said.
“Including you,” Jenn said. “That’s where the most pressure is.”
Jesse didn’t comment.
“And you have to carry it alone.”
“Not entirely,” Jesse said.
“I wish I could help you,” Jenn said.
“Be good if you could,” Jesse said.
Again they allowed the silence to settle.
“I’m sorry,” Jenn said.
“I know.”
“I’m working on it,” she said.
“I am too.”
“I know.”
There was more connective silence.
“We’ll get there,” Jenn said finally.
“We’ll get somewhere,” Jesse said.
59
When Jesse came into the station house Molly was at the front desk.
“You’ve reached new heights of popularity,” she said.
“Hard to believe,” Jesse said.
“Tony Lincoln called,” Molly said. “He and Mrs. Lincoln will be downtown this morning and would love to buy you lunch.”
“I have reached new heights,” Jesse said.
“Told you,” Molly said.
“They say where?”
“Gray Gull,” Molly said. “Twelve-thirty.”
“Call them back,” Jesse said. “Tell them I’ll meet them there.”
“What do you suppose they’re doing?” Molly said.
“Maybe they’ll tell me,” Jesse said. “At lunch.”
“You might think about being a little careful,” Molly said. “Bring some backup maybe?”
“Don’t want to discourage them,” Jesse said.
“We don’t want them discouraging you, either,” Molly said. “In a manner of speaking.”
“If it comes to confrontation,” Jesse said, “I figure I’m better than they are.”
“And if you’re not?” Molly said.
Jesse shrugged.
“Jesse, you’re a good man and a good cop,” Molly said. “Better than this town deserves.”
“Thank you.”
“It matters what happens to you,” Molly said.
“The ugly truth of it, Moll, is that it doesn’t matter a hell of a lot to me.”
Molly looked at him silently. After a time she said, “A lot of people love you, Jesse.”
Jesse smiled. “Including you?”
“Especially me,” Molly said. “And don’t shut me off by being cute.”
“It’s hard for me not to be cute,” Jesse said.
“I give up,” Molly said.
They were both silent for a moment.
Then Jesse said, “Thanks, Molly,” and went on into his office.
At quarter past twelve Jesse showed up at the Gray Gull, and got a seat by the window, in a corner, where it would be easier to talk. The Lincolns showed up at 12:30. They came in bubbling with good cheer. Tony was wearing a navy pea coat and a gray turtleneck sweater. Brianna had on fur. Jesse didn’t know what kind. Jesse stood as they approached.
“Hi,” Tony said. “Thanks for coming.”
“Never turn down a free lunch,” Jesse said.
“Well, I know how busy you must be, but Brianna and I really enjoyed talking to you before, and since we were in the neighborhood.”
Jesse nodded. The Lincolns took off their coats and piled them on the empty fourth chair at the table.
“Please,” Brianna said. “There’s no need for you to stand.”
“I’ll wait for you,” Jesse said.
When they were all seated, the waiter brought menus.
“You come here very much, Jesse?” Brianna said.
“Yes.”
“What’s good?”
“The view,” Jesse said.
Both Lincolns laughed.
“Oh my,” Brianna said. “That’s not too encouraging.”
“I guess we’d best not test the kitchen,” Tony said. “Sandwiches okay?”
“Sure,” Jesse said.
“It’s after noon,” Tony said. “Shall we have a cocktail?”
“We really ought to,” Brianna said.
Jesse nodded. Both the Lincolns ordered a cosmopolitan. Jesse had cranberry juice and soda.
“Of course,” Tony said. “How thoughtless of us. You’re on duty.”
Jesse let it go.
“The view is certainly everything it should be,” Brianna said.
The day was bright, the neck across the harbor was covered with new snow. The ocean water reflected the blue sky.
“It’s what they’re selling,” Tony said. “If Jesse is right about the food.”
Jesse ordered the club sandwich again. Tony and Brianna each had tuna salad on toasted whole wheat. Goes great with the cosmopolitan, Jesse thought.
“How’s the investigation going?” Tony said.
“The serial killings?”
“Yes. Oh, of course,” Tony said. “Talk about an amateur. It never occurred to me that you had other cases.”
Jesse smiled.
“So in the serial killings,” Tony said. “Are you getting anywhere?”
Brianna was silent, listening to her husband, watching Jesse.
“There’s progress,” Jesse said.
“Really,” Tony said. “Are you at liberty to talk about it?”
Jesse shook his head.
“I understand,” Tony said.
“I hope none of them suffered,” Brianna said.
“The victims?” Jesse shook his head. “It was over pretty quick.”
“Good,” Brianna said.
“Do you think they knew, before they were shot, that they were going to be shot?”
Jesse shrugged.
“What must it be like,” Brianna said. “To know you’re going to die.”
“Brianna,” Tony said. “Everybody knows that.”
“It’s one thing,” Brianna said, “to know you’re going to die someday, and quite another to know you’re going to die in the next moment.”
Tony nodded.
He said, “Have you ever been in that position, Jesse?”
“Facing death?” Brianna said.
Jesse smiled.
“I’m just a small-town cop,” Jesse said. “Mostly we give out parking tickets.”
He noticed that Brianna had put her hand on her husband’s thigh. Neither of them had eaten much of their sand
wiches.
“It must make everything very intense,” Tony said.
“I always wondered what it was like for the shooter,” Jesse said. “That might be intense.”
“Exercising the ultimate human power,” Tony said.
“If the shooter thinks about that kind of stuff,” Jesse said.
“Do you think they do?”
Again Jesse shrugged.
“I’m just a small-town cop,” Jesse said. “Mostly we give out parking tickets.”
“I read somewhere that you came here from Los Angeles,” Tony said.
His wife’s hand was still resting on his thigh. He had covered it with his hand as they talked.
“Everybody has to come from someplace,” Jesse said.
“I think you are being modest,” Brianna said. “I think you might know a lot about being a policeman.”
Jesse grinned at them.
“I’ve got a lot to be modest about,” he said.
Tony gestured to the waiter for the check.
“You are a very interesting man,” Tony said.
“You certainly are,” Brianna said. “I hope you haven’t minded us asking you all these dumb questions.”
“Not at all,” Jesse said. “I wish more citizens were as interested in the police department.”
“Well, I don’t know why they’re not,” Tony said.
He stood and put out his hand.
“I know you must be pressed for time.”
“A little,” Jesse said.
“Go ahead,” Tony said. “I’ve got the check.”
“Thanks,” Jesse said. “It’s been a nice break to talk with you.”
“Oh, how nice,” Brianna said. “We must do it again soon.”
Jesse stood, shook Tony’s hand, and Brianna’s, and walked to the door. Tony and Brianna watched him go. When he was out of the restaurant they sat back down at the table.
“Can he be as simple as he seems?” Brianna said.
“He probably is,” Tony said. “But even if he isn’t, what difference does it make. He’s simpler than we are.”
“You’re so sure,” Brianna said.
“You can’t seriously think that some small-town cop is as smart as we are.”
“He didn’t say he wasn’t from Los Angeles,” Brianna said.
“I don’t care if he’s from Mars,” Tony said. “People don’t become policemen because they are great thinkers.”
“Are we great thinkers,” Brianna said.
“We’re not ordinary, Brianna. Never forget that we are not ordinary.”
She leaned toward him and kissed him on the mouth and let the kiss linger.
“I’ll try to remember,” she said.
60
Jesse drove up Summer Street with Candace in the front seat beside him.
“I don’t even know what a vizsla is,” she said.
“It’s a Hungarian pointer,” Jesse said. “Sort of like a smallish weimaraner, only gold.”
“Do they bite?”
“I don’t think so,” Jesse said. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“No. I want him. I’m just nervous.”
“Your parents are okay with this,” Jesse said.
“I don’t think my mother likes it too much,” Candace said. “But my father said yes.”
“So it’s yes.”
“My mother does what Daddy says.”
“And why do you want the dog?”
“I want somebody I can love,” Candace said.
“Right answer,” Jesse said. “But loving isn’t enough, you know. You have to take care.”
“I know. Feed him. Walk him.” She wrinkled her nose. “Clean up after him. I went over all this with my mother and father.”
“How is it at home?” Jesse said.
“My mother is kind of, like . . . sulky.”
“And your father?”
“Daddy’s great.”
“Your mother will get over it,” Jesse said.
Like I know.
“I never saw Daddy fight with anybody before.”
“Like with the Marinos?”
“Yes. He never even gets mad, very much.”
Jesse nodded.
“You didn’t try to stop it,” Candace said.
Jesse smiled. “He was winning,” he said.
“You wanted them to get punched up,” she said.
“I did.”
“Daddy boxed in college, you know.”
“I know.”
“Did you ever box?”
“I don’t box,” Jesse said. “I fight.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Rules,” Jesse said. “How is it for you at school.”
“Sometimes Bo or Troy will, like, smirk at me when I pass one of them. But they don’t say anything. A lot of the kids are great about it. Some of the other boys, football players and stuff, they call me Centerfold.”
“Like Playboy Centerfold,” Jesse said.
She nodded.
“That sucks,” Jesse said.
Candace shrugged. Jesse pulled off of Summer Street onto a narrow road that led down to Pynchon Pond.
Bob Valenti lived at the edge of Paradise in a small yellow house that backed up to the pond. The house was right next to the street, and the modest backyard had been enclosed with a wire fence. Jesse pulled his car up in front of the house. He parked without shutting off the engine, so he could leave the heater running.
“There’s Goldie,” Jesse said.
The vizsla was sitting in the back corner of the yard, motionless, looking through the fence. He saw the car and followed it with his eyes as it parked. He didn’t bark.
“Omigod,” Candace said. “The poor thing.”
“Things will be better for him,” Jesse said.
“Yes,” Candace said. “I will really take care of him.”
“Remember,” Jesse said. “He’s lost one owner, and is now relocating again.”
“I never had a dog before,” Candace said.
“Your father said he did.”
“Yes.”
“He’ll be nervous for a while,” Jesse said.
“But if I love him . . .”
“He’ll get over it,” Jesse said.
“I hope my mother isn’t mean to him.”
“That would be a bad thing,” Jesse said. “Can you talk to your father about that?”
Candace nodded.
“Daddy says she won’t be mean.”
“Your mother probably loves you,” Jesse said.
“Of course she does.”
“Then we should be able to bring her around if we have to,” Jesse said.
“Can I change his name? I hate Goldie for a name.”
“Sure, just go slow. Wait until he’s used to you.”
“I have to think of a new name anyway.”
“You might ask your mother to help you think of a new name,” Jesse said.
“So she’d feel like he was hers too?”
“Something like that,” Jesse said.
They were still for a minute. The heater still on, the motor still running, Candace looking through the car window at the motionless dog.
“It’ll be all right?” she said.
“It will,” Jesse said. “But you have to give it time.”
They sat silently for another moment.
Then Candace said, “Can we get him now?”
“Sure.”
They got out of the car and walked through the old unlovely snow toward Valenti’s front door. The dog watched them for a moment, and then stood and
came down the fence line toward them.
61
Parking on Beacon Hill was impossible in midsummer. In winter, with plowed snow choking the narrow streets, it had become unthinkable. Jesse finally settled for a hydrant on Beacon Street down from the State House, and walked in along Spruce Street, carrying a flowered bottle of Perrier-Jouët.
Rita lived at the Mt. Vernon Street end of Louisburg Square in a high narrow brick townhouse with a dark green door and gold-tipped wrought-iron fencing across the tiny front yard. Jesse rang the bell, and in a moment Rita opened the door.
“Criminal law pays good,” Jesse said as he stepped into the dark red foyer.
“Better than working for the Norfolk County DA, which is what I used to do,” Rita said.
They went into her living room. There was a fireplace with a fire going. The room was done in a strong yellow with gold drapes striped with dark red. Rita was all in ivory: pants and blouse, and three-inch ivory heels.
“I don’t know which is more impressive,” Jesse said. “You or the house.”
“Me,” Rita said and took the champagne bottle from him.
“Will you join me in some of this?” she said.
“No. I’ll have some club soda, with cranberry juice if you have it.”
“I noticed,” Rita said. “I also have orange juice.”
“I’ll start with the cranberry and soda,” Jesse said. “If the evening gets really rousing, I’ll step up to the OJ.”
“I expect it to get rousing,” Rita said.
She made Jesse’s drink and poured herself some champagne.
“How is my disgusting client doing at his community service?” she said.
“He’s there every afternoon after school,” Jesse said. “He and Drake treat Feeney like the fink-out that he is, but they’re too scared to do anything about it.”
“So what are they doing?”
“Make-work mostly. Wash the floors, clean the toilets, polish doorknobs. Molly finds stuff for them.”
“They probably ought to get more punishment than that for gang-raping a young girl.”
“They had good legal counsel,” Jesse said.
Rita smiled.
“You know the argument as well as I do. In order for the justice system to work, every one has the right to the best legal representation they can get.”
Jesse nodded.
“Doesn’t mean I liked any of them.”
“I don’t either,” Jesse said.
Robert B Parker: The Jesse Stone Novels 1-5 Page 81
