Robert B. Parker's the Hangman's Sonnet

by Reed Farrel Coleman

  “Jesse. Jesse.” Another woman was at the top of the well, calling to him.

  Then he blacked out.

  When the cold water hit him he startled. He reflexively shook his head, but the pain of it nearly drove him back into his stupor, cold water or not. The water stopped.

  “Jesse, for chrissakes, c’mon. Get up!”

  When he didn’t open his eyes, the water came back on and stayed on until Jesse opened his eyes and they stayed open.

  “All right. All right. Shut it off,” he said, holding his right hand up in front of his face. “Shut it off.”

  The water stopped.

  “You among the living now?” Molly asked, kneeling down beside the tub in Jesse’s downstairs bathroom.

  He didn’t answer, his eyelids flickering, shutting. When they shut, the water came on again and Molly let it run until Jesse had lifted himself up onto his knees. And when he got on his knees, that sensation he hated hit him. It hit him hard, the bathroom spinning off into space. He climbed out of the tub, crawled over to the toilet, and heaved up the contents of his stomach.

  “You can wait for me in the living room,” Molly said to someone standing beyond the bathroom door.

  Now Jesse lay on the cold tiles, grabbing his head, but at least the spins had stopped. Molly picked up Jesse’s head and cradled it in her lap. She opened his mouth and slowly poured a bottle of water into him. He coughed some up, but he got most of it down. When that one was finished, she poured another one into him.

  “Aspirin,” he said, pointing to the medicine cabinet. “Aspirin.”

  “Here. Take these. The ME said they’ll do you more good than aspirin or any of that other stuff.”

  Jesse swallowed them with more water, but they still went down hard. He sat up, gingerly, leaning his back against the tub.

  “Who else is here?”

  “Alisha.”

  “You shouldn’t have brought her.”

  “And you shouldn’t need me to wake you up out of a drunken stupor to save your job. It’s not like I had a big choice about who to bring.”

  “Wait a second,” he said, rapidly blinking his eyes as if to shake the cobwebs out. “The ME gave you those pills. When did you see—” He didn’t finish the question.

  “That’s right, Jesse. We’ve got another body. This one’s in the nature preserve along Sawtooth Creek.”

  “Another body? Who?”

  “Gunshot. One to the head. One to the heart. Small-caliber. No exit wounds. Male, white, in his fifties. It looks like it’s one of the suspects.”

  “Which one?”

  “Curnutt.”

  “King?”

  “I think so. Can’t check the body for ID until the ME’s done with him.”

  Jesse asked, “How long ago?”

  “Doc says it looks like he’s been there for twenty-four hours plus.”

  “No, Molly. How long since somebody called it in?”

  “About an hour. I’ve been calling you on both phones since. After the way you looked at the press conference today and when you didn’t pick up, I figured you must’ve tied one on. When the ME showed up at the scene, I told her what I was thinking about you and she gave me those pills.”

  “Alert the staties and then get back there. I’ll be there soon as I can manage.”

  “I’m leaving Alisha here to drive you. Don’t even argue with me, Jesse. You’re in no shape to get behind the wheel of a vehicle and you won’t be for a while.”

  He didn’t argue.

  Molly stood, asked, “Should I call the mayor’s office?”

  “You leave the mayor to me. I don’t want you to have to lie to cover for me.”

  “Since when did that bother you?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know what it means, Jesse.”

  She didn’t bother explaining. Instead, she gritted her teeth and left.

  38

  The sun was just coming up as Alisha turned Jesse’s Explorer toward the nature preserve. He got an uneasy feeling in his already knotted gut when they turned past the open gate and onto the access road. In his drunken, hungover fog, he hadn’t given much thought to why Kirk Curnutt had been murdered way out here. He wondered if this had been the handiwork of Curnutt’s partner, Hump. It had been Jesse’s experience that honor among thieves was as sturdy as tissue paper and that it was easily torn apart by greed and self-preservation. But those two things cut just as sharply in the straight world as they did among thieves. He’d seen plenty of violence done in Bel Air, Brentwood, and even Paradise for the same reasons it happened in East L.A. or Skid Row.

  When the Explorer came to a stop next to Tamara Elkin’s Jeep, Jesse turned to look at Alisha. They hadn’t spoken at all on the ride over. Even now, Jesse didn’t speak, not right away.

  “What is it, Jesse?”

  “If there’s trouble, I don’t want you to lie to cover anything up. Not for me or for Molly. Molly’s pension and benefits are secure and they won’t do anything to her anyway, but you’re still in your probationary period. You can be fired for cause.”

  “But—”

  “That’s an order. Someone from the mayor’s office or the Board of Selectmen makes an inquiry, you tell the truth. You’re going to make a helluva cop and you’re not going to screw that up on my account. Understood?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay. Now get out of the car.”

  When she was gone, Jesse drank another bottle of water, took some deep breaths, and stared at himself in the visor mirror. He supposed he looked as good as he was going to look. The early hour was about the only thing working in his favor. Not many people were at their best or looked their best at this time of the morning. He’d showered and rubbed some Bengay onto his bad shoulder. It wasn’t that his shoulder hurt. For once it actually didn’t, not even after his fall over the coffee table. He hoped the intense menthol odor would help overwhelm the stink of his scotch sweat. He’d brushed his teeth hard enough to take off the enamel and used mouthwash until it burned his throat.

  The early hour had helped him in another way. The mayor was dead asleep when he called and seemed almost as foggy as he had been. He was careful not to offer up too many details, not that he had many. Nor did he give her a story about how much time had elapsed between the discovery of the body and his arrival at the scene. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her . . . or him. He didn’t want to risk tripping himself up. If those sorts of questions ever came up, he’d be better equipped to handle them when he was less hungover. He did give her the news that the body, pending verification, was likely that of one of the suspects in the Maude Cain case and that he’d apparently been shot to death. She’d gone silent for a second or two after that.

  “Do you think it was his accomplice who killed him?” she asked, some of the sleep gone from her voice.

  “It’s possible, but so is anything else. We should know more soon.”

  That seemed to placate her. “Keep me updated, Chief. I’ve got to make some calls” was all she’d said before hanging up.

  Now that he was here, he figured he had at least a little while before Nita Thompson, the mayor herself, and the media began to show up. For the moment, the only people on scene were Jesse’s allies, so there was no need for him to pretend he wasn’t nursing a wicked hangover. The body-bag boys from Tamara’s office were in their van waiting for the okay to take the body to the morgue. Jesse called Gabe over to him.

  “Gabe, take Alisha to the station, then get back here.”

  Weathers didn’t say anything, turning on his heel to go. Jesse watched him walk away, tap Alisha on the shoulder, and urge her toward his cruiser. She turned back and looked at Jesse over her shoulder. Her expression was no happier than it had been when he gave her the orders about telling the truth. But when Gabe’s
cruiser kicked up a cloud of dust on the dirt road, the time for hesitation was over.

  After trying unsuccessfully to stretch the hangover achiness out of his body, Jesse approached Molly and Lundquist. Both of them were sipping coffee against the slight morning chill. Molly reached down by her feet, grabbed a second cup, and held it out to Jesse.

  “Morning, Jesse. I think it’s still hot,” she said, as if she hadn’t already seen Jesse earlier. “But don’t make me swear to it.”

  He grabbed the cup from her and took a sip. “Hot enough.” Coffee had never tasted so good. “Who called it in?”

  “Anonymous male,” she said. “Blocked number called in to the station, but not on the nine-one-one line.”

  Jesse didn’t like that. “So there’s no recording of it. Who took the call?”

  “I did. Peter was the responding officer. Good thing, too, because he preserved the crime scene and began doing the evidence search as soon as he called me back to confirm it was a homicide. I called the ME and then you.” Molly kept up the charade that it had only taken a call to get Jesse to the crime scene. She didn’t know Lundquist well enough to trust his attitude toward Jesse and his drinking.

  39

  With the near-empty cup in his hand, Jesse stood at the boundary of yellow tape strung in a wide, misshapen circle around pine trees, oaks, and maples. At the far side of the circle were Tamara Elkin and the body of the man presumed to be King Curnutt. Inside the circle to Jesse’s right was a blue Subaru and an old, weathered toolshed, its door flapping in the morning breeze. Peter Perkins, in a Tyvek suit and booties, was taking photos of the car.

  “I need to talk to the ME,” Jesse said, calling to Perkins. “Get me a pair of gloves and walk me over to her and fill me in.”

  Peter came to where Jesse was standing, handed him gloves, and lifted the tape. Jesse limboed under it, wincing as he did. Taking careful, measured steps, the two of them made their way slowly toward the ME. As they went, Perkins pointed to some tire tracks. Car’s stolen from some small town near the New Hampshire border. One set of tire tracks are definitely from the Subaru. Don’t know about the other. He pointed at faint impressions in the dirt that vaguely resembled footprints. I’m pretty sure one set belongs to the vic, but there are lots of imprints around because runners use this area.

  “How was he killed?” Jesse asked.

  “Close range. One to the head, one to the heart. I couldn’t see any exit wounds. Another thing, Jesse,” Perkins said. “If he used an automatic, the killer collected his brass.

  “Something else. The vic was armed. I’ve bagged a Glock Nineteen that I found in very close proximity to the body. Killer must’ve surprised him.”

  “Or Curnutt knew him,” Jesse said as they reached the ME and the body.

  “Thanks, Peter.”

  “No problem. I’m almost done anyway. Just have to pack up and make some notes.”

  Jesse waited for Perkins to leave before kneeling down.

  “You look almost as bad as him,” Tamara said. “At least you smell a little better.”

  Jesse gave a slight nod toward the body. “I don’t feel so well, either, but let’s talk about him.”

  “I’m sure Peter already told you.”

  “Uh-huh. Been here for a day-plus. Killed by two at close range.”

  “Probably a .22 caliber,” she said. “Small entry wounds, no exit wounds. None that are visible, at least. I’ll know more when I get him on the table and cut the clothes off him.”

  “Can I pat him down?”

  “One more thing, Jesse. The body was moved. Rolled over, I think, at least once,” she said, pointing at a small patch of dried blood on a smashed-down area of brown grass and dirt to the left of the body.

  “You think it was my man who moved him?”

  “Unlikely,” she said. “Perkins is too OCD to do that. My guess is it happened shortly afterward.”

  “Thanks, Doc. That it?”

  “Now he’s all yours. I’m going to go give my guys the okay to come get him. Your car here?”

  Jesse stared up at her, puzzled. “Why?”

  “I’ll leave some pills for you in your front seat.”

  “Thanks.”

  He turned back to the body, but Tamara wasn’t quite finished.

  “Jesse.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Slow down. For goodness’ sakes, please, slow down.”

  He knew what she meant. She knew he would, but she didn’t want to stay to argue about it.

  The body was on its back. The head wound was small, though obvious enough against the dead man’s bloodless pale skin. The chest wound was less obvious, but that wasn’t Jesse’s concern at the moment. He checked the pockets of the dead man’s cut-off sweatshirt and the front pockets of his jeans. No wallet. No ID. Nothing. He ran his gloved hands along the front, outsides, and insides of the victim’s legs, and felt around his ankles. Again nothing. But he didn’t come up empty when he gently turned the body over and patted down the vic’s back pockets.

  “Peter,” Jesse said. “Bring an evidence bag over here.”

  Perkins didn’t ask why, just carried a bag over to his boss. “What is it, Jesse?”

  “An old index card with some letters and numbers written on it. Log it in and then bring it over to Lundquist. I think the state lab should get a close look at this asap.”

  “You think it’s significant?”

  Jesse didn’t answer immediately, continuing to pat the victim down to see if there was anything else on him. When he was done he looked up at Perkins.

  “Significant? I don’t know, but it’s the only thing he’s got on him.”

  “No wallet?”

  “No nothing except that faded old card. Tell Lundquist I’ll be right over.”

  When Jesse was done, he looked hard at Curnutt’s remains. As far as Jesse could tell, what was left didn’t amount to much. He hoped the same wasn’t true for the index card.

  40

  The sun had finally taken a seat low in the sky about the time Jesse got to where Lundquist and Molly were waiting, Lundquist holding the evidence bag with the index card.

  “Is this all he had on him?” Lundquist asked, waving the clear plastic bag in the air.

  “One second, Brian.” Jesse walked past him and went over to where Peter Perkins was packing away his equipment.

  “What’s up, Jesse?”

  “Did you see the blood off to the side of the body?”

  “I did. I got a sample of it, marked it in my notes, and got photos of it.” Perkins tilted his head in confusion. “Why you asking?”

  “You didn’t move the body, did you?”

  “You know I know better than that. All I did was check for a pulse to make a hundred percent sure he was dead. Then I backed away and followed procedure.”

  Jesse smiled as best he could, given how lousy he was feeling, and patted Perkins’s left biceps. “Good work. I had to ask.”

  When Jesse got back to where Molly and Lundquist were standing, Lundquist repeated his question. “Is this all he had on him?”

  “All I could find.”

  “An old index card. Not much to go on.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Jesse said.

  That got Molly’s attention. “Not sure about what?”

  “Something doesn’t feel right about this.”

  “What feels right about murder?” she asked.

  “It’s not only that,” Jesse said. “That car was stolen from up north. Why come back to Paradise? Why would he expose himself like that?”

  Molly spoke first. “Maybe he had no choice, Jesse. Maybe he had left something behind in that shed on his way out of town, money or something he took from Maude’s house we didn’t know about.”

  Jesse remained silent.

  �
��More likely he was meeting someone and whoever it was didn’t feel like sharing, possibly his partner,” Lundquist said.

  Jesse shook his head. “Maybe. I don’t like it.”

  Molly pointed over Jesse’s shoulder. “Well, you’re going to like this even less.”

  When he turned, Jesse saw the mayor’s black Suburban pulling to a stop. He had hoped he might be able to get away from the scene before the mayor showed, if only to shower again, shave, and shut his eyes for an hour.

  “Brian,” he said, turning back to Lundquist. “See what your lab can do with that. I’ll have Peter send the rest of the stuff over as soon as possible.”

  “Okay, Jesse, but we’re not done talking about this crime scene and what you don’t like about it.”

  “Fine. Go ahead. We’ll talk later,” Jesse said. “Molly, you too. I’ll deal with the mayor.”

  “You sure, Jesse?”

  “Always. Now get out of here.”

  But as he watched Lundquist and Molly retreat to their vehicles, he noticed only Nita Thompson getting out of the Suburban, two large cups of coffee in her hands. There was no sign of Mayor Walker. As she got to Jesse, Nita handed him one of the cups.

  “I think this is how you like it,” she said. “But you look like you could use it whether it’s how you like it or not.”

  He took a big sip of the steaming coffee, the smell of it filling his head. He was almost as thankful for the aroma as he was for the taste of the coffee. “Thanks. Where’s Mayor Walker?”

  Nita ignored the question. “Rough night?”

  “I’ve had rougher ones. The mayor?”

  “Right. Sorry. I advised her not to show her face here until we knew what we were dealing with.”

  “That’s why the media hasn’t shown up. You don’t know how to spin this yet.”

  “I don’t know why I ever underestimated you,” she said. “Is it him, Kirk Curnutt?”

  “Looks like him, but he had no ID on him and the car was stolen. We’ll be certain as soon as we run the prints.”

  “So what else do we have, Jesse? I mean, who would kill someone out here, of all places?”