Robert B. Parker's the Bitterest Pill

by Reed Farrel Coleman

  “And, Molly,” Jesse said, stopping her in her tracks. “Start with Maryglenn.”

  Now Molly understood the look on Jesse’s face when he came into the station.

  Sixty

  Jesse caught rush-hour traffic on his way down to Boston, but still made it there by 8:45. He parked his Explorer partway down the block and across the street from the address he had for Dr. Laghari. The place was a storefront operation, literally. It had two large plate-glass windows on either side of a steel-and-glass door. The glass on either side of the door was covered in cheap black tint halfway up the windows. The door glass was completely covered in it so that it would be impossible for anyone on the street to see inside. To Jesse’s eye, it looked as if it might once have been a Chinese takeout or a chain sandwich shop. The only thing missing was signage, any kind of signage. The only indication that the address was a doctor’s office was the line of people waiting outside the door.

  The people waiting for the doctor were a pretty shabby bunch. Many, if not all, looked homeless. Yet each of them was equipped with a cane, crutches, walkers, or some sort of joint brace. Knee braces seemed most popular. At nine sharp, the door opened and half the people waiting outside were let in. A big, brutal-looking man with a pale, pockmarked face stepped outside. He wore a black leather jacket, jeans, and motorcycle boots. He said something to the people outside. When he was done, he surveyed the street. His eyes seemed to lock on Jesse’s Explorer, if only for a second. It wasn’t as if the street was empty of other vehicles or that his SUV was particularly clean. Jesse shrugged it off when the brutal man stepped back inside through the door.

  Ten minutes later, a beat-up yellow mini–school bus pulled up at the storefront. Its door opened at the same time as the storefront’s door opened. About seven ragged people piled out of the bus and got on line. When they were out, the first batch of patients left the doctor’s office and made their way into the bus. When the bus pulled away, the guy in the leather jacket repeated the routine. He let half of the waiters in and said something to the rest. He once again surveyed the street, his eyes hesitating at the sight of the Explorer. This time, Jesse wasn’t prepared to shrug it off.

  The issue was what to do about it. He was out of his jurisdiction and had no reason to march into Laghari’s office. And what if he did walk in? He had no authority, no backup in case there was trouble. All he was armed with was his nine-millimeter and suspicions. And the Boston PD wasn’t fond of small-town chiefs working their patch. It had been the same in L.A., so Jesse understood it from both points of view. What he did, instead, was take photos of what was going on. He watched three cycles of the bus loading and unloading. Each time, the brutal guy stared at his vehicle a little longer. It was pretty easy to figure out what was going on.

  There was a knock on the glass next to Jesse’s head. When he turned to look, an unshaven white man with a paper cup, begging for change, was standing there. Jesse wanted him gone, so he rolled down the window and held out a dollar bill. But the man didn’t take it.

  “Stone,” the man said, “get the fuck out of here. You want to blow an operation that’s been ongoing for six months?”

  “You ran my plates.”

  “No wonder they made you chief,” he said, finally snatching the dollar bill.

  “Identify yourself.”

  The man’s face turned red under his stubble. “I said, get the—”

  “Uh-huh, and I said ‘Identify yourself.’”

  “Detective Hector, Joint Narcotics Task Force.”

  Jesse pressed the ignition button, rolled up his window, and pulled away.

  * * *

  —

  THE ADDRESS MOLLY had gotten him for Dr. Wexler wasn’t more than five miles away from Laghari’s storefront, but it was a very different scene. The storefront here had a FOR RENT sign in the window and there wasn’t any activity out on the side. Jesse Googled Wexler and came up with an address in Brookline. He still had plenty of time to get over to the South End to meet Vinnie, so he punched the address into his GPS and headed over.

  * * *

  —

  WEXLER LIVED IN a big Tudor-style house on a tree-lined street not far from the Brookline Country Club. The house itself seemed sturdy and in good shape, but the lawn was shaggy, with patches of brown, and the hedges were overgrown. The driveway was in need of repaving and the mailbox was held to its post by a bungee cord and tape. There was a dusty, sun-bleached 1980 Mercedes parked in the driveway beside a light green Toyota Corolla.

  Jesse had circled the block to make certain there were no surveillance vans parked anywhere or DEA agents in the trees with telephoto lenses. When he was sure he wasn’t interfering with some major investigation, he pulled into the driveway and got out. He texted Molly a photo of the house and the address. “Wexler” was the sum total of the message accompanying the photo. He was tempted to ask how her investigation was going and thought it wiser not to ask.

  He stepped out of his Explorer. He strode up to the front door, pieces of broken blacktop and crumbling concrete under his feet. Close up, the house looked less sturdy than it had from the curb. Though not quite in as bad a shape as the lawn or the driveway, it showed signs of neglect. Jesse pressed the bell but heard nothing ring inside the house. He knocked and waited.

  Sixty-one

  Arakel’s phone rang, and somehow he knew the news wasn’t good. Nothing had been right since the day the boy had called and told him about the dead girl in Paradise. Since then he’d become a murderer and a drunk. He had come this close to raping a woman. But he wasn’t patting himself on the back for stopping himself, because he had, in turn, forced that woman to seduce a young girl into the trade. And even that had blown up nearly before it got started. He drank down one of his little vodka bottles and then picked up.

  “Yes.”

  “We’ve got an issue,” said the voice on the other end.

  “An issue?”

  “There was an out-of-town cop parked across from the clinic, and he wasn’t there to get healthy.”

  “Cop. What cop?”

  “Stone. Police chief in Paradise. We got rid of him today, but he’ll be back. Now I’ve got to cover my ass with the brass in case they come back to me. I think you and the Shah better think about relocating and soon.”

  Arakel was fuming, but the man on the other end of the line clicked off before he had a chance to remind him about who worked for whom.

  * * *

  —

  PETRA HAD SKIPPED HER second-period class to find her. The frightened girl made some lame excuse about another teacher needing to see her when she walked into the teachers’ lounge. But now they were in the basement of the school in a room that not even the janitorial staff bothered with. It was full of old desks, worn shiny blackboards, and broken chairs.

  She grabbed Petra’s hair, pulling her head back and slamming her into the wall.

  “How stupid can you be, letting other teachers see us together. This better be good.”

  Petra, already frightened, was now one little spark short of a total meltdown.

  “Molly Crane came to the house last night to ask about Chris Grimm,” she said, gasping for air as she spoke. “My dad didn’t let her talk to me.”

  She relaxed her grip on the girl’s hair. “So what’s the problem?”

  “Because my dad wouldn’t let her talk to me, I am going to be questioned by Jesse Stone tonight at the station. My dad got me a lawyer and told me everything would be all right, but—”

  She changed her approach to the girl. She was stroking her hair. “I’m sorry, Petra. I was just so frightened that it would spoil things between us if people saw us together. It’s okay, I understand now.”

  “No matter what my dad says, I’m going to tell Jesse about the drugs. I can’t take this anymore, all the lying and stealing and stuff. But I swear I won’t say anyth
ing about us. I promise. I could never hurt you.”

  It was all she could do not to slap the girl and once again show her the photo of Chris Grimm’s battered and lifeless body, but she couldn’t afford to have Petra lose it completely.

  “You can never tell anyone about me,” she said before kissing the girl hard on the mouth. “You must never, never say you sold drugs to anyone. Never. They won’t forgive that.” She kissed her again and brushed her hand across the girl’s breasts. “Tonight, no matter what your father and the lawyer tell you, don’t say anything. Later on, you can admit to doing drugs, but please, for me, lover, not tonight. I need tonight to make sure we are both clear of this stuff.” She kissed her again. “Promise me.”

  “I promise. I could never hurt you. I would rather die than hurt you.”

  “Shhh, lover. Now get back to class.”

  * * *

  —

  ARAKEL’S PHONE RANG AGAIN, and he was even less pleased when he heard the woman’s voice.

  “What now? I thought we had agreed you could handle the little girl.”

  “It’s the local police, they are going to formally interview the girl tonight. She won’t say anything, but I don’t know how long that will last.”

  “We can have the men in the white van visit her. You have spoken with them, yes?”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “They have seen to the boy. They will see to the girl.”

  “No, don’t you touch her! She disappears or gets hurt, all hell will break loose.”

  Arakel, fortified with more alcohol, said, “Or we can see to you. I think the men in the van would prefer that. One way or the other, this must be handled.”

  “Give me a few days,” she said, “please.”

  “Handle it.”

  The click on the other end told her it wasn’t up for debate. The image of Chris Grimm’s body flashed before her eyes. She didn’t actually care much for Petra as a lover and she was such a child, but she could never let those animals touch her. She would have to see to the girl herself, and she had an idea of how to do it.

  * * *

  —

  ARAKEL KNOCKED ON Mehdi’s door and entered his office.

  “We have a problem in Paradise.”

  Mehdi laughed. “Yes, what a ridiculous name.”

  “It is quite a lovely place,” Arakel said, feeling a pang of regret for what he had brought to the town.

  “It tempts the fate to call a place on this earth Paradise.”

  Now it was Arakel who laughed. “I fear neither one of us will ever see true Paradise.”

  “Yes, let us concern ourselves with base, temporal things. You were saying.”

  “The teacher has called and the police are going to question the girl. She was warned to handle it or I said that I would have to have our men handle it. She will see to it. Also, the Paradise police chief showed up outside the clinic. We put him off for today, but he is a stubborn one and will return.”

  “Yes, Stojan called and reported to me. This policeman, he may be the bigger problem than the woman and the girl. We might have to see to him.” When Arakel got to the door, Mehdi called after him. “But you must make certain that when one leak is closed that the other does not once again come open. All leaks will have to be sealed or what is the point? Do you understand my meaning?”

  Arakel understood it, all right. He nodded at Mehdi and left. He understood that the woman and the girl would have to die and that he would be even farther away from paradise than the day he shot the boy to death.

  Sixty-two

  A gaunt white woman in green scrubs and running shoes opened the door.

  “How may I help you?” she asked, an impatient look on her face.

  “Is Dr. Wexler available?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  Jesse was quick on the uptake. There were times when talk was best, but there were times when showing a shield helped cut through all the bullshit. This was one of those times. He flashed his shield in the woman’s face and quickly put it away.

  “Let me ask you this again,” he said, giving her his best fish-eyed stare. “Is the doctor available?”

  She twisted up her lips and shrugged, said, “He’s inside the house, Detective, but he’s not here.”

  Jesse wasn’t in the mood. “Do I look like I’m in the mood for games?”

  “Alzheimer’s,” she said. “Come have a look for yourself.”

  Jesse followed the nurse into the house. The place had that peculiar odor that wasn’t quite home and wasn’t quite hospital but a little bit of both. It was the scent of pine, ammonia, and human decay mixed up with cooking smells like fried onions, burnt coffee, and eggs.

  “He’s in there,” the nurse said, pointing at a door near the kitchen. “The stairs are blocked off. He’s taken a few falls when he gets confused and wanders. He’s safer this way.”

  Jesse asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Millie.”

  She was testing Jesse’s patience. “Millie what?”

  “Millie Lutz. I’m an RN and the family pays me and a few other nurses to watch the doctor.”

  “If his Alzheimer’s is that bad, shouldn’t he be in assisted living?”

  “Above my paygrade, Detective.”

  Jesse walked into the room off the kitchen. Sitting in a brown leather recliner was a hunched, bald-headed man with a freckled scalp. He was dressed in expensive blue pajamas and slippers. He was staring out the window and didn’t seem to notice Jesse had come into the room. Next to the recliner was a hospital bed. In front of the bed was a wide-screen TV on a stand. Jesse moved around by the window so that the doctor could not help but notice there was someone standing there. Only he didn’t seem to notice. Dr. Wexler wore an expression that Jesse had seen many times before on the faces of those suffering from severe dementia. It was what he thought of as a sad, confused smile. Jesse could only imagine what could produce such an expression and had no desire to ever find out. As he had once confided to Molly, he preferred cancer to Alzheimer’s.

  “Dr. Wexler,” he said.

  The old man blinked, but that was his only concession to Jesse’s presence. The nurse had been correct. The doctor was in the house, but he wasn’t home. Jesse put a hand on the doctor’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure why he did it. This time, Wexler turned his head and looked up at Jesse. Unfortunately, his expression was unchanged. Jesse stayed with him a few moments and then left.

  “I told you,” Nurse Lutz said when Jesse stepped out of the room.

  “Do you know if Dr. Wexler’s medical license is still active?”

  She blew air through her lips and made a sarcastic face. “As if it mattered.”

  Jesse thought about giving her a hard time about her attitude, but he thanked her for her time instead.

  “There a bathroom I can use?” he asked.

  “Sure. Down the hall, past his study, on the right.”

  Jesse wasn’t really interested in the bathroom. He was curious to have a quick look around. When he walked by the study, he noticed prescription pads on the desk. When he passed the study again on his way back from the bathroom, the pads were gone. But again, this wasn’t his jurisdiction, and all he had at the moment were suppositions. They were strong ones, but knowing something in your guts didn’t stand up in court. On the way out, he stopped to deliver a message to Nurse Lutz.

  “When your bosses ask who was here, tell them Jesse Stone.”

  He left without bothering to wait for her denial.

  Nurse Lutz watched out the front window and waited a few moments after Jesse pulled out of the driveway to punch in Mr. Sarkassian’s number.

  Sixty-three

  Vinnie Morris was well turned out, but that was no surprise to Jesse Stone. Except for a brief period several years back when he had taken
to wearing track suits, Vinnie’s wardrobe on any given day tended to surpass the value of Jesse’s weekly paycheck, before taxes. Today was no exception. Morris was dressed in a light gray wool box-check two-piece suit. The creases on the front of the pants were knife-sharp. Beneath the suit jacket was a custom-made light blue shirt and a slightly darker silk tie. The shirt cuffs extended a perfect inch below the jacket sleeves.

  Vinnie shook his head at the sight of Jesse in his rumpled navy blazer, white shirt, jeans, and running shoes.

  “Who dresses you? Let me send you to my tailor.”

  “No, thanks,” Jesse said. “One day’s outfit would bankrupt me.”

  “What’s the plan?” Vinnie nodded at the pawnshop.

  “I want to rattle them.”

  Vinnie smiled. “Easy enough.”

  “Good.”

  “You want me to say anything?”

  Jesse said, “You’ll know what to say and when to say it.”

  “Better be a good steak for lunch.”

  Vinnie followed Jesse through the door. Jolene was helping another customer but noticed the two men enter. She didn’t make a happy face at the sight of Jesse, but it wasn’t a frightened expression. If she knew who Vinnie Morris was, Jesse was certain the look on her face would have been quite different. And if Molly had seen the two of them together here like this, Jesse could only imagine the look on her face.

  Jesse made certain to place himself in front of the display case containing the Western novels he’d been looking at the last time he was there.

  “Hello, Jolene,” Jesse said, as the woman came up to them.

  Vinnie Morris stood next to Jesse, not saying a word. Jolene turned to Vinnie and was effusive about his clothing. Jesse was certain that she had made Vinnie’s day. Then she turned back to Jesse.

  “Yes, I’m so sorry we weren’t able to help you during your last visit. But I see you are still interested in these novels.”