Death In Paradise js-3

by Robert B. Parker

  “It’s usually a lot more than is reported,” Molly said.

  “You got no right talking about us like that,” Snyder said. “We didn’t do anything but have a few drinks and get in a little squabble.”

  The word came out “schkwabble.” I know the feeling, Jesse thought.

  “Molly,” Jesse said. “I think you better take Mrs. Snyder down to Channing Hospital Emergency Room and get her face cleaned up.”

  “It’s okay,” Mrs. Snyder said. “It’ll be fine.”

  “And while she’s there have them examine her whole body.”

  “Hey,” Snyder said. “What are you gonna do, strip her down?”

  “Suit, put Mr. Snyder in a cell, for his own protection, until he’s sober.”

  “I ain’t drunk. I ain’t going in no drunk tank. No way I’m letting you take her down to the fucking hospital and make her strip.”

  “I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

  Jesse got up from behind his desk and walked around and stood in front of them and leaned his hips on the front edge of the desk.

  “What’s your first name, Mr. Snyder.”

  “Jerry.”

  “Jerry, we got you for assault.”

  “I didn’t assault nobody.”

  “We have the bruised victim. We have the eyewitness testimony of a police officer, and I’ll bet we could find some bruising on your knuckles.”

  Snyder looked quickly at his hands and caught himself and looked quickly away.

  “We got plenty of grounds for putting you in jail.”

  “Not for doing nothing you don’t.”

  “But we’re trying not to turn this into something bigger than it is,” Jesse said. “So you’ll have to sit it out here for a couple hours while we get some medical opinion on the extent of the damage.”

  “You can’t arrest me, I don’t got a lawyer.”

  “We’re not arresting you, Jerry. We’re detaining you in the interests of public safety, and your own. You’re too drunk to be out loose.”

  “I won’t go in no jail cell,” Snyder said.

  He stood up, his face less than a foot from Jesse’s.

  “Come on, Viv,” he said to his wife. “We’re walking.”

  Jesse shook his head slightly and kicked Snyder’s ankles out from under him. Snyder went down suddenly, on his left side. Before Snyder could reorient himself, Simpson stepped from the wall, snapped the cuffs on him, and got him on his feet.

  “Jerry,” Mrs. Snyder said.

  “You’ll see him in a couple of hours,” Jesse said. “Nobody’s going to hurt him.”

  “He didn’t do nothing,” she said as Molly steered her out of the room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  They went to the Gray Gull every Wednesday night. They sat outside in the warm night where they could look at the town dock and the harbor and across the harbor at Paradise Neck and Stiles Island. Jenn had a glass of Chardonnay. Jesse drank cranberry juice and soda.

  “Are you solving your murder?” Jenn asked.

  “Not exactly,” Jesse said.

  “Progress?”

  “Some.”

  “Try not to be such a blabbermouth,” Jenn said.

  Jesse smiled. “I’m preoccupied with you,” he said.

  “I’m not sure that’s good for you. But I guess I like it.”

  “I thought I had the dead girl ID’d,” Jesse said. “But the people who were supposed to be her parents say they have no such daughter.”

  “Well, they would know, wouldn’t they?”

  “One of the daughters they do have was there,” Jesse said. “Younger. Maybe twelve, thirteen.”

  “So?”

  “There was something wrong. Kid looked like she’d been frozen.”

  “Wrong?”

  “Yep.”

  “You think parents would pretend not to have a child? When they really did?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe she was bad. Maybe it was one of those never darken my door again, I no longer have a daughter things.”

  “So you can find that out, can’t you?”

  “I can. I haven’t yet.”

  “They have any other children?”

  “Yes. An older daughter. She’s at Mount Holyoke College. We called and left a message. She hasn’t called back.”

  “How can a parent deny a child?” Jenn said.

  “I’ve seen it before,” Jesse said. “Kid disappoints the parent. Parent can’t stand the disappointment. If the kid doesn’t exist, then the disappointment doesn’t exist.”

  He sipped some cranberry juice and soda.

  “It’s hard to live with the fact of your own failure every day,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “We both live with that,” Jesse said.

  “It’s my fault,” Jenn said. “I’m the adulteress.”

  “And I’m the drunk,” Jesse said. “It does no good, Jenn.”

  “I know.”

  The black water moved quietly against the pilings beneath the deck. The light gleamed singularly at the end of Paradise Neck. Some of the big pleasure boats in the harbor were lighted. People sat, mostly on the afterdeck, and drank cocktails.

  They looked at their menus. They both ordered lobster salad.

  “You know what my shrink told me?” Jenn said.

  Jesse smiled. “No,” he said. “I don’t.”

  “He said that the bond between us was truly impressive.”

  “Even though we’re divorced,” Jesse said.

  “Maybe more so because we’re not together.”

  “So the bond has to be strong,” Jesse said.

  “It’s all there is to hold us,” Jenn said.

  “Maybe it shouldn’t,” Jesse said. “Maybe we should move on.”

  “We should,” Jenn said.

  “But we don’t,” Jesse said.

  “We can’t,” Jenn said.

  “But we don’t get married.”

  “I can’t,” Jenn said.

  “And we’re not monogamous.”

  “When I think of it,” Jenn said. “You and me, till death do us part… I feel claustrophobic.”

  “You and the shrink figured out why that is?”

  “Not yet,” Jenn said.

  Jesse looked at Jenn’s face. He knew it so well. He felt the need begin to rise like water filling a glass. He wanted a drink. Something more than cranberry juice. He felt that need rising too, and the needs became one need. He took in some air. Hang on. He took in a big breath and exhaled slowly, trying not to let it show. Jenn put her hand out and rested it on his hand.

  “But we will,” she said.

  “I hope so,” Jesse said.

  His voice was flat with the effort of repression.

  “I do too,” Jenn said.

  “Maybe you and he will find a way to break the bond,” Jesse said.

  “I don’t think so,” Jenn said.

  “Good.”

  “This is very hard,” Jenn said.

  “It is.”

  Jenn’s hand was still resting on his forearm.

  “But we’re still here,” Jenn said softly.

  “We are,” Jesse said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “What makes you think she’ll show up here?” Molly said.

  She sat beside Jesse in his unmarked car, parked across from an ice cream stand on the Lynn Shore Drive, above the beach.

  “Lilly Summers told me the kids hang out here.”

  “The principal?”

  “Un-huh.”

  “Did she also tell you that school records show Billie Bishop’s parents to be Henry and Sandra Bishop?”

  “Actually,” Jesse grinned at Molly, “she told you that when you called her.”

  “Nice to be remembered,” Molly said. “So why don’t you just confront them with the record?”

  “I thought I might learn more by talking to the kid first,” Jesse said, “before every
body shuts down because they’re scared or mad or defensive or whatever they’ll get.”

  “You only saw her that one time,” Molly said. “You sure you’ll recognize her?”

  Jesse smiled.

  “Of course you will,” Molly said. “Cancel the question.”

  It was a still July day. There was no air movement. The foliage in the little park looked thick and permanent. The ocean was still. Insects hummed. Around the ice cream stand young kids gathered in a colorful confusion of tee shirts, shorts, high-priced sneakers, and expensive bicycles. Occasionally someone bought ice cream.

  “They’re the right age group,” Jesse said.

  “Twelve to fourteen,” Molly said. “I got a couple.”

  “Tough being that age,” Jesse said.

  “Tough being a kid,” Molly said.

  Jesse nodded. He looked steadily across the street at the kids.

  “This principal,” Molly said, “Dr. Summers?”

  Jesse nodded.

  “How’s she look?”

  “Good,” Jesse said.

  Molly waited. Jesse kept looking at the kids.

  “Anything there?” Molly said.

  “You mean sex?” Jesse said.

  “Sure,” Molly said. “Or romance, or companionship, or fun.”

  “Not while you’re still around,” Jesse said.

  Molly laughed.

  “I’m a married Irish Catholic,” she said. “I don’t do any of that stuff.”

  “So how come you got four kids?”

  “I have to sleep sometime,” Molly said. “What about Doc Summers?”

  Jesse smiled.

  “If she presses me,” Jesse said, “I may have to sleep with her.”

  Carla Bishop pedaled up on a black mountain bike with green striping.

  “There’s the sister,” Jesse said.

  Carla was talking with some animation to three other girls near the corner of the ice cream stand. The two cops got out of the car and moved across through the crowd. Molly was in uniform. Jesse was not. Those kids that noticed at all eyed the two adults with a mixture of suspicion and contempt. Jesse stopped in front of Carla and waited until she finished a sentence.

  Then he took his badge out and showed it to her and said, “Hello, Carla, remember me?”

  She turned and stared at him. She looked at Molly in uniform beside him.

  “Jesse Stone,” he said. “I was at your home the other day.”

  “What do you want?” she said.

  “This is Molly Crane,” Jesse said.

  “She your wife?”

  “She’s a cop,” Jesse said. “Like me. We need to talk with you, and are willing to bribe you with the ice cream of your choice.”

  “Big fucking deal,” Carla said.

  “Okay, no ice cream. We still need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  The other kids had gathered into an audience and Carla was playing to them.

  “About Billie.”

  “Billie?”

  “Your sister,” Jesse said.

  “My sister’s name is Emily and she’s at college.”

  “Your other sister. Billie. The one your parents won’t talk about.”

  Carla was silent.

  Someone in the audience said, “Billie the Bopper.”

  Some of the kids snickered.

  “Shut up,” Carla said.

  “Why don’t we go sit in the car,” Molly said, “and we can talk.”

  “How come you’re a cop?” Carla said to Molly.

  It was a sullen question. But even as she asked it, she started to move toward the car. Molly smiled at her as they walked across the street.

  “I got sick of being a movie star,” Molly said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Molly was in the backseat. Carla sat in the front seat with Jesse.

  “Do I have to talk with you?” Carla asked Jesse.

  “Not yet.”

  “Shouldn’t I have a lawyer or something?”

  “You’re not under arrest,” Jesse said. “We just need to know about your sister Billie.”

  “You think she’s dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can’t you tell if it’s her by looking?”

  “No.”

  Carla was silent.

  “So why do you think it’s her?”

  “The young woman we found was wearing Hooker Royce’s class ring on a chain around her neck,” Jesse said.

  “Does Hooker know where she is?”

  “I talked with him on the phone,” Molly said. “He doesn’t.”

  Carla’s face was pinched, and there was a tightness around her mouth. But Jesse saw no sign of tears.

  “What happened to her?” Carla said.

  “Someone shot her,” Jesse said, “and put her body in a lake.”

  “Jesus,” Carla said.

  “Yes.”

  All three of them were quiet, listening to the air-conditioning in the unmarked police car.

  “Do my parents know?” Carla said.

  “Only what you heard me tell them,” Jesse said.

  Again the soft sound of the air-conditioning. Across the street the kids were back to hanging out, but most of them looked regularly over at the car.

  “Who did it?” Carla said.

  “Don’t know,” Jesse said. “We’re still trying to identify the body.”

  “You’re just a bunch of hick cops anyway,” Carla said. “You’ll never find out.”

  “Do you have a family dentist?” Jesse said.

  “Of course.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Dr. Levine. Why?”

  “It might help us identify the victim,” Jesse said.

  “Can’t you just use fingerprints?” Carla said.

  “Do you know where Billie is?” Jesse said.

  “No.”

  “When’s the last time you saw her?”

  Carla shrugged.

  “When’s the last time she was home?”

  “They kicked her out right after school ended.”

  “Your mother and father kicked her out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because?”

  “They said she was a druggie and a whore.”

  “Was she?”

  Carla shrugged again.

  “Did they tell you not to talk about it?”

  Carla didn’t answer. She was motionless, looking at her knees.

  “What did they say, Carla?” Molly asked.

  Carla answered without raising her eyes.

  “They said there was only two of us now. Me and Emily.”

  Her voice was very small.

  “Have you heard from her since she left?” Jesse said.

  “No.”

  “How do you feel about all this?” Molly said.

  Carla shrugged again, concentrating on her knees. “Billie messed up,” she said.

  “Are you scared you might mess up?” Molly said.

  Carla didn’t say anything. Molly took a card case from her shirt pocket, selected a card, and handed it to Carla.

  “If you do mess up,” Molly said, “you can call me. I’ll help you.”

  Carla still didn’t speak. But she took the card.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lilly lived in a condominium apartment on the fifth floor in a vast sprawl of condominium apartments just off Route 1A behind a shopping mall near the Salem line. It was five minutes past seven when Jesse arrived at her door carrying a bottle of Iron Horse champagne. She was wearing faded blue jeans, carefully pressed, a white silk blouse with a stand-up collar, and short black boots with thick heels. The jeans were snug. The blouse was open at the neck and a gold chain showed against her light tan.

  “Do you have a warrant?” Lilly said.

  “No,” Jesse said. “But I’ve got a bottle of champagne.”

  Lilly smiled.

  “That will do,” she said. “Come on in.”

  The apart
ment had white walls and blond furniture and sand-colored carpeting. There were sliders at the end of the living room that opened onto a small balcony that allowed you to look down at the back side of the shopping mall. The furniture was appropriate without being interesting.

  “Don’t judge me by my home,” Lilly said. “I bought it after my second divorce, furniture and all, and moved in until I found something a little better.”

  “And?”

  “And I haven’t gotten around to looking.”

  “Too busy?” Jesse said.

  “Do I have the right to an attorney?” Lilly said.

  “Sorry. Sometimes I think I’ve asked too many questions for too long a time.”

  Lilly held out the champagne bottle.

  “Shall we begin by drinking this?” she said.

  Jesse hesitated. Club soda would be the right thing to drink. He took the bottle.

  “We’d be fools not to,” he said.

  She got an ice bucket and glasses and set them on the glass-top coffee table. Jesse uncorked the wine and poured some in each glass. They clinked glasses and held each other’s look for a moment and drank.

  “I love champagne,” Lilly said.

  Jesse nodded.

  “Actually,” Lilly said, “I love having someone to drink it with.”

  “Lucky I stopped by,” Jesse said.

  “It wasn’t luck. I invited you for dinner.”

  “That’s right.”

  They drank. Sip, Jesse told himself. Sip.

  “I guess, if I had to be completely honest…” Lilly said.

  “No need for that,” Jesse said.

  “I guess I’m still here for sort of the same reason. I guess I was hoping for someone to come along who would look for a new place with me.”

  “Would that include either ex-husband?”

  “No,” Lilly said. “It would not.”

  They were quiet, both thinking of other lives they had lived, other nights in twosomes with champagne. He could feel the charge between them. Simultaneous release and tension. Since he’d first been in her office he’d known it would come to this, and now it had. He felt the relaxation of arrival. Soon he’d see her naked. Soon there would be no tension.

  “Animosity?” Jesse said.

  “With my exes? Not the first one. He’s nice. He lives in Chicago now, works as a construction supervisor for a big company. I see him occasionally when he comes to Boston.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. You go along thinking it’s forever, then one day it isn’t. One day he didn’t want to be married to me, and I didn’t want to be married to him.”