The Jesse Stone Novels 6-9
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“Notes?” Ms. Fiedler said. “This is an informal discussion. There’s nothing here for the record.”
“What record is that?” Jesse said.
“Don’t be smart,” she said. “I do not want any notes taken.”
“Okay. But I’ll probably forget a bunch of stuff,” Jesse said, “without notes.”
“I want to hear what she has written,” Ms. Fiedler said.
“Miriam,” Blake said softly.
“No, I insist,” Ms. Fiedler said. “What have you written, young woman?”
Molly riffled back though the leaves of her steno pad for a moment, studied a page, and said, “No spicks on Paradise Neck.”
Blake looked down. Jesse’s face didn’t change expression. Ms. Fiedler was horrified.
“How…my God in heaven…how dare you.”
Walter Carr rose to his feet.
“We have said no such thing,” he said.
His pinkish face had gotten much pinker. He looked at the lawyer.
“Is this actionable, Austin?”
Blake’s face was serious, but Jesse could see the amusement in his eyes.
“Most things are actionable, Walter,” he said. “This is not something in which I would expect the action to go your way.”
“She has insulted us,” Ms. Fiedler said.
“I think she’s just kidding you a little, Miriam,” Blake said.
“Well, I think she’s insulting,” Ms. Fiedler said.
She turned on Jesse.
“I want her reprimanded,” she said.
“You bet,” Jesse said. “How many kids are going to attend this school?”
“Twelve,” Carr said.
“So,” Jesse said. “A bus will deliver them in the morning and pick them up in the afternoon.”
No one answered.
“Twelve of them,” Jesse said. “Age?”
“Preschool,” Carr said.
Jesse nodded.
“The worst kind,” he said.
Carr didn’t say anything.
“It is,” Ms. Fielder said, “the tip of the camel’s nose. It needs to be stopped at the beginning before the value of the Neck simply vanishes.”
“Real-estate value?” Jesse said.
“All value,” Ms. Fiedler said.
Jesse didn’t say anything. The room was silent.
Finally Ms. Fiedler said, “Well?”
“Twelve preschoolers and one bus do not seem to me a public safety issue,” Jesse said.
“That’s not your decision,” Ms. Fiedler said.
“Actually, it is,” Jesse said.
“In a democracy,” Ms. Fiedler said, “the people rule. You work for us.”
“What a terrible thought,” Jesse said.
“So you are not going to act?”
“Not at the moment,” Jesse said.
Ms. Fiedler stood.
“You have not heard the last of this,” she said.
“I was guessing that,” Jesse said.
Ms. Fiedler stalked out without speaking again. The men followed her. Carr stared straight ahead. Blake winked at Molly on the way out.
Jesse and Molly sat silently for a time. Then Jesse said, “‘No spicks on Paradise Neck’?”
“She was driving me crazy,” Molly said.
“I sort of guessed that, too,” Jesse said.
“Are you going to reprimand me?” Molly said.
“Worse, I’m going to punish you.”
“You are?”
“Yes,” Jesse said. “You may not talk dirty to me for the rest of the day.”
“Oh, God,” Molly said, “not that.”
9.
Jesse sat with Suitcase Simpson in the front seat of Simpson’s cruiser parked at Paradise Beach. Simpson was eating a submarine sandwich for lunch, taking pains not to dribble on his uniform shirt. Jesse was drinking coffee.
“Funny,” Simpson said. “Whenever you’re near the ocean, you have to look at it.”
Jesse nodded.
“Always makes me feel religious,” Simpson said.
Jesse nodded.
“I wonder why that is?” Simpson said.
“Got me,” Jesse said.
“Make you feel religious?” Simpson said.
“Yes.”
They looked at the ocean for a time. It was high tide and the water covered most of the beach. A few people in bathing suits occupied the narrow strip of sand above high water.
“Crow knows we’re watching him,” Simpson said.
“No reason he shouldn’t,” Jesse said. “Who’s with him now.”
“Eddie.”
“Crow doing anything interesting?” Jesse said.
“Nope.”
Simpson finished his sandwich and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. He put the napkin and the sandwich wrappings back in the paper bag that the sandwich had come in.
“Mostly,” Simpson said, “he hangs around. He has lunch at Daisy Dyke’s a lot. He has a drink at the Gray Gull in the evening. Goes to Paradise Health & Fitness every day in the morning. Rest of the time he cruises around town.”
“Walking or driving?” Jesse said.
“Both. Drives all over town. Parks sometimes and walks around. Why?”
“Might help us figure out who or what he’s looking for,” Jesse said. “Where’s he walk around?”
“Shopping center, goes in the stores. Comes to the beach sometimes. Browses all the shops on Paradise Row sometimes. Watches tennis down by the high school.”
“He check out the commuter trains?” Jesse said.
Simpson shrugged. He took a small notebook from his shirt pocket and read through it.
“Nope,” Simpson said. “Haven’t seen him do that. I check with the other guys, too, and try to incorporate their notes in mine.”
Jesse smiled.
“Lead investigator,” he said.
“Might as well keep things together,” Simpson said. “Do it right, you know?”
“Suit,” Jesse said. “If it were in the budget, I’d give you a raise.”
“But it’s not,” Simpson said.
“No. He ever go down to the wharf?” Jesse said.
“Nope.”
“Softball?”
“Nope.”
“Maybe he’s looking for a woman,” Jesse said.
“Because of where he looks?”
“Yeah. I know it’s a big generalization, but he seems more interested in places where you’d find women.”
“I don’t think you’re allowed to think things like that in Paradise,” Simpson said.
“Incorrect?” Jesse said.
“This place is officially liberal,” Simpson said.
“Long as they keep the cha-chas out,” Jesse said.
Simpson smiled.
“Yeah. Molly told me about that.”
“Ms. Fiedler was down at the causeway the other day,” Jesse said. “With a clicker, counting the number of cars.”
“How many kids you say there were?” Simpson said.
“Twelve,” Jesse said. “Preschoolers.”
“Means a minibus probably,” Simpson said. “Once in the morning, and once in the afternoon.”
Jesse nodded. They both looked at the blue ocean for a while. Then Simpson grinned.
“They gotta be stopped,” Simpson said.
10.
Jesse’s ex-wife stuck her head into his office and said, “Hi, Toots, got a minute?”
Jesse felt the small trill of excitement in his belly that he always felt when he saw her.
“I got a minute,” he said.
Jenn came in, dressed to the nines, and gave Jesse a pleasant but passing kiss on the mouth. The trill of excitement tightened into a knot of desire and sadness. The kiss was passionless.
“I am on an investigative assignment,” Jenn said.
“What’s Channel Three investigating this time,” Jesse said. “The resurgence of platform soles?”
Jenn smiled.<
br />
“Are you saying that Newsbeat Three is not noted for high seriousness?”
“Yes,” Jesse said.
“This is a good one for me,” Jenn said. “It’s like hard news investigation.”
Jesse nodded. The knot in his stomach held tight. He knew it would be there until well after she left.
“Our sources tell us that Latino gangs are infiltrating Paradise,” Jenn said.
Jesse stared at her.
“Latino gangs,” he said.
“There is gang graffiti on several buildings in Paradise,” Jenn said.
She took some snapshots out of her purse and put them on Jesse’s desk so he could see them.
“Our sources sent us these pictures,” Jenn said.
Jesse recognized a couple. One had been on the side of the commuter rail station for more than a year. One had appeared on the back wall of the food market at the mall. There were two more he hadn’t seen.
“Can you name your sources?”
Jenn shook her head.
“Does the name Miriam Fiedler mean anything to you?”
She smiled.
“Walter Carr?”
Jenn smiled again but she didn’t say anything.
“Jenn,” Jesse said. “There has not been a gang-related crime in this town since I’ve been here.”
“Isn’t that odd?” Jenn said. “I mean, Marshport is right next door. There are gangs there.”
“Several,” Jesse said.
“You don’t think they might want to slip in here, sometimes, where the streets are paved in gold?”
Jesse leaned back a little in his chair. Jenn had her legs crossed. Her pants were tight. He could see the smooth line of her thigh.
“I never lived in a slum, exactly. But I worked in a lot of them in L.A. People who live in suburbia think every slum dweller yearns to live there, too,” Jesse said. “But many people I knew liked the ’hood. Wouldn’t want to leave it. Would die of boredom and conformity if they lived elsewhere.”
“To me,” Jenn said, “that sounds like an excuse to do nothing about slums.”
“That’s probably it,” Jesse said.
“No,” Jenn said. “I didn’t mean that you were like that. But are you saying none of the gangbangers ever cross the line into Paradise?”
“Oh, they come over sometimes. Mostly, I think, to sell dope to high-school kids.”
“Can’t you stop them?”
“Can I stop kids from buying dope?” Jesse said.
Jenn nodded.
“Or selling it?” Jesse said.
Jenn nodded again.
“No,” Jesse said.
“You can’t?”
“No,” Jesse said. “But I don’t feel too bad about that. Nobody else can, either. Anywhere.”
“Are you suggesting we just ignore it?”
Jesse was silent for a moment, looking at her.
Then he said, “Are we on camera?”
“Oh, God, Jesse, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be inquisitorial. I just get so caught up in being Ms. Journalist, you know? Always ask the follow-up question.”
Jesse nodded.
“I would like to investigate the gang thing, though,” Jenn said.
She smiled. The force of her smile was nearly physical. Jesse always felt as if he should grunt from impact.
“Not a good career move,” she said, “to go back and tell the news director that my ex says there’s no story.”
“No,” Jesse said.
“Are you mad ’cause I was, like, cross-examining you?”
“No.”
“I care about my job, you know.”
“I know.”
“It matters to me, just like yours matters to you.”
“I know.”
“I guess it makes me sort of a pill sometimes,” Jenn said.
“Everyone’s job corrupts them a little, I imagine,” Jesse said. “And you could never be a pill.”
Jen smiled at him.
“Even your job?” she said.
Jesse nodded.
“What has your job done to you?” Jenn said.
Jesse was silent for a time.
“I guess,” he said finally, “you could say it has narrowed the circle of my expectations.”
Jenn stared at him and widened her eyes.
“You want to talk about that?” she said.
“Not much,” Jesse said.
“Please,” Jenn said. “I’m not being girl reporter now. I’m being ex-wife who still loves you.”
Jesse felt the tension he always felt with Jenn: trying to control himself, trying to keep what he felt stored carefully away so it wouldn’t spill out all over the place. He flexed his shoulders a little.
“It’s pretty hard,” Jesse said, “to believe in much. You can’t prevent crime. You couldn’t even solve most crimes if the bad guys would simply keep their mouths shut. About all you can aim at is to make your corner peaceful.”
“But you keep at it,” Jenn said.
“Gotta keep at something,” Jesse said.
“You see too much of human emotion, up too close,” Jenn said. “Don’t you? People lie—to you, to themselves. Few people can be counted on. Most people do what they need to do, not what they ought.”
“You know that, too,” Jesse said.
“I work in television, Jesse.”
“Oh,” Jesse said. “Yeah.”
They were quiet.
Outside Jesse’s window a couple of firemen were washing their cars in the broad driveway of the fire station. Jesse could hear the phone ring dimly at the front desk, and Molly’s voice.
“So what do we hang on to?’ Jenn said.
“Each other?” Jesse said.
“I guess,” Jenn said.
“And we’re having a hell of a time doing that,” Jesse said.
11.
The east side of Marshport butted up against the west side of Paradise. Marshport was an elderly mill town with no mills. There was an enclave of Ukrainians in the southwest end of town. The rest of the city was mostly Hispanic. There had been a couple of feeble efforts to reinvigorate parts of the city, but the efforts had simply replaced the old slums with newer ones.
Jesse parked in front of a building that used to house a grammar school and now served as office space for the few enterprises in Marshport that needed offices. He had driven his own car. He was not in uniform. He was wearing jeans and a white shirt, with a blue blazer over his gun.
The door to Nina Pinero’s office had OUTREACH stenciled on it in black. Jesse went in. The office was a former classroom, on the second floor, in back, with a view of a playground where a couple of kids shot desultory baskets on a blacktop court at a hoop with a chain net. The playground was littered with bottles and newspapers and fast-food wrappers and scraps of indeterminate stuff.
The blackboard was still there, and the bulletin board, which was covered with memos tacked up with colored map pins. There were a couple of file cabinets against the near wall, and Nina Pinero’s desk looked like a holdover from the classroom days. There were three telephones on it.
“Nina Pinero?” Jesse said.
“I’m Nina,” she said.
There was no one else in the room.
“I’m Jesse Stone,” Jesse said. “I called earlier.”
“Mr. Stone,” Nina said. She nodded at a straight chair next to the desk. “Have a seat.”
Jesse sat.
“Tell me about your plans for the Crowne estate in Paradise,” Jesse said, “if you would.”
“So you can figure out how to prevent us?” Nina Pinero said.
“So we can avoid any incivility,” Jesse said.
“Latinos are uncivilized?” Nina Pinero said.
“I was thinking more about the folks in Paradise,” Jesse said.
She was slim and strong-looking, as if she worked out. Her hair was short and brushed back. She smiled.
“Excuse my defensiveness,” she said.
“I understand you are going to bring in a few kids this summer, to get them started.”
She nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “A kind of pilot program.”
“And later add some more kids?”
“When the school year starts and if things have gone well, maybe.”
Jesse nodded.
“Your constituency,” she said, “probably has used the camel’s-nose-in-the-tent phrase by now.”
“They have,” Jesse said.
“And traffic,” Nina Pinero said.
She was dressed in white pants and a black sleeveless top. Her clothes fit her well.
“That, too,” Jesse said.
“You believe them?”
“No. They are fearful that when it’s time to sell their home, the prospective buyers will be discouraged by a school full of Hispanic Americans.”
“They have, I know, already tried the zoning route,” Nina Pinero said.
“Town council tells me there are no zoning limits in Paradise that apply to schools,” Jesse said. “There are regulations about what you can put near a school but none about what you can put a school near.”
“That’s right.”
“You’ve done your homework,” Jesse said.
“Yes.”
“You have legal advice?”
“I’m a lawyer,” she said.
“And yet so young and pretty,” Jesse said.
“My only excuse is that I don’t make any money at it,” she said.
Jesse nodded.
“How old are these kids?” Jesse said.
“Four, five, a couple are six.”
“Best and the brightest?” Jesse said.
“Yes.”
“How do they feel about breaking trail?” he said.
“Scared,” she said.
“But willing?”
“Marshport,” Nina Pinero said, “is not a good place to be a kid. Most of them are scared anyway. This way maybe we can save a few of them.”
“Not all of them?”
“God, no,” Nina Pinero said. “Not even very many of them. But it’s better than saving none.”
“Sort of like being a cop,” Jesse said.
“You do what you can,” she said.
They sat quietly for a moment. The room was not air-conditioned, and the windows were open. Jesse could hear the thump of the basketball on the asphalt court.