The Jesse Stone Novels 6-9

by Robert B. Parker

  Concannon nodded.

  “That would crank everything up some,” Tremaine said.

  “That’s a fucking lie,” Chacon said. “Excuse my language, ma’am.”

  “And cursing in front of a ladylike ADA,” Tremaine said. “That must be some kind of fucking crime. Right?”

  “It don’t help none,” Concannon said.

  “I didn’t resist no arrest,” Chacon said.

  “You know a guy named Larson?” Jesse said.

  “Nope.”

  “He’s from Miami, too,” Jesse said.

  “Big city,” Chacon said.

  “And he was registered at the same motel you were, next room.”

  “Don’t know him,” Chacon said.

  “How about Estella?” Concannon said.

  “Nope.”

  “That’s odd,” Tremaine said. “He was registered to the same room you were.”

  “Must be a mistake at the front desk,” Chacon said.

  “Guy named Romero shared the room with Larson,” Tremaine said. “Know him?”

  Chacon leaned back and tried to look contemplative. Then he shook his head.

  “Nope,” he said. “Sorry. Don’t recognize the name.”

  Tremaine stood.

  “I’m tired of this,” she said. “He says something worth hearing, let me know.”

  She left the room. Chacon watched her go.

  “Nice ass,” he said.

  Concannon slapped him hard across the face.

  “Respect,” Concannon said.

  As soon as the door closed behind Tremaine, it opened again and a tall, fat cop with a shaved head and a roll of fat over the back of his collar came in and stood against the wall behind Chacon.

  “I want a lawyer,” Chacon said.

  “Sure thing,” Concannon said. “Your constitutional right. Usually takes a while to arrange, though. Probably won’t get here until after you try to make a break for it, and end up falling down a long flight of stairs.”

  “You don’t scare me,” Chacon said.

  “Not yet,” Concannon said.

  He took a pair of black leather gloves out of his hip pocket and began to inch one of them onto his left hand.

  “You want to go outside, Chief Stone,” Concannon said. “Sometimes small-town cops get a little queasy.”

  Jesse stood up.

  “Look, Bobby,” he said. “You can help us out here and we can probably look the other way on the gun charge.” Jesse looked at Concannon, who shrugged. “Otherwise we’ll frame you for something that’ll put you away for life.”

  Chacon stared at Jesse.

  “You say it right out?”

  “Yes,” Jesse said, “that’s how it’s going to go. I stay here, you tell me what’s been going on. Or I leave and you get framed and fall down a long flight of stairs. It’s why the ADA went out. She knows how it’s going to go. She doesn’t mind the frame job, but she don’t like the stairs much.”

  Chacon gave Jesse a dead-eyed stare. Jesse shrugged and started for the door. Concannon was wiggling his right hand into the second glove.

  “Okay,” Chacon said. “I’ll tell you some things.”

  53.

  Suit was outside Jesse’s condo in a squad car. Molly was inside, reading The New York Times. Amber sat crosslegged on the floor in front of the television, watching an inside Hollywood show on E! Amber was bored. She shifted her position, fiddled with her hair, yawned loudly.

  “You married?” she said to Molly.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s your old man do?”

  “My husband builds boats,” Molly said.

  “Any money in that?” Amber said.

  “Some.”

  “So how come you work?”

  “I like to work,” Molly said.

  “As a cop?” Amber said.

  “I like being a cop,” Molly said.

  Amber shook her head sadly.

  “You got kids?”

  “Four,” Molly said.

  “Any daughters?”

  “One,” Molly said.

  “You ever fool around?”

  “You mean like sex?” Molly said.

  “Like, duh?” Amber said. “Of course sex.”

  “Might be none of your business,” Molly said.

  Amber shrugged.

  “So did ya?” she said.

  Molly thought for a moment about the way Crow seemed to look through her clothes. She felt her face flush slightly.

  “You did, didn’t you?” Amber said.

  “No,” Molly said. “I have never cheated on my husband.”

  “Why not?” Amber said. “Doesn’t it get boring doing it with the same guy every day?”

  Molly smiled.

  “When you’ve been married fourteen years, and you both work, and you got four kids, it’s not every day,” Molly said.

  “Man, you’re as drab as Jesse,” Amber said. “You have any fun before you got married?”

  “I got married pretty early,” Molly said.

  “Jesus,” Amber said. “Tell me you weren’t a freaking virgin.”

  “No,” Molly said. “I wasn’t a virgin.”

  “Christ, I hope not,” Amber said. “You think you might fool around sometime?”

  “I have no long-range plan,” Molly said. “I’m pretty sure I won’t fool around today.”

  Amber looked at the big picture of Ozzie Smith behind the bar.

  “Who’s the black guy?” Amber said.

  “That’s Ozzie Smith,” Molly said. “He’s in the Baseball Hall of Fame.”

  “So why’s his picture here?”

  “I guess Jesse admires him,” Molly said.

  “How come?”

  “Jesse used to be a ballplayer,” Molly said. “He was a shortstop, like Ozzie.”

  “Jesse played baseball?”

  “In the minor leagues,” Molly said. “He hurt his shoulder and had to stop.”

  “Bummer,” Amber said. “And he ends up a cop.”

  “I think he likes being a cop,” Molly said.

  “How come?”

  “He’s good at it,” Molly said.

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s enough,” Molly said.

  “Is that why you like it?”

  “Yeah,” Molly said. “Yeah, it is.”

  They were quiet for a time. The gossip program gurgled on.

  “Must be why I like screwing,” Amber said.

  “Because you’re good at it?” Molly said.

  “The best,” Amber said.

  “My husband always says the worst sex he ever had was great,” Molly said.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Maybe everybody’s good at it,” Molly said.

  Amber was silent for a time. Then she shrugged.

  “What’s the difference,” she said.

  54.

  Crow came into Jesse’s office and sat down.

  “Things happening in town,” he said.

  “All of them since you arrived,” Jesse said.

  “Think of me as a catalyst for change,” Crow said.

  “Or the Grim Reaper,” Jesse said.

  Crow smiled.

  “You’re not living in your house,” Jesse said.

  “Apache warriors can live off the land,” Crow said.

  “What do you do for food?” Jesse said.

  “Room service,” Crow said.

  “Hardscrabble,” Jesse said.

  Crow nodded.

  “Some people in here from Miami,” Crow said.

  “Fewer than there were,” Jesse said.

  “They’re from Francisco,” Crow said. “They supposed to kill me and take the girl home. But I think they handed me off to the Horn Street Boys, so they can concentrate on the girl.”

  “That’s right,” Jesse said.

  “You know something,” Crow said.

  “We arrested Bobby Chacon,” Jesse said, “and he talked to us.”
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br />   “So that leaves Romero,” Crow said.

  “You know him?”

  “Yes,” Crow said.

  “Think he’ll try for the girl himself?” Jesse said.

  “He’s good enough,” Crow said.

  “But?”

  “But he knows I’m around,” Crow said. “And he has to assume once you got Chacon that he’d blab sooner or later.”

  “So you think he won’t,” Jesse said.

  “He’s got the balls for it,” Crow said. “But I think he’s a smart guy. Like you and me. He knows what he’s doing. And right now, he’s trying to do a job, and I think he’ll wait until the odds are better.”

  “We checked the Miami flights,” Jesse said. “He was on one two hours after Marshport busted Bobby Chacon.”

  Crow nodded.

  “You think he’ll be back?” Jesse said.

  Crow nodded.

  “And I think Louis Francisco will come back with him and I think he’ll bring a lot of troops,” Crow said.

  “Francisco gets what he wants,” Jesse said.

  “He does,” Crow said. “And right now he wants his daughter.”

  “How about you?”

  “After the daughter.”

  “We’ll keep an eye on the inbound flights from Miami,” Jesse said.

  “He won’t come commercial. He’s got his own plane.”

  “What kind?”

  “Big one,” Crow said.

  “Like a commercial jet?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ll check where he might land,” Jesse said.

  “Francisco has a lot of resources,” Crow said. “He’s the real deal. If you had a team of bad guys, Francisco would hit fourth.”

  Jesse nodded.

  “He’s got all the money he needs. He’s got no fear, and no feelings,” Crow said. “I think the daughter thing is mostly about ego.”

  “You don’t think he loves her?” Jesse said.

  “I don’t think he can,” Crow said.

  “Well,” Jesse said after a moment of silence, “you’re right about the Horn Street Boys. Chacon says they picked up your contract.”

  Crow grinned.

  “How much?” he said.

  “Chacon says ten grand.”

  “Ten?” Crow said.

  Jesse nodded.

  “That what they got for bagging the kid’s mother?” Crow said.

  “I believe so.”

  “Lot of money to those kids,” Crow said.

  “And they’re mad at you for shooting Puerco,” Jesse said.

  “It was nothing personal,” Crow said.

  Jesse nodded slowly.

  “It never is,” he said. “Is it?”

  Crow shrugged.

  “Just thought I’d give you a heads-up,” he said.

  “Public-spirited citizens,” Jesse said, “are our best defense against crime.”

  “Exactly right,” Crow said.

  55.

  It was 6:30 in the evening when Jesse got home. Suit saw him start up the stairs to the condo. He waved, Jesse waved back, Suit pulled the cruiser out of the parking slot and drove away.

  Fast shift change, Jesse thought. Probably headed for a tryst with Miriam Fiedler. When he went into his apartment, Amber was lying on her stomach watching some kind of reality show where husbands and wives fought with each other. When she heard the door open, Molly appeared at the kitchen door. She had a dish towel tucked into her belt.

  “Nice look,” Jesse said. “Is that like an apron?”

  “You and Jenn don’t cook,” Molly said. “And I got bored. So I made you a casserole.”

  “Is it any good?” Jesse said.

  “I’m of Irish Catholic heritage,” Molly said.

  “Oh, well,” Jesse said.

  Without taking her eyes from the television battle, Amber said, “What kind of casserole?”

  “American chop suey,” Molly said.

  “Ick,” Amber said. “What’s that made of.”

  “Macaroni and stuff,” Jesse said. “If you don’t like it we’ll make you a sandwich.”

  “I want peanut butter,” Amber said. “And a Coke.”

  “Sure,” Jesse said.

  When Jenn arrived, Molly left. Jesse and Jenn took their drinks out onto the balcony and sat together. Amber hung around sometimes with them, sometimes in the living room with the door open. Partly with them, partly not. Jesse thought they could probably chart Amber’s feelings about them by her proximity to the balcony.

  “I’ve found out some things,” Jenn said.

  Jesse nodded. It had become domestic, coming home from work, having a drink before dinner with Jenn. Kid lingering near them. Sleeping on the couch, on the other hand, was not so domestic.

  “The title to the Crowne estate is a little complicated,” Jenn said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The estate was originally built by a man named Herschel Crowne,” Jenn said. “When he died it was left to his son, Archibald Crowne. At his death, Archibald left it in trust for the benefit of some disadvantaged children from Marshport.”

  Jenn paused.

  Always dramatic.

  “Being the ones now using the facility,” Jesse said.

  Jenn nodded.

  “However, in the event that there was no use to which it could be put on behalf of these disadvantaged children, it would pass on to his only heir, his daughter, Miriam Crowne…who is married to a man named Alex Fiedler.”

  “Aha,” Jesse said. “Miriam Fiedler.”

  “So maybe her motives aren’t so pure,” Jenn said.

  “The motives she admitted to aren’t so pure,” Jesse said. “Know anything about Mr. Fiedler?”

  “He apparently travels much of the time,” Jenn said.

  “Works out good for Suit,” Jesse said.

  “What works out for Suit,” Amber said from the living room. “What are you all talking about out there?”

  “The woman who owns the Crowne estate,” Jesse said. “She would benefit if the kids from Marshport didn’t go there.”

  “What about Suit?”

  “Private joke,” Jesse said.

  “How come you won’t tell me?” Amber said. “I know Suit. He’s one of the cops sits outside when you’re not here.”

  “I don’t want to tell you,” Jesse said.

  “Then don’t,” Amber said. “I don’t care.”

  “You know how much the Crowne estate is worth?” Jesse said to Jenn.

  “A real-estate appraiser says eight to ten million.”

  “How about the Fiedlers?” Jesse said. “You know how much they’re worth?”

  “No, you think it matters?”

  “Might. If they’re worth a hundred million, the estate would be a drop in the bucket. If they’re worth a hundred and fifty thousand, it would be something else.”

  “I just assumed they were rich,” Jenn said.

  “They seem rich,” Jesse said. “Why does Mr. Fiedler travel?”

  In the living room, Amber focused deeply on the television set.

  “Haven’t found out yet,” Jenn said.

  “Maybe Suit can find out,” Jesse said.

  “The undercover man,” Jenn said, and smiled.

  In the living room sprawled on the floor in front of the television Amber was silent, showing in every way she could how little she cared about the conversation.

  56.

  Molly lived close enough that she could walk to her home from Jesse’s condo. It was raining gently and darker than usual for the time of day in late summer. She had put a kerchief over her hair and wore a light yellow raincoat over her uniform. As she turned onto Munroe Street, Crow fell in beside her.

  “Evening,” he said.

  “Hello.”

  “Who’s minding the kids?” Crow said.

  “My mother,” Molly said. “My husband is in Newport.”

  Why did I say that?

  “Why?” Crow said.


  “A boat he built got damaged in a storm,” Molly said. “The owner won’t let anyone else work on it.”

  “Good at his work,” Crow said.

  “Yes.”

  Crow nodded. They passed the head of the wharf.

  “Got time for a drink?” Crow said.

  Molly paused. She felt it in her stomach and along her spine. She looked at her watch.

  “Sure,” she said, and they turned onto the wharf and walked down to the Gray Gull.

  “Bar or table?” Crow said.

  “Damn,” Molly said. “I’m in uniform.”

  “Leave the raincoat on,” Crow said. “Who will know.”

  Molly nodded.

  “Table,” she said.

  Crow nodded and pointed at a table, and the young woman doing hostess duty led them to it. Molly ordered a vodka gimlet; Crow had Maker’s Mark on the rocks.

  “How many kids have you?” Crow said.

  “Four.”

  “They okay?”

  “Sometimes I think no kids are okay, but they’re as okay as anyone else’s kids.”

  “Husband?”

  “It’s a good marriage,” Molly said.

  So what am I doing here?

  “How’s the Francisco kid?”

  “A mess,” Molly said. “If she were mine, I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “If she were yours,” Crow said, “she’d be different.”

  Molly nodded.

  “Probably,” Molly said. “You married?”

  “I’m not here to talk about me,” Crow said.

  “Even if I want to?”

  “I don’t talk about me,” Crow said.

  “So…” Molly paused.

  Do I want to go this way?

  “So,” Molly started again. “What are we here to talk about?”

  Crow smiled.

  “Sex,” he said.

  She felt herself clench for a moment and release.

  This is crazy. The man is a stone killer.

  “What aspect of sex did you have in mind?” Molly said.

  “You and me, once, no strings,” Crow said.

  Molly met his gaze. They were silent for a moment.

  Then Molly said, “Why?”

  “We both want to,” Crow said.

  “You’re so sure of me?” Molly said.

  “Yes.”

  “How can you know?”

  Crow grinned at her.

  “It’s an Apache thing,” he said.

  “And my husband?”