The Jesse Stone Novels 6-9

by Robert B. Parker

  “Yes,” Sunny said, “in fact. How’d you know?”

  “You got something really clever,” Jesse said. “You probably like to work with it.”

  Sunny took a red lettuce leaf from her deconstructed sandwich and nibbled on it.

  “I thought being down with the chief of police might be useful to him,” she said.

  “How useful has it been for you?” Jesse said.

  “More than maybe you know,” Sunny said.

  They were quiet for a moment, waiting for the conversation to go to another place.

  “I could put him in touch with my friend Marcy Campbell. She’s a real estate broker.”

  “Good friend?” Sunny said.

  “Yes.”

  “With privileges?” Sunny said.

  “Why do you ask?” Jesse said.

  Sunny nibbled on a tomato slice. Then she put it down and patted her mouth with her napkin.

  “How’s Jenn,” she said.

  “Gone to New York,” Jesse said.

  “To work?”

  “Yes.”

  “She go by herself?”

  “No.”

  “Man?” Sunny said.

  Jesse leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling, as if he were stretching his neck.

  After a time he said, “Of course.”

  Sunny nodded. She sipped some iced tea. Jesse sat forward and smiled at her.

  “How’s Richie?” Jesse said.

  “I don’t exactly know,” Sunny said. “We decided to try a sabbatical from one another. I mean, you know, for God’s sake, his current wife is having a baby soon.”

  Jesse nodded.

  “And Rosie?”

  Sunny shook her head.

  “I had to put her down,” she said. “This spring.”

  “Oh, God,” Jesse said. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know,” Sunny said. “I’ll get past it.”

  “Hard,” Jesse said.

  “Very.”

  He put his hand on hers on the tabletop. They sat quietly. The waitress came and asked if they were interested in dessert. They said no. She brought them the check. Jesse paid it and added a tip.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Jesse said.

  “And go where?” Sunny said.

  “We can start with a walk on the beach,” Jesse said.

  “That feels right,” Sunny said.

  “It does,” Jesse said.

  And they left the restaurant.

  22

  EDDIE COX called in.

  “Jesse,” he said. “I got a home invasion. I think you need to come down here, now, and bring Molly.”

  “Where,” Jesse said.

  Cox gave him the address on Beach Street.

  “Here I come,” Jesse said.

  “Can we do the siren?” Molly said as they drove to Beach Street.

  “No need,” Jesse said.

  “Damn,” Molly said, and settled back in the passenger seat with her arms folded. “What are we going to?”

  “Home invasion,” Jesse said. “Must be a woman involved. Cox requested you.”

  “Maybe he just wanted my superior investigative skills,” Molly said.

  “Maybe,” Jesse said.

  Cox’s patrol car was parked on the street in front of an ordinary-looking smallish white colonial-style house on a street of smallish colonials in the south part of town, near the commuter railroad station. There was a pear tree in the front yard.

  When Jesse rang the bell, Cox opened the front door and gestured them to the living room, which ran the length of the house from back to front. A woman sat on the couch, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. She was crying.

  “Kids?” Jesse said.

  Molly walked over and sat down on the couch beside the woman.

  “In school,” Cox said. “Husband works in Boston. He’s on his way.”

  “Name?” Jesse said.

  Cox glanced at his notebook.

  “Dorothy Browne,” he said.

  Jesse nodded and walked to the couch.

  “I’m Jesse Stone, Mrs. Browne. Are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” Jesse said.

  She nodded again. Molly sat quietly beside her. Jesse waited. Mrs. Browne gathered herself.

  “What if the kids had been here,” she said.

  “It’s good that they weren’t,” Jesse said.

  Mrs. Browne took a couple of breaths.

  “Michael went to work like always, the seven-forty train from Preston Station. I got the kids onto the school bus at eight.” She smiled very faintly. “That’s always a struggle. I cleaned up breakfast dishes, made the beds, took a shower, and dressed for the day.”

  Across the room from where she sat on the couch was a small, clean fireplace, and above it a large oil painting of surf breaking over the kind of rock outcroppings that lined the coast north of Boston. She stared at it blankly as she talked. Her voice was under tight control, almost monotone.

  “I came downstairs all neat and clean,” she said, “with my makeup on, and he was in my living room with a ski mask on . . . I was going to have coffee and read the paper.”

  Eddie Cox stood near the front door, looking uneasy. Molly sat close to Mrs. Browne on the couch. Jesse waited.

  “He had a gun,” she said. “He said he wouldn’t hurt me if I did what he said. I said, I think, something like ‘What do you want?’ He said for me to take off all my clothes.”

  Jesse nodded.

  “So I said something really stupid like ‘Why?’ And he said, and I remember him saying it just like this, ‘Because if you don’t I will hurt you, but if you do, I won’t.’ ”

  She paused and hugged herself as if she were cold. Molly patted her arm gently.

  “I couldn’t seem to get started for a minute. I just stood there and he made a little gesture with the gun, and he said, ‘You want me here when the kids come home from school?’ ”

  Her eyes filled as if she was going to cry. But she didn’t. She got under control again.

  “So I undressed.” She looked down at her lap and shivered. “He stood there and watched me take my clothes off. In my living room, at, like, ten o’clock in the morning.”

  Cox turned and looked out through the narrow glass sidelights flanking the front door. Molly continued to pat Mrs. Browne’s arm.

  “And when I got entirely naked, he just stood there looking at me. I think I said something like ‘Please don’t rape me.’ And he nodded and took out one of those little digital cameras and took pictures of me.”

  “Oh, God,” Molly said.

  “I didn’t know what to do. I just had to stand there. Then he told me to lie facedown on the couch and close my eyes and count to one hundred without looking up. . . . In some ways that was the worst; I didn’t know what he would do. So I counted, and when I got through counting I sort of peeked and he was gone. And I sat up and he was still gone. So I put on my clothes and called you.”

  “How close did he get?” Jesse said.

  “Close?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Not very,” Mrs. Browne said. “Not as close as you are now.”

  “So he didn’t touch you,” Jesse said.

  “No.”

  Jesse looked around the living room. There were no pictures except the oil painting above the fireplace.

  “How did he know you had kids?” Jesse said.

  “I don’t know,” Mrs. Browne said.

  “You didn’t mention them?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t recognize this man?” Jesse said.

  “He was wearing a ski mask,” she said. “I told you that.”

  “I know,” Jesse said. “But sometimes people recognize a voice, or mannerisms, if the masked person is well known to them.”

  “I have no idea who this man was.”

  “Okay,” Jesse said. “Couple of things. First, I am very sorry that this happened to you. I can’
t make it up to you. But I can try very hard to catch this guy.”

  Mrs. Browne nodded.

  “Second, when your husband gets home, you and he will need to decide what you’re going to tell the kids, keeping in mind that this story may become public knowledge.”

  “What do you think he’ll do with the pictures,” Mrs. Browne said.

  “I don’t know,” Jesse said. “Often they keep them to themselves.”

  “They?”

  “People who do this sort of aggressive voyeurism,” Jesse said.

  “There are people who do this?” Mrs. Browne said.

  “Yes.”

  “But they don’t always keep the pictures to themselves?” Mrs. Browne said.

  “No,” Jesse said.

  “Oh, God!”

  “You and your husband should talk when he gets here,” Jesse said.

  Mrs. Browne nodded.

  “The other thing,” Jesse said. “Do you have a place where you could go for the rest of the day?”

  “Kids, too?” she said.

  “Yes, everyone, until about suppertime?”

  “I guess we could go across the street,” she said. “The Cronins. Why?”

  “I want to seal the house off so my crime scene guy can go over it.”

  “There won’t be any fingerprints,” she said. “He was wearing those latex gloves, like doctors wear.”

  “Still need to go over the house,” Jesse said. “If we may.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Officer Crane will go with you,” Jesse said. “You and she can talk more.”

  “What if he comes back?” Mrs. Browne said.

  “We’ll see to it,” Jesse said, “that you are not alone.”

  Mrs. Browne nodded.

  “So,” Jesse said. “Moll, why don’t you take Mrs. Browne over to the Cronins’, where you can talk.”

  Molly nodded.

  “What about my husband?” Mrs. Browne said.

  “We’ll send him over when he gets here.”

  “Can you let me tell him,” she said.

  “Of course,” Jesse said.

  They were quiet.

  Then Mrs. Browne said, “All he did was see me naked.”

  Molly said, “Yes.”

  “I’m forty-one,” Mrs. Browne said. “Other men have seen me naked. Not a bunch, but some.”

  “Sure,” Molly said.

  “My body is still okay,” Mrs. Browne said. “It’s not like I should be ashamed of my body.”

  “Of course not,” Molly said.

  “So why is this such a big deal?” Mrs. Browne said.

  Molly put her arm around Mrs. Browne’s shoulders.

  “It is a big deal,” Molly said. “For you.”

  “Why?”

  “The others were voluntary,” Molly said.

  23

  BETSY INGERSOLL came into Jesse’s office and sat down in a chair in front of his desk and crossed her legs.

  Not unattractive, Jesse thought. A little sturdy maybe, but not so sturdy that she was unattractive.

  “Thanks for coming in,” Jesse said.

  “You are the chief of police,” Mrs. Ingersoll said. “I respect authority.”

  “Wish there were more like you,” Jesse said. “May I call you Betsy?”

  “Which is not to say I necessarily respect you.”

  “Just the office,” Jesse said.

  “Why do you wish to see me?” she said.

  “I wanted to ask you a few more questions about the recent incident, Betsy,” Jesse said. “Would you like to have your attorney present?”

  “You mean my husband,” Mrs. Ingersoll said. “I am capable of speaking without him.”

  “So you are willing to speak to me without counsel,” Jesse said.

  “I have done nothing wrong,” she said. “I am willing to speak with anyone.”

  “Nice,” Jesse said. “How many of the girls you checked on that day were inappropriately clothed?”

  “How many?”

  “Yeah, how many were too risqué, or whatever?” Jesse said. “Isn’t that why you checked?”

  “Chief Stone,” Mrs. Ingersoll said. “That was some time ago now. I have no idea.”

  “You checked twenty-two girls,” Jesse said. “Of whom you sent thirteen home to change.”

  “If you knew that, why did you bother to ask?”

  “I’m a small-town police chief, Betsy. I got nothing else to do.”

  “I would prefer to be called Mrs. Ingersoll,” she said.

  “Ah, it’s so formal,” Jesse said. “You want to get even, call me Jesse.”

  “Do you have anything else?” Mrs. Ingersoll said.

  “Of the thirteen you sent home to change, were all of them wearing thongs?”

  “That is a preposterous question,” she said.

  “The whole business is preposterous, Betsy. How many were wearing thongs?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Seven thongs,” Jesse said. “Four bikinis. And a couple that were too lacy, or the wrong color, or something.”

  “Undergarments are not ornamental,” Mrs. Ingersoll said. “They are for sanitation and modesty.”

  “Does Victoria’s Secret know about this?” Jesse said.

  “You are badgering me, Chief Stone, pure and simple,” Mrs. Ingersoll said. “And I don’t know why.”

  “I’m trying to understand, Betsy.”

  “There is nothing to understand,” she said. “My job is the well-being of those children. Not merely that they can read and write; my concern is the whole child, and I will not allow my girls to be anything less than ladies.”

  “Chilling,” Jesse said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  The door to Jesse’s office was open, and Jay Ingersoll appeared in it.

  “What the hell is going on here?” he said.

  Jesse glanced up at him and smiled.

  “Ah, Jay,” Jesse said. “If only I knew.”

  24

  THE NIGHT Hawk was frightened. He had gone way past what he’d ever thought he’d do. And he’d done it in broad daylight. Would he have forced her if she resisted? Would he have shot her? He looked at her picture on the computer screen. Naked and frightened. He clicked onto the other pictures of her. Why? They were essentially the same picture. Yet he felt compelled to look at each of them. And each time he felt the same fearful surge. The same tangle of desire and fright and unsated appetite. It was an uncompleted experience, he realized. And no matter how much he looked, it remained incomplete, and yet looking somehow compelled him to keep looking. . . . He felt shaky. He’d gotten away with it this time, no one had seen him. He’d been careful and left no trace. He should stop. He’d done it. And now he should give it up. All of it. The whole Night Hawk thing. It wasn’t too late. He could have had this life and left it, and he could be safe . . . destroy these pictures, maybe even destroy the computer. Be perfectly safe. No one would ever know. . . . He stared some more at the naked, frightened woman whose name he didn’t even know. . . . I can’t destroy the pictures. . . . He clicked on the next one. Same woman. Same body. Same fear. Why keep looking . . . And just as he kept looking, he knew he’d do it again. He knew he’d scout carefully, observe another woman’s home, get the lay of the land, and, when he was sure, and things were right, he’d go in and make her undress. Take her picture. Then he’d have her secret, in his computer, available to study, never quite enough. I won’t stop. Maybe I can’t stop. What if I do something worse? I don’t want to do something worse. But what if I do? He shook his head as if to clear it, and began to click through his pictures again.

  25

  “YOU HAVE no business talking to my wife without me present,” Ingersoll said.

  Jesse didn’t answer.

  “What have you told him?” Ingersoll said to his wife.

  “What is there to tell, Jay?” she said.

  “This is harassment,” Ingersoll said to Jesse.

>   Jesse smiled and didn’t say anything.

  “And you know it is,” Ingersoll said. “Don’t you.”

  Jesse smiled some more.

  “Can’t you make him leave me alone?” Betsy Ingersoll said.

  “I can,” Ingersoll said, “and I will.”

  “I wish you would,” Betsy said. “In fact, Jay, I wish you already had.”

  “I told you,” Ingersoll said, “if he approached you in any way you were to call me at once.”

  “Yes,” she said. “You did.”

  “But you chose to disobey me,” Ingersoll said.

  “I know,” she said.

  “We’ll discuss that later,” Ingersoll said.

  “Why later?” she said.

  Ingersoll shook his head.

  “Stone,” he said, “I have spoken to the district attorney about you.”

  “He mentioned that,” Jesse said.

  “And I have spoken to your board of selectmen,” Ingersoll said. “You will, I’m sure, hear from them shortly.”

  “Doubtless,” Jesse said.

  “Why not now,” Betsy Ingersoll said.

  “What?” Ingersoll said.

  “Why can’t we discuss my disobedience right now,” she said.

  “For God’s sake, Betsy. We’re in the police chief’s office.”

  “Perfect,” she said. “You can have him arrest me for disobedience.”

  Jesse could see Ingersoll fighting his temper.

  “I have no plans for that, Betsy.”

  Ingersoll smiled.

  “Let’s pursue it at home,” he said.

  “When will that be?” she said.

  “When will we be home?” Ingersoll said.

  “I’ll be home pretty soon,” Betsy said. “But you. When will you be home?”

  “When you are,” Ingersoll said.

  Puzzlement was pressing for position with anger in his response.

  “That will be refreshing,” she said.

  Puzzlement was winning.

  “That I’m home?” he said.

  “You so rarely are,” Betsy said.

  Ingersoll looked as if he’d been physically jostled. He stared at her.

  “Betsy,” he said finally, “I am the managing partner of the biggest law firm north of New York. I work long hours, and I work very hard.”

  “I know how hard you’re working,” she said. “And at what.”

  Ingersoll said to Jesse, “Could you excuse us for a moment?”