“Sex?” Elsa said.
“No casual sex,” Sunny said. “Only as part of a relationship.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet,” Elsa said.
“They seem to be close,” Sunny said.
“Sex is for marriage,” Elsa said. “Not for relationships.”
“Really?” Sunny said.
“You don’t believe that?” Elsa said.
“No,” Sunny said. “I guess I don’t.”
“Well, we do, and we won’t have a daughter who believes otherwise.”
“But maybe you do,” Sunny said.
“She’s been corrupted by this cult.”
“It’s not really a cult, Mrs. Markham. They don’t advocate much that most people wouldn’t approve of.”
“We are not most people,” Elsa said.
Sunny looked at Mr. Markham, who so far had sat in grim silence as his wife talked.
“So, is Cheryl your biological daughter, too, Mr. Markham?”
“Of course,” he said. “What kind of a question is that?”
“I don’t mean to pry,” Sunny said. “Although prying is sort of my profession. But why is her name different than yours?”
“Our name was originally DeMarco,” Elsa said. “We changed it as John began to make his way in business.”
“Why?”
“DeMarco seemed so North End, you know?”
She wrinkled her nose.
“Johnny DeMarco,” she said, and shook her head.
“And Cheryl kept her original name?” Sunny said.
“She took it back when she went off with those people,” Elsa said. “Legally, she is Cheryl Markham.”
Sunny nodded.
“So, I suggested that perhaps you might visit her,” Sunny said. “Talk about this.”
“What a dandy idea,” Elsa said, and lapsed into a mimicky voice. “ ‘Would you and John care to join us on the Vineyard this weekend?’ ‘No, we’re going to visit our daughter at her free-love hippie commune.’ ‘Oh, really? How nice. Our daughters are at Wellesley.’ ”
“Okay,” Sunny said. “Not an idea that resonates.”
“No,” Elsa said. “It’s not. Have you any others?”
Her husband had folded his arms and dropped his chin and looked even grimmer. He’s learned every pose, Sunny thought.
“No,” Sunny said. “Do you?”
“John?” Elsa said.
“I got an idea,” John said. “You send me a bill for your time, and then go about your business.”
“I don’t wish to have an argument, but I would point out that you didn’t hire me.”
“Mistakes are inevitable,” John said. “But smart people don’t nurture them. Send me a bill and then leave us alone.”
“And your daughter?” Sunny said.
“We will tend to our daughter.”
He stood. Elsa stood. Sunny nodded and stood. No one offered to shake hands.
As she drove her car down the long driveway, she spoke to herself out loud.
“Wow!” she said.
17
IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON when Jesse went to Dix’s office, but Dix looked as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. His bald head gleamed. His face seemed newly shaved. His seersucker jacket appeared freshly ironed. His white shirt was crisp. He wore a blue-and-yellow striped tie, perfectly knotted.
He nodded as Jesse sat down, and leaned back slightly in his chair as if settling in to listen with interest.
“I got drunk two nights ago and passed out and wasn’t able to do my job the next day,” Jesse said.
“That must be painful for you,” Dix said.
“It is.”
“Tell me about it,” Dix said.
Jesse told him. Dix listened quietly.
“What do you suppose brought it on?” Dix said.
“All I can think of,” Jesse said. “I was talking to a couple of mobsters who seem to be enjoying very happy marriages to some very appealing women.”
“Hardly seems fair,” Dix said.
Jesse nodded.
“And I guess I sat there, the other night,” he said, “and thought, Why them, not me? And got drunk.”
“Why couldn’t Jenn have been like these women?” Dix said.
Jesse nodded.
“Exactly,” he said.
Dix was quiet. Jesse was quiet.
“What are they like?” Dix said, after a time.
“The wives?”
Dix nodded.
“They’re twins,” Jesse said. “Identical twins.”
Dix waited.
“They live side by side in big houses on Paradise Neck. Houses look alike, inside and outside. Like they were decorated, or whatever, by the same person.”
“Pretty close,” Dix said.
Jesse nodded.
Dix waited.
“They’re very good-looking,” Jesse said.
Dix nodded.
“And they love their husbands.”
Dix waited. Jesse was quiet.
“How do you know?” Dix said.
“They are so attentive,” Jesse said. “They sit beside their husband. They pat his arm. They look at him and listen to him and seem thrilled to be with him.”
“Attentive,” Dix said.
“Yes.”
“Affectionate,” Dix said.
“Yes.”
“How about the husbands?” Dix said.
“Reggie Galen,” Jesse said. “And Knocko Moynihan. Both mobsters. Reggie ran things mostly north, and Knocko had the South Shore.”
“They still in the business?” Dix said.
“They say not, but I don’t believe them.”
“Why were you talking to them?”
“Guy worked for one of them, slugger named Petrov Ognowski, got killed and his body dumped on the Paradise Neck causeway.”
“And you talked to the other man why?”
“He lived next door,” Jesse said. “He had a record.”
“Any reason to think they were involved?”
“No reason to think anything yet,” Jesse said. “You used to be a cop. Guy gets killed in the neighborhood of two mobsters, you talk to them.”
Dix nodded.
“These gentlemen seem to recognize their good fortune?” Dix said.
“In their wives, you mean?”
Dix nodded.
“They seem happy,” Jesse said.
“Attentive?” Dix said.
Jesse shrugged.
“I guess so,” he said.
“Affectionate,” Dix said.
“I imagine,” Jesse said.
“But it was the wives who really struck you,” Dix said.
“Yes.”
“Jenn ever attentive and affectionate?” Dix said.
“Before we were married,” Jesse said. “And a little while after.”
“So she was capable of it,” Dix said.
Jesse nodded.
“What made it so frustrating,” he said. “She could and she didn’t.”
“Yes,” Dix said. “That would be frustrating.”
“And she was probably that way with other men?”
“Affectionate and attentive?” Dix said.
“Yeah.”
“And you know this how?” Dix said.
“Figures,” Jesse said. “She wanted something.”
“How about these wives?” Dix said.
“They seem genuine to me,” Jesse said.
“Perhaps you want them to be genuine,” Dix said.
“Why?” Jesse said. “Why would I care?”
Dix looked at his watch. It was his signal that the fifty minutes were up.
“Don’t know,” Dix said. “Think about it. We can talk some more on Thursday.”
“These two frogs get to marry the princesses,” Jesse said. “I get the whore.”
“We’ll talk Thursday,” Dix said.
18
HER SISTER let them into Roberta Moynihan’s house and got th
em seated in the living room. When Roberta came in they all stood.
“I’m very sorry about your husband, Mrs. Moynihan,” Jesse said. “We all are.”
“Robbie,” she said. “Please call me Robbie.”
Jesse nodded. Robbie’s face was pale and tight. But her eyes were dry. She seemed in control of herself. Rebecca Galen stood to the side, near her sister.
Jesse said, “This is Captain Healy, Robbie, the homicide commander for the state police. And the gentleman with him is Sergeant Liquori, of the state organized-crime unit.”
Healy and Liquori nodded gravely.
“This is Roberta Moynihan,” Jesse said.
Robbie smiled faintly and gestured toward the chairs they’d risen from.
“Please,” she said, “sit down.”
They sat.
“I know this will not be easy, Mrs. Moynihan,” Healy said.
“Robbie,” she said.
“But please put up with us as long as you can.”
“I’ll stay as long as you need, Captain,” Robbie said. “It’s the only way left for me to help my husband.”
Her voice shook at the end of the sentence. But she breathed in, and when she spoke her voice was steady.
“What do you want to know?”
“Are you suspicious of anyone in your husband’s death,” Healy said.
“Francis had enemies,” she said. “You know the life he used to lead.”
Jesse saw Liquori’s face twitch a little when Robbie said “used to lead,” but he stayed quiet.
“Anyone specific?” Healy said.
“No, and nothing recent.”
“No threats. No increased security?”
“No.”
“Your husband carry a gun?”
“Sometimes,” she said. “As I said, I know there were enemies.”
“He wasn’t wearing one when he was found,” Healy said.
Robbie nodded.
“When’s the last time you saw your husband?” Healy said.
“The night he was killed,” Robbie said. “We had dinner and sat on the deck afterwards, as we usually do in good weather. . . .”
She paused and breathed and went on.
“And he said he was going for a walk. I offered to go with him, and he thanked me but said he needed to think a little and he’d do that better alone. . . . He said when we were together it was hard to think of anything else.”
Healy nodded and looked at Liquori.
“If I may,” Liquori said, “I’d like to read you a list of names, see if you recognize any.”
“Of course,” Robbie said.
Liquori read about ten names. Robbie listened attentively. When he was through she sat silently for a moment, then shook her head.
“I don’t know any of them,” she said. “I suppose they are acquaintances of my husband’s?”
Liquori did not respond. He was a lean, bald guy with a big nose.
“Has your husband traveled lately?” he said.
“No,” she said. “Francis hasn’t gone anywhere at all for, like, a year.”
Liquori nodded and looked at Healy. And so it went for maybe an hour while Jesse listened.
Finally Rebecca Galen stepped forward.
“I think we’ve talked long enough for today,” she said. “I know my sister will be willing to talk again. But the doctor has prescribed a sedative, and I think she should take it.”
“One other question,” Jesse said. “Ray Mulligan? Where was he when Knocko was murdered?”
Robbie shook her head.
Rebecca said, “Knocko fired him the week before.”
“They were old friends,” Jesse said. “School days. Why’d he fire him?”
Robbie shook her head again.
“They had a disagreement,” Rebecca said. “Neither of us knows about what. Our husbands’ world was pretty much theirs.”
“So, who does security now?” Jesse said.
“Bob,” Rebecca said.
“Your Bob,” Jesse said.
“Yes, he sort of looks after both estates.”
“You know where Ray Mulligan is now?” Jesse said.
They both shook their heads.
“Robbie really needs to rest,” Rebecca said.
“Sure,” Jesse said, and stood.
Healy and Liquori stood as well. They said good-bye, and Rebecca showed them out.
As they went down the front walk to their car, Liquori said, “Never thought I’d see someone upset ’cause Knocko Moynihan died.”
“Especially somebody like her,” Jesse said.
“Especially,” Liquori said.
19
THEY SAT in Healy’s car, in the town beach parking lot. Liquori did most of the talking.
“I already gave Captain Healy the stuff I got on Reggie,” Liquori said. “I assume he passed it on to you.”
“He did,” Jesse said.
“You got time to listen to background?” Liquori said.
Healy nodded. Jesse said, “Yes.”
“Okay,” Liquori said. “Him and Knocko had their problems.”
“After Broz retired?” Healy said.
“Yeah,” Liquori said.
He looked at Jesse.
“You wasn’t around here twenty years ago.”
“Nope.”
“Guy named Broz ran pretty much the whole metropolitan area,” Liquori said. “South almost to Providence, west to Springfield, north . . . hell, all the way to Montreal, for all I know.”
“And when he quit there was a fight for territory,” Jesse said.
“His kid wasn’t up to it,” Liquori said. “And there was some shouting and shooting and deal making, and we ended up with Gino Fish getting downtown, Tony Marcus got all the schwartzas, Knocko got the south, Reggie got north.”
“When did this all happen?” Jesse said.
“Twenty years, give or take,” Liquori said.
“’Bout the time Reggie married his wife,” Jesse said.
“When did Knocko get married?” Healy said.
Liquori shrugged.
“I can check,” he said. “Mighta had something to do with the deal they made?”
“Mighta,” Jesse said.
“Like some of those old-time marriages,” Liquori said. “You know? Like the king’s sister marries the other king’s brother or something.”
“Maybe,” Jesse said.
“What do we know about the wives?” Healy said.
“Nothing much,” Liquori said. “They have never showed up on our screen, you know? No arrests, no accessory after charges. Nothing. Far as we know, they had nice marriages without any big troubles.”
“At least no public ones,” Healy said.
“None that we got,” Liquori said.
“Any thoughts, Jesse?” Healy said.
“But far as I can tell, they were both happily married,” Jesse said.
“Couple of fucking hooligans,” Liquori said. “Like Knocko and Reggie?”
“Doesn’t make sense to me, either,” Jesse said. “Course, that may be because of the kind of marriage I had.”
“Tell me about it,” Liquori said.
“I been married forty-one years,” Healy said. “Sometimes it works.”
“And sometimes it don’t,” Liquori said.
Jesse didn’t say anything. No one else did, either. The tide was out, and the smooth, wet expanse of beach that had been exposed by its going out ended in a line of seaweed and shells that marked its highest incursion. The sunlight was quick and right along the tops of the waves.
“Maybe we need to know more about these women,” Healy said.
“I’ll go through what I got,” Liquori said.
“I can probably scrape up someone to look into them, too,” Healy said.
Jesse nodded.
“No harm to it,” he said. “Knocko actually retired?”
“No,” Liquori said.
“Like Reggie is, partly.”
“Healy told me Reggie still gets a skim on everything north,” Jesse said.
“But that’s about it, mostly passive. Not Knocko,” Liquori said. “Knocko was still a player.”
“Need the money?” Jesse said.
Healy shook his head. So did Liquori.
“Don’t think so,” Liquori said.
“Liked the power,” Healy said.
“And the action,” Liquori said.
“Don’t we all,” Jesse said. “You got any information on Ray Mulligan?”
“Probably,” Liquori said.
“Lemme know what you got,” Jesse said. “I’d like to talk with him.”
“Because the firing was so convenient?” Liquori said.
“Yes,” Jesse said.
Healy smiled.
“Especially for the shooter,” he said.
20
JESSE WAS in his office, reading the file that Liquori had sent to him on Rebecca Galen and Roberta Moynihan. They were forty-one. They had gone to Paulus College. They had married their respective husbands in the same year, Rebecca in January, Roberta in May, in the same Catholic church. As far as could be determined, neither had been married before. There was no record of either of them ever holding a job. There were no children. Neither had a record. Jesse put the report down and leaned back in his chair. Nothing.
How had they spent their lives? “Can I make you a martini, darling?” “What would you like for supper, dear?”
He took in some air and let it out slowly.
Molly put her head in the doorway.
“The Patriarch guy from the Renewal is here reporting a missing person, Jesse,” she said. “You want to see him?”
Jesse nodded. Molly disappeared and returned with the Patriarch. He took a seat in front of Jesse’s desk.
“Coffee?” Jesse said.
The Patriarch shook his head and smiled slightly.
“We don’t use caffeine,” he said.
“I should have remembered,” Jesse said.
“Perhaps you have other things to remember,” the Patriarch said.
“And some I’d like to forget,” Jesse said. “You have someone missing?”
“Cheryl DeMarco,” he said. “She did not come home last night.”
“You keep that close a tab?”
The Jesse Stone Novels 6-9 Page 57