“Any friend of Rita’s,” Traxal said.
“Covers a lot of ground,” Rita said.
They were having lunch at Locke-Ober.
“Rita tells me you used to be in L.A.,” Traxal said to Jesse.
“Robbery homicide,” Jesse said.
“So you done some street work,” Traxal said.
“Yep.”
“Charlie often worked with me when I was a prosecutor down there,” Rita said. “He knows more about crime south of Boston than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Rita knew a lot herself,” Traxal said. “Until she went upscale to the big, fancy law firm.”
“Which is paying for your lunch,” Rita said.
“Thing I like best about big, fancy law firms,” Traxal said. “I think I’ll have the Lobster Savannah.”
“Jesse is looking for South Shore crime gossip,” Rita said.
Traxal looked at Jesse.
“You’ve come to the right place,” he said. “Whaddya need?”
“Neal Bangston,” Jesse said. “Knocko Moynihan, Reggie Galen.”
Traxal leaned back and drank some of his iced tea. He was a sturdy-looking man, with gray hair and horn-rimmed glasses.
“I never got the bastard,” he said.
“Which one?” Jesse said.
“Any of them, but I wanted Bangston most.”
“Why?”
“Because we never caught him. Moynihan and Galen both did time, but Bangston.” Traxal shook his head. “Lord Bangston of Hempstead.”
“Dirty?”
“Absolutely,” Traxal said.
“Couldn’t prove it?”
“Never.”
“He connected to Knocko and Reggie?” Jesse said.
“Yes.”
“Tell me about it,” Jesse said.
“You want stuff I can prove?” Traxal said.
“Tell me what you know,” Jesse said.
“Bangston was a construction guy,” Traxal said. “Knocko used to work for him once, bricklayer. Knocko was a tough guy. Used to box, strong as hell. Had a reputation, you know? And when there was trouble with somebody who didn’t like the work Bangston was doing or the wages he was paying, he took to sending Knocko around to discuss it. And the bigger Bangston Construction got, the more there was to discuss.”
“Like?”
“Construction not up to code, nonunion labor, pay below minimum, illegal immigrants, lot of overcharges.”
“So,” Jesse said, “Knocko became more and more important.”
“And so did Bangston,” Traxal said. “Big man in Hempstead. Big man in the Church, had a big charity event every year on his lawn. Married some rich Catholic broad from an important family. Moved up in the world.”
Rita sat quietly, listening to them talk. Nearly everyone who came into the restaurant, Jesse noticed, looked at her.
“Meanwhile, Knocko started freelancing and got himself busted for extortion,” Traxal said. “Three years in Garrison.”
“Where he meets Reggie Galen,” Jesse said.
“Soul mates,” Traxal said.
He looked at Rita.
“You miss all this stuff, babe?” Traxal said.
“Everything but the thirty-thousand-dollar salary,” she said.
“Anyway, after both of them get out of jail, Bangston is trying to expand on the North Shore, and he’s having some trouble with Reggie Galen, who’s charging Bangston a security fee for everything that he does up there. So Bangston gets hold of Knocko and tells him the problem, and Knocko says, ‘I know the guy,’ and pretty soon they’re all thick as thieves.”
“Lemme guess,” Jesse said. “Reggie’s the North Shore Knocko.”
“And everyone’s making money.”
“You know Bangston’s twin daughters married his two thugs?” Jesse said.
Traxal nodded. Rita whistled softly.
“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t think Bangston liked that much, but by now it’s not clear if Knocko and Reggie work for Bangston or he works for them.”
“You been accumulating evidence for a long time,” Jesse said.
“Looked at a lot of paper,” Traxal said. “Talked to a lot of people.”
“None of whom will talk on the record.”
“Nope.”
“Without which the paper’s no good.”
“Nope.”
“Careful guys,” Jesse said.
“And smart,” Traxal said. “You’re interested because of Knocko getting aced in your town.”
“Yep.”
“Pretty thorough guy,” Traxal said.
“I am,” Jesse said. “Guy worked for Reggie Galen got whacked, too.”
“Connected?”
“Seems likely,” Jesse said.
“Two thugs?” Rita said. “In the same month? In a town like Paradise? I’d say it seems very likely.”
“Sure,” Traxal said. “What did this guy do for Reggie?”
“Slugger,” Jesse said.
“Suspects?”
“Not really.”
“Think one of the Bangston girls might have been involved?” Traxal said.
“Don’t know,” Jesse said.
“You asked about them.”
“I ask about everything,” Jesse said. “You know anything about their reputation?”
Traxal smiled.
“The Bang Bang Twins?” he said.
“I guess you do,” Jesse said.
“But I don’t,” Rita said. “And I want to hear about it. The Bang Bang Twins?”
They told her. When they were through, Rita sat quietly for a moment.
Then she said, “I wish I had a twin.”
33
HARRY LYLE WAS a tall, portly man with receding hair and a good tan. He wore a blue pin-striped double-breasted suit and a white shirt with a white silk tie. He watched closely as Sunny sat down and crossed her legs.
Good sign, Sunny thought.
“How can I help you, Ms. Painter,” he said.
“Mrs. Painter,” Sunny said. “Mrs. Elwood Painter.”
Lyle nodded.
“Very well,” he said. “Mrs. Painter, how may I help?”
“I . . . It’s my son.”
He nodded kindly.
“What about your son?” he said.
“He’s left home.”
“Oh?”
“He’s joined a cult,” Sunny said. “I want him out of it.”
“Kids, huh?” Lyle said. “How old is he?”
“Eighteen.”
“Okay.”
“He’s not old enough to be on his own with a bunch of Bible-thumpers,” Sunny said.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Lyle said.
“Can you help me?” Sunny said. “Can we get a court order or something?”
“Might take some doing, at his age,” Lyle said. “How did you happen to come to me?”
“A friend,” Sunny said. “Of a friend.”
“They have names?”
Sunny shook her head.
“They told me that you had experience with adolescent rebellion, and they made me promise not to tell anyone they’d told me.” Sunny smiled and leaned forward and lowered her voice a little. “I think they don’t want anyone to know that they had problems with their children.”
“People often don’t,” Lyle said. “Everyone has problems. No need to be ashamed.”
“I know,” Sunny said. “But I promised.”
“Well, arrangements for something like this,” Lyle said, “can be expensive.”
“Money is not a problem,” Sunny said. “Elwood has a great deal of money.”
“If there’s enough,” Lyle said, “it’s possible to arrange something.”
“Can you take him away from these people?” Sunny said.
“It might be arranged,” Lyle said.
“If you did, how would we keep him from going back?” Sunny said. “We can’t just lock him in his room.”
“There
’s a residential treatment center in Westland,” Lyle said. “He might find the proper treatment.”
“Is this all legal?” Sunny said.
“Absolutely,” Lyle said. “Right papers, right judge, we can get him committed to the Rackley Young Adult Center.”
“In Westland?”
“Yes,” Lyle said. “It’s a secure facility.”
“My God,” Sunny said. “I don’t know. I need to talk with Elwood.”
“Of course,” Lyle said. “Is there somewhere I can reach you?”
Sunny stood and smiled.
“I’ll call you,” she said.
She put out her hand. He took it in his right and covered it with his left and shook it warmly.
“I can help you,” he said.
“I think you can,” Sunny said. “I just have to talk with Elwood.”
Lyle held her hand for another moment, then released it as if he didn’t want to, and Sunny left the office and took the elevator down to the parking garage.
34
JESSE GATHERED THEM in the squad room: Suit, Molly, Peter Perkins.
“We got a couple murders in town,” Jesse said. “Let’s talk about them.”
“Moynihan and Reggie Galen knew each other in jail,” Peter said.
Jesse nodded.
“They pretty much ran their wing of Garrison,” Peter said.
“They were tough guys, and they started out watching each other’s back.”
“What was their connection?” Jesse said.
“They were white,” Perkins said.
“And the trouble was racial,” Jesse said.
“Yes,” Perkins said.
“Often is,” Jesse said.
“People at Garrison told me that they were both pretty scary. And they both had a rep, and they both had outside connections. Word got around. After a while, they were in charge.”
“Leadership qualities,” Molly said.
Jesse smiled.
“Know who the outside connections were?” Jesse said.
“Nope.”
“They got out at the same time?” Jesse said.
“ ’Bout a month apart,” Perkins said.
Jesse nodded.
“Anything else?” he said.
“All I could find out at Garrison,” Perkins said.
Jesse walked to the end of the squad room and looked out the window at the Public Works parking lot.
“Okay,” he said, looking out the window. “One of the outside contacts who belonged initially to Knocko was a big construction guy on the South Shore named Neal Bangston. His twin daughters married Knocko and Reggie.”
“Jesus,” Perkins said. “So, what’s it mean?”
Jesse turned.
“No idea,” Jesse said. “Suit?”
“The two daughters, Roberta and Rebecca, are identical twins,” Suit said. “And they promote it. Dress alike, same hair-style, same hair color, same makeup.” He looked at Molly. “I think. Go everyplace together. Drive the same kind of car. You can’t tell ’em apart.”
“Usually,” Perkins said, “twins are, like, the other way. You know, dress different and stuff.”
“Well, these twins don’t,” Suit said. “And when they were in high school we found out that they used to have sex with each other’s boyfriends and stuff like that.”
“Known in high school as the Bang Bang Twins,” Jesse said.
“Known and loved,” Perkins said.
“Oh, don’t be so piggy,” Molly said.
Perkins grinned.
“So we figured it would be a good idea to see if they were still doing that kind of thing,” Suit said.
“Because?” Molly said.
“Because we didn’t know,” Suit said.
“Where have I heard that before,” Molly said.
Suit ignored her.
“They both went to Paulus College,” he said. “Roomed together, of course. So I went over there, talked with people, got hold of some alumni from their class . . . and, yeah, they were still Bang Banging in college.”
Suit went to the coffeemaker and poured some coffee. He offered the cup toward Molly; she shook her head. So he kept it and walked back to the conference table.
“What about me,” Perkins said.
“Get your own,” Suit said. “We lost track of them for a time, and then they surfaced, marrying Knocko and Reggie about four months apart.”
“And they were connected to the twins’ father,” Molly said.
“Yeah,” Suit said. “Jesse can tell you about that.”
“Got a lot of this from a state police detective in the Norfolk DA’s office,” Jesse said. “With a little help from Rita Fiore.”
“She’s such a little helper,” Molly said.
Jesse outlined what Traxal had told him.
“Ah,” Molly said. “That’s why you’re so interested in the twins’ sex life.”
“If they were still Bang Bang,” Jesse said, “it might have something to do with the murders.”
“Yes,” Molly said, and looked at Suit.
“Know anything about that?” she said.
Suit smiled and nodded.
“In fact, I do,” he said.
35
I STARTED , ” Suit said, “the way you would. Check out their social circle, talk to their friends, see if there was somebody knew something.”
Suit shook his head.
“No social circle?” Molly said.
“None that I could find,” Suit said. “Everybody who knew the ladies said they were nice. But nobody knew them very well.”
“So, what did you do?” Molly said.
Molly’s something, Jesse thought. Suit’s proud of himself, and she’s helping him tell about it.
“I went back door,” Suit said. “I got a license picture from the registry and took it around to the motels in the area.”
“Which one?” Perkins said.
Suit looked slightly annoyed. It was his moment, and he didn’t like the interruption.
“Which one what?” Suit said.
“Which one you get a picture of?”
“What’s the difference,” Suit said. “They look exactly the same.”
“Just wondering,” Perkins said.
“It took a while,” Suit said. “But I was guessing they weren’t playing their game at home.”
“They might have been,” Perkins said.
Suit took a breath.
“Sure,” he said. “But if they were, it gave me no place to look and nothing to do.”
Perkins nodded. Jesse remembered saying that to Suit on the first case they ever worked. If there’s two possibilities, take the one that gives you someplace to go. Kid’s a learner, Jesse thought.
“So, I found a clerk at the Beach House in Danvers . . . which ain’t on the beach and ain’t a house. . . . This clerk remembered her checking in couple of times.”
“Which one?” Perkins said.
“See my answer above,” Suit said. “He remembers how good-looking she was, and very nice, checking in with a small suitcase in the middle of the day.”
“She use her own name?” Jesse said.
“Bangston,” Suit said. “Rebecca Bangston.”
“So it was Rebecca,” Perkins said. “Not Roberta.”
“Who knows,” Suit said. “We ran back through the registrations and found a bunch of Bangstons. Sometimes Rebecca, sometimes Roberta.”
“You get the credit-card numbers?” Jesse said.
“Yep,” Suit said. “Ran ’em past the credit-card company and got a pretty good list of motels and hotels where one or the other was used.”
“What address does the credit-card company have for them?” Jesse said.
“Hempstead, Mass.,” Suit said.
“Their mother?” Jesse said.
“Yep.”
“Sounds like the Bang Bang Twins are alive and well,” Jesse said.
“Now what?” Molly said.
“We�
��ll look at the list,” Jesse said.
36
THEY HAD COME in Spike’s Lincoln Navigator. Spike was too big for Sunny’s car. The Navigator was parked behind them, on a side road west of Framingham. They were standing in some woods, looking at the Rackley Young Adult Center, which appeared, from the front, like an expensive prep school, with a broad, welcoming walkway leading across a pleasant lawn to the front door. A chain-link fence enclosed the back lawn and ran up to the corners of the building. From the back it looked more like a prison.
“Here we go,” Sunny said, and punched a number on her cell phone.
“This is Jessica Stone,” she said. “With the State Inspectional Services. May I speak with the director. Yes, Dr. Patton.”
Spike nodded.
“Done your homework,” he murmured.
Sunny put her hand over the phone and nodded.
“Dr. Patton?” she said, when he came on the phone. “Jessica Stone, State Inspectional Services. We have reason to believe that you are harboring a fugitive.”
“Fugitive?” Patton said.
“Cheryl DeMarco,” Sunny said.
“We have no one here by that name,” Patton said.
“Perhaps she’s under another name,” Sunny said. “In any case, I did not call you to debate. We will be at your office at nine a.m. with a bench warrant. If you do not produce her, we will search the facility.”
“You can’t be serious,” Patton said.
“Don’t produce her tomorrow,” Sunny said. “You’ll see how serious I am.”
She turned off the cell phone.
“State Inspectional Services?” Spike said. “Do you even know what that is?”
“No,” Sunny said. “But I’ll bet he doesn’t, either.”
“And excuse me, but exactly how does a bench warrant differ from a regular warrant.”
“No idea,” Sunny said. “Heard it once on Law and Order.”
“And you figure they’ll panic and try to get her out of there before you descend on them in the morning.”
“My guess,” Sunny said.
“And we’ll be here to take her away from them.”
“Yes,” Sunny said. “I checked out the entire building yesterday. If they want to get her out, they have to come out the front door and walk down the long path to the street. The rest is fenced, with no gate.”
The Jesse Stone Novels 6-9 Page 61