“One scenario,” Jesse said. “His wife’s bopping Petey. Knocko finds out. Kills Petey out of jealousy. Then finds out she’s been bopping Reggie. Makes a run at Reggie and isn’t good enough.”
“What about Ray Mulligan?” Sunny said.
“Yeah,” Jesse said. “That bothers me, too.”
“It’s sort of funny he gets rid of his boyhood friend and bodyguard and gets murdered right after,” Sunny said.
“It is,” Jesse said. “Maybe the girls helped get rid of him.”
“Why?”
“Maybe they wanted Knocko dead,” Jesse said. “Maybe they liked Petey.”
“So, who you think pulled the trigger?” Sunny said.
“Reggie?” Jesse said. “Or had Bob do it?”
“Revenge for Petey?” Sunny said.
“Maybe,” Jesse said. “Maybe the Bang Bang Twins got him to do it.”
“And what have you got to take to the DA?” Sunny said.
“Not much,” Jesse said.
“ ‘Not much’ is a wild exaggeration,” Sunny said. “You have nothing.”
“Well,” Jesse said. “Yes.”
Sunny finished her first glass of wine and put it aside. She moved the glass that Spike had sent in front of her. Jesse was already on the second beer.
“Be nice if you could find Ray Mulligan,” Sunny said.
“Yes,” Jesse said. “If I can.”
“You’re the chief of police,” Sunny said.
“Oh, right,” Jesse said. “Of course I can find him.”
The waitress returned.
“You ready to order?” she said.
Jesse looked at Sunny. Sunny nodded.
“Yes,” Jesse said. “We can order.”
“You want those oysters?” the waitress said.
“Bring him a dozen,” Sunny said.
The waitress smiled and shot at Jesse with her forefinger.
49
I’VE BEEN THINKING?” said.
Dr. Silverman nodded and cocked her head slightly, ready to listen.
“We talked a while ago about being incomplete,” Sunny said.
“We talked of how you felt incomplete,” Dr. Silverman said.
Sunny nodded.
“Anyway,” she said, “I was thinking of my mother and sister.”
Dr. Silverman gave a small encouraging nod.
“Your sister is older?” she said.
“Yes, and she’s a mess, like my mother,” Sunny said. “You know what they’re like, I’ve told you about them.”
“Might be useful to talk about them again.”
“You’ve forgotten?” Sunny said.
“I do forget things,” Dr. Silverman said. “But in this instance it’s more of a therapeutic tool. If you reexamine the same thing in a different context, new things sometimes appear.”
“My mother knows very little, and fears many things. But she pretends to know a lot and fear nothing.”
“That must be difficult for her,” Dr. Silverman said.
“It makes her hysterical much of the time,” Sunny said. “Although of course she would deny it.”
Dr. Silverman nodded.
“And my sister is much like her. She doesn’t know much, either, but she substitutes beliefs. She believes in having gone to a good school. She believes in being with a man who’s gone to a good school . . . and has prestige . . . and money.”
“And that has not worked out for her.”
“No, she’s gone through husbands and boyfriends and careers without any success in any of them.”
“So what she believes hasn’t worked for her,” Dr. Silverman said.
“God, no,” Sunny said. “She doesn’t believe in anything real. But her failures have simply made her more entrenched in her silliness. Both of them are, like my father says, often wrong but never uncertain.”
“Is she hysterical much of the time as well?”
“Absolutely.”
“Would she admit it?” Dr. Silverman said.
“Absolutely not,” Sunny said.
They sat quietly. Dr. Silverman was as pulled together as always: dark skirt, white shirt, very little jewelry, conservative heels. Probably part of the work wardrobe. Don’t distract the patient. Her makeup was subtle and quiet. Her nails were manicured and polished.
“They’re emotionally disheveled,” Sunny said.
Dr. Silverman nodded.
“And they were my role models growing up,” Sunny said.
“So you assumed that all women were emotionally disheveled?”
“I didn’t want to be like them,” Sunny said.
“Who did you want to be like?”
“My father. I don’t mean I wanted to be a man. I mean I didn’t want to be disheveled.”
Dr. Silverman nodded.
“What part did your father play in all this?” she said.
“He took care of them,” Sunny said. “Still does. Maybe he enables them, I don’t know.”
“Why do you suppose he takes care of them?” Dr. Silverman said.
“He’s stuck,” Sunny said. “He loves them.”
“And he loves you,” Dr. Silverman said.
“Yes, but he doesn’t take care of me.”
“Tell me again why your marriage broke up,” Dr. Silverman said.
“I guess we were just too different. I mean, my father’s a cop. His father’s a crook.”
“So what drew you to him?”
“He was so complete, and he loved me,” she said.
“But Richie wasn’t in the family business, you told me.”
“No,” Sunny said. “I believe that he wasn’t.”
“So why did you break up?”
Sunny sat silently, looking at Dr. Silverman. The question was simple enough. Why did we break up? The silence lengthened. Dr. Silverman didn’t seem uncomfortable. She simply sat back in her chair and waited. She trusts me to get this on my own.
“Jesus Christ,” Sunny said.
Dr. Silverman cocked her head and looked attentive.
“It’s because he’s complete,” Sunny said. “Because he’s like my father, and it made me feel like my mother and sister.”
Dr. Silverman smiled. Good girl, Sunny said to herself.
“His virtue is his vice,” Dr. Silverman said.
50
ON THE PHONE Liquori said, “I got your message. I guess Ray Mulligan slipped through a crack for a while.”
“You know where he is?” Jesse said.
“Not quite,” Liquori said. “But I got his parole officer.”
“Who might know where he is,” Jesse said.
“He’s supposed to,” Liquori said. “Name’s Mark Bloom.”
Liquori gave Bloom’s phone number to Jesse. Jesse wrote it down.
“You talk to him?” Jesse said.
“Nope, thought you oughta talk to him. It’s your case.”
“Weren’t you up here a little while ago acting like it was your case?” Jesse said.
“That’s ’cause Healy asked me,” Liquori said.
“And if I asked you?”
“Healy’s a state police captain. You ain’t,” Liquori said. “Hell, Jesse, I’m giving you the parole officer.”
“Yeah,” Jesse said. “Good. I’ll call him.”
He hung up.
“For crissake,” he said to the empty office, “I’m the chief of police.”
Then he dialed the number of Ray Mulligan’s parole officer.
“Until a couple weeks ago he lived in your town,” Bloom said. “Now he’s got a one-roomer in Salem on Lafayette Street. Up toward the college.”
“You know why he moved?” Jesse said.
“Worked on an estate on Paradise Neck,” Bloom said. “And lived there in a guesthouse. Couple weeks ago they fired him and he had to move out.”
“Know the people he worked for?”
“Family named Moynihan,” Bloom said.
“What kind of work did he do?”
; “Chauffeur,” Bloom said.
Jesse snorted quietly on the phone.
“Know why they fired him?” he said.
“Told me he thought the wife had it in for him,” Bloom said.
“Say why?”
“Claimed he didn’t know.”
“What’s he doing now?” Jesse said.
“Living off severance pay, looking for work. Severance was generous,” Bloom said.
“How much did he get?” Jesse said.
“Enough,” Bloom said.
“How much?”
“I’m sorry, Chief, unless it’s clearly germane to your case, I feel that is confidential between me and my parolee.”
“Your parolee,” Jesse said.
“Yes,” Bloom said. “He’s served his time. He now deserves the same consideration as anyone else.”
“You take your job seriously,” Jesse said.
“I do. My first responsibility is to protect the public, and my second is to help the parolee.”
“Ever a conflict?” Jesse said.
“Of course,” Bloom said. “I deal with it on a case-by-case basis.”
“Good for you,” Jesse said. “I’ll need to talk with him.”
“Okay,” Bloom said.
He gave Jesse the phone number.
“I’ll need to talk with him in person,” Jesse said.
Bloom gave Jesse the address.
“I’ll meet you out front,” Bloom said.
“No,” Jesse said. “Thanks. I’ll need to talk with him alone.”
“How come,” Bloom said.
“I may need him to tell me things that will get him in trouble with you.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t want to get him in trouble with you,” Jesse said.
“I’m in charge of him,” Bloom said. “I’m supposed to know what’s going on.”
“Not this time,” Jesse said.
“What the hell is this?” Bloom said. “I am responsible for the safety of the public.”
“And I’m not?” Jesse said.
“Well, yeah,” Bloom said. “But I’m supposed to know.”
“I feel your pain,” Jesse said. “I am the chief of police in Paradise, Massachusetts. I am investigating two murders and I don’t know anything.”
“It’ll go easier if I’m there,” Bloom said.
Jesse took in a long breath.
“He won’t talk to me if he’s worrying about you revoking him right back into Slam City,” Jesse said.
“If I send you to him and don’t go with you, it’ll make me look bad,” Bloom said.
Jesse leaned back in his chair and swiveled around so he could look out his office window at the fire trucks being washed in the driveway next door. He breathed in and out carefully.
Then he said, “If you come near me or him while I need him, I will throw your ass out into Lafayette Street and step on your face.”
“Hey,” Bloom said.
“I will then get you fired,” Jesse said.
He hung up the phone and yelled out his office door for Molly. In a moment she appeared.
“Intercom broken?” she said.
“Where’s Suit?” Jesse said.
“I believe he is in the squad room drinking coffee.”
“Get him in here,” Jesse said.
“Wow, are we surly today,” Molly said, “or what?”
“Chief-of-police manual allots an hour of surliness a month,” Jesse said.
Molly smiled.
“I thought you’d already used up this month’s,” she said.
“Just get Suit for me,” Jesse said.
“I will.”
51
LAFAYETTE STREET IN SALEM was lined with substantial clapboard homes and an occasional brick building that had the look of the 1930s. One of them, located on the left-hand side of the street, a little north of the college, was the new home of Ray Mulligan. Jesse was driving his own car, and neither he nor Simpson wore a uniform. They parked across the street.
“Okay,” Jesse said. “Mulligan is on the fourth floor, apartment four-B. I’ll go in. You wait outside, and make sure no one else enters the apartment.”
“What if they insist?”
“Insist back,” Jesse said.
“I’m not sure we got any jurisdiction in Salem, do we?”
“If it comes up,” Jesse said, “tell ’em we do. I want to talk with Mulligan alone.”
“What if there’s trouble inside?” Suit said.
“If I scream,” Jesse said, “come running. Otherwise, I just want to keep the parole jerk away from us.”
Suit saluted.
“Okay, boss,” he said.
There was no elevator. They walked up. On the fourth floor they paused to breathe. Then Suit leaned on the wall at the head of the stairs and Jesse walked down the short corridor and knocked on 4B.
Mulligan was big. He was wearing a white tank top and gray sweatpants. He was bald, with a round, red face. He was developing a potbelly, Jesse noticed. His arms were pale and muscular, with some dark prison tattoos. Jesse held up his badge. Mulligan looked at it and smiled.
“I woulda known anyway,” he said.
“How?”
“You look like a cop,” he said.
“Damn,” Jesse said.
Mulligan stepped away from the door, and Jesse went into the apartment. It was very small: a bedroom/sitting room, a kitchenette, and a bath. And it was neat. The bed was made. No clothes lying around. A copy of The Boston Globe and one of the Salem Evening News were folded on the bed.
“I’m making breakfast,” Mulligan said. “Mind if I cook while we talk?”
“Fine,” Jesse said. “What are you having?”
“Eggs and spinach,” Mulligan said, and went to the stove. He was wearing brown leather sandals. “What kinda cop are you? I didn’t even read the badge.”
“My name’s Jesse Stone. I’m chief in Paradise.”
“Oh, yeah,” Mulligan said. “About Knocko getting bopped?”
“Yep.”
“Had nothing to do with it,” Mulligan said.
“Can you prove it?” Jesse said.
Mulligan stirred the spinach in his fry pan a little with a spatula.
“Don’t have to,” he said.
“True, but it would save me wasting time if you had an alibi,” Jesse said.
“Don’t even know exactly when he got bopped,” Mulligan said.
Jesse told him.
“Can’t remember at the moment,” Mulligan said. “But if I need one, I’ll bet I can come up with one.”
“I’ll bet,” Jesse said. “You knew Knocko most of your life?”
“Yep, since the first grade, with the nuns, at Saint Anthony’s.”
“And you were his bodyguard a long time,” Jesse said.
“Knocko and me looked out for each other most of our lives.”
“Long time.”
“He was getting a little soft, last few years.” Mulligan patted his belly. “Like most of us. But he was a tough cookie.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“He hadn’t fired me, maybe I coulda prevented it,” Mulligan said.
“Too bad,” Jesse said. “Why’d he fire you?”
Mulligan broke two eggs into the fry pan and put the cover on. He looked at the clock on the stove.
“The wife,” Mulligan said.
“She fired you?”
Mulligan was timing his eggs.
“Knocko calls me in one morning, and he says, right outta the blue, he says, ‘Ray, I gotta let you go.’ And I say, ‘You’re firing me?’ And Knocko says, ‘Yes. I want you gone today.’ And I say, ‘Why?’ And he says, ‘Because I don’t want to kill you. I known you too long.’ ”
Mulligan took the cover off his fry pan and looked at his eggs. He nodded to himself and shut off the stove. With the spatula he carefully slipped the eggs and spinach onto a plate. He put the plate on his little counter and looked at J
esse.
“I say, ‘Why would you kill me?’ And Knocko says, ‘Robbie told me about you. She told me what you were trying on her.’ And I say, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never touched her.’ And Knocko says, ‘She told me herself. You saying my wife’s a liar?’ And I say, ‘Knocko, on my mother, I never came near her.’ And he stands up and he’s got a piece and he says, ‘Get outta here now, or I swear to God I’ll kill you where you stand.’ And I know he means it, so I leave. And I ain’t never seen him again.”
“You mess with the wife?” Jesse said.
“I did not,” Mulligan said.
He sat at his counter.
“You mind if I eat?” he said.
“No,” Jesse said. “Go ahead, eat.”
Mulligan shook salt and pepper onto his eggs.
“The wife mess with you?” Jesse said.
Mulligan had a mouthful of eggs and spinach. He raised his head and nodded approval.
When he had chewed and swallowed, he said, “You’re pretty good. Yeah, her and her hot-pants sister, they both came on to me.”
“Together or separately?” Jesse said.
“Both,” Mulligan said. “You want some coffee?”
“No,” Jesse said. “Thanks. But you didn’t take the offer?”
“No.”
“Because of Knocko?”
“Yeah,” Mulligan said. “A’course.”
Jesse nodded.
“You think they got you fired so somebody could kill Knocko?”
Mulligan swallowed again and patted his mouth with a paper towel.
“Yeah,” he said.
“You know who killed him?” Jesse said.
“Nope, but I know it’s got something to do with them two sisters. They’d fuck a haddock if they could get it to hold still.”
“Think they messed with Petrov Ognowski?”
“Yeah, sure. I don’t know it. But Bob Davis told me they tried him.”
“Reggie’s bodyguard?”
“Yeah. Don’t let Bobby fool you,” Mulligan said. “He’s not big and mean-looking like me, but. . . .”
“I picked that up,” Jesse said.
“Yeah, there’s something about Bobby,” Mulligan said. “You got it, too.”
“That’s ’cause I’m the chief of police,” Jesse said.
Mulligan grinned.
“No,” he said. “It ain’t.”
Jesse nodded.
The Jesse Stone Novels 6-9 Page 65