Killing the Blues

by Michael Brandman

  Rollo retired to the shadows and quickly left the area. Once away from the harbor but within sight of it, he turned back to see what he had wrought. Benny’s Burgers was ablaze. The fire had burned its way through the rear of the shack and was now furiously heading forward.

  When it reached the deep fryers, the fire began to roar with a greater intensity. Then it appeared to die down.

  All of a sudden an earsplitting explosion occurred. Fire and debris filled the night sky. Burning embers flew about, some landing on one of the nearby shacks, igniting it.

  As Rollo hurried into the darkness, he could see the illumination in the night sky caused by the flaming harbor. The sound of sirens filled the air as the first engines raced toward the scene.

  Rollo was certain that the voices had guided him correctly.

  Fury. Destruction.

  And this was still the beginning.

  “It’s only a matter of time, Jesse Stone,” he said.

  29

  Jesse had recruited Molly to accompany him. The reservation was for eight o’clock. She arrived conservatively dressed in a nicely tailored suit, carrying a practical handbag and wearing sensible shoes. Jesse wore his blue suit.

  They parked half a block away and walked to Il Capriccio. The maître d’ showed them to a corner table that offered a view of the room.

  When the waiter appeared with the menus, they each ordered a glass of Chianti. Jesse took in the restaurant.

  He guessed it was nearly two-thirds full, not bad for a weeknight during tough economic times. A faint hint of music served as the background for the conversation and laughter that filled the room.

  The center table was unoccupied, although Jesse noticed a “Reserved” sign on it. It had been set for eight people.

  The waiter brought the wine and took Molly’s and Jesse’s orders. Lasagna for her, veal piccata for him.

  “Who sits at the center table,” Jesse said. “Ben Affleck?”

  The waiter laughed.

  “I’m afraid not,” he said. “It’s always reserved for one of our regulars.”

  The waiter left.

  Jesse looked up in time to see the party of eight being ushered to the center table. All eight diners were men; all were dressed in silk suits and ties. He quickly saw that seven of the men behaved in a deferential manner toward the eighth.

  The eighth was a big man. Someone who had obviously started with a weight problem and had done nothing over time to curb it. He must have weighed three hundred pounds, and from the way he was examining the specials board, it was obvious how seriously he regarded his food.

  “It’s time,” Jesse said. “Do you have the number?”

  “The one you gave me,” Molly said.

  “Yes.”

  “You want me to go into the ladies’ room to make the call. And I’m to hang up as soon as the call is answered.”

  “Roger.”

  “Wilco,” she said.

  Molly left the table. Jesse leaned back in his chair and took a sip of wine. His eyes were glued to the big man.

  Although Jesse hadn’t heard a ring, the man suddenly reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a cell phone. He opened it and said something into it. After a moment, he looked at the phone and then closed it. He held it for a while, then returned it to his pocket. His attention returned to the menu.

  Molly came back and sat down. “Well,” she said.

  “Molto bene,” Jesse said.

  “Which means?”

  “Bingo.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  30

  Jesse spent a good portion of the next day at the site of the harbor fire, which had caused a significant amount of damage. In addition to completely destroying two concession stands, it had also burned clear through the boardwalk.

  “Arson,” Mickey Kurtz, the Paradise fire captain, said. “Middle-of-the-night hit-and-run. Guy was outta here before the fire even caught.”

  “Pro,” Jesse said.

  “Uncertain,” Kurtz said.

  “Prints?”

  “Nah. All we found were a couple of charred lighter-fluid cans. Any possible prints had been burned off.”

  “Insurance fire?”

  “It doesn’t appear as such,” Kurtz said. “Benny was doing a healthy business in a prime location. It wouldn’t make sense.”

  “Vengeance?”

  “That would be a policeman question, not a fireman question.”

  “So what good are you guys,” Jesse said.

  “Mostly we’re good at putting the suckers out. Also sliding down poles,” Kurtz said.

  “Impressive skill set,” Jesse said.

  “Saves a lot of wear and tear on the legs.”

  “Hell on the scrotum, though,” Jesse said. “You’ll let me know if forensics turns up any other useful information?”

  “I’ll send you a copy of the report.”

  “Thanks, Mick,” Jesse said.

  “At least no one was killed,” Kurtz said.

  “At least there’s that,” Jesse said.

  That night Jesse was back at Il Capriccio but not as a customer. He had parked within sight of the restaurant in the hope that John Lombardo would return.

  Jesse was slouched in the driver’s seat of his Explorer, drinking coffee and thinking, when he spotted the arrival of a pair of black Mercedes-Benz sedans. Both sedans pulled up in front of the restaurant. A man and a woman emerged from each. The two cars then disappeared into the night.

  Jesse watched intently as the two couples went inside. It was John Lombardo who led the procession.

  Once they were inside, Jesse sat back and thought more about the fire. It gnawed at him. As was the case with the seemingly random killings of the dogs, he was unable to identify a motive. Something seemed hinky, but he couldn’t get a handle on it.

  He realized that his attention had drifted when he heard laughter coming from Il Capriccio. Standing in front of the restaurant was the John Lombardo party, the women talking quietly, the men laughing raucously. The Mercedes sedans sped up Ash Street and pulled to a stop.

  The women embraced, and the men clapped each other on the back. They each got into their respective sedans and rode away.

  Jesse waited for a moment, then fell in behind the Lombardo car. He followed as it drove deeper into residential Cambridge. It wasn’t long before it turned into an exclusive area that featured multimillion-dollar homes.

  The Mercedes stopped in front of a two-story Colonial-style house that appeared to have been recently restored.

  Jesse drove by the house and made note of the address. He drove past the corner and onto the next block, where he turned around, shut off his headlights, and drifted back to a spot from which he could see the Mercedes. He watched as the Lombardos signaled their good nights and went inside the house. The Mercedes pulled away.

  Jesse watched until the lights in the house went out. Then he went home himself.

  31

  By six the next morning, Jesse had resumed his vigil at the Lombardo house. He was armed with a thermos of coffee and a box of donuts.

  At exactly eight o’clock, a Mercedes sedan pulled into the driveway of the house. John Lombardo came out and got into the rear seat. The car backed out of the driveway and pulled away. After a beat, Jesse followed.

  The Mercedes made its way through Cambridge, crossed the Charles River into Boston, and headed across town to the Old Harbor. After winding its way through a maze of side streets, it pulled to a stop on Rowe’s Wharf, in front of a converted warehouse. John Lombardo emerged from the sedan and went inside.

  Jesse parked in front of a fire hydrant, got out of the Explorer, and walked to the warehouse. As he passed, he took note of the name on the door: Zenith Enterprises. Which appeared to be the building’s sole occupant. He returned to the Explorer and drove away.

  He was back at the station by mid-morning. Once in his office, he was greeted by Molly, who wandered in and sat dow
n.

  “Which do you want first, the good news or the bad news,” she said.

  “Is there a difference,” Jesse said.

  “Not this morning,” she said. “Carter Hansen wants to see you.”

  “What’s the good news?”

  “I lost four pounds.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “Another dog.”

  “And?”

  “What are you gonna do about the dogs, Jesse?”

  “What does Bauer say?”

  “He and Denny Lange drove around all night and didn’t see a thing.”

  “Put Alexis Richardson on the call list,” Jesse said.

  “The call list?”

  “Whatever list you keep the phone calls on.”

  “I don’t keep a list.”

  “Then how do you know who’s called?”

  “I have a message pad.”

  “Well, put Alexis’s name on the message pad.”

  “Would that be business or personal?”

  “Must you always find a way to bust my balls,” Jesse said.

  “Job wouldn’t be any fun otherwise.”

  “Never mind.”

  “Never mind what?”

  “I’ll call Alexis myself.”

  Molly stood.

  “I knew it was personal,” she said, and left the office.

  Jesse sighed.

  Then he called Alexis Richardson.

  “Where have you been,” she said.

  “Fighting crime,” he said. “But I can’t foresee a crime spree this evening.”

  “Is that good news?”

  “It is for those who lust.”

  “Which would include?”

  “Us.”

  “I’m glad to see you’ve got your priorities straight. Was that why you phoned?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “What’s the no part?”

  “I need you to step up your public-relations efforts,” said Jesse.

  “Meaning?”

  “This dog vendetta continues, and I want to make certain that we do everything we can to tell people to keep their animals indoors after dark.”

  “You can count on me,” Alexis said.

  “I do,” Jesse said.

  “And the yes part?”

  “Did I mention lust,” he said.

  Jesse arrived at the Town Hall and went directly to the meeting room. There he found Carter Hansen, Morris Comden, and Hasty Hathaway. No stenographer was present.

  “Would you care to tell us about what’s going on,” Hansen said, without any preamble.

  “About what,” Jesse said.

  “We appear to be weathering a storm of animal killings.”

  “We are,” Jesse said.

  “What are you doing about it?”

  “We’ve begun a regular night patrol. We’ve launched a major PR campaign asking the public to bring their animals indoors at night.”

  “What about the fire?”

  “What about the fire,” Jesse said.

  “What are you doing about it,” asked Hansen.

  “I’m waiting for the complete forensics report. Perhaps it will contain a clue.”

  “And the car thefts,” Hasty said.

  “I’m working on that also,” Jesse said.

  “None of these answers seem to indicate you’re making any real progress,” Hansen said.

  Jesse didn’t say anything.

  “We pay you to deliver results, Chief Stone,” Hansen said. “We’re entering our most important season, and we seem to be plagued by a series of image-damaging events.”

  Jesse didn’t say anything.

  “Well, dammit, what are we going to do? We can’t afford to frighten the tourists away.”

  “We’re going to continue to investigate these matters,” Jesse said.

  “And if you can’t bring us results?”

  “Then you can fire me.”

  “Wait a minute. Wait a minute,” Hasty said. “Nobody said anything about firing you. Mr. Hansen has some serious concerns, as I’m sure you can appreciate.”

  Jesse said nothing.

  “Work with us, Jesse,” Hasty said. “Is that too much to ask? We’re all a bit nervous here.”

  “Everything that can be done is being done,” Jesse said.

  “You’ll keep us in the loop,” Hasty said.

  “When there’s a loop to keep you in,” Jesse said.

  No one said anything.

  Jesse stood up.

  “If there’s nothing else . . .” he said.

  Hansen shook his head.

  Comden said nothing.

  “We appreciate all that you’re doing,” Hasty said.

  32

  Once back in the office, Jesse phoned Captain Healy.

  “Zenith Enterprises,” Jesse said.

  “Television manufacturer,” Healy said.

  “John Lombardo works out of a converted warehouse at the Old Harbor. The name on the door reads Zenith Enterprises.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “Can you push this to the top of your list?”

  “You know what I’m thinking,” Healy said.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking of having new business cards printed.”

  Jesse waited.

  “State homicide commander and personal research assistant. How does that sound?”

  “Beneath you,” Jesse said.

  “Should I ask how you found out where Lombardo works,” Healy asked.

  “Not if you want to claim deniability.”

  “I’ll see what I can learn,” he said.

  The next call he made was to Suitcase.

  “What’s up, Jesse,” Suitcase said.

  “Tomorrow morning. Three-thirty a.m. I’d like you to awaken our friend, pass his clothes through the food slot, and tell him he’s got five minutes to get dressed.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “I’m gonna keep him stewing for another half hour, then you and I are gonna pull him out and deliver him elsewhere,” Jesse said.

  “So all this will be over?”

  “Yep. You and Pete can pack up, and when we’ve gone, Pete can close it down.”

  “Where are we taking him, Jesse?”

  “It’s a surprise. I want him ready to leave at four. With his blindfold on and his hands cuffed behind his back.”

  “He’ll be ready.”

  Jesse arrived at four. He parked and went inside. He found

  Lopresti dressed, cuffed, and blindfolded.

  Jesse went into the room.

  “Morning,” he said.

  “Why am I wearing the blindfold?”

  Jesse didn’t say anything.

  “What about my family? You told me that if I did what you said, I’d be released. You’re gonna kill me, aren’t you,” said Lopresti.

  “No,” Jesse said. “But if I were you, I’d make it my business not to return to Paradise. If I see you here, regardless of the circumstances, that’s when I’ll kill you.”

  Jesse and Suitcase walked Lopresti to the Explorer. Suitcase got behind the wheel. Lopresti sat in the passenger seat. Jesse was in back.

  They drove to the Boston warehouse, arriving just before dawn. Once there, Jesse pulled Lopresti from the vehicle. He removed the handcuffs.

  “Keep the blindfold on for five minutes. If you attempt to remove it before the five minutes are up, you’ll be accosted. It’s been nice knowing you, Robert.”

  Jesse got into the Explorer, and Suitcase drove away. When they turned the corner, Jesse noticed through the rearview mirror that Lopresti was still wearing the blindfold.

  On their way back to Paradise, Jesse and Suitcase stopped for breakfast at a highway coffee shop.

  “Can I ask a question,” Suitcase said over eggs and coffee.

  “Go,” Jesse said.

  “Tell me again why we did it?”

  “Why we did what?”


  “Held Lopresti like that.”

  “As a preemptive measure.”

  “Preemptive of what?”

  “A certain Boston-based crime organization is in the process of expanding its activities. Under the guidance of John Lombardo, Lopresti’s boss, their chop-shop enterprises are escalating. By creating branches up and down the East Coast, Lombardo took a local operation and made it statewide. He upped the ante. His mistake was establishing his business here in Paradise.”

  “Why is that,” Suitcase said.

  “Because Paradise is my turf,” Jesse said.

  They were silent for a while.

  “So how was holding Lopresti preemptive,” Suitcase said.

  “He led us to Lombardo.”

  “And?”

  “We’re going to put Lombardo out of business.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “Carefully.”

  “Come on, Jesse. I’m trying to learn from you. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to exceed my authority.”

  “In what way?”

  “I’m not going to tell you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because then you’ll have deniability in the event you’re questioned.”

  “You’re gonna do what you’re gonna do alone,” Suitcase said.

  “Yes.”

  “And it won’t be legal.”

  “Correct.”

  “How do you know what you’re going to do will work?”

  “I’m the police chief. I know everything.”

  Suitcase stared at Jesse for a while.

  Then Jesse paid for breakfast, and they drove back to Paradise.

  33

  After an early-morning jog, Jesse fed the cat and made some coffee, which he brought outside to the porch. He settled himself on the love seat to read the paper.

  The story of the fire was now old news. Apart from the article regarding safety tips for protecting your dog at night, there was nothing further on the killings. He was about to turn to the sports pages when the cat jumped onto his lap.

  He could feel the cat’s sharp claws as it made mittens on his leg. He petted it. It began to purr. They stayed that way for some time.