Killing the Blues

by Michael Brandman

  “She may have tried to talk with me. I can’t remember. There are so many things . . .”

  “Did you tell your parents about this, Lisa,” Jesse said.

  “My mom’s dead. My dad works all the time.”

  “So you didn’t actually tell any grown-up about what was going on?”

  “No. It was so bad I wanted to kill myself. I even stole my dad’s gun. This one. Then I thought I’d kill this bitch instead.”

  She raised the gun and waved it at Mrs. Nelson.

  “I understand, Lisa,” Jesse said.

  “Yeah, good. So you gonna do anything about it,” Lisa said. “Or are you gonna turn out to be just like this dirtbag?”

  “I’m going to do something about it.”

  Lisa didn’t say anything.

  “Do you believe me?”

  “I’d like to believe you.”

  “Will you give me the gun, Lisa? No one’s going to hurt you again. I promise.”

  Lisa looked at Jesse. After a while she lowered the gun. Mrs. Nelson took a deep breath. Jesse walked to Lisa and held out his hand. She put the pistol in it. He checked the safety. He pocketed it.

  Then he reached out to her. He gently touched her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry this happened, Lisa,” he said.

  Tears started to fall from her eyes.

  He hugged her until the sobbing stopped.

  With his arm around her, Jesse and Lisa left the office. They went outside and walked slowly to his cruiser. He opened the passenger-side door for her. She got in.

  Jesse made eye contact with Suitcase.

  Then he got in the cruiser and drove away.

  37

  Jesse drove Lisa to the station. Together they went inside. After settling her in the conference room, he went looking for Molly.

  When he found her, he told her what had happened. He asked her to sit with Lisa. To take down her story. He wanted the names of each of the Lincoln Village girls. He also asked her to check with Suitcase to see if the girl’s father had been found. He walked with her to the conference room.

  On the way, Molly mentioned that Rich Bauer had phoned.

  “And,” he said.

  “Two more Hondas were stolen.”

  “Not a good sign.”

  “I thought you might say that.”

  “Look after Lisa. She needs some TLC.”

  “I don’t remember administering TLC as being part of the job description.”

  “You don’t fool me,” Jesse said.

  “I don’t fool you how?”

  “You’re a softie. Mush.”

  “Mush?”

  “You heard me.”

  “That’s not how I like to think of myself.”

  “How do you like to think of yourself ?”

  “Hard. Tough. Terrifying.”

  “Works for me,” Jesse said.

  “And the mush?”

  “Side dish.”

  “Just so we don’t confuse a side dish with the main course,” she said, as she went into the conference room.

  Jesse poured some coffee. He phoned Dr. Phyllis Canter, a child psychologist who lived in Paradise. He told her what had happened and asked if she might interview Lisa. She agreed to stop by the station and speak with her.

  He stuck his head in the conference room. He explained to Lisa that Dr. Canter would be stopping by. He said he would see her later.

  He left the station and headed for his cruiser, which was parked in its designated spot behind the building.

  He only noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye. A man was rapidly approaching Jesse from behind a double-parked car. He was holding a pistol.

  Jesse dove to the ground just as the man fired. He pulled his pistol from its holster. It was in his hand with the safety off before he hit the ground.

  He got off two quick shots, the first of which struck his assailant in the chest.

  Jesse rolled into a sitting position and fired three more times.

  The double-parked sedan sped away, tires screeching. Jesse fired at it.

  Then he stood, and with his pistol extended, walked toward the man lying on the ground. He knelt beside him and felt for a pulse. There was none.

  Jesse holstered his pistol just as Suitcase and Steve Lesnick burst from the station house, their service weapons in their hands.

  Jesse signaled to them that there was no longer a threat. They put their weapons away.

  “See if he has ID on him,” Jesse said to Suitcase.

  To Steve Lesnick he said, “There’s a late-model sedan which just left the parking lot in a big hurry. I think it was a Buick. I couldn’t get the license. Maybe there’s someone who can track it.”

  Suitcase searched the body.

  Lesnick reached for his cell phone.

  “Nothing, Jesse,” Suitcase said. “Not even a wallet. What do you make of it?”

  “Mob hit,” Jesse said. “Secure the scene. Call for a CSI unit. Let me know if anyone spots the getaway vehicle.”

  As Jesse walked back to the station, the two officers looked at each other.

  “I was right,” Lesnick said.

  “About what,” Suitcase said.

  “About Jesse,” Lesnick said.

  “What about Jesse,” Suitcase said.

  “He didn’t even flinch. It’s like he’s got ice water for blood.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Suitcase said.

  Once inside, Jesse took a couple of deep breaths. He realized how narrowly he had escaped being shot. He knew the hit was the work of John Lombardo.

  Jesse reached for the phone and called Gino Fish.

  “Your dime,” Gino said.

  “Remember our discussion about neutrality?”

  “I’m listening,” Gino said.

  “We need to revisit the subject.”

  “Something personal?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “I shall look forward to it, Jesse Stone,” Gino said.

  When Phyllis Canter had finished interviewing Lisa Barry, she stuck her head into Jesse’s office. She was a pleasant-looking woman of indeterminate age. Her mouth curled with a hint of a smile. Her rich brown eyes sparkled with intelligence. He stood to greet her.

  “Phyllis,” he said.

  “Hello, Jesse,” she said.

  “How’s Lisa?”

  “Better than I would have expected. She’s motivated by anger. Very likely misplaced, however.”

  “Meaning?”

  “May I speak shrink talk?”

  “Only if you’ll provide a running translation,” Jesse said.

  Dr. Canter smiled.

  “Her anger is directed at her mother. For having died and abandoned her. She hasn’t dealt with that anger. Nor with her grief, either. I’d like to see her some more. I can help her.”

  “When I see her father, I’ll talk to him about it,” Jesse said. “He’s not picking up his cell. I’m gonna track him down.”

  “The father may very well be an emotional cretin. You need to make certain he doesn’t stand in the way. You’ll have to be at your persuasive best.”

  “One emotional cretin to another,” Jesse said.

  “I didn’t want to bring it up,” Dr. Canter said.

  In the late afternoon, Jesse drove Lisa to her father’s office. She had mentioned that he rarely came home until late. Sometimes even after she had gone to bed.

  “How did you like Dr. Canter,” Jesse said.

  “She’s all right,” Lisa said.

  “What did you talk about?”

  “Stuff.”

  “Do you want to tell me?”

  “Not really.”

  “Do you want to see her again?”

  “Yes. Maybe. Yes.”

  “So you liked her?”

  “She was all right,” Lisa said.

  They arrived at Leonard Barry’s office, which was located in a small warehouse on the outskirts of town. Barry was involved in s
ome sort of import/export enterprise. A panel truck with his name painted on it was parked out front. Lisa led the way inside.

  “What are you doing here,” her father said, when he saw her. “Who’s this?”

  “Jesse Stone,” Jesse said. “Paradise chief of police.”

  “I heard of you,” Leonard Barry said. “What can I do for you?”

  He was looking at Lisa, who was looking at the floor. Jesse told him everything that had transpired at the school. He also mentioned Dr. Canter.

  “Is Lisa under arrest,” Mr. Barry said.

  “No,” Jesse said.

  “Because?”

  “Because arresting her wouldn’t be the right thing to do. Lisa has been the victim of considerable abuse. What she did, she did in self-defense.”

  “So what do you want from me?”

  “Parental responsibility.”

  Lisa was sitting quietly, looking at her father, listening. Her father occasionally looked at her.

  “You think I’m not a responsible parent,” Leonard Barry said.

  “This incident might be an indicator.”

  “I work my ass off so that she can have what she needs.”

  “What she needs is you involved in her life,” Jesse said.

  “I am involved in her life.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Did you know she was dealing with some serious issues?”

  “She never said anything.”

  “Perhaps she never had the chance.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “If you’re not around to listen, how can she tell you anything ? Responsible parenting means being present and available. Being attuned to all of the signals.”

  Mr. Barry didn’t say anything.

  “Lisa showed up at school today with your pistol,” Jesse said. “Did you know she had it? That she not only threatened the principal’s life with it but her own life as well? That’s a big signal to have missed.”

  Mr. Barry looked down.

  “Lisa is still reeling from the loss of her mother, which is trauma enough. It also seems as if she’s lost her father as well. Something’s not right here.”

  Mr. Barry didn’t say anything.

  “Perhaps you could talk with her about what’s been going on in her life,” Jesse said. “And maybe pay close attention to what she has to say. There’s nothing more important for either of you.”

  Mr. Barry looked up.

  Jesse stood.

  “I’m gonna have a talk with the Lincoln Village girls tomorrow,” he said.

  “You are,” Lisa said.

  “I am.”

  “Wow,” she said.

  38

  Jesse couldn’t sleep. His mind was on overload, which finally drove him out of bed and downstairs, where he fixed himself a scotch.

  When he brought it into the living room, he was surprised to find the cat asleep on one of his two leather armchairs. It barely raised its head when Jesse sat down in the chair next to it.

  Jesse took a sip and smiled. He had become attached to the cat. Or, more likely, he was now owned by it. Which gave him purpose. He put his feet up and continued to sip the scotch.

  He had narrowly avoided being killed today. And in turn, he had killed a man. The fact of which had barely registered amid the chaos of the day. The man was still unidentified and lay on a slab at the morgue.

  A life, thought Jesse. A man’s life. Given up in the service of what? Defending the interests of some psychopath?

  He thought about Lisa Barry. Alone. Bullied by a group of privileged adolescents who were acting out psychological issues that probably had nothing to do with her. Rebuffed by a desensitized authority figure. Begging for parental attention.

  He thought about the odd series of events that had been plaguing Paradise. Animal killings. Arson.

  What am I missing, he asked himself. What’s the connection? He considered Alexis Richardson. What was he doing with her? He had pushed Sunny Randall away. He had permanently shut the door on Jenn. He was just beginning to feel comfortable being alone. Now, suddenly, there was Alexis. Why?

  Songs from the past kept running through his mind. Songs about summer love, summer romance. He was having a summer fling is what he was doing. With apparently no strings attached. Maybe.

  What’s the connection, he asked himself again.

  An unfamiliar noise registered in his now somewhat sodden consciousness. Something outside.

  He picked up his Colt Commander and his Smith & Wesson tactical high-beam flashlight. He opened the porch door and went outside. He stood there, listening. Then he switched on the flashlight and began a slow tour of his grounds. He circled the house. He didn’t detect anything strange. He went back inside.

  He sipped the last of the scotch.

  What’s the connection, he said again.

  Finally, he turned off the lights and went upstairs to bed.

  After a while, Rollo dared to move. He carefully climbed out of the thorn bushes in which he had been hiding. He looked at the darkened house.

  “Dead man walking,” he said.

  Then he crossed the footbridge and hurried away.

  39

  War Memorial Park was fairly deserted. A couple of joggers, a dog walker. Jesse sat, staring at the memorial statue. It was meant to be a postmodern version of the Winged Victory, but to his eye, it was a steel-and-concrete disaster. A waste of what he surmised had been significant funding.

  Gino Fish sat next to him, also looking at the statue.

  “Atrocious,” he said.

  “Worse than that,” Jesse said.

  “May I tell you a story, Jesse Stone,” Gino said.

  “As long as it begins with ‘Once upon a time,’” Jesse said.

  “It begins with a killing.”

  “I don’t like killings,” Jesse said.

  “This particular killing, however, brought a certain minor player out of obscurity and into the spotlight. He must have been blinded by it, because instead of retreating from it, he embraced it. He started to behave erratically. He reached for the stars, so to speak. Are you following me so far, Jesse Stone?”

  “It’s hard, but I’m doing my best,” Jesse said.

  “In no time, the player began to wear out his welcome. He overstepped his bounds. His friends began to shy away from him. Soon he stood alone. He had become expendable.”

  “This is a very sad story,” Jesse said.

  “For the player, it is.”

  Gino didn’t say any more.

  “Is that the end,” Jesse said.

  “Almost,” Gino said.

  The two men sat silently for a while, staring at the statue.

  40

  Jesse arrived at the junior high school and headed directly to

  Eleanor Nelson’s office. He told her he wanted to interview the four Lincoln Village girls. She told him to wait in the conference room.

  Once there, Jesse opened the file Molly had prepared. It contained the identities of each of the girls as well as brief descriptions of them and their families.

  One by one the girls began to file in. After they were all present, Jesse closed the door and sat down at the conference table across from them.

  “I’m Jesse Stone,” he said. “The police chief of Paradise. Thank you for joining me.”

  He asked each of them their names. They nervously told him.

  One of the girls, Julie Knoller, appeared to be the ringleader. She was pre-punk. She wore a black T-shirt and heavily studded black jeans. Her eyes were lined in black. All that was missing were the piercings, which would surely come when she was older.

  “I asked you here because it has come to my attention that you have been behaving in a manner unbecoming of young ladies and have been disrespectful of the rights of other students. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

  “No,” Julie Knoller said.

  “You don’t know what I’m talking about?”

  “No.”

/>   “Do you know a girl named Lisa Barry?”

  “No,” Julie Knoller said.

  “This isn’t going well,” Jesse said. None of the girls said anything.

  “Let me start over,” he said. “We’re having this conversation because I didn’t want to arrest you and create a brouhaha involving your parents and the district attorney and lawyers and a whole lot of grief. This state has anti-bullying laws, which you have violated. If you continue to be uncooperative, I will arrest you and place you in the criminal justice system, and things will become much more difficult for you.”

  The girls began to fidget and to exchange nervous glances with one another.

  “Do you understand why we’re having this conversation,” he said to Julie Knoller.

  “I guess,” she finally admitted.

  “Do you know a girl named Lisa Barry?”

  Julie nodded.

  None of the other girls would look at Jesse.

  “Did you repeatedly attack her?”

  Jesse looked at one of the girls.

  “What’s your name again,” he said.

  “Lesly Berson,” she said.

  “What have you got against Lisa Barry, Lesly?”

  Lesly shrugged.

  “Answer the question.”

  “We didn’t like her, okay,” Lesly said.

  “You didn’t like her enough to beat the crap out of her on a regular basis?”

  She shrugged.

  “Answer me,” Jesse said.

  Lesly looked around the table at the other girls.

  “We all decided that she’d be the one.”

  “She’d be the one what?”

  “The one we’d hammer.”

  “Because?”

  “She was a loser. She didn’t have any friends. She pissed us off.”

  Jesse looked at one of the other girls.

  “Tell me your name,” he said.

  “Shauna Hatt,” the girl said.

  “Did Lisa ever do anything to you, Shauna,” Jesse said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know,” Jesse said.

  “She was a jerk.”

  “That’s why you ganged up on her?”

  “She acted like a retard,” Bonnie Wilder said.