“I take it you didn’t like him much.”
“How about not at all. Anthony and him grew up together. You know how that is, growing up with somebody. You don’t see their faults because, well, you’re friends and you don’t see them or you look past them.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, that was Anthony. He couldn’t see what a jerk Drake was.”
“How so?”
“What’s this about, Jesse?”
Jesse explained about how Felicity Wileford was found in the school parking lot with the word slut written across her belly in red lipstick. He told her about how Drake Daniels spotted the similarities between the Wileford case and Tammy Portugal’s murder.
“Daniels said Anthony had shared the details of the murder scene.”
Sophia bowed her head, turning away from Jesse. “You have no idea how badly that murder scene affected Anthony. He had bad dreams about that poor woman’s body left out there in the middle of the parking lot.”
“So Anthony would have shared the details with Drake?”
She nodded.
“Sophia, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you think Drake was a jerk?”
“He . . . he didn’t like people.”
“People?”
“Black people, especially, but other people, too.”
“What other people?”
“Pretty much everybody who wasn’t white or Christian.”
Jesse bought what she was saying, but he felt there was something else.
“There’s more to it than that. Isn’t there, Sophia?”
“One time, Anthony went out to get some beer for us and Drake . . . he cornered me in the kitchen and . . . He tried forcing me to do something. I was going to tell Anthony. I was, but I was afraid he would do something stupid and get in trouble. I miss him sometimes, Jesse, but sometimes I forget what he sounded like or felt like.”
“Are you happy now?”
“Very.”
“Anthony would be good with that,” Jesse said. “That’s what counts.”
Jesse had gotten what he came for, but it didn’t necessarily clear anything up. Daniels had told the truth. Anthony deAngelo had shared the details of the Portugal murder. And if Sophia was to be believed, Daniels was also a racist and a molester. Did that mean he had anything to do with what had been done to Felicity Wileford? Maybe not. But maybe it did.
61
Bill was there. Anya was not, nor was Edward Perry anywhere to be seen. Jesse shook Bill’s hand and patted him on the shoulder.
“Has Anya been here?”
“I haven’t seen her,” Bill said. “Why?”
“The older guy she was sitting with last time.”
“What about him?”
“Good thing I turned your offer of coffee down. When I was walking back to my Explorer, I found him on top of her, tearing her clothes off.”
“Holy shit! What did you do?”
“I broke his nose and took his driver’s license.”
Bill laughed and shook his head. “I get breaking his nose. He’s lucky you didn’t do worse, but why’d you take his—”
“I told him I was sending his license to Vinnie Morris.”
Bill’s eyes got wide at the mention of Morris’s name. That was a common reaction among Bostonians. Jesse had known Morris for many years now, knew his reputation, but he sometimes forgot that Morris’s reputation was well deserved.
“You know Morris?” Bill asked, a hesitant look on his face.
“I do.”
“You friends?”
“Not exactly. You ever have dealings with him when you played for the other team?”
Bill rolled up his left sleeve and showed Jesse a bulge on top of his forearm. “Broke it in two places so close together the bone wouldn’t knit right.”
“What happened?”
“Deal went bad. I had a guy lined up to take some merchandise from one of Gino Fish’s boys at a fair price, but the guy got cold feet before the exchange was made. I had to scramble to find a new buyer and the new buyer knew he had me. He paid a dime on the dollar instead of a quarter. Morris took it out on me as an example.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It helped wake me up. Besides, I was the lucky one,” Bill said. “The original buyer ate through a feeding tube until the day he died.”
“Hard to stay clean when you play in the mud.”
Bill laughed again. “Same could be said of a lot of the cops I’ve known.”
Jesse nodded. Although he was usually on the right side of things, Jesse knew he had made a lot of compromises he never imagined himself making when he graduated from the academy. In the end, it was doing right that mattered, no matter what it took to do it.
“I’ve been watching the news, Jesse. You got real trouble in Paradise.”
“Un-huh.”
“You think you’re gonna be able to keep a lid on things?”
“I don’t know. A lot is riding on the findings of the investigation and what the prosecutors choose to do with them.”
Before Bill could say another word, Jesse’s cell buzzed in his pocket. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was from Connor Cavanaugh. This made two calls he owed Connor, but with all that was going on, and given that the meeting was about to start, Jesse let it go to voicemail.
* * *
—
AFTER THE MEETING, Jesse bought Bill coffee and then they went their separate ways. Jesse’s separate way took him back to the run-down factory building in Newmarket Square. He wasn’t completely sure why he was there except that he was concerned for Anya. He didn’t want one jerk to ruin AA for her and drive her back to drinking. Jesse understood the price people paid for being violated. Even if he had stopped Perry from doing his worst, Jesse knew Anya had blamed herself. He sat there in his Explorer for about a half-hour, watching, waiting. Nothing happened. No one went in or out of the door Anya had used when he dropped her off. He drove around to the alley. The motorcycles were gone. And seeing that, Jesse was gone, too.
62
It was a bad day to begin with. Lundquist had called to tell him that Felicity Wileford’s parents had arrived in Swan Harbor and, after their prayers and good-byes, had removed their daughter from life support.
“She didn’t last ten minutes without the machines,” Lundquist said. “It’s my case now, officially, but you’ve got your own headaches. I just thought you’d want to know.”
“I don’t know if this is any help, but last night I had a conversation with Anthony deAngelo’s wife.”
“Refresh my memory.”
“He was one of my officers who was killed in the line of—”
“Right. The cop who was killed at the mall. The one at the Tammy Portugal crime scene who was pals with the Swan Harbor cop. What about it?”
“She says that the Swan Harbor cop, Daniels, was an old friend of deAngelo’s, but that he was also pretty much a racist ass.”
“Jesse, you know we don’t like to say it out loud, but a lot of—”
“Yeah, we had ’em in L.A., too, and even here when I first got the job. But here’s the kicker. She says Daniels once cornered her and tried to force himself on her.”
There were a few seconds of silence, but Jesse could almost hear what Lundquist was thinking. He could hear it because he had had the same thought.
“You thinking that maybe Daniels was involved in the Wileford attack?” Lundquist asked.
“Remember when I first talked to Daniels I mentioned those volunteer firemen who started fires so they could rescue people and be the hero?”
“I remember.”
“What if Daniels wasn’t trying to be the hero but trying to save his own neck?”
“Come again.”
“Let’s say he’s
one of the guys who attacked Wileford. Things went too far or not far enough. Who knows what was in their minds? Either way, they’ve pretty much beaten her to death. He remembers the Tammy Portugal case and rigs things up to mimic what happened to her. But he gets nervous, thinking maybe no one will make the connection, so he makes a mistake. He points it out and draws attention to himself instead of away from himself.”
“That’s a lot of what-ifs and maybes, Jesse.”
“But worth looking into.”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m persona non grata in Swan Harbor these days, but the first places I’d be looking at would be the stores in and around town that sell the brand of lipstick they used to write slut on her abdomen.”
“Maybe I already figured that out for myself.”
“Sorry.”
“You still think this is all connected?”
“More and more.”
“Me, too.”
“You going to put someone on Daniels?” Jesse asked.
“When we get off the phone.”
“Keep me posted.”
Lundquist hung up before answering.
* * *
—
THEN THINGS GOT WORSE. The phone rang. Molly came running into Jesse’s office.
“Jesse, that was Connie Walker’s assistant on the phone.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She says you should turn on the TV.”
“What channel?” he asked, clicking on the old set.
“Any.”
And there she was, Detective Lieutenant Mary Weld in front of town hall, standing behind a lectern crowded with microphones. Cameras clicked away. There was a low murmur in the background. At Weld’s back was Ron Kennealy, the DA. Mayor Walker was off to her left. Weld signaled that she was about to begin, and the murmur quieted.
“I’m Detective Lieutenant Mary Weld of the Massachusetts State Police. I was charged with leading the investigation into the fatal shooting of John Wilkes Vandercamp by Paradise Police Department officer Alisha Davis. We have completed that investigation and have shared our findings with both District Attorney Kennealy and with Mayor Walker, both of whom will make brief statements and take questions from you following my statement.
“My team has found no evidence to support the claims by Officer Davis, who was legally intoxicated at the time, that she was fired upon by Mr. Vandercamp. Furthermore, we retrieved no weapon on or near Mr. Vandercamp’s body. And while there is strong evidence to support the fact that Mr. Vandercamp tried to evade Officer Davis, we can find no justification for the level of force used in this matter. As to the charges Officer Davis will face, those will be determined by Mr. Kennealy. On a personal note, I want you to be aware that I take no pleasure in these findings, but that it is crucial for all law enforcement agencies that the people we serve have confidence in us and our decision-making processes. To that end, we must hold the people charged with upholding the law to the highest standards. Now I’ll turn the microphones over to District Attorney Kennealy.”
Jesse turned off the set. Molly was about to ask why, but one look at Jesse’s face changed her mind.
63
An hour later, Jesse was standing in front of Connie Walker’s desk and he was no less angry than he had been while watching Weld’s statement on TV.
“I know you’re upset, Jesse, but there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it.”
“In football you get a two-minute warning. Your assistant gave me five seconds.”
“I didn’t have much more time myself. Kennealy marched in here, told me the investigation was over, gave me a summary of the findings, and announced there was going to be a press conference. He thought I should prepare something to say. So, you see, I was caught by surprise as well.”
“How about the fact that I should have been there?”
“Bad optics.”
Jesse wasn’t having it. “Bullshit. You didn’t want me standing there looking unhappy or trying to defend Alisha.”
“Can you blame me? It was better this way. You aren’t associated with or tainted by what Alisha did—”
“Is alleged to have done.”
“C’mon, Jesse, really? Aren’t you always the man touting that your cops follow the evidence and not their hunches? Look at the evidence.”
He wasn’t going to argue. Jesse knew that everything Weld had pointed to Alisha shooting an unarmed man, but he could not get the series of coincidences out of his head.
The mayor wasn’t finished. “And even if you believe that Vandercamp had a gun that grew legs and ran away, there’s no getting around the fact that Alisha was drunk. I mean, for goodness’ sakes, Jesse, John Vandercamp wasn’t even actually a suspect. He was someone you wanted to question. Use your smarts. Let it go. You and I will both survive the hit if you ease off. You hired her and I backed you. Everyone makes mistakes. Voters can be very forgiving.”
“Is everything calculus for you, Connie?”
“For better or worse, I’m a professional politician, Jesse. That’s how it works. You know the saying about how no one wants to see the sausage being made . . . Well, imagine if the sausage was being made by someone who didn’t know how to make sausage. Politics is sometimes an ugly process, but I’m good at it and I know what I’m doing.”
Jesse hated politics. Most cops did. Still, Connie Walker had a point. Politics was bad business, but police work could be sausage making at its ugliest.
* * *
—
WHEN JESSE TRACKED MARY WELD DOWN, she was eating a grilled cheese sandwich at Daisy’s. He didn’t bother asking the statie if she minded him sitting across from her. Neither Daisy nor Cole approached the table. You didn’t have to know Jesse Stone at all to read the keep-your-distance look on his face.
“You hung Alisha out to dry,” Jesse said.
“Not my call,” Weld said, putting her sandwich down.
“It’s SOP to announce you’ve finished your investigation and that you’re turning over the findings to the DA. I get that. But since when do you hold a press conference to announce your findings?”
“Since I got told to.”
“By?”
She shook her head.
Jesse said, “That’s how it is?”
“That’s how it is. I take orders just like everybody else.”
“How is she supposed to get a fair trial now?”
Weld looked around, and when she was sure no one could hear her except Jesse, she leaned forward. “There won’t be a trial.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look, Chief Stone, I didn’t like what I did today any more than you, but think about it. Your town is full of people looking for someone on the other side to light the match and start the fire. What my releasing the findings did was to pour water on everybody’s matches. By the time they dry, the warring factions will have moved on.”
“At the price of doing the right thing.”
She laughed without joy. “The right thing. What’s that?”
“You denied my cop of any chance to clear her name.”
Weld had had enough. “Your cop was drunk and emptied her clip down a darkened alley into an unarmed man, so don’t give me any right-thing or justice crap, Chief. The DA will go to a grand jury, get an indictment on the most serious charges, and then, with a nod and wink from all sides, plead her down and give her most of her life back. John Vandercamp won’t have that chance.”
Weld stood up and threw a ten on the table.
“What about your sandwich?” Jesse asked.
“Lost my appetite.”
She left.
Jesse didn’t have much of an appetite, either. It seemed to him that almost everyone was willing to do whatever it took to make this all go away. He understood how Mayor Walker and Detective Lieutenant Weld sa
w it. Their way was certainly the easier way, but it wasn’t the right way, and no one could convince him that it was.
64
That late afternoon, following her shift, Molly Crane drove into Swan Harbor and parked across the street from the offices of Garrison’s Landscaping. Jim Garrison’s Escalade EXT was right out front. Dylan Taylor was also in Swan Harbor, waiting for Drake Daniels to come off his shift. Jesse trusted Lundquist would keep his word to put someone on Officer Daniels. What Jesse couldn’t be sure of was Lundquist’s willingness to share information. It was easy enough for Healy to find his assignment for the evening, because as soon as the sun went down, James Earl Vandercamp headed to the nearest bar. Suit followed Leon Vandercamp.
Jesse pulled his Explorer into the parking lot of the Magic Valley Handgun and Rifle Range. There were two alleged coincidences that really stuck in Jesse’s craw: that John Vandercamp just happened to be shooting handguns in the hours prior to his death and that he then fatefully appeared twenty feet in front of Alisha Davis when she stepped out of the Gray Gull. It struck Jesse that these things were too damned convenient to be believed. With Vandercamp’s clothing and skin covered in gunshot residue and in the absence of a weapon on the scene, it would be impossible to find evidence to support Alisha’s claim that she had been fired upon first. Jesse thought it even more unlikely that serendipity was responsible for John Vandercamp’s appearance at the Gull. As he opened the Explorer’s door, he thought, First things first.
But before Jesse got out of his SUV, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled out the phone and got back inside the Ford. It was Connor Cavanaugh again, and this time Jesse answered.
“Connor, I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls.”
“No problem, Jesse. I know this has been a crazy week for you.”
“Crazy’s one word for it.”
That was followed by a long silence. Jesse put an end to it.
“So, Connor, what’s up? You called me, remember?”
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