“Connie, at this point, I think they’d trade it in to make this go away.”
She patted Jesse’s forearm. “If that was the way things worked, I’d resign in a second.”
As he listened to the mayor’s heels clack on the linoleum floor, Jesse realized that he might need to push the envelope more than he’d wanted to.
84
It had already been a long day by the time Jesse sat across the table from Detective Lieutenant Mary Weld at the Lobster Claw. Before leaving the station he’d filled Dylan Taylor, Healy, and Molly in on what he had planned. He asked Molly to fill in the other two members of the shadow investigation on how things had progressed and what needed to get done.
Weld ordered a beer. Jesse, a lime in a tall glass of club soda.
Weld twisted up her lips and shook her head at that. “I heard you were a drinker.”
Jesse said, “Past tense.”
“I’m not keen on seafood, Chief. So if we’re not here to drink, what are we doing here?”
“I wanted to have a conversation.”
She was shaking her head again. “Up to right now, I gave you a lot of credit. You haven’t stuck your nose into my investigation and you haven’t bellyached too loud about me going public with the results. Oh, I know you and your people have been sniffing around the edges of things, but I expected that. I would have thought less of you if you didn’t want to stand up for one of your cops.”
When the drinks came, Jesse asked the waitress not to return to the table until he signaled for her. Weld and Jesse clinked glasses. Jesse put his glass down. Weld sank half her beer.
“Okay, Stone, you want to talk, then talk.”
“Officer Davis was returning fire like she claims she was. You need to hear me out on this.”
Jesse told Weld about how Alisha had omitted the sense she was being followed and the cat coming out of the shadows from her statement because she was embarrassed. About how he had gone back to the scene, talked with Maryglenn, and found the grappling hook’s pit marks on the roof ledges. He explained about the demonstration Molly, Dylan, and he had done for Lundquist’s benefit.
Weld took it in and Jesse could see she was thinking about what she would say next. She took another sip of her beer.
“We took a statement from this Maryglenn McCombs woman,” she said, “but she said she hears critters on the roof all the time. Still, I admit we should’ve checked out the warehouse roof. I’ll get a tech up there first thing. It gives Officer Davis’s lawyer something to work with, but proving something could have happened doesn’t mean it did happen. I hope you’ve got more than this or it’s going to be a one-beer conversation.” Weld finished her beer.
“Fair enough,” Jesse said, then waved to the waitress for another beer. “There’s more.”
Weld took a pull on her second beer when it arrived. “I’m listening.”
“You heard about the double homicide at the gas station outside of town?”
“I did.”
“What if I told you that Gary Cummings Junior was shooting at the stand right next to John Wilkes Vandercamp the day Vandercamp died?”
“Helluva coincidence.”
“Uh-huh. Hell of a coincidence that John Vandercamp just happened to be shooting hours before he was killed so that he was covered in GSR and so that if he had fired at Officer Davis, there’d be no way for you to tell.”
Weld held up her beer. “Three quarters of a glass left.”
“I’m sure your investigation uncovered the cross-burning we had in town.”
“At your old house. That’s why Officer Davis claims she wanted to interrogate John Vandercamp.”
“John Vandercamp purchased the kerosene for the cross-burning at the Cummingses’ station. The father notified us. Funny thing, though. The surveillance footage doesn’t show Vandercamp driving up to the pump. He walked to and from the pump. Odd, huh?”
“There’s a point here somewhere, right, Stone?”
“There’s more than a point. There’s a conspiracy. Alisha was set up. You also know about the Wileford homicide in Swan Harbor.”
Weld nodded and sipped.
“Wileford was staying at a bed-and-breakfast with a white man. The Patels, the people who bought my old house, are an interracial couple. And Officer Davis is—”
“Involved with Dylan Taylor, a white man. None of this proves anything, Stone.”
“If the coincidences piled up any higher, we could climb them to the top of the Hancock Building. Just keep an open mind because we’re right on the verge of getting a confession on the Wileford homicide. When that breaks, it’s all going to break. If it goes the way I think it’s going, you and the DA might want to give yourselves some room to maneuver.”
“So you’re doing all this to save our careers, me and the DA, huh?”
“I’m doing what’s right.”
“And so who’s at the center of this grand conspiracy?” Weld laughed as she spoke. “Leon Vandercamp? You’re going to sit there and tell me he sacrificed his son?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. And he used another one of his sons to do it.” Jesse slid Lee Harvey Vandercamp’s military file across the table to Weld. “Keep it. Study it. Then tell me I’m crazy.”
“Okay, Stone, you make a good case, but here’s where it falls apart. Conspiracies are usually meant to produce some desired effect. What’s this gotten Vandercamp except a dead son and a cop who’ll go to jail? This hasn’t caused a race war or a revolution, and a week from now no one outside of Swan Harbor or Paradise will remember it. It’ll be just another cop shooting a civilian, and the details of race and the rest will be forgotten.”
Then it hit Jesse like a slap from a hand he didn’t see coming. He threw a twenty on the table and ran. As he did, he called back to Weld, “You’re right, but you’re wrong.”
85
Drake Daniels kept muttering to himself not to look over his shoulder, but it was no damned good. He was just plain scared. Cops, especially ones in a town like Swan Harbor, didn’t have much occasion to fear for their lives. Still, he knew neither his badge nor his gun would mean a freaking thing to the soldier. He’d seen the man’s handiwork. He hadn’t been able to get those crime scene photos out of his head, featuring the bloodied bodies of the Cummingses.
As he trotted up the granite steps to Jim Garrison’s house, Daniels wanted to smack his head against the door instead of knocking. Why did I get involved with these people to begin with? That question had chased the crime scene photos around his brain like a dog chasing its own tail since he’d walked out of the Swan Harbor station house. Sure, the money was a nice inducement and the turn-on of being the bad guy when the three of them surrounded Felicity Wileford was about the biggest thrill of his life. He had never witnessed human fear like that. And of course it had all gone too far and too wrong. Fucking Garrison! He was such a hothead to begin with, and after the woman kneed him, he lost all control. Not even the Vandercamp kid could control him. That stupid kid, he was almost as scared of Garrison as the woman was. Daniels cursed himself again because the kid was dead and he was tethered to Jim Garrison.
When Garrison opened the door, he looked over Daniels’s head and around him to make sure he didn’t see anyone or anything suspicious.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Garrison said, his breath stinking of vodka.
“What do you think? We’re in this together now. One of us talks, we’re both screwed.”
“Shut your pie hole, idiot! You wearing a wire?”
“What?” Daniels made a confused face. “No. why would I be—”
“Step into the hallway and strip.”
“No way.”
Garrison took his hand out from behind his back and shoved an old Colt .45 Peacemaker in Daniels’s face. “Do it or get the fuck out of here. The only
way you’re getting in this house is by showing me you ain’t wearing a wire.”
Daniels considered his options. As much as he didn’t like having a gun shoved in his face or the idea of stripping down in front of Garrison, he knew he was better off talking this out with Garrison than leaving. Together they might have a chance against the soldier if he came for them. Individually, they didn’t have a prayer.
“Okay, all right, but get that thing out of my face.”
Daniels stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and removed every stitch of his clothing.
“Satisfied, Garrison?”
“Satisfied? You’re fatter and uglier to look at without your clothes. Get dressed before I puke. I’ll be in the den.”
It was all Daniels could do not to pick up his off-duty piece and blow out the back of Garrison’s head. Instead, he got dressed and met Garrison in the den. Garrison was sitting in a leather recliner, a half-empty bottle of vodka at the side of the big black chair. He pointed to his dry bar.
“You want something to drink, help yourself.”
“No, thanks. I think it’s better if we stay sober in case he comes for us.”
Garrison laughed. Even his laugh was rife with cruelty and anger. “Too late for me. So you think that son of a bitch will really come after us the way he did the Cummingses?”
“You tell me,” Daniels said. “Did you tell him we were questioned?”
Garrison laughed again. “Are you stupid? Why would I tell him? But you’ve got to know that Stone or that Lundquist guy spread the word. One way or the other, he’ll know. We gotta hope that he won’t hurt us because it’ll look too suspicious. Stone and Lundquist would know it was him.”
Almost before that last word came out of Garrison’s mouth, a bullet ripped through the den window, carved a hole in the draperies, and tore apart the glass and face of the antique grandfather clock that stood a few feet behind the recliner. Both men froze for a second and then dived onto the floor.
“So much for things looking too suspicious,” Daniels said. “We’re dead men.”
“Calm down, you fat piece of—”
But Daniels had already made up his mind as to what he was going to do. “Shut up, Garrison. For once, shut up,” Daniels said, pointing his Beretta at the place on Garrison’s body where most people have a heart. “Stand up!”
“But—”
“But nothing. Up!”
Garrison stood and opened his mouth, but before the landscaper could say another word, Daniels shot him three times in the chest. Garrison was dead before he hit the floor. Daniels waited a full minute to make sure no more bullets were going to come through the den window. When he was as sure as he could be, he grabbed Garrison’s Peacemaker, stood where Garrison had stood, and fired two shots at a spot a foot or two beyond where Daniels had fired from. He wiped the handle clean of his prints, placed Garrison’s limp right hand around the grip, index finger on the trigger, then dropped it.
All the shots would have the neighbors calling 911. Now all Daniels had to do was stay away from the windows until his Swan Harbor colleagues showed up. The safest place for him would be in a cell in the Swan Harbor jail. Not even the soldier could get to him in there. In the meantime, as sirens wailed in the distance, Drake Daniels worked on the story he would tell the cops and wondered what kind of deal he could get from Lundquist.
86
Jesse had done a lot of hard things in his life. He played minor-league ball and was one step away from the majors. He’d been in the Marines, been an L.A. street cop and detective. He’d run a police force and been through a divorce. He’d had to kill men and watched as a man murdered his fiancée right before his eyes. Maybe the hardest thing he had ever done was to give up alcohol. That was different from not drinking. He’d done that for long stretches in the past. What he’d done by going to rehab and meetings was a commitment he meant to honor for himself and for Diana. But he was about to test himself and he wasn’t at all sure he’d pass.
The Scupper was buzzing with activity, every barstool taken, the booths and tables full. The juke was blasting Aerosmith’s “Dream On,” and half the guys in the place were playing note-for-note air guitar along with Joe Perry. And the rush of it all came roaring in as Dix had warned it would. It’s as much about the rituals and atmosphere as the drinking itself. Although Jesse tended to be a solitary drinker, he did enjoy the occasional bar night out. He was distant from it now, observing, watching the alcohol-induced smiles and camaraderie, the back-slapping and hugging, listening to the laughter that was a little too loud for the joke that was told. The problem was he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to hold it at arm’s length.
There were two faces in the mix he was happy to see. One belonged to the person he’d come to find—James Earl Vandercamp—and the other belonged to the barman.
Joey O’Brien called out to him. “Yo, Jesse, what’s up?”
Jesse leaned in close to the bar. “Listen, Joey, you know that special scotch you keep on hand—” O’Brien raised his palm to stop Jesse. “Understood.” The barman winked. “Only the best for you, Chief.”
“Good. I’ll be with him at that table.” Jesse pointed at James Earl. “Make his doubles of what he’s drinking. I’m buying. Send a round over now and keep them coming. Remember, mine is from your special bottle.”
Joey’s face showed that he didn’t much approve of Jesse’s company, but bar owners can’t afford to be judgmental types, not if they want to stay in business. “Whatever you say, Jesse.”
Jesse could see that James Earl was already half in the bag and raring to go for the gold. James Earl’s face lit up when he noticed Jesse standing by his table.
“Hey, Chief. Sit down. Sit down.” James Earl shooed away his minder. “You, get lost,” he said, pointing at the dull-eyed man of forty across from him. “I’m not likely to get in much trouble if I’m with the chief of police. Go on to my daddy and tell him I’m in good hands.”
The man hesitated but left. Jesse had no doubt he’d call Leon Vandercamp the second he got outside, so Jesse had to work fast.
“I got a round headed our way,” Jesse said as he sat down. “There are certain privileges that come with being the top cop in town, and a bottomless glass is one of them.”
“I’ll drink to that.” James Earl sucked down the bourbon in front of him just as the round Jesse ordered arrived.
Jesse threw a twenty on the waitress’s little round tray and said, “Keep ’em coming.”
He picked up his rocks glass of dark amber liquid and raised it at James Earl. They both sucked their drinks down and slammed their empty glasses on the table. Jesse couldn’t quite believe how the act of drinking, regardless of the fact that there was only tea in his glass, brought the buzz back. He felt the warmth at the back of his throat, in his belly, and spreading out into his body. The mind, he thought, was incredibly powerful. They repeated this two more times before Jesse spoke. By his third double of tea, the placebo effect had, thankfully for Jesse, disappeared. The real stuff was getting to James Earl.
“How you feeling, James Earl?”
“It’s all good, Jesse Stone. It’s all good.”
“Your daddy always have clowns like that guy trailing you around?” Jesse asked, hoping it would bring out whatever rebelliousness James Earl kept alive inside of himself.
“Fuck that guy and my daddy. Man, you have no idea what a curse it is to be born into the world I was born into.”
“I think I can imagine.”
Jesse thought he should wait for another round before he pushed, but James Earl had stuff he wanted to say.
“No you can’t even, Jesse. I don’t hate Jews or blacks or Chinese people. I don’t hate no Mexicans. I never really met none except the ones screaming at me and Daddy. My life is like living in a walled city where everyone in it is like a brick. Sometimes I thin
k I’ll choke on all the hate. I don’t hate people. I swear I don’t. I like people. I like you.”
“And I like you, James Earl,” Jesse said, patting him on the shoulder. “But I hate what people like your daddy stand for.”
Jesse felt sorry for James Earl. Over the course of his life, Jesse had met many people who felt trapped by circumstance and family dynamics. He thought particularly of gang members in L.A. They were born into lives that often seemed predetermined: short and violent ones. Lives from which escape seemed impossible.
“C’mon, let’s get outta here,” Jesse said, slurring his words slightly for effect. He wanted to make sure they got out of there before Leon Vandercamp sent reinforcements to collect James Earl. “We’ll go for a ride.”
James Earl gave Jesse a bleary-eyed look. “You sure you should be drivin’?”
“I’m police chief!”
“That’s the truth. Sure, let’s go.”
87
Jesse drove James Earl up to the Bluffs, to where the Salter house once stood overlooking the ocean. After a young woman had been shot to death in the old Victorian and the family’s unsavory business practices had been revealed, the Salters had decided to demolish the place. When Jesse first came to Paradise, the Bluffs were crowded with Victorian manses built by the nineteenth-century movers and shakers of Paradise. Now only a few remained. But Jesse found the Bluffs to be the most peaceful and beautiful part of Paradise. And he thought it might have put James Earl in the right mind-set to unburden himself.
“Jesse, it sure is quiet and beautiful up here. A man could learn to like a place like this.”
“That’s why we’re here. Thought you might like to have some quiet time away from it all.”
“I’m not dumb, Jesse. I hope you don’t think I’m dumb.”
“I know you’re not. That’s why I wonder why you stay on with your father if you don’t believe that crap he spews.”
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