Blue Screen

by Robert B. Parker

  “Was that before, it must have been, before you became a cop, that you got hurt.”

  “Yes.”

  “So,” I said, “how did you end up here?”

  “My marriage went south. I drank too much. Got fired.”

  “By Captain Cronjager,” I said. “Why did you come here?”

  “They’re the ones would have me,” Jesse said.

  “The drinking is under control,” I said.

  Why was that my business?

  “At the moment.”

  “And you’re divorced?”

  “More or less,” Jesse said. “But we’re giving it another try.”

  “She move back in?” I said.

  Why was that my business?

  Jesse smiled. “She lives in Boston,” he said. “We have sleepovers.”

  “How’s that going?” I said.

  “Day at a time.”

  “I’m divorced, too,” I said.

  Why was that his business?

  “Neat and clean?”

  “I guess,” I said. “He’s remarried.”

  “But?” Jesse said.

  “We’re not fully, ah, disengaged, I guess.”

  He nodded.

  “Children?” I said.

  “No.”

  “Me either.”

  It was like we were filling out each other’s résumé: Which side of the bed do you prefer? How do you like your eggs in the morning? Do you sleep in the nude?

  “I have a dog,” I said.

  Jesse nodded.

  “I like dogs,” he said.

  24

  ERIN WAS NOT happy to be in the Paradise police station. Nor did she seem particularly happy to see me there. But Erin, now that I thought about it, never seemed particularly happy anyway. Buddy was with her, and two lawyers. The lead lawyer was a large man with a red face. His associate was a thoughtful-looking woman, somewhat younger than he.

  “I see no reason why I had to come down here,” Erin said as she came into the conference room, which was big enough to accommodate the anticipated group. Jesse rose when they entered, offered seats to everyone, and sat down at his end of the conference table.

  “I’m Jesse Stone,” Jesse said to the two lawyers. “This is Sunny Randall. I assume you know who each of us is.”

  “We do,” the male lawyer said.

  The lawyers introduced themselves. The man’s name was Thomas Hammer. His associate was Bebe Ablon.

  “You are not under arrest,” Jesse said to Erin. “Nor are you accused of a crime.”

  “So, I’m here because you’re a star fucker, right?”

  “Depends on the star,” Jesse said. “We just need to clear up a few points.”

  “What’s she doing here?” Erin said.

  “You have employed Ms. Randall. She and I have a common goal,” Jesse said. “I am being courteous.”

  Bebe Ablon leaned over and murmured something to Hammer. He nodded.

  “Let’s hear Chief Stone for a bit,” Hammer said.

  “Sure, but don’t tell me he’s not getting his rocks off doing this,” Erin said. “Having a few beers with the boys later and telling them about it.”

  Jesse nodded.

  “That is, of course, the thrilling part of my job,” he said. “But before I do that, can you tell me who Ethel Boverini is?”

  Erin froze, staring at Jesse. Her eyes fluttered for a moment, as if she wanted to look at her lawyers, or Buddy, or all three. Then she toughened.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Edith Boverini?” Jesse said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know if you know them or you don’t know if you know?”

  “I don’t know. Why are you asking me this stuff?”

  “So I can tell the boys later,” Jesse said. “Is Misty Tyler your sister?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “Are you married to a man named Gerard Basgall?”

  Erin was buckling. She sagged in her chair. Her face was down. She was beginning to cry. She put her hands to her face.

  “Stop asking me these questions,” Erin said. “Stop it.”

  “Jesse, for crissake,” Buddy said. “What’s wrong with you.”

  Bebe put her hand on Buddy’s arm.

  “Chief Stone,” Hammer said, “could we have a few minutes alone with Ms. Flint?”

  “Sure,” Jesse said.

  Again, Bebe whispered something to Hammer. He nodded.

  “Buddy,” Hammer said. “If you don’t mind, perhaps you and Ms. Randall could leave us as well.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Buddy said. “I’m paying you, pal. You don’t tell me what to do.”

  Erin was crying hard now.

  “Get out of here,” Erin said. “Everybody get the fuck out of here.”

  “You going to be all right, Erin?” Buddy said.

  “Get the fuck out,” Erin gasped, the words running together between spurts of crying.

  It was probably real. I’d seen no sign that she could act well enough to fake it. Buddy and Jesse and I stood and left Erin alone in the conference room with her lawyers.

  We sat in Jesse’s office.

  “What the fuck is going on, Stone?” Buddy said.

  “Just looking for clues,” Jesse said.

  His glove was still on the top of the file cabinet. There was no picture of the divorced wife displayed. That was heartening.

  “So what’s all this shit about Bonfoolgio and Gerard and sisters and crap.”

  “We’ll eventually get that cleared up with Erin,” Jesse said.

  “I want it cleared up with me,” Buddy said.

  “Don’t blame you,” Jesse said.

  “So? What about it?”

  “We’ll clear it up with Erin,” Jesse said. “Then you and she can discuss it.”

  “Listen, Stone. I own Erin Flint. I own her career. I get what I want. And right now I want an explanation.”

  “How’d you meet Erin?” Jesse said.

  “Goddamn it, don’t you presume to question me. Where’d you dig up all this shit?”

  Jesse shook his head.

  “We might as well get this clear now,” I said. “I got this information. Erin’s real name is Ethel Boverini. Misty is her younger sister, Edith. When she was eighteen, Erin married a man in Los Angeles County named Gerard Basgall.”

  “You found this out?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re supposed to be working for us,” Buddy said.

  “I am,” I said. “You hired me to find out who killed Misty. I’m trying to do that.”

  “By investigating Erin?”

  “Everybody,” I said. “I’m not some one-woman crime lab. I can’t solve your crime if I don’t know what there is to know about the people involved.”

  “You, little lady, are fucking fired as of fucking now,” Buddy said.

  “Little lady,” Jesse murmured.

  I grinned at him for a moment.

  “You didn’t hire me,” I said. “You can’t fire me.”

  “Who you think’s been paying you.”

  “The checks so far have been signed by Erin Flint,” I said.

  “Where do you think she gets the money?”

  “Don’t know,” I said. “Don’t care.”

  “Listen, bitch…” Buddy started.

  “Buddy,” Jesse said.

  He didn’t raise his voice, but there was suddenly a little glitter of ice in it.

  Buddy stared at him. He looked a little uncertain, which, for Buddy, would have been a rare experience.

  “You become abusive and I will have to restrain you.”

  “Me?”

  “Maybe even slap you in a cell for the night. And who knows, it’s even possible that during the night you would fall in your cell and hurt yourself.”

  “Jesus Christ, are you threatening me?” Buddy said.

  Jesse looked at me.

  “What do you think
, little lady?” he said. “Was that a threat?”

  I smiled and nodded slowly. Buddy stared at both of us. There was a knock on the office door and Hammer stuck his head in.

  “Ms. Flint is prepared to talk with you now,” he said.

  25

  ERIN ’S EYES were puffy and her face was red, but she wasn’t crying. Bebe Ablon sat beside her with a hand resting on Erin’s forearm. Hammer went to the side of the room and stood against the wall behind Erin and folded his arms.

  “If we could,” Hammer said, “we’d like Ms. Flint to say her say without interruption. If there are questions, we’d greatly appreciate it if you’d wait until she’s had her say.”

  Jesse had apparently cowed Buddy for the moment. None of us said anything. Erin studied her hands, which she had folded on the tabletop in front of her. Bebe patted her arm and nodded.

  “My real name is Ethel Boverini,” Erin said softly. “My sister was Edith Boverini, but she used the name Misty Tyler.”

  Buddy opened his mouth and looked at Hammer. Hammer put his finger to his lips and Buddy didn’t speak.

  “When I was eighteen,” Erin went on, “after my mother died, I married a man named Gerard Basgall. We have never formally divorced. Edith was seventeen. We went to live with Gerard and he took care of us.”

  Erin stopped and took in some deep breaths. Bebe patted her forearm.

  “The three of us started a business,” Erin said.

  She sounded short of breath.

  “Gerard would set us up…. He had a connection at a nice hotel and we’d go there with men…. Gerard made sure they were nice…. And he’d always stay around and make sure we were okay…. Some men like young girls…and after a while we started going to different hotels…always upper-class…and we got to meet a lot of important movie people…and then Gerard hired some more girls and the business got to be pretty big…and me and Edith only did the special clients.”

  “When did you become Erin Flint?” Hammer said gently from his place against the wall.

  “Gerard changed our names,” Erin said. “Right when we first went with him.”

  “And why did you use different names?” Hammer said.

  “I don’t know. Some guys liked that we were sisters, you know? Both at the same time. Some guys, I guess, didn’t. So we had different names. Gerard told us.”

  “And when did you, ah, leave Gerard?” Hammer said.

  “When I met Buddy.”

  Everyone was quiet. Erin kept studying her hands.

  “Questions?” Hammer said.

  Bebe had stopped patting Erin’s forearm, but her hand still rested there.

  “How did you meet Buddy?” I said.

  “Hotel,” Erin said with no inflection and without raising her head.

  “Hey,” Buddy said.

  “Everybody knows everything, Buddy,” Erin said.

  “Well, if the fucking media gets it,” Buddy said, “your career is fucking history.”

  “That’s not necessarily going to happen,” Hammer said. “And if it did, it wouldn’t necessarily ruin anyone’s career.”

  “You shut the fuck up,” Buddy said. “You and her”—Buddy pointed his chin at Bebe—“are fucking fired, as of right now.”

  Hammer looked a little tired. If anything, Bebe looked a little amused. I wondered how many times Buddy had fired them before.

  “I bring you down here to protect us, for crissake,” Buddy said, “and you got her blabbing her whole goddamned whore history.”

  “You knew I was a whore, Buddy,” Erin said softly.

  For a moment I almost liked her.

  “Shut up,” Buddy said.

  “Buddy,” I said.

  “You shut up, too,” Buddy said.

  “Buddy,” I said. “Stop having a tantrum. This isn’t some cute business ploy that didn’t work. This is a homicide investigation. There are no secrets.”

  “Not with you on the fucking job,” Buddy said.

  “I’m a detective. DNA and fingerprints and powder traces are nice,” I said. “But most clues are human, they have to do with who people are and where they’ve been. Erin, you want me to find out who killed Misty. If you don’t want that, say so now. Because if I stay on, I’ll keep doing what I do.”

  “Bullshit,” Buddy said.

  Hammer said, “Let’s make this decision together, Buddy. Not right now, right here.”

  Buddy started to brush him off, and stopped, and looked at him, and nodded slowly.

  “Okay,” Buddy said. “Okay.”

  Jesse was looking at Erin. Her face was gray now, and her head hung, and her shoulders slumped.

  “There are a lot more questions we will have to ask,” he said to her. “But we don’t have to ask them now.”

  He smiled at Erin.

  “Why don’t you go home and have a drink.”

  She looked up at him for a moment and nodded her head.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Buddy said, and headed for the door. Erin and the two lawyers followed. The lawyers shook hands with me and Jesse as they left. Hammer gave us both a card.

  “That was kind of you,” I said to Jesse when we were alone.

  He grinned.

  “How’d you like to be Buddy Bollen’s lawyer,” Jesse said.

  “They were better than many,” I said.

  “Yes. That woman lawyer,” Jesse said, “Bebe. Didn’t say a single thing I could hear.”

  “I know.”

  “She was quiet and thoughtful,” Jesse said.

  “Not a bad thing in a lawyer,” I said.

  “I wonder how she got through law school,” Jesse said.

  26

  JESSE AND I went to watch Erin work out in the cage at Taft. She was wearing Adidas spikes, a black tank top, gray shorts, and a black adjustable baseball cap worn backward. Roy Linden was leaning on the edge of the batting cage, his chin on his folded forearms. A different college kid was pitching. Two of Buddy’s security guys stood near the batting cage.

  “I spent about two hours with her Monday,” Jesse said.

  Erin hit the ball very hard into the billowing field house net. She glanced triumphantly at Roy Linden.

  “Good,” Roy Linden said. “Nice.”

  “Out of any park,” Erin said.

  “It’s what happens,” Roy Linden said, “you stay nice and compact.”

  “How was she?” I said.

  “Recovered.”

  “Erin Flint again?” I said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Erin hit a ball that bounced weakly toward the pitcher.

  “Nice and easy,” Roy Linden said, “short swing. Bottom hand leads, top hand follows.”

  “Tell him to throw it higher,” Erin said.

  “If you don’t like a pitch, Erin,” Linden said, “just lay off it.”

  “And do what?” she said. “Just stand here?”

  “She does seem her old self,” I said to Jesse.

  “Buddy wasn’t there,” Jesse said. “Just her and the woman lawyer.”

  Erin hit the ball hard again.

  “Excellent,” Roy Linden said. “Head right on it. Excellent.”

  “She doesn’t know anyone who would want to hurt Misty. She doesn’t have any idea who might have done it. She still thinks it was meant to be her, trying to stop her from playing big-league ball.”

  “Just stand in the box,” Linden said to Erin. “Don’t swing. I just want you to pick up his release point.”

  “Just stand here?”

  “Tell me,” Linden said, “when he releases the ball.”

  “That’s boring,” she said.

  “You bet,” Linden said.

  “She have any thought about who it might be that’s trying to stop her?”

  “The old boys’ network,” Jesse said.

  I nodded.

  “You need to see it sooner,” Roy Linden was saying. “Focus. Try to see the ball leaving
his hand.”

  “For crissake, Roy, as long as I see it, what difference.”

  Linden’s calm never faltered.

  “Sooner you see it, Erin, longer you’ve got to decide what pitch it is and whether to swing.”

  Jesse was staring at the pitcher as we talked. I realized he was watching for the release point, too.

  “Buddy sent her to college, her and Misty. It was probably her happiest time.”

  “She tell you that?” I said.

  Jesse smiled and shook his head.

  Erin said, “There.”

  “Slow,” Jesse said. “She needs to see it sooner.”

  “So why do you say she was happy in college?”

  “Way she talked,” Jesse said.

  He still looked at the pitcher and nodded when the pitcher released the ball. I doubt that he was aware of it.

  “She played volleyball, softball. Ran track.”

  “Dated?” I said.

  “I gathered, not too much,” Jesse said. “She was older than most of the college boys, and looked like she looks. Most of them were probably scared to ask her out.”

  “Plus she was already with Buddy,” I said.

  Jesse nodded briefly as the pitcher released the ball. His nod was still ahead of Erin’s recognition.

  “I’m not sure faithful is part of their deal,” Jesse said.

  “It might be part of the deal,” I said, “but I don’t think either of them would be ruled by it.”

  “Whaddya throw,” Roy Linden yelled out to the college kid pitching.

  “Fastball, curve,” the kid said. “Got a circle change but I can’t locate it.”

  “Throw what you got,” Linden said. “Mix them up. I don’t care about location. I want her to see the rotation.”

  “It still bothers me,” I said, “that the two girls concealed their relationship.”

  Jesse nodded, watching the pitcher.

  “They were still doing it,” I said, “even after Misty died. Erin was still not admitting that they were sisters.”

  “They lived in a culture of denial,” Jesse said.

  “I just see the ball,” Erin said.

  “You’ll get it, keep focused on the release point, see how the ball rotates when he lets it go.”

  “I don’t see anything,” Erin said.

  “Focus,” Linden said.