Blue Screen

by Robert B. Parker

  “Perhaps we’ll hold him in reserve,” I said.

  We were quiet for a time, concentrating on our mediocre chef salads. When I had enough, I put my fork down and blotted my lips with my napkin, and took out my lip gloss.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” I said.

  “I like it,” Jesse said. “I’ll take all the womanliness I can get.”

  I finished with my lip gloss and looked at him.

  “How are you?” I said.

  “Lousy,” Jesse said.

  “Your ex-wife?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  I was quiet. I decided to let it sit. He’d talk when he was ready. I would, too.

  “Well,” I said after a time, “you’re still drinking iced tea at lunch.”

  “So far,” Jesse said.

  34

  WHEN FELIX called me with Moon Monaghan’s address in Chestnut Hill, he said, “That cop you’re going to see Moon with—he any good?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I think he is.”

  “Small-town cop?”

  “Used to be a homicide detective in Los Angeles,” I said.

  “Cops don’t scare Moon much,” Felix said.

  “Do you?”

  “Not enough,” Felix said.

  “We’ll have a couple of state troopers with us,” I said to Felix, “giving us jurisdiction, sort of.”

  “Good,” Felix said. “I’ll let Moon know you’re with me.”

  “Don’t warn him we’re coming,” I said.

  Felix made his laugh noise again.

  “I’ll just let him know, like generally, that you’re with me and Desmond.”

  “Thank you, Felix.”

  “Be careful of Moon,” Felix said. “I don’t even scare him very much.”

  “You’re too modest,” I said.

  “Just be careful,” Felix said.

  And we hung up.

  Moon Monaghan lived in a big brick house with a view of the reservoir. I went with Jesse in a Paradise police cruiser, which Jesse drove.

  A state police cruiser followed us. Moon’s house was close to the road, with a short, wide driveway leading to a two-car garage. Jesse parked in the driveway, next to a BMW sports car. The state police cruiser U-turned and parked on the street in front of Moon’s house.

  “What did you tell him?” I said.

  “Moon? I didn’t talk with Moon. I talked with his lawyer. I said we needed to talk with Moon about a crime we were investigating. I said we had no evidence that he was involved but that we hoped he could clear up some things for us. And I said, out of respect, we would come to him and not ask him to come out to Paradise and sit in the interrogation room.”

  “Do you actually have an interrogation room?” I said.

  “No.”

  A housekeeper let us in and led us to the living room. Moon was there with his lawyer. The lawyer was bulky and red-faced with a lot of silver-gray hair brushed straight back. He had on a double-breasted gray glen plaid suit, a red tie, and a blue shirt with a white collar. He had a briefcase with him, so we’d know he was a lawyer. Moon was something else again. He was very tall, maybe 6'5" or 6'6". He was angular with big hands, long fingers, and prominent knuckles. His skin was very pale, as if he never went out. His hair was long and white-blond and combed back smooth and tight against his long skull. The lawyer rose when we came in. Moon didn’t.

  “I’m Francis Clough,” he said. “I represent Mr. Monaghan.”

  “Jesse Stone,” Jesse said. “Sunny Randall.”

  Moon looked at us with eyes so pale it was hard to tell they were blue.

  “Please sit down,” Clough said.

  Jesse ignored him.

  ‘“Mind if I call you Moon?” he said.

  “I don’t give a fuck what you call me,” Moon said.

  His voice was flat and whispery, with no inflection, as if he had a mechanical throat.

  “So, Moon,” Jesse said. “Have you ever been involved in the movie business.”

  “No.”

  “Ever invest in any movie projects?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know a man named Buddy Bollen?”

  “No.”

  “Moon, Moon,” Jesse said. “We have pretty good information that you invested in a film project with Buddy Bollen.”

  “Yeah?”

  Jesse nodded.

  “Prove it,” Moon said.

  “If you have any allegations against my client…” Clough said.

  “Francis,” Moon said. “I talk. You listen. You hear one of my rights being violated, speak up. Otherwise, shut the fuck up.”

  “Sure, Moon.”

  “You got anything else to ask me?” Moon said.

  “Do you know anyone named Arlo Delaney?” Jesse said.

  He stood in front of Moon as he spoke, and looked down at him. I stood in the open doorway and leaned on the jamb.

  “No.”

  “Moon,” I said from the doorway. “He’s your cousin.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “And a fella named Newton, Greg Newton?” Jesse said.

  “Probably shortened from Nootangian,” I said.

  “Don’t know him,” Moon said.

  “Do you know what time it is?” Jesse said.

  “No.”

  “Nice to find consistency,” Jesse said. “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m retired.”

  “From what?” I said.

  “Nothing.”

  “And for income?” I said.

  Moon almost smiled.

  “Social security,” he said. “Plus, I got an IRA, couple mutual funds.”

  “Waste not, want not,” I said.

  “And I know about you, too, little girl,” Moon said. “I know you’re with the Burkes. Just don’t think it buys you anything with me.”

  “You have nothing I’d want to buy,” I said.

  He stared at me. Jesse moved slightly to his left and met Moon’s stare as if he were intercepting it. Neither blinked for a time.

  Then Moon said, “And being the fucking police chief in some hick fucking town don’t buy much from me, either.”

  Jesse kept his gaze on Moon for a little bit longer, then he smiled.

  “Damn,” Jesse said. “I was hoping it would.”

  35

  IWORKED OUT with Erin Flint in the private gym at SeaChase where Misty had died. Erin was wearing a cropped black tank top and shorts. I had on sweatpants and a loose gray T-shirt. Working out with Erin was not a good time to be showing off my body. Two security guards stood at the far end of the gym on either side of the door.

  “Do you know a man named Moon Monaghan?” I said.

  “Moon? Sure. He produced my first picture, him and Buddy.”

  “Really?” I said. “Very tall? Phony-looking platinum blond hair?”

  “Yeah. He used to date Misty.”

  “She like him?”

  “No. She thought he was creepy.”

  “Why did she go out with him?”

  “Buddy made her,” Erin said.

  “How?” I said.

  “How did he make her?”

  I nodded.

  “He just did. He told her Moon was important to the project.”

  Erin was doing one of those hideous butt exercises where you are on all fours and push up a weight backward with one leg, then the other. She paused and looked up at me from her hands and knees.

  “Besides, we used to be whores,” she said. “It wasn’t that big a deal.”

  I nodded. She remained on her hands and knees.

  “Actually,” she said after a moment, “I fucked him a couple of times, too.”

  “How was that?” I said.

  The thought of it was chilling, and I didn’t really want to know how it was. But I wanted to keep on the topic of Moon Monaghan, and I couldn’t think of anything else.

  “Like a trip to the gyno,” Erin said.

  “Clinical?” I said.<
br />
  “Yeah, that’s a good word,” Erin said. “He was clinical.”

  “And you had sex with him because he was important to the project?”

  “Of course,” Erin said.

  She began another set of butt shapers. It seemed effortless, and she showed no sign of strain.

  “Certainly not for fun,” she said.

  “Who do you sleep with for fun?” I said. “Buddy?”

  I didn’t know where I was going, but it was better than going nowhere.

  “Buddy? Do you think it would be fun to fuck Buddy?”

  “Can’t say that I do,” I said. “So who’s fun?”

  She came out of her hands-and-knees stance and sat on the floor with her back against one of the exercise machines and her amazing legs spraddled out in front of her.

  “Who do I fuck for fun?”

  I nodded.

  “And what makes that your business?”

  “I’m detecting,” I said.

  She sat on the floor and thought about it.

  “You know,” she said after a while, “I can’t think of anybody. How ’bout you?”

  “They’ve all been fun,” I said.

  “All?”

  “Not actually that many,” I said. “I was married for a while.”

  “But not now,” Erin said.

  “No.”

  “Now you’re just giving it away when you can.”

  I was having an actual conversation with Erin. I hated to lose it. On the other hand, I didn’t feel like explaining my sex life to her.

  “I have met some men I liked,” I said. “We have had some fun. Part of the fun is sex. But it’s not the only part.”

  “Isn’t that…cute,” Erin said.

  “It’s never been fun for you?” I said.

  “Honey,” she said. “I been a working girl since my mother died.”

  Sitting on the floor with her legs splayed, she opened her arms wide.

  “And this,” she said, “is what I’ve got to work with.”

  I smiled at her. “Well, it’s a wonderful instrument,” I said.

  “Yeah,” she said. “It is.”

  “Does Moon Monaghan know much about producing pictures?” I said.

  “God no,” Erin said. “He’s just a money guy.”

  She laughed.

  “Wants to be in show business,” she said. “When we were shooting Woman Warrior, the first one, he was on the set every day, hanging around, trying to score any actress he could get near. Drove Buddy crazy. Drove everybody crazy. In the way. Stupid. He was like a fucking tourist.”

  “So he invested in the show.”

  “Yeah. And insisted on a producing credit,” Erin said.

  “Do you know how much he put in?”

  She shrugged.

  “Nope,” she said. “You’ll have to ask Buddy.”

  “But that was why he was important,” I said. “Money.”

  “Yep.”

  She stood and arched her back a bit to stretch it, and walked toward the gravitron machine. She laughed without any amusement.

  “The Boverini sisters,” she said. “Right back where we started, fucking for money.”

  “And Buddy got the money,” I said.

  “Naturally,” Erin said.

  “So, to extend the analogy,” I said, “Buddy would be the pimp.”

  “I don’t know what an analogy is,” Erin said. “But Buddy would make a good pimp.”

  “Better than Gerard?”

  “Gerard,” she said. “Compared to Buddy, Gerard was…ah…what?…human…you know?…he was like a person. Buddy’s a windup piggy bank.”

  “Do you see Moon Monaghan anymore?” I said.

  “No, not since a little after the first picture.”

  “Woman Warrior?” I said.

  “Yes. He financed the first Woman Warrior picture, and used to come around after, for a while, bang one of the Boverini girls, or both of them. He liked a doubleheader now and then. Then he stopped showing up. Buddy never said anything about him.”

  “Did Woman Warrior make money?”

  “Sure. It was a big hit.”

  “You know how much it made?”

  “No, I just know Buddy said it did really well.”

  “Have you heard from Gerard since you went with Buddy?”

  “He sent me flowers the day after Woman Warrior opened.”

  “All right, Gerard,” I said. “So he knew how to find you.”

  “He knew I was with Buddy,” she said. “Why you asking me all this stuff?”

  “Investigating,” I said. “You never know what information will be useful.”

  “Here’s some information,” Erin said. “They don’t want me to play ball and they killed my sister by mistake.”

  “Is that why there’s so much security?” I said. “Because of you?”

  “Well, my God,” Erin said. “They killed my sister.”

  “I mean before that. I understand that you’re a star and he’s famous for his wealth. But the amount of security at his house and everywhere even before Misty was killed…I just wondered?”

  Erin shrugged her shoulders and stepped up onto the gravitron and began to do dips.

  She said, “I’m a damned movie star, you know.”

  “Did the security increase after Woman Warrior?”

  “I don’t know. I guess so. There were a couple guys around. Buddy’s driver. Couple guys at the house.”

  “But after Woman Warrior?”

  “More guys came aboard,” she said.

  “Fame has its price,” I said.

  “Wait’ll I play in the big leagues this summer,” she said.

  “You’re not scared?” I said.

  “Fuck them,” Erin said, “I’m going to do it. I’m going to do it.”

  “Them?”

  “All of them,” she said.

  “Men?” I said.

  “Every fucking one of them,” she said.

  36

  TONY GAULT told me,” I said to Jesse, “that if you sign onto a movie deal and don’t know much, you could end up with a percentage of the profit.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Jesse had put a bowl of water on his office floor for Rosie, and she was drinking from it and making a lot of noise.

  “And he told me that there were accountants out there who could make it look like Gone with the Wind didn’t make a profit.”

  “Which is why you’re better off,” Jesse said, “with a piece of the gross.”

  “I forgot for a moment that you used to live out there,” I said.

  “And my wife was an actress—sort of.”

  “I forgot that, too,” I said. “So you know all this.”

  “Everybody in LA knows all this,” Jesse said.

  Rosie continued to slurp at the water dish.

  “But maybe if you were a shylock from Boston,” I said, “and you trusted your cousin, you might not know all this.”

  “Especially if you were a dumb shylock,” Jesse said.

  “You think Moon is dumb.”

  “Moon’s success is rooted in greed and meanness,” Jesse said. “Got nothing to do with smart.”

  “So, say this dumb shylock puts a bunch of cash into a movie. He has a bunch of cash, thinks putting it into the movie will launder it. He gets a nice piece of the profit. And he gets to hang around with movie stars.”

  “Heaven,” Jesse said. “You think your dog is going to stop drinking anytime soon?”

  “She takes tiny, ladylike swallows,” I said. “So she has to do it for a while.”

  Jesse nodded. Rosie continued to slurp.

  “So,” Jesse said. “Suppose Moon puts a lot of money into this Woman Warrior movie. Do you know how it did?”

  “It may not even matter with creative accounting,” I said. “It could have tanked for real, or Buddy could have cheated him.”

  “Our Buddy?” Jesse said.

  “Just supposing,” I said. “E
ither way, Moon’s out his original investment and any earnings he might have hoped for.”

  “Which no one likes,” Jesse said. “But shylocks hate.”

  “Hate,” I said.

  “And if we believe Uncle Felix’s guy, Eddie,” Jesse said, “Moon’s collection technique is to spare the debtor and kill people around him.”

  “And according to Erin, he’d been to the house and knew the sister,” I said.

  Rosie stopped drinking water. Jesse looked down at her.

  “Already?” he said.

  “Rosie believes in moderation,” I said.

  Rosie came around Jesse’s desk and lay down on her side on the floor under my chair with her feet out straight. Her small body was so muscular that the top set of feet stuck straight out in the air.

  “This line of thinking gives us a nice suspect,” Jesse said.

  “Our first one,” I said.

  “Well, I kind of liked the black-belt pimp from LA, too,” Jesse said.

  “We can keep him in reserve,” I said.

  “Bench strength,” Jesse said, “is good.”

  “Of course, we have absolutely no proof for anybody,” I said.

  Jesse nodded. “And if it turns out that Woman Warrior turned a profit, might shake our theory a little,” he said.

  “I wonder if we can get an audit,” I said.

  “Probable cause?” Jesse said.

  “None,” I said.

  Jesse didn’t say anything.

  “I can ask Tony Gault what he knows, and what he can find out.”

  Jesse nodded. He appeared to be looking thoughtfully at Rosie.

  “You like Chinese food?” Jesse said.

  “I do.”

  “Would you care to come to my place tonight,” Jesse said, “and eat some with me?”

  “Why yes I would,” I said.

  37

  JESSE STONE’S condo was on the harborfront, with a small balcony off the living room that jutted out over the water. Framed on the wall behind the bar in the living room was a huge black-and-white photograph of a baseball player diving sideways, reaching for the ball.

  “Who’s that?” I said.

  “Ozzie Smith.”

  “I knew it wasn’t you,” I said.

  “Because he’s wearing a big-league unie?”

  “Well, that,” I said. “And he’s black.”