Robert B. Parker's Blind Spot

by Reed Farrel Coleman

  The shadow came back into view. She felt his breath on her neck.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Nothing will happen to you until your husband gets here. For now, we wait.”

  45

  When he heard from Monty Bernstein that Harlan Salter IV had less than graciously declined the offer of free donuts and coffee and wouldn’t be in until sometime that afternoon, Jesse called Dix’s office to see if the shrink had an open spot in his schedule. Jesse had a familiar rush of mixed feelings when he was told that there’d been a cancellation and an appointment was available.

  “This a Jesse Stone session or a Paradise PD session?” Dix said.

  “Mixed.”

  “You usually are.”

  “Funny man.”

  Dix tapped his watch crystal. “Tick . . . tick . . . tick.”

  “I met a woman a few days ago and I already feel I’m in deep.”

  “That a problem?”

  “Might be. She’s gorgeous. Incredible in bed. Rich. Intelligent. Understanding.”

  “Yes, I can see how that would worry you.”

  “Are you being sarcastic?”

  Dix nodded slightly, a vague smile on his lips.

  “Okay, I can see how that might sound crazy. That Dee is perfect and I’m complaining about her.”

  Dix said, “Is that what you’re doing, complaining?”

  “No. It’s just that I get the sense that there’s more going on behind who she presents herself to be.”

  “More than the rest of us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it something you sense that might fade with time as you two would get more comfortable together?”

  “No.”

  “Have you asked her about it?”

  “Not yet,” Jesse said.

  “Why not?”

  “The timing hasn’t seemed right.”

  Dix nodded. “What would determine the right time?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. Let me repeat my question: Why haven’t you asked her about it?”

  “Maybe I don’t want to know the answer.”

  “Maybe?”

  “I’m afraid of the answer.”

  “Answer for her,” Dix said. “What would she say if you questioned her?”

  “That she’s hiding something. Something big.”

  “Are you afraid of the answer because it’s what you don’t want to hear or because it’s exactly what you want to hear?”

  “I don’t get you.”

  “Yes, you do. Should I repeat the question?”

  “No need, but I’m still not sure I get you.”

  “Describe Dee to me.”

  “Physically?”

  Dix nodded.

  “About five-foot-eight. Fairly long blond hair. Deep blue eyes. Very curvy . . .” Jesse stopped and then said, “Jenn.”

  “What about your ex?”

  “Dee and Jenn have roughly the same physical description, though they don’t really look alike.”

  “But you have been with more than one woman who meets Jenn’s basic physical description. Some, according to you, whom you prefer sexually to Jenn. So what about Dee that is Jenn-like to you worries you?”

  “Inaccessibility.”

  Dix smiled that smile. “What about it?”

  “I’m not sure if I’m afraid of her being inaccessible or if it’s what I’m finding so attractive.”

  “Makes sense. Your mutual inaccessibility kept you and Jenn bound together for many years.”

  “There’s something else.”

  “If you’re human, there usually is.”

  “It’s where I met Dee,” Jesse said. “It was at the reunion.”

  “Ah,” Dix said, “the reunion. I was wondering when you’d get around to that.”

  “Dee was there with Vic and Kayla Prado. She and Kayla are close friends. After I had to leave the reunion early to come back for a case, they showed up in Paradise together.”

  “Isn’t Kayla the woman who left you for Vic Prado after you were injured?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Dix remained silent. Jesse, too, for several minutes.

  “Detectives learn early on to be quiet, to give suspects empty space to fill,” Jesse said. “But you know that.”

  “Learned it on the job and in shrink school. Except I’m not a suspect and I won’t fill the empty space.”

  “You think I slept with Dee to punish Kayla.”

  “Not important what I think.”

  “Then why do I pay you?”

  “Good question. Why?”

  “Kayla came to my house essentially to offer herself to me and Dee was there.”

  “How did it make you feel?” Dix said.

  Jesse shrugged.

  “Eloquent.” Dix looked at his watch. “We’ll have to pick it up next time and maybe talk about the case you wished to discuss with me.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Before you leave, there’s something I want to say to you, Jesse.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I have no doubt you have concerns about Dee and that there must be a very interesting dynamic between Dee, Kayla, and you. But I suspect there’s something or someone that motivated you to call for an appointment today. Think about that for our next session.”

  Jesse didn’t have to think about it. It was all about the reunion and the reunion was all about Vic Prado. Julio Blanco’s voice kept Jesse company on the way back to the station.

  46

  Molly Crane showed Harlan Salter and Monty Bernstein into Jesse Stone’s office. Jesse was at it again, standing back to the door, pounding a ball into the pocket of his old Rawlings glove. Sometimes he did the ball-and-glove ritual, like praying the rosary, to calm his mind, to help him think. Sometimes it was purely distraction, a way to occupy himself and not to give in to his desire to drink. Sometimes, like that day, it was both. He was frustrated at his lack of progress in the investigation. The Salter kid was in bad shape, but he would survive. It was Martina Penworth that concerned Jesse. If he was to speak for her, so far he hadn’t given her much of a voice.

  Voice. That was the problem. He couldn’t get straight answers. People, often innocent people, gave slightly crooked answers or, as Yogi Berra might have said, they talked out of both sides of their faces. It was natural for people to put themselves in the best light even in bad situations. Good cops understood as much and corrected accordingly. This was different. Salter and his lawyer made the right noises about wanting to help catch the killer, but that’s all it felt like to Jesse: noise. From the start, Salter and Bernstein seemed reluctant at best. They parsed their words with great care and hid behind straw walls of worry and concern for Martina and the younger Salter. There was something else going on here that he just couldn’t see. Frustrated as he was by that, it wasn’t what was making him thirsty for the bottle in his desk drawer.

  He had almost fooled himself that he had moved beyond his minor-league days and the haunting ifs and should-have-beens in his life. At least he thought he had come to some kind of peace about it, but the invitation to that damned reunion had put the lie to that bit of self-deception. Jesse discovered the hard way that he was no more at peace with that play at second base than he had been the night it happened. He supposed he always drank a little more than he should have, even before that stupid exhibition game in Pueblo. Still, he could draw a crooked line back in time that would connect that aborted double play to the beginning of his losing battle with alcohol. And when his marriage fell to pieces, it totally set him off. His marriage to Jenn had been yet another serious long-term commitment that, just like baseball, had crashed and burned. Dix might say that Jesse had let the alcohol ruin his L.A.P.D. career before it too came tumbling down due to s
omething coming at him out of a blind spot. Laymen see alcohol as a means to lose control. For you, Jesse, it was a way to exert control. Still is. God, he wanted a drink, and the internal tape loop of Julio Blanco’s voice wasn’t helping any.

  “Jesse,” Molly said. “Jesse.”

  But he didn’t acknowledge her, continuing to pound the ball into the glove.

  Monty Bernstein tapped Molly on the shoulder and smiled at her. He pointed his chin at Jesse. “Was he a ballplayer?”

  Molly felt a tiny flutter at the lawyer’s touch, but she hid her reaction well. She had had her one fling with Crow years back and that was an itch she never intended to scratch again. Though she supposed if she thought about it, at least Monty Bernstein wasn’t the stone killer she knew Crow to be. Then again, as handsome and charming as the lawyer was, he wasn’t a full-blooded Apache warrior.

  “Shortstop with a lot of promise,” she said. “It’s a long story, and it’s not mine to tell.” Molly turned to Jesse and put her hand on his back. “Jesse, Mr. Salter and his lawyer are here to see you.”

  “Thanks, Molly,” Jesse said, but he didn’t turn around to face them. Even after Molly had closed the door behind her, Jesse remained with his back to Salter and Bernstein.

  Harlan Salter was not pleased. “Chief Stone, you forced us to come in here for no good reason. The least you could do is show us the courtesy of—”

  “You know what’s been bothering me?” Jesse said, interrupting Salter.

  Bernstein spoke up. “No, Jesse, what’s been bothering you?”

  “A girl was murdered in my town and your client’s son was kidnapped, but no one seems to know why. I can almost understand Martina’s murder if she got in the way of your son being kidnapped. It’s awful to think about, a girl getting killed because she was an inconvenience, but it makes a twisted kind of logic. What doesn’t make much sense to me, no matter how I look at it, is why your son was kidnapped in the first place.”

  “C’mon, Jesse. You were a big-city Homicide detective. I’ve been a prosecutor and a criminal defense lawyer for a long time,” said Bernstein. “Murder, crime . . . sometimes there is no sense to it.”

  Jesse turned around and placed his glove on the desk, ball buried in the pocket. “You’re right, Monty. Sometimes there is no sense to it.” He sat down. He gestured for Salter and his lawyer to sit as well. When they were seated, he said, “But I’ll tell you the part in all this that makes the least amount of sense to me.”

  Salter rapped his pipe against the side of his chair. “Please do, Chief Stone. I would like to get through this inconvenience and go visit my son.”

  “Why would someone murder Martina, abduct your son, and then, for no apparent reason, release him? I can’t work that out. Any ideas?”

  Salter’s face grew taut with anger, the veins in his neck pulsing through his pale and papery skin. Jesse noticed. Monty noticed Jesse notice.

  “I’m not sure what you’re implying, Jesse,” Bernstein said.

  “I’m not implying anything.”

  Salter was losing patience. “Then what are we doing here?”

  “Helping me think.”

  Salter stood and thrust his pipe stem at Jesse. “I’ve had quite enough of this. I am leaving now. Whatever you have to discuss, you can discuss with Mr. Bernstein. I am going to see my son. Good day, Chief Stone.”

  When the door to the office closed, Monty shrugged.

  “Now that he’s gone, you want to tell me what’s really going on, Jesse?”

  “Sure. How about a drink, since it’s only the two of us?”

  Monty nodded. Jesse pulled a bottle and two plastic cups out of his desk drawer. He poured a few fingers of scotch for the both of them. They raised their cups to each other and drank.

  “So, Jesse, you were about to tell me what’s really going on.”

  “Fair enough.” Jesse stood, came around the desk, and sat on the edge so that he loomed over the lawyer. “What I think is that you and your client are full of shit. That your client knows exactly why his son was kidnapped and then released. And if Martina Penworth hadn’t been collateral damage, I wouldn’t care. But she was killed. She was killed in my town and that means I care. I care a lot. It also means I’m putting you and your client on notice.”

  But Monty was cool. “Good to know where we stand. Thank you for that.”

  “I’ll ask you directly: What were you and Salter doing in Helton the other day and did it have anything to do with getting the kid released?”

  “You’ll understand if I refuse to comment.”

  “I’ll understand it,” Jesse said. “I won’t like it.”

  The lawyer held up his empty cup. “Can a guy get a refill around here?”

  Jesse obliged and poured himself another as well.

  “You were a ballplayer?” Monty said.

  “Dodgers triple-A affiliate in Albuquerque. Next stop Dodger Stadium.”

  “What happened?”

  Jesse’s eyes got a distant look in them. “I used to think I knew. Now I’m not so sure anymore.”

  Monty was about to ask Jesse to explain, but there was a knock on the pebbled glass and Molly stuck her head in. She noticed the bottle on Jesse’s desk and the plastic cups in their hands.

  “I take it the official proceedings have drawn to a close,” she said.

  “You should be a detective.”

  “I would be if my damned boss would go to bat for me.”

  Monty Bernstein smiled at her. “You could bring suit. I know some very good labor lawyers. I could pretty much guarantee a large cash settlement and that detective’s shield. I’m afraid that your boss would probably lose his job in the process.”

  “Let me think about it,” she said, staring directly at Jesse.

  “Maybe we can discuss it over a drink.”

  “Relax, Counselor,” Jesse said. “You two want to flirt and plan my demise, don’t do it in my office. Molly, you’re here because . . .”

  “Because there’s someone else here to see you.”

  “Male or female?”

  “Male,” she said.

  “Mr. Bernstein was just leaving.”

  Jesse stood and shook the lawyer’s hand.

  “I’m going to find out what’s going on,” he said. “Tell your client that.”

  “I figure you to try, Jesse.”

  Bernstein turned to go, but before he got two steps toward the office door, another man walked past Molly, through the door.

  Annoyed, Molly said, “Excuse me, sir. You’ll have to—”

  Jesse held up his hand. “Don’t bother. This is no ‘sir,’ Molly. This is Vic Prado.”

  Monty Bernstein didn’t wait around to be introduced.

  47

  Twenty minutes later Jesse walked out of his office with his former teammate at his side. Vic Prado slapped Jesse on the back, smiled his million-dollar smile at Molly, and left.

  “So that’s Vic Prado,” Molly said. “He always make an entrance like that?”

  “If he could have trumpets do a fanfare, he would. He likes to plant his flag wherever he goes. Only he’s claiming the territory for himself.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you two had much of a love affair.”

  “Long story.”

  “I’ve got time.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Molly stood and put her hands on her hips. “Says who?”

  “Your chief.”

  “Pulling rank again?”

  “It has its privileges,” he said and turned.

  “Jesse,” Molly called after him.

  He stopped, looked back over his shoulder. “Uh-huh.”

  “When Vic Prado first came in, Harlan Salter was on his way out.”

  “So?”

  “I don’t k
now . . . the way they looked at each other . . . I don’t know.”

  “What don’t you know?” Jesse said.

  “You know how it is when you run into somebody like an old lover or rival that you don’t expect to see in a place you don’t expect to see them?”

  “Awkward.”

  “Exactly. I think Prado and Salter know each other.”

  Jesse walked back toward Molly. “Vic Prado is a famous ballplayer. I’m not surprised Salter would recognize him.”

  “No, Jesse, it was more than that. The look went both ways.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Salter scowled at Prado,” she said.

  “That’s his default setting. He would scowl at a basket of mewing kittens and downy yellow ducklings.”

  Molly laughed. “I guess he would. That man could probably turn flesh into rock with his looks. But this was different. There was recognition in Prado’s eyes, too. And it was pretty uncomfortable.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “As I can be.”

  Jesse tilted his head at her. “Women’s intuition?”

  “Chauvinist. Cop’s instincts.”

  “Funny.”

  “What is?” Molly said.

  “I got the same sense about Monty and Vic. Felt like it wasn’t the first time they had shared the same space.”

  “Men’s intuition?”

  “Something like that.”

  Molly nodded. “Monty did leave in a hurry, didn’t he?”

  “Bet that didn’t please you. If I knew where Crow was, I’d—”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Excuse me.”

  “Sorry. Fuck you, Chief.”

  “That’s better, but next time, salute when you say it.”

  She saluted his back with the middle finger of her right hand as he retreated to his office.

  “And Molly . . .” he said, sticking his head through his office door.

  “What?”

  “Good work. Thanks.”

  48

  Dee turned right onto Boylston, left onto Yawkey Way, right onto Lansdowne, and waited. The bus ride from Paradise to Boston was okay as bus rides went. Not that she had taken a bus ride since college. For all the fuss, she should have just rented a car, but money was getting tight and she wanted time to think without having to pay attention to driving.