"I picked that up," Jesse said.
"So she wouldn't be for his own use," Kelly said. "There'd have to be a profit motive. Kid come from money?"
"Not that kind," Jesse said.
"So…"
"So sex."
"Gino hasn't got much background in prostitution," Kelly said.
"Because he wouldn't?"
"There's nothing Gino wouldn't," Kelly said. "He just hasn't."
"How about Vinnie Morris?"
Kelly shook his head. "He wouldn't."
"He a shooter?" Jesse said.
"They say he shoots clays with a handgun."
"Nobody can do that," Jesse said.
Kelly shrugged.
"He's a shooter," Kelly said. "Clay pigeons, people, don't make any difference to Vinnie."
"But?"
"But," Kelly shook his head. "You know how some of these guys are. There's stuff he won't do."
"Like prostitution?"
"Like that. Like dope."
"So what's he do for Gino?"
"Bodyguard, enforcement. Gino needs to threaten somebody, Vinnie's the threat. People threaten Gino, Vinnie's the response."
"How far from the street is Gino?" Jesse asked.
"Far. City used to be run by a guy named Joe Broz, but he got old, and his kid wasn't up to it. So things got divided up. The Feds put the Italians out of business. Tony Marcus runs Roxbury and part of Dorchester. The Burkes have the Irish neighborhoods like Southie. Fast Eddie Lee has Chinatown. Gino's pretty much got what's left: South End, Back Bay."
"So if Gino's an executive, how does he come in contact with a street kid like Billie Bishop?"
"Maybe you start at the other end," Kelly said. "Who likes fifteen-year-old girls?"
"That knows Gino Fish," Jesse said.
"And maybe has a connection to Paradise," Kelly said.
"That Gino likes?" Jesse said.
"That Gino can use."
Chapter Twenty-eight
The room was empty of ornament. Just a gray metal desk, an extra chair, and a swivel chair with a man sitting in it behind the desk. The man was white, entirely bald, clean-shaven. He wore a white shirt buttoned to the neck and a pair of pale blue jeans. The shirt and jeans were starched and pressed. His face was healthy-looking. His teeth were very white. His fingernails gleamed. The man's name was Dix.
Jesse sat in the extra chair.
"My name is Jesse Stone," he said. "My ex-wife says she's talked to you."
"She did," Dix said.
"You used to be a cop."
"Until I gave it up to be a drunk."
"What pushed your button?" Jesse said.
"My boozer button?"
"You know," Jesse said, "the precipitating event."
Dix laughed. Jesse noticed that Dix's hands lay perfectly still, one on top of the other on the desk in front of him.
"Booze," Dix said.
"Booze?"
"I was a drinker of opportunity," Dix said. "As soon as I could get booze, I did."
"I was all right until my wife left."
"No, you weren't. Even if you were sober. You were a drunk waiting to happen."
Jesse was silent for a time. Dix waited. He seemed ready to wait for the rest of eternity. There was nothing hurried in him.
"Lot of wives leave a lot of husbands," Jesse said.
Dix nodded.
"Not all the husbands have a drinking problem."
Dix nodded again.
"You married?" Jesse said.
"My wife left me because I was a drunk," Dix said. "By the time I got sober she was with somebody else."
"Tough."
"I earned it," Dix said. "Like they say, if you can't do the time, don't do the crime."
"Booze kill the job, too?"
"Yes."
"How'd you get sober?"
"I stopped drinking," Dix said.
"That's the secret?"
"You're a drunk because you drink," Dix said. "Don't drink, you're not a drunk."
"You don't believe in addiction?"
"Sure I do. I was addicted. Still am. But that's an explanation. You want to stop drinking, pal, you have to do more than explain it."
Jesse smiled a little.
"You're a cold bastard, aren't you," he said.
"Stopping is cold bastard work," Dix said. "Ever been to a shrink?"
"Not till now."
"Lotta people go to the shrink. They discover their childhood. They understand why they do what they do. And they say, 'Oh boy, now I understand why I'm such a full-bore blue-blooded asshole.' And they think they're cured."
"But they aren't," Jesse said.
"They're halfway," Dix said. "The trick is to stop being a full-bore blue-blooded asshole."
"I sense a parable," Jesse said.
Dix smiled. "You need will as well as understanding."
"There's the rub," Jesse said.
"Yep. There's the rub," Dix said.
"Can you help?"
"What am I, another pretty face? Of course I can help you. But I can't stop you. You got to find a reason for that."
"Like a higher power?" Jesse said.
"Like not getting your ass shot because you're drunk while serving and protecting," Dix said.
"So what do we do?"
"We talk," Dix said. "We think about where you are and how you got there. Sometimes I offer advice."
"Like what?"
"Like drink a lot of orange juice. Your body starts to crave sugar when you give up booze."
"Why juice?"
"Because it's better for you than candy bars and tonic," Dix said.
"For that I'm paying a hundred and fifty an hour?"
"A hundred and sixty-five an hour," Dix said. "I'm here all the time. You can call me anytime. You can stop by at 3:00 A.M. if you want. We can talk. We can sort out the things you tell yourself. And we can agree once again that the way to stop is to stop."
"And I'm doing this why?"
"You tell me," Dix said.
"I need to stop drinking."
Dix nodded.
"Jenn tell you about me?"
Dix nodded.
"This job, in Paradise, is the last stop. I get off the bus here and where do I go?"
"Freud says the things that matter most to people are love and work," Dix said.
"I don't want to be oh for two."
"I don't know where it will lead," Dix said. "But I've talked with Jenn, and the connection between you is very powerful."
"You're saying maybe I could be two for two?"
"I'm saying you do what you can. Jenn is up to Jenn. But the work is up to you."
"I can do the work," Jesse said.
"If you're sober."
"And Jenn?"
"Jenn will do what she will do," Dix said. "All you can do is be sober."
"And staying sober helps the work and the work helps the staying sober."
"Can't hurt," Dix said.
Again they sat quietly in the unadorned room. Dix remained motionless.
"That's what you're doing," Jesse said.
Dix didn't answer.
"You stay sober by helping people stay sober," Jesse said.
"See, you learned something already."
Jesse thought about it. He laughed.
"I need a drink," he said.
"Me too," Dix said.
"But you won't."
"Nope."
They were silent for a long time. Jesse could hear his breath going in and out. Dix didn't move. The steadiness of his gaze was implacable.
"And if I can't quit?" Jesse said finally.
Dix waited a moment before he answered.
"Then," he said, "you're fucked."
Chapter Twenty-nine
Jesse sat in the sunroom off the front parlor of the house in Swampscott and talked with Hank and Sandy Bishop.
"The dead girl we found in Paradise is your daughter Elinor," Jesse said.
Sandy Bisho
p's mouth was thin with denial. Her husband seemed to have disappeared behind the blank façade of his face.
"That can't be," Sandy Bishop said.
"I'm sorry," Jesse said. "But it is. We know it's Billie, and we know Billie is your daughter."
Hank Bishop's face seemed to grow tighter. Sandy's pretty cheerleader face became more disapproving. Jesse felt as if he had misbehaved and she were going to scold him. Jesse waited. Hank Bishop opened his mouth and closed it. He looked at his wife. She continued to gaze at Jesse, the disapproval in her face unflinching. Jesse waited. Hank's breathing was audible. He seemed short of breath. He tried to speak.
"We…"
Sandy raised her right hand sharply as if she were tossing something away.
"Billie was lost to us," she said, "a long time ago."
The only thing Jesse could hear in her voice was the same disapproval that had shown in her face.
"How long?"
"She ran away from us at the end of the school year, but she had left us in every other way long before that."
"You didn't get along?" Jesse said.
"She didn't get along. We have two other daughters. We get along with them. Emily is at Mount Holyoke. Carla is captain of her soccer team."
"Do you know anyone she might have been with?" Jesse said.
"No."
Jesse looked at Hank Bishop. He didn't speak.
Jesse said, "Any thoughts, Mr. Bishop?"
Bishop shook his head.
"Do either of you know anyone named Gino Fish?" Jesse said.
Sandy Bishop said, "No."
Jesse looked at her husband. Hank Bishop was looking at the gray-green carpeting between his feet. He shook his head.
"Vinnie Morris?"
"No."
"Development Associates of Boston?"
"No."
"When she ran away, do you know where she went?"
"No."
"Could I get a list of her friends?"
"She never brought her friends home," Sandy Bishop said. "Except Hooker Royce, and he didn't last long."
"Do you know why?"
"She couldn't hold on to a boyfriend any better than she did anything else," Sandy said.
"Do you have any theory about how she died, or why?"
"No," Sandy said. "And we don't want to keep talking about it. We mourned Elinor's death long before this. We don't want to go through that pain again."
"I understand," Jesse said.
"No. I don't think you do," Sandy said. "But whether you do or don't, all we ask is that you leave us alone. We have nothing else to say."
Jesse looked at Hank Bishop. Hank was still looking at the carpet. Jesse closed his notebook and stood. He tucked the notebook and the Bic ballpoint into his jacket pocket.
"Thank you for your time," Jesse said.
Neither of the Bishops said anything. Jesse walked through the color-coordinated pastel living room to the front hall and opened the front door and went out and closed the door behind him.
Outside it was a bright summer day flavored with the faint smell of ocean drifting up from a beach he couldn't see.
The female of the species, Jesse thought.
Chapter Thirty
Vivian Snyder came into Jesse's office with Molly. Her left arm was in a cast. She had two black eyes and Jesse could tell that there was packing in her nose. Jesse got to his feet.
"Sit down, Mrs. Snyder," he said.
When she had eased into a chair, Vivian Snyder looked at Molly.
"I don't want her here," Vivian said.
Jesse nodded to Molly. She went out, leaving the door open. Jesse was quiet Vivian looked uncomfortable in her chair. She looked around the office. File cabinets, coffeemaker, computer, window overlooking the parking area in front of the fire station.
"You married?" Vivian said.
"No."
"Ever been married?"
"Yes."
Vivian nodded as if what he had said were significant. Jesse waited.
"The bastard has been hitting me for years," Vivian said.
"Why do you stay?" Jesse said.
"I'm Catholic. I'm not supposed to get divorced."
"Have you talked with your priest?"
"No. I didn't want nobody to know."
"But you're talking with me?"
"You know anyway."
Jesse nodded. Outside Jesse's window some firemen were polishing one of the trucks. Their voices sounded happy.
"I don't want a divorce," Vivian said.
She was looking at her right hand, as if she were checking the polish on her fingernails.
"We been together a long time," she said. "We went to high school together."
"Hard to walk away from that," Jesse said.
"He didn't used to hit me."
"Is it booze?" Jesse said.
"Mostly. He usually won't hit me unless he's drinking."
"Any kids in the house?"
"No. We never had kids."
Outside the window one of the firemen whooped with laughter.
"You want to bring charges against your husband?" Jesse said.
"I don't know what to do," Vivian said.
Jesse was still. She'd get to it.
"I'm fifty-three years old, and I drunk too much for twenty years, and I'm fat and stupid and I look like shit."
Jesse made a neutral gesture with one hand.
"I got no kids," Vivian said.
Jesse nodded.
"I got no money. I got no education."
Jesse nodded.
"Last job I had was waitressing at a pancake house in Lakeville."
Jesse stayed still and waited.
"I lose Jerry, what the fuck have I got?" she said, and began to cry.
"A rock and a hard place," Jesse said.
Molly appeared at the open door and looked in. Jesse shook his head slightly and Molly went away. Vivian sat with her head down and cried aloud. After a time she got her breathing under control and raised her face.
"Maybe you could talk to him," she said.
"I could do that," Jesse said.
"I don't know what else to do," Vivian said.
"You and your husband ever been in counseling?"
"You mean a shrink?"
"Yeah."
"I'm not talking to nobody," she said.
"Except me," Jesse said. "Shrinks are all crazy anyway," she said. She was crying again. Jesse sighed and nodded slowly.
"Okay," he said. "I'll talk to him."
Chapter Thirty-one
"This is Molly Crane," Jesse said. "Lilly Summers."
"Nice to meet you," Molly said.
"And you," Lilly said.
She nodded at Jesse.
"How is he to work for?"
"Needs a lot of attention," Molly said.
"He does," Lilly said, "doesn't he."
They walked past the desk and into the corridor. To the left was Jesse's office. Straight ahead was the squad room. To the right was the line of four holding cells.
"I don't think I've ever seen a jail cell," Lilly said. "They don't look very tempting."
"They're not supposed to be," Jesse said.
The squad room had a long pine table in the center.
It was yellow with shellac. There was an empty pizza box on it, some empty cardboard coffee cups, and a carton half full of donuts.
There were two cubicles on the back wall. There was a computer set up in each.
"Looks like the faculty lounge," Lilly said. "This where you gather the men to solve crimes?"
"When they're not eating," Jesse said.
"Where do you keep guns and things?"
"There's an equipment closet off the squad room."
He held the door to his office open as Lilly went in.
"So this is where you rule," she said.
"And read the paper," Jesse said.
Lilly walked around the small office. She picked up Jenn's picture from Jesse's desk.
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"This her?"
"Yes."
"She looks familiar."
"She's the weather girl on Channel Three."
"I think you're supposed to say 'Weather Woman.' "
"I think so," Jesse said.
Lilly looked at the picture another long moment before she put it back on Jesse's desk.
"I wish she weren't so damned good-looking," she said.
"Me, too," Jesse said. "Want some coffee?"
"Sure."
Jesse poured two cups and gave her one. She sat across from his desk and sipped it.
"Have you found out about Billie Bishop?" Lilly said.
"The dead girl is Billie Bishop," Jesse said.
"Oh dear," Lilly said. "You're sure."
"I am."
Lilly had on a dark blue warm-up suit. Her hair was caught back with a blue headband.
"Have you told the parents?"
"Yes."
Jesse had on jeans and a corduroy jacket.
"How were they?"
"Very unusual," Jesse said.
"Grief?"
"I'm not sure. The father, I think so. The mother? Maybe not."
"Are you serious?"
"The mother was maybe relieved," Jesse said.
"My God."
"Whatever else is going on in that family," Jesse said, "it's the mother that controls it."
"I don't think I ever met her," Lilly said.
"I've had to tell a number of people that someone has died," Jesse said. "She's not like anyone else."
"What are you going to do?"
"We have a name in Boston. I have Suit going through the Internet, see if he can find anything that this name would have in common with Billie, or Paradise, or Swampscott."
"Suit?"
"Officer Simpson. We call him Suitcase."
"After the ballplayer," Lilly said.
"Very good."
Lilly nodded. She stood and walked to the file cabinet and picked up a baseball glove.
"Is this your glove?"
"Yes."
She read the label on the wrist strap.
"Rawlings," she said. "Is it a good one?"
"Yes."
"Have you always had it?"
"Since the Dodgers signed me."
"Do you still use it when you play softball?"
"Sure. That's why the pocket is so big."
Lilly nodded, looking at the glove.
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