“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Chief—Jesse?”
“Come in,” he said, and stood back to let her pass.
She purposefully brushed lightly against him as she came into the house.
“I was about to shave,” he said, not reacting to her touch. “What can I do for you, Bella?”
She smiled at him in a way that made her answer pretty clear. Then added, “Too bad you already showered.”
Jesse wasn’t in the mood for innuendo. “Why are you here?”
“I got tired of waiting for you to call me, so I took the initiative. That’s how I’ve gotten to where I’m at, Jesse . . . initiative.”
“Watch out for that. Initiative cuts both ways. It may get you far, but initiative almost got one of my cops killed a few years back.”
“Don’t you like me?”
“Well enough, but I don’t really know you.”
She laughed a coy little laugh. “I think that’s the point of my visit, Jesse,” she said, stepping very close to him and brushing her hand across his chest. “Letting you get to know me.”
He stepped back and away from her and headed into the kitchen.
He called to her. “I’m putting up some coffee. You want some?”
She trailed after him, abandoning innuendo and nuance. “I want some, but not coffee.”
“Sorry, not interested,” he said, though it wasn’t completely true. Any straight man with a pulse would have been interested in Bella, but he was more interested in something else: what she was doing there. Why had she come knocking today and not yesterday or tomorrow? Jesse understood Tamara. He even understood Nita Thompson’s loneliness and why she had reached out to him. She was a loner, too. But Bella was different. Her being here felt like part of a calculation.
“Coffee’s all I’ve got to offer.”
“Too bad for you.”
“I don’t doubt it, but I’m probably about twice your age and you don’t strike me as someone starved for male attention.”
“Young men are fools.” She waved her red-tipped fingers dismissively. “And they’re too hungry.”
“Watch that, Bella. I was young once and you won’t be forever.”
“Exactly.” There was that smile again.
“How do you like your coffee?”
“Come on, Jesse, I’m going to be in and out of town for at least the next month. We could have some fun.”
“Not going to happen.”
She came around the counter, leaned against him, and put her lips to his ear. “Going once . . . going twice . . .”
He stepped back again. “Great perfume. The cream’s in the fridge. Sugar’s over there.”
She shook her head. “You had your chance. Maybe if you’re nice, you can have another.”
“Very generous.”
“You’d be amazed at how generous I can be.”
“Probably. And Bella,” he said, “I’ll be in the mayor’s office in about an hour. Why don’t you meet me there? Bring Stan and Bascom with you.”
That got her attention. “Now I’m curious. What’s going on?”
“See you in an hour.”
64
Jesse didn’t know what to make of it, the feeling that he was being watched. He’d checked his mirrors many times on his way into town. He’d done all the tricks: made unexpected stops, pulled off the road, changed his route, doubled back, but he didn’t see anyone or anything that was out of place. In the end he attributed it to his coming to terms with Tamara’s news and to that little scene Bella Lawton had played out in his kitchen. He was still trying to make sense of that when he strode into Mayor Walker’s office.
At least Bella had heeded his suggestion about bringing Stan White and Bascom along for the meeting. None of them looked very pleased about being summoned to a meeting, and Stan White let everyone know about it.
“Damn it, Stone, what the hell kinda town is this? Yesterday you seemed pissed that Bella, Roger, and I were at the meeting. Today it’s practically a command performance. What’s with that?”
Bella Lawton hung back, almost as if trying to blend into the wainscoting. Jesse guessed she might have been a little bit embarrassed by her showing up at his house and coming on as strong as she had. Or maybe that wasn’t it at all. Strangely, it was Bella who would probably be most pleased by what he was about to say, but it was Stan White’s reaction Jesse was most interested in.
“Yesterday, a package was delivered by messenger to Roscoe Niles at WBMB-FM,” Jesse said. “No one got a good look at the messenger.”
Bella Lawton was puzzled. “Roscoe Niles. Who’s he?”
“He’s a fat old drunk, a DJ whose best days were behind him by 1980,” Stan White answered. “He’s a real prick.”
Jesse shook his head. “He loves you, too. But he told me you were once friends.”
White began to speak, but the mayor interrupted.
“I’m sure this is all very fascinating . . . or not. Someone please tell me why we’re all here.”
Jesse removed several sheets of paper from a brown folder and handed them out. He scanned everyone for their reaction, but focused most intently on White.
Bascom grumbled, not even bothering to look at the sheet. “What’s this?”
There was stunned silence from Mayor Walker and Nita Thompson. Bella Lawton tried hard to hide her smile but couldn’t contain it. Stan White didn’t even try to contain his smile. Still, his reaction seemed far too muted for Jesse’s liking.
“Is this authentic?” Jesse asked White.
White didn’t answer, not directly. “Where is it, the original?”
“I gave it to the state police for analysis before I came here,” Jesse said. “Does this look like the original?”
“It does,” White said. “But the original is on a sheet of old brown paper.”
“What does it mean, Stan, if what was delivered to Roscoe Niles’s station is the genuine article?”
“What does it mean?” White threw up his hands. “It means that whoever had the poem also has the tape. We were told by the police never to divulge that to the public. But both things were stolen at the same time. Terry, God bless him, always kept this poem in the studio for inspiration during the recording sessions. And one day, poof, both went missing.”
Nita asked, “Jesse, why do you think the poem was sent to Roscoe Niles?”
“Because whoever has the tape is frustrated by the lack of coverage he’s received. I suppose he hoped Roscoe Niles would read the poem on the air and blow this whole thing wide open. Let’s be clear, it’s going to come out. He’s got the tape and he wants to auction it off to the highest bidder.”
Bascom didn’t like it. “The guy’s a murderer.”
“Probably,” Jesse said. “But we’d have to catch him and then we’d have to tie the murders to the tape and him to the murders. Sounds simple enough, but all we’ve got at the moment is speculation and circumstantial evidence. We’re going to have to play this thing out or we’ll lose him.”
“Chief, you can’t be serious,” Mayor Walker said.
“Deadly serious. Right now, he’s holding fifty-one of the fifty-two cards in the deck. The only card we have to play is that he seems to want to do this with a big splash of publicity to create a bidding war for the tape. If we play it tough and refuse to negotiate, he’ll take the tape off-shore and sell it to a foreign buyer who lives in a country less concerned about intellectual property rights than we are. He may get a smaller deal that way, but he’ll have his money and disappear, Stan and Terry Jester will be screwed again, and we’ll have two unresolved homicides.”
“Jesse’s right, Mayor Walker,” Stan said. “In places like China, they don’t care too much about copyrights.”
Bascom nodded in agreement.
“If we play it out,
” Jesse said, “he may get cocky and overconfident. That breeds sloppiness, and, remember, at some point the tape and the money will have to change hands. That may be our one chance.”
Mayor Walker asked everyone but Jesse and Nita to leave.
“You’re taking an awfully big risk here, Jesse,” Nita said after the other three had gone. “The problem is, the biggest risk isn’t yours to take.”
Walker waved the copy of the sonnet at Jesse. “It’s my neck, pardon the expression, you’ll be putting in the noose if this goes wrong. If this man doesn’t get sloppy and gets away with it, I’ll look like a fool for letting it happen. And firing your ass won’t placate anyone but me.”
“And if we don’t play it out, we’ll have two open murder cases. What do I tell my cops and the people of Paradise about that? That your career is more important than catching the bad guy? Should I tell them justice is a political equation?” Jesse said, pulling a book off a shelf behind the mayor’s desk and placing it on her desk. “My job is to do right by the people of this town, not by your career.”
She didn’t bother looking at the book. “What’s this?”
“It’s a dictionary, Connie. Look up the words public and servant. We’re supposed to serve the citizens of Paradise, not the other way around. You want to fire me, fire me now. Or maybe I’ll resign and lay it all at your doorstep.”
Mayor Walker stepped close to Jesse. “You wouldn’t!”
“He would, Your Honor,” Nita said, stepping between them. “Don’t underestimate him.”
Jesse turned so that they couldn’t see his smile. “Let me know your decision, Connie. Until I hear otherwise, I’ll be doing my job.”
65
Jesse stopped at the donut shop and then went straight to the station. He’d hoped to catch up with Stan White and Bella Lawton after leaving the mayor’s office. He’d missed them and decided it would be better if he spoke to them separately.
Molly had a grin on her face when he came through the station door. Jesse barely noticed. He was preoccupied with Stan White’s reaction to the news about the sonnet. Sure, Jester’s manager had smiled a big smile when he saw the copy of the poem, but Jesse had expected much more. After all, White and Jester stood to make millions once the tape was recovered and the legalities were sorted out.
Molly didn’t wait for Jesse to ask. “I think I’ve got something.”
“A summer cold?”
“You’re an ass.”
“Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.” He held the box open to her. “Donut?”
“I shouldn’t.”
“Why do women always say that?”
“Because women are judged differently than men.”
“How many times have I told you that you would have been a great cop anywhere you chose?”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” she said, looking up at him. “Suit can put on twenty pounds and you wouldn’t see him any differently. You can’t say that would be true of me. Diana used to talk to me about not being taken seriously at the Bureau because she was beautiful. Women always have to walk a fine line between looking good enough and not looking too good.” When she saw Jesse’s grim face, she realized what she’d said. “Oh, Jesse, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up—”
He reached out, putting his free hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay to talk about her, Molly. I like thinking about her sometimes. And you’re right, women are judged differently and it’s not fair.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
He decided against telling her about Tamara’s job offer. It wasn’t his place to make it public knowledge and it was his job to sort through his own feelings.
“I just told the mayor to fire me or to let me resign.”
“One day, Jesse, you’ll go to that well once too often and a mayor will call your bluff.”
“And then you’ll wear the crown.”
“Stop saying that.”
“You said you had something for me?”
“I’ll be in your office in a minute,” she said, reaching into the donut box.
He pulled the box away. “You shouldn’t.”
“Jesse Stone, when you’re the voice of my conscience, I’ll shoot myself. Now put that box back here.” She grabbed a jelly donut.
A few minutes later, their roles were reversed. Molly was standing in front of Jesse’s desk, holding the composition notebooks from Maude Cain’s house in one hand and a file in the other.
“Remember we met with Deanna Banquer and she described that nasty lodger—”
“Evan. Any luck?”
“Well, I looked through every page in these notebooks, Jesse, and there’s not a single mention of anyone named Evan. And the name didn’t ring a bell for anyone I spoke with on the phone.”
“I know you, Crane. You didn’t come in here to tell me you failed.”
“Evan wasn’t in the books because Maude Cain didn’t consider him a lodger, at least not a lodger like the other people who stayed in her house.”
“Why not?”
“Because he was her nephew.” She put the file in front of Jesse. “The day Maude’s body was discovered you told me to start searching for next of kin. Well, after the ME positively identified her, I dropped that search, but I got this back from the municipal clerk’s office in Blue Ridge, Vermont. That’s the town where Maude Cain’s older sister, Mercy Updike, lived.”
“Certificate of Live Birth,” Jesse said. “Evan Cain Updike. May twenty-sixth, 1946. I’m not sure this gets us anywhere, but it’s something. See if you can find him.”
“Gee, Poirot, I never would’ve thought of that on my own.”
“Wiseass. Get out of my office.” She left.
Jesse stood, stretching some of the weariness out of his muscles, staring out his office window. He would head over to Stiles Island in a little while, but first he wanted to have a chat with Roscoe Niles. The night before, Spenser had mentioned the guy who had worked as the engineer for The Hangman’s Sonnet recording sessions. If anyone might know the man’s name, it would be Roscoe Niles. Niles had an encyclopedic knowledge of those sorts of facts. He could tell you who played tambourine or triangle on obscure tracks. Jesse would ask Stan White the same question in a little while, but he didn’t trust White to begin with and trusted him even less after his reaction in the mayor’s office. Unfortunately, his calls to Roscoe’s house went unanswered. Jesse was in the process of leaving a voicemail message when Molly burst back into his office.
“Jesse, you better get over to the nature preserve,” she said.
“Why?”
“I just got a call on the station number. Said we’d find something in the old toolshed.”
“Same anonymous guy as before?”
“The number was blocked like before, but I couldn’t tell for sure. I sent Gabe ahead to secure the area.”
“Good. Did the caller say what we’d find?”
“Only that we’d find something in the shed.”
Jesse smiled. Whoever they were dealing with was getting impatient. Maybe too impatient for his own good.
66
Gabe Weathers was leaning against the front fender of his cruiser when Jesse pulled up.
“Did you approach the shed?”
“No, Jesse. The tape is still up from when the body was found over there, so I just stayed here to make sure no runners or hikers approached the shed. I haven’t seen a soul since I arrived.”
“Okay, you sit tight,” Jesse said, putting on a gloves. “Get Peter down here, just in case I find something in there.”
“Think it’s another body?”
“If it is, you’ll be calling Molly Chief Crane.”
Gabe laughed. When he saw that Jesse was serious, he stopped.
But for the sounds of chirping birds, small animals rustling th
e leaf litter, and the barking of angry squirrels, there was a strange stillness in the air. Jesse didn’t like it, but he hadn’t liked much of anything lately. From the morning of Suit’s wedding, when he hid his shaky hands as he listened to Bascom, White, and Bella go on about Terry Jester, to that moment in the woods, everything had seemed just a little off. He thought back to earlier in the day, to how Bella Lawton had just shown up at his door to offer herself up to him for the asking and he recalled how on his drive into town he’d had the sense he was being watched. He felt that way now. He ducked under the tape and felt the earth give under his weight.
“Did it rain last night?” he asked, turning back to Gabe.
“Sprinkled on and off for about a few hours, but nothing to speak of.”
“And you’re sure you haven’t seen anyone?”
“Not unless you count a doe and her fawn.”
“You’re a funny man, Gabe.”
“My wife doesn’t think so. By the way, Peter’s en route.”
Jesse stayed close to the tape as he approached the shed. As he walked, he looked at the ground near the shed. He noted the deer tracks but didn’t see fresh shoeprints anywhere. That didn’t necessarily mean there wasn’t something in the shed. The call to Molly might have come in only fifteen minutes ago, but what was left in the shed might’ve been left there before it rained. He stood by the shed, looked it over thoroughly before opening the door. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for, but whatever it was, he didn’t find it. He pulled the door back.
Nothing. Well, nothing but what had been there the day they found Curnutt’s body. Just spiderwebs and the handle to an old rake or shovel that had probably been there, untouched, for years.
“Anything, Jesse?” Gabe called to him.
“Not a thing. Call Peter and tell him not to bother. False alarm.”
Weathers, ducked his head into his cruiser and did as he was told.
“Okay, Jesse. Peter’s gone back on patrol.”
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