Robert B Parker: The Jesse Stone Novels 1-5

by Robert B. Parker

  “Oh be quiet. Stone, are you ready to apologize?”

  “I’m ready to talk,” Jesse said. “As soon as it’s my turn.”

  “I’d like to hear him,” Carleton Jencks said.

  His voice was deep, and there was authority in it.

  “Anyone else got anything else to say?” Jesse said. “I don’t want to cut you off.”

  He looked over the group. No one else spoke. Outside the office windows, it was dark.

  “Okay, here’s what I know. I know that there were two perfectly nice guys living a perfectly nice life in a perfectly nice house, and these three kids burned it down for the hell of it.”

  “You can’t prove that,” Kay said.

  “Didn’t say I could,” Jesse answered. “Said I know it. Robbie told me.”

  Jesse reached across his desk and punched up the tape recorder.

  “No.” It was clearly Robbie’s voice. “No. I wasn’t even in the house. I was outside watching chickie for the cops.”

  “Oh? So who set the fire?” Jesse’s voice sounded calm.

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t even in there. Earl had the gas can.”

  “You’re trying to tell me that he was in there with Snapper?”

  “Snapper told us he found an open window at the fag house and he’d been in there and tagged the walls in the living room. Earl stole the gas from my dad, for the power mower, and him and Snapper told me to watch for the cops, and they went in the house.”

  “Through the window?”

  “No, Snapper left the door unlocked.”

  “And you went in and torched the place.”

  “No.” The sound of panic in Robbie’s voice was oppressive in the crowded room. “No, I didn’t. Snapper and Earl torched it.”

  Jesse reached over and shut off the tape recorder.

  “Fucking squealer,” Snapper said.

  “He’s lying,” Earl said. “Brat.”

  Carleton Jencks put a hand on his son’s knee.

  “We’re here to listen, son,” his voice rumbled softly. “Not to talk.”

  “That’s not admissible evidence,” Kay Hopkins said. “You intimidated him into saying it.”

  “Kay,” Fogarty said.

  “Shut up,” Kay said.

  “You weren’t in the house?” Jesse said to Earl.

  “No.”

  Jesse sighed and ran the tape fast forward and punched PLAY.

  “Snapper made me do it.” Earl’s voice said. It was shaky as if he’d been crying. “We went in the house just to look around and then we got in there, and Snapper made me help him.”

  “Stop it,” Kay Hopkins said. “Stop the tape.”

  Jesse punched STOP. Kay Hopkins was pale, and there was a small tremor in her shoulders. Beside Jesse, Nick Petrocelli had his feet up on the windowsill. His eyes were closed.

  “I didn’t say that,” Earl said.

  “You did too, liar,” Robbie said.

  “You’re the liar,” Earl said.

  Kay Hopkins turned and slapped the son that was nearest. It was Earl. His eyes filled and his face reddened.

  “Kay,” her husband said.

  “You bastards,” she said to her sons, “see what you make me do? Do you like seeing me like this?”

  “For God’s sake, Kay,” Fogarty almost shouted, “will you shut the hell up.”

  She spun toward him in her chair as if she might slap him too. Her husband stood and put his hands on her shoulders. Jesse hoped she didn’t have a weapon.

  “Mrs. Hopkins,” Jesse said. “You either get yourself under control, or I’ll arrest you for assault on a minor child.”

  Kay didn’t look at him. She shook her shoulders, trying to dislodge her husband’s hands, and looked at Abby Taylor.

  “Well, goddamn it, what about you? You’re a woman.”

  “I think you should be quiet, Mrs. Hopkins. I think you should let your attorney speak for you. I know Chief Stone. He will do what he says he will do.”

  Slumped on his spine in the chair by the window, with his feet still on the windowsill, Petrocelli opened his eyes and pushed his glasses up on his nose.

  “You’ve probably guessed, Brendan,” he said in a strong New York accent, “what the heart of our defense will be if you bring false arrest charges.”

  “I don’t like to guess, Nick.”

  “Regardless of the final disposition of the case, these tapes are very clear evidence that Chief Stone and the Paradise Police had reasonable cause to arrest these boys.”

  “What’s that mean?” Kay Hopkins said.

  “It means he’ll pretty likely get to play these tapes in court,” Fogarty said.

  “Can he do that?”

  “Probably,” Fogarty said. “Abby?”

  “I concur,” Abby Taylor said.

  “But they can’t try these kids for the crime,” Jencks said.

  “No,” Abby said.

  Jencks nodded and looked at Jesse.

  “Okay. My son and I are not going to bring any false arrest suit,” he said.

  Jesse nodded. Jencks looked at his son.

  “You work too hard at being a tough guy,” he said. “We’ll talk about that at home.”

  “You’re a tough guy,” Snapper said.

  “Maybe too tough,” Jencks said. “We’ll talk about that too.”

  He stood up.

  “We’re free to go?”

  Jesse nodded again. Jencks took hold of his son’s arm and stood him up from the chair. Snapper didn’t resist. His father’s hand seemed to make him still.

  “Come on, Snap,” Jencks said, and they walked from the room without looking at Kay or Charles Hopkins as they went.

  “I don’t know why you hang out with a boy like that. No mother, father working all the time. No wonder he gets in trouble.”

  “Mrs. Hopkins,” Jesse said. “Snapper’s got problems, but he’s a stand-up kid. He didn’t blame either of your sons, and when he heard them blaming him, he didn’t deny it.”

  “So?”

  “So your own two kids are a mess. They’re criminals. They burned down a couple’s house because the couple was gay, if they even know what it means. Neither would accept any blame. They blamed Snapper. They blamed each other. Not much honor there, not much loyalty. No pride at all.”

  “Don’t you lecture me about my children,” Kay said.

  “Lecture’s over. But here’s a warning. Every day one of us will look at them. We catch them breaking the law, we will do our best to get them the maximum punishment allowed.”

  “And I’ll have you for harassing them.”

  “Put that energy into getting them some help, ma’am.”

  Everyone was quiet for a moment. Then Petrocelli spoke again.

  “So,” he said, “you bringing suit or no.”

  Fogarty looked at his clients. “Your call,” he said.

  Kay Hopkins said, “Well, you’re the damned lawyer, Brendan, what do we pay you for?”

  “I pay him,” Charles Hopkins said. “No, we won’t bring suit.”

  “Then I see no reason to linger,” Fogarty said and stood up. “You need a ride, Abby?”

  “No, I’ll stay and talk with Nick and Chief Stone for a minute,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  Fogarty looked at his clients.

  “We should go,” he said.

  Charles and Kay Hopkins and their sons stood and walked out without a word. Fogarty nodded at Petrocelli, and at Jesse, and went out after them and closed the door.

  Chapter 25

  “We need more walking-around money,” Macklin said.

  “How much you figure?” Crow
said.

  “Got a lot of mouths to feed,” Macklin said, “including yours. Still got some preparation time. I figure maybe twenty, twenty-five would do it.”

  “You got any thoughts?” Crow said.

  “Nope. You’re the force guy—go force us some money.”

  When Crow smiled, deep vertical lines indented on each side of his mouth. “Small bills?” Crow said.

  “Be nice,” Macklin said.

  “See what I can do,” Crow said.

  When Crow was gone, Macklin went into the kitchen and had coffee and raspberry pie with Faye.

  “Think he’ll come up with the money?” Faye said.

  “Yeah. Crow’s the best.”

  “I thought you were the best, Jimmy.”

  “Well, yeah, I am, but Crow thinks he’s some kind of fucking Apache warrior, you know?”

  “Is he Apache?”

  “Hell,” Macklin said, “I don’t know. Says he is.”

  “I don’t like him,” Faye said.

  “Faye, nobody fucking likes Crow. But he’s good at his work and he keeps his word.”

  “Has he got anybody?” Faye said.

  “You mean like a wife or a girlfriend?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know,” Macklin said. “I don’t know anything about Crow, except what he can do.”

  “Which is kill people?”

  Macklin nodded.

  “He can kill you with his hands, with a gun, with a knife, with an axe, with a stick, with a length of rope, a sock full of sand, a brick. He can kick you to death. He can drop you from fifty feet with a knife, fifty yards with a hand gun, five hundred with a rifle. He can shoot a bow and arrow. He can probably throw a spear.”

  “Does he like it?” Faye said.

  “He doesn’t mind it,” Macklin said.

  “Neither do you.”

  “That’s right, but he’s not like me. He’s . . . I’ve seen guys that like it. I seen guys come off when they kill somebody. He’s not like them, either. It’s that warrior thing. It’s like this is what he does because that’s who he is, you know?”

  Macklin cut another piece of pie and slid it onto his plate. Faye poured more coffee into his cup.

  “You scared of him?” she said.

  Macklin looked startled.

  “Me? No. You know me, Faye, I don’t give enough of a shit to be scared of anything.”

  Faye smiled and nodded. She had only eaten a bite of her pie.

  “What do you give a shit about, Jimmy? I’ve known you since I was a kid, and I’m not sure if there’s anything.”

  “You, Faye. You gonna eat the rest of that pie?”

  Faye shook her head, and Macklin slid her plate over in front of him.

  “You do,” she said. “Don’t you.”

  “Care about you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t care about much else.”

  “Money,” Faye said.

  “Oh yeah,” Macklin said.

  “Actually that’s not even exactly right,” Faye said. She sipped a little coffee and held the cup up in front of her face with both hands, looking at Macklin over the rim. “It’s not quite the money.”

  “Money’s good,” Macklin said. “We got any cheese?”

  “Refrigerator,” Faye said. “In the door thing.”

  Macklin got up and got the cheese from the compartment in the door of Faye’s refrigerator.

  “What you really like is stealing it,” Faye said.

  “If I had to earn it, we’d be poor,” Macklin said.

  “I doubt it, but that’s not the point. You don’t want to earn it. You love this—planning, putting together a crew, drawing maps, buying guns, stealing money to keep us going. You like this better than anything.”

  “No,” Macklin said. “I like you better than anything.”

  “If I asked you to give this up, would you?”

  Macklin put down his fork and sat quietly for a moment while he thought about that.

  Then he said, “Yes.”

  Faye sat quietly for longer than he had.

  Then she said, “Well, I won’t ask you to.”

  Chapter 26

  “Very cute,” Abby said when they were alone. “How’d you know she’d be a jerk?”

  “Given their kids, you had a pretty good shot that one of them was a jerk,” Jesse said.

  “Even if she weren’t, we’d have found occasion to play the tapes,” Petrocelli said. “Once they heard them, they weren’t going to press the suit.”

  “What do you think about the kids?” Abby said.

  “Snapper maybe has a chance,” Jesse said. “Canton and Brown still thinking about a civil suit?”

  “Yes, thanks for the business,” Abby said. “I referred them to a woman I know at Cone, Oakes.”

  Petrocelli took his feet down and swiveled his chair around slowly with feet off the ground. He came to rest with his chair tilted back as far as it would go and his toes just touching, in nearly perfect balance.

  “Think they’ll go forward?” Petrocelli said, looking straight down his nose at nothing.

  “They were pretty mad,” Jesse said, “when I talked with them.”

  “The tapes may get played after all,” Petrocelli said. “Who’d you send them to?”

  “Woman named Rita Fiore,” Abby said.

  “Used to be a prosecutor,” Petrocelli said. “South Shore?”

  “Yes. Norfolk County. You know her?”

  “She kicked my ass in a thing about two years ago,” Petrocelli said. “She’s tougher than Jesse.”

  “No one’s that tough,” Abby said.

  “You think they might admit the tapes in a civil case?” Jesse said.

  “Rules of evidence are a little different,” Petrocelli said. “And if anyone can get them in, it’s Rita.”

  They were quiet. No one wanted to leave yet. They lingered like players after a game. Jesse got up and walked to the water cooler and got three small plastic cups from the container. He came back and lined them up on his desk. Then he sat back down, took a bottle of Black Bush out of his drawer, and poured a shot into each cup. He handed one to Abby and one to Petrocelli. All three drank sparingly.

  “I know you, Jesse,” Abby said.

  “So I heard,” Petrocelli said.

  Abby laughed, her face flushing, and continued.

  “You must have known you were in danger of tainting the evidence.”

  Jesse said, “We’re all off the record, I assume.”

  “Right now we’re just three friends sitting around talking,” Abby said. “I’m surprised you had to ask.”

  “I knew they did it, but the way I knew it wouldn’t stand up in court. I had to get them to confess.”

  “And you tricked them into thinking each had tattled on the other,” Abby said.

  “In school,” Petrocelli said, “it’s tattling. In police stations, it’s ratting.”

  “It’s an old cop trick, and if the kids were older and smarter they wouldn’t have fallen for it. Snapper didn’t fall for it now. Next time the Hopkins kids won’t.”

  “And there’ll be a next time?” Abby said.

  “Unless this was the kind of wakeup call that can help them turn it around.”

  “You think?” Abby said.

  “No.”

  “And you can’t help them,” Abby said.

  “No.”

  “He did what he could,” Petrocelli said.

  “Yes,” Abby said. “That’s why you did it, isn’t it? You knew you probably couldn’t get them into court, but if you got a taped confession, you might be able to get the parents’ attenti
on.”

  “I didn’t want them to think they could burn down some guys’ house and walk away from it,” Jesse said.

  “There needed to be consequences,” Petrocelli said. “He created some.”

  They all thought about that while they sipped their whisky.

  “You’re a little more than I thought you were,” Abby said. “I thought you were a tough guy with an ex-wife.”

  Jesse nodded. “Still got the ex-wife,” he said.

  “And when all that was going on with Jo Jo and the Horsemen last year . . .” She paused in mid-sentence and sipped from her second cup of whisky. “I was scared.”

  Jesse nodded. The room was quiet. Petrocelli was examining the empty space three feet in front of him.

  “There was a lot to be scared of,” Jesse said.

  “For you, too.”

  “That’s sort of supposed to be part of the job,” Jesse said.

  Abby looked at Petrocelli. “You ever wonder if he can say more than one sentence at a time?” she said.

  “I like brevity in a client,” Petrocelli said. “Are you trying to tell him you made a mistake last year?”

  “I’m trying to apologize for misjudging him.”

  Petrocelli smiled and swiveled slightly toward Jesse. “Learned counsel says . . .” Petrocelli began.

  “I heard her,” Jesse said. He looked at Abby. “No apology required. I am a tough guy with an ex-wife.”

  “Maybe,” Abby said.

  And the three of them were quiet again for a while, sipping their whisky together in the bright room before they went home for the night.

  Chapter 27

  Crow sat in the back booth of a storefront Chinese restaurant on Tyler Street with a sleek Asian man who said his name was Bo. Bo was wearing a silver-gray leisure suit and a black silk shirt buttoned to the neck. Leaning against the wall behind the booth was a heavyset Chinese man.

  “You Portagie?” Bo said.

  “Apache.”

  Bo looked puzzled.

  “Indian,” Crow said. “Native American.”

  “Ah,” Bo said. “Whores say to pimp you asking about buy a key. Pimp tell someone, someone tell me.”

  “That’s right,” Crow said.

  “You mind feel for wire?”

  Crow smiled and stood and held his arms from his sides.