“You’ll need an office, and a phone,” Jesse said. “You can set up in the squad room.”
Molly came into the office without knocking. She was holding a business card. Her eyes looked heavy. She put the card on Jesse’s desk.
“There’s a reporter from one of those national talk shows,” Molly said. “Wants to interview you.”
“No,” Jesse said.
He didn’t look at the card. Molly smiled.
“He won’t like this,” Molly said. “He’s kind of pleased that he’s famous.”
“There’s a press briefing every morning,” Jesse said. “Tell him where and when.”
Molly nodded and went out.
“Press don’t like being stonewalled,” Vargas said.
“Who does.”
“They can say bad things about you,” Vargas said.
“Who can’t,” Jesse said.
Vargas grinned.
“Don’t seem too media savvy,” he said.
“My people are beginning to sag,” Jesse said. “How soon can we get some patrol help?”
“Tonight,” Vargas said.
“Good,” Jesse said. “How close is Healy to getting me a list of people who’ve bought twenty-two firearms or ammo?”
“I’ll check,” Vargas said. “Those records aren’t always immaculate, and even if they were, people get guns from a lot of places.”
“I need whatever he’s got,” Jesse said.
Molly stuck her head in the door again.
“Jenn,” she said, “on line one. You want to take it?”
Jesse nodded.
“Sit tight,” he said to Vargas. “I’ll only be a minute.”
He picked up the phone and punched line one and said, “Hi.”
“Was that woman that got killed the one you used to date?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Jesse, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” Jesse said. “What’s up?”
“My news director and I had a fabulous idea,” Jenn said.
Jesse closed his eyes and put his head back against his chair.
“Every news outlet in the country is dying for some sort of inside something on this,” Jenn said.
“I know.”
“We thought because of our, ah, connection, you know? We thought I could come out with a cameraman and track the investigation. An inside look at the workings of a police manhunt. We would stay out of your way. And when you catch the guy we’d have a whole series about it, and maybe a special, and maybe we could sell it to one of the national outlets . . .”
“No,” Jesse said.
“Oh, I know, Jesse. Believe me I know what an imposition it is. But we’d stay out of the way, and, Jesse, it would mean so much to my career.”
Jesse still had his eyes closed and his head back.
In a soft voice, he said, “No, Jenn,” and put the phone back in its cradle.
37
Chuck Pennington was an architect. He had been an intercollegiate boxing champion at Harvard and still looked in shape.
He must have been pretty good, Jesse thought. There’s not a mark on his face.
He had thick black hair brushed straight back. He wore a rust-colored tweed jacket and a blue oxford shirt. He sat with Jesse in the living room of the house he’d designed, with his wife and daughter and a lawyer named Sheldon Resnick. Molly Crane sat near the door. Through the glass back wall of the living room Jesse could look a long way out over the Atlantic Ocean. Mrs. Pennington was speaking.
“We wanted to spare you this,” she said to her husband. “We know how important your work is.”
“My daughter is more important than my work,” Pennington said. “But we can put that aside for the moment and listen to Chief Stone.”
“You promised to keep my daughter’s name out of this,” Mrs. Pennington said.
“I did what I promised your daughter I would do,” Jesse said.
“You spoke to her without me?” Mrs. Pennington said.
“It seemed the only way I could,” Jesse said.
“Sheldon,” she said. “I want you to make that clear to this policeman that we will not tolerate scandal.”
“Mr. Stone has been nice to me,” Candace said.
“Candace, you be quiet,” Mrs. Pennington said.
“No, Margaret,” Pennington said. “You are the one that has to be quiet.”
“Chuck . . .”
“This didn’t happen to you,” Pennington said. “It happened to Candace. It matters what Candace wants.”
“My God, Chuck, she’s . . .”
Resnick put his hand on Mrs. Pennington’s forearm.
“Chuck’s right, Margaret. Now is not the time.”
Mrs. Pennington opened her mouth, then closed it, and clamped her lips and sat back in her chair and folded her arms.
Pennington turned in his chair and looked at Jesse. He had very pale blue eyes.
“I know the kind of pressure you must be under now,” he said. “And I appreciate your taking the time for this.”
“Candace has always known who raped her,” Jesse said. “But she and I agreed that if she blew the whistle on them, uncorroborated, we might not get them, and her life in Paradise would be ruined.”
Pennington nodded.
“They were going to show my picture to everyone,” Candace said.
Pennington nodded again. He showed no emotion, though Jesse noted that the knuckles on his clasped hands looked white.
“Now they probably won’t,” he said.
He looked at Jesse.
“No,” Jesse said. “They won’t. They’re scared.”
“Good,” Candace said.
Jesse nodded slowly.
“And they’re scared of you,” Jesse said.
Candace looked at Jesse, then at her father, and then, more covertly, at her mother.
“Excellent,” she said.
“The law always talks about justice,” Jesse said. “We’re officially in favor of it. But if I were you what I would want would be revenge.”
“Chief Stone . . .” Mrs. Pennington said.
Her husband shook his head at her.
“That’s what I would like,” he said.
“Okay,” Jesse said. “Marino, Feeney, and Drake have incriminated themselves. If we didn’t know anything about you the pictures would have led us to you.”
Candace nodded. She understood.
“So we need a statement,” Jesse said. “And if we go to court we’ll need you to testify.”
“Will anyone else see those pictures?” Candace said.
“If we go to trial,” Jesse said, “the defense will argue that you were a willing participant and made up the rape story. The pictures would be evidence to the contrary.”
“My God, naked pictures of my daughter,” Mrs. Pennington said. “In public. I won’t permit it.”
“We’re a long way past propriety here, Margaret. It’s Candace’s decision.”
“She’s not old enough to decide something like this,” Mrs. Pennington said.
“I’ll give a statement,” Candace said. “And I’ll testify if I have to.”
“Candace . . .”
“Good,” Jesse said. “Is there someplace you can go and give Molly your statement?”
“They can use the kitchen,” Pennington said.
As she followed Candace from the room, Molly smiled at Jesse, and, shielding the gesture with her body, gave him a thumbs-up. Everyone was quiet for a moment. Jesse looked through the big window at the brisk gray ocean.
“Kids like Candace,” Jesse said, still looking at the ocean, “often need some therapy after
an experience like this one.”
“You mean from a psychiatrist?” Mrs. Pennington said.
“Yes,” Jesse said. “If you need a referral I can get one for you.”
Mrs. Pennington looked at her husband.
“We’ll see,” he said. “Thanks for the offer.”
“As far as the case goes,” Resnick said, after a moment, “a plea bargain would certainly seem possible.”
“Be up to the defense lawyers and the DA,” Jesse said.
“But you agree that it could happen?” Mrs. Pennington said.
“It often does,” Jesse said.
38
“We had sex an hour before she died,” Jesse said.
Dix nodded.
“I’m sad,” Jesse said. “And I’m insulted.”
Dix tilted his head slightly.
“I’m the chief of police and I’m trying to catch these bastards and they shoot a woman I just made love to.”
“You think it was intentional?” Dix said.
“I don’t know,” Jesse said. “But it makes me mad.”
“And you think it was more than one person?” Dix said.
“Yes. The two guns don’t make any sense to me otherwise.”
Dix was wearing a blue blazer today, and a white shirt. Everything about him gleamed. His shaved head, his starched shirt, his thick-soled mahogany shoes. He sat with his hands laced over his flat stomach, rubbing the tips of his thumbs together.
“Jenn called me after Abby was killed,” Jesse said. “And said she hoped I was okay.”
Dix waited, moving the tips of his thumbs softly back and forth.
“Then she said she wanted me to give her special access to the sniper killing, her and a cameraman, inside coverage, follow the whole investigation.”
Dix nodded encouragingly.
“Four people die, and she sees it as a career opportunity.”
“Why would she think you’d allow that?” Dix said.
Jesse smiled without humor.
“Because she is the, ah, object of my affections,” he said.
“Object?”
“Just being amusing,” Jesse said.
Dix didn’t say anything. They were quiet. The room shimmered with stillness. Jesse took in some air. His movements were stiff. Dix waited. He seemed perfectly comfortable waiting. Jesse’s stiffness loosened.
“She said once,” Jesse’s voice was hoarse, “that what I really love is my fantasy of her, and I keep trying to squeeze her into it.”
“What did you say?”
“I said it was fucking shrink talk.”
Dix grinned.
“The object of your affection,” Dix said.
“More fucking shrink talk,” Jesse said.
Dix smiled.
“Sure,” he said. “I am, after all, a fucking shrink.”
39
There were too many of them for Jesse’s office, so they went to the conference room in the station. Jesse was there, at the head of the conference table. Beside him sat an Essex County assistant district attorney named Martin Reagan. Molly and Suitcase Simpson stood against the wall. Bo Marino and his parents sat on one side of the table. Troy Drake and his mother sat on the other side. Two lawyers from a big Boston firm representing both families sat at the end of the table opposite Jesse. The lead attorney was a sleek red-haired woman named Rita Fiore. The other lawyer was a small man with a narrow face and a graying Vandyke beard. His name was Barry Feldman.
“Here’s what we got,” Jesse said. “Or at least all of it I can remember. There’s so much that Marty may have to remind me.”
Rita smiled.
“So we begin,” she said.
“We have a sworn statement from Kevin Feeney that he and Bo Marino and Troy Drake raped Candace Pennington and photographed her naked.”
“I understand that he is clearly identifiable in the pictures,” Rita said.
“He is,” Jesse said.
“How stalwart of him to admit it,” Rita said.
“We have Candace Pennington’s sworn statement that Kevin Feeney, Bo Marino, and Troy Drake raped her and photographed her naked.”
“Hardly a disinterested observer,” Rita said.
Martin Reagan said, “Rita, let’s wait until we get into court to try the case. We simply want to question the suspects, and they simply wanted their attorney present.”
“Which would be me,” Rita said. She glanced at Feldman beside her, “and of course Barry.”
“Barry Feldman,” the other lawyer said.
Jesse nodded. He looked at Troy Drake.
“You got anything you want to say, Troy?”
Troy Drake was very blond with a full-lipped sulky mouth that made him look vaguely like Carly Simon. His mother was as blond as he was, and had the same sulky mouth.
“I’ve advised my clients not to discuss the case,” Rita said.
Feldman nodded.
“You all planning to take her advice?” Jesse said.
No one at the table spoke.
“Okay,” Jesse said. “These officers will read you your rights and escort you to your cell.”
“You already arrested me and I got released to my old man,” Bo said.
“That was for a different crime,” Jesse said. “This is a new arrest.”
“Can they do this?” Mrs. Drake said.
“I’ll have them out in a few hours,” Rita said.
“I’m going to ask for remand,” Reagan said.
“Marty, don’t be ridiculous,” Rita said. “These are children.”
“So is Candace Pennington,” Reagan said.
“They can’t put my son in jail,” Mrs. Drake said. “I know he didn’t do anything.”
Mrs. Marino was crying. Mr. Marino was red-faced.
“You better keep my kid out of jail,” he said to Rita.
“Mr. Marino,” Rita said. “I am the chief criminal litigator at Cone Oakes and Belding. I’m about as good as it gets. You don’t frighten me. Nothing does, and it is not in your best interest to annoy me.”
Marino looked startled.
“The boys may have to spend the night in jail, but we can get them in front of a judge tomorrow and get them released on bail. I am confident that I can forestall a remand.”
“What’s a remand,” Mrs. Drake said.
“Remand to jail to await trial.”
“My God, is that what’s going to happen now?”
“No. It won’t happen at all. But now the police will hold your son until tomorrow when we can get them before a magistrate.”
“They’re children. They can’t be thrown in with the general prison population,” Mrs. Drake said.
“We’ll hold them here,” Jesse said. “It’s a four-cell lockup. They will be the general prison population.”
“This is crap,” Troy said.
His mother put her hand on his arm. Jesse could tell that neither Troy nor Bo Marino liked the talk about them being children.
“You got that right,” Bo said. “That little wimp prick is lying.”
“Please be quiet,” Rita said to both boys.
“The wimp prick being Feeney?” Jesse said.
“Sure. You got him and the fucking baby says whatever you want him to, so he can get off.”
“And Candace?” Jesse said.
“Bitch would say anything to get me in trouble,” Troy said. “She’s been hot for me since ninth grade, and I won’t give her a nod.”
“Is she hot for Bo, too?” Jesse said.
“Be quiet,” Rita said to both boys.
“Let ’em talk, lady,” Joe Marino said. “Somebody’s trying to fram
e my kid and you’re telling him not to say anything?”
“They’re not doing themselves any good,” Rita said.
“She hot for Bo?” Jesse said to Troy.
“I don’t know. Maybe Bo did her for all I know, him and Kevin was always talking about doing this broad and that one.”
“You cocksucker,” Bo said.
Mrs. Marino paused in her crying long enough to say, “Bo!”
No one paid any attention.
“So maybe they did her,” Troy said, “and the bitch thought when she got them she could throw me in there and get even.”
“Shut up.” Rita’s voice was sharp in the room.
But the genie was out of the bottle.
“So why did Kevin name you as well,” Jesse said.
“Fucking loser,” Troy said. “He’s always sucking up to Bo.”
Rita’s hand slammed flat on the tabletop and her voice was like a blade.
“Shut fucking up,” she said.
Everyone looked at her. The room was suddenly still except for Mrs. Marino’s crying. Joe Marino made a cool-it gesture at his son. Mrs. Drake squeezed Troy’s hand as hard as she could.
“You keep talking and you’ll talk yourselves right into a mess I can’t get you out of. Do you understand me?”
No one said anything. Bo and Troy looked suddenly scared.
“Good,” Rita said. “You will talk to no one unless I’m present, or Barry. You will say nothing unless I say to, or Barry.”
“Rita,” Marty Reagan said. “This doesn’t look like one for all and all for one.”
“I know,” Rita said.
She looked at her clients.
“What Mr. Reagan means is that I can’t represent clients in circumstances where the best interest of one might collide with the best interests of the other.”
Both families looked a little blank. But she had frightened them enough to make them docile.
“So,” she said. “Let them stay here tonight. Tomorrow Barry or I, it will probably be Barry, will get them out on bail, and then we’ll organize your legal representation.”
“You can’t pull out on us now,” Joe Marino said.
“I can’t represent both of the boys,” Rita said.
“So let him represent Troy,” Marino said.
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