Robert B Parker: The Jesse Stone Novels 1-5

by Robert B. Parker

  “Exactly,” Healy said.

  “Just as long as we’re clear on whose case it is.”

  “It belongs to all of us,” Healy said, “who love truth and justice.”

  “Like hell,” Jesse said. “It belongs to me.”

  “Oh,” Healy said. He shrugged. “Okay.”

  11

  Jesse was on the phone to a detective in Fort Lauderdale named Kelly Cruz.

  “Your floater was a woman of means,” Kelly Cruz said.

  “Really?”

  “Un-huh, family owns a bunch of health food markets all over the South. Plum and Partridge.”

  “Cute,” Jesse said.

  “It’s even cuter,” Kelly Cruz said. “Family name is Plum.”

  “Not Horvath,” Jesse said.

  “Nope, that’s a married name,” Kelly Cruz said. “She’s had several.”

  “You know the husbands?” Jesse said.

  “Not yet,” Kelly Cruz said. “But she was divorced most recently from a guy named Lawton Horvath.”

  “What do you know about Lawton?”

  “White, blond hair, even tan, slim, good at golf and tennis, pretty good at bridge, no visible means of support.”

  “When’s the last time Lawton saw her?” Jesse said.

  “When they got divorced. He got the house and a cash settlement. She moved here.”

  “Worked out nicely for Lawton,” Jesse said. “He with anyone now?”

  He could hear the laughter in Kelly Cruz’s voice.

  “Attractive young heiress, recently divorced, with a thing for older men,” she said.

  “We may have stumbled across his means of support,” Jesse said.

  “We’re law officers,” Kelly Cruz said. “We’re probably too suspicious.”

  “What else you know about Florence?”

  “Soon as she moved to Fort Lauderdale she joined the East Bay Yacht Club,” Kelly Cruz said. “Started hanging out at the bar there. Bartender says she was making a lot of friends fast.”

  “Male friends?”

  “Yep.”

  “Got any names?”

  “Not yet, you know, it’s not really our case,” Kelly Cruz said. “I’m the only one working it.”

  “Understand,” Jesse said.

  “I found something sort of interesting when I tossed her condo. I’ll FedEx it to you, you gimme a FedEx number.”

  “Tight budget in Fort Lauderdale,” Jesse said.

  “Like I say, it’s not our case.”

  Jesse gave her the Federal Express number.

  “What are you going to send me?” he said.

  “Videotape. Florence and two guys having sex together.”

  “Amateur?” Jesse said.

  “Far as I can tell. She’s having sex with both of them at the same time,” Kelly Cruz said. “Looks uncomfortable as hell to me but she seemed happy with it. Kept turning to smile into the camera. Sort of proud.”

  “As well she should be,” Jesse said. “You got anything else?”

  “I got a call into her family but so far nothing back. I’m working on the earlier husbands, but so far no names. She used to live in Boca. I’ll check around up there. Not too many people knew much about her around here.”

  “It’s ten or fifteen miles, isn’t it?” Jesse said. “You sure the budget will stand it?”

  “Good, be a northern wiseass,” Kelly Cruz said. “It encourages us down here in the swamps.”

  “Just a little light-hearted banter,” Jesse said.

  “Is that what it was,” Kelly Cruz said. “You hotshots learn anything up there?”

  “We’re in the middle of a series of yacht races up here,” Jesse said. “Race Week.”

  “Oh boy,” Kelly Cruz said.

  “Three of the yachts are out of Fort Lauderdale,” Jesse said.

  “Hot damn,” Kelly Cruz said. “I’m only a detective for five years, but that might be a clue.”

  “Might be,” Jesse said. “They are owned by the following, you got a pencil?”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Thomas Ralston,” Jesse said. “Allan Pinkton. Harold Berger.”

  “Addresses?”

  “All in Fort Lauderdale,” Jesse said and read them off.

  “Never heard of any of them,” Kelly Cruz said. “But they probably never heard of me, either. I’ll check them out. They may not be home, of course, they may be up there taking part in the excitement.”

  “You seem negative, Detective Cruz,” Jesse said, “about yacht racing.”

  “Don’t mean to,” Kelly Cruz said. “Must be at least as exciting as watching a miniature golf match.”

  Jesse was silent for a moment.

  “Well, no,” Jesse said slowly. “It’s not that much fun.”

  12

  Channel 3 Action News set up downtown in Paradise, in the parking lot behind the Ranch Market. There was an equipment truck, and an air-conditioned mobile home to house production, wardrobe, and makeup and Jenn. Jenn had a small dressing room in it, with her own bathroom. A maze of hookups ran around the trailer and across the parking lot.

  “I can even take a shower,” Jenn said.

  “Always wise,” Jesse said.

  A stocky strong-looking woman came in without knocking. She had short gray hair and Oakley sunglasses and seemed, even standing still, to be in a hurry.

  “Marty,” Jenn said, “this is my…friend Jesse Stone. He’s the police chief here. Jesse, this is Marty Freeman, my producer.”

  “Stone?” Marty said. “Same name as yours.”

  “We used to be married,” Jenn said.

  “Nice to meet you,” Marty said. “Come on, Jenn, got to use all the light we can.”

  Jenn was in full makeup. She kissed Jesse, very carefully, on the mouth, and went out after Marty. Jesse watched as she went away. She had on a dark blue top and white pants, and expensive sneakers. Very yacht-y. The pants fit her well, and Jesse watched her backside twitch as she walked away. He was seeing her sexually again. Was he supposed to? Christ, who wouldn’t see her sexually? He looked around the small dressing room. There was a small closet with several changes of clothes. He could smell her perfume. He knew that when she took a shower and toweled off, she would spray scent in the air and walk into it naked. He wondered how many other men knew that. He imagined them watching her, as he had. A group of them. Faceless, nameless, somehow triumphant. Laughing and elbowing each other like players in a bad farce. She smiled at them. Soon she’d have sex with them. He could hear himself breathing. That’s it, he thought. That’s the bastard. I don’t know what it is yet, but it’s not love.

  He looked at himself in the mirror. His face looked ordinary, the way it always looked. He spoke to the image in the mirror.

  “Man,” he heard himself say. “I need a drink.”

  13

  Everybody’s in the squad room,” Molly said. “Alert and ready to examine evidence.”

  “Video come in from Fort Lauderdale?” Jesse said. “How’d you guess?”

  “Male intuition,” Jesse said. “Who’s in the cars?”

  “Martin and Friedman,” Molly said. “Not happy.”

  “And the other eight members of Paradise’s finest?”

  “In the squad room,” Molly said. “Waiting for you. Probably sent out for popcorn.”

  “You want to watch it?”

  “I’m a cop,” Molly said. “I need to see it, I’ll see it.”

  “You don’t need to see it with eight lecherous loudmouths,” Jesse said. “Stay on the desk. There’s something you need to see, you can watch it alone later.”

  Molly was silent for a moment.

  “I’m part of the department, Jesse,” Molly said softly. “I don’t want everyone else to know something I don’t know.”

  Jesse said, “Somebody has to be on the desk, Moll.”

  She nodded. Jesse turned toward the squad room.

  “I’ll watch it later,” Molly said.

>   “Absolutely,” Jesse said. “You can use the VCR in my office.”

  Molly was silent for another moment. Then, just as Jesse was opening the door to the squad room, she said, “Thank you.”

  Jesse said, “You’re welcome,” and went in.

  The cops were gathered at the long table. The VCR and monitor, which were on a small metal cart, had been wheeled into position at the foot of the table. The screen was glowing. Jesse’s chair at the head of the table was empty, and in front of it was the padded mailer from Kelly Cruz. All of the cops were drinking coffee and someone had brought a cup for Jesse. He peeled the lid off as he sat down.

  “No Jujubes?” Jesse said.

  “We was going to get a keg of beer,” Suitcase Simpson said. “But we figured you’d be prudish about it.”

  “Remember, the woman in this tape is dead,” Jesse said, “and she may be the victim of a crime. We are looking at evidence. Try to notice something other than her snatch.”

  Somebody said, “Yes sir!”

  Jesse opened the mailer, took the cassette down to the other end of the table, put it in the VCR, picked up the remote, walked back to his chair, sat down and pointed the remote at the VCR.

  “To serve and protect,” he said and clicked PLAY.

  There was a naked woman, shot from behind. She was having sex with a man who lay on his back beneath her on a bed, or sofa, or something with a blue-and-yellow stripe. As the camera watched, another man walked into the shot and mounted her.

  The cops around the table cheered. Simpson was the youngest of them.

  “Jesus,” he said. “Front and back.”

  The woman turned, sandwiched between the two men, and smiled widely at the camera. It was clearly Florence Horvath. She was a lot better-looking than her license photo. Jesse smiled to himself without pleasure, Or any other time I’ve seen her. Clearly she wanted to be recognized. She kept looking back at the camera as she enjoyed her double penetration, which enjoyment she was at pains to display. Jesse didn’t enjoy it much. I can’t define pornography, he thought. But I know it when I see it, and pro or amateur, this is it.

  After about two minutes’ running time, the cops began to talk. Pornography gets boring quick, Jesse thought.

  “Between wives,” Arthur Angstrom said, “I used to date a woman, wanted me to bring a friend. I told her I could never get it up with another guy involved.”

  “I heard you couldn’t get it up anyway, Arthur,” Peter Perkins said.

  “Give you a list of satisfied customer, you want,” Arthur said.

  “Look at the weapon on that guy,” Buddy Hall said.

  “Jesus,” Suitcase said, “if that’s a penis, what am I walking around with?”

  The film ended after about eight minutes with Florence apparently having an historic orgasm while the cops laughed and bantered. Jesse wondered if the banter covered any discomfort. He didn’t enjoy porn very much. But he didn’t mind it much unless it was gross. Jesse had always thought heterosexual anal sex verged on gross. Nothing in Florence’s home movie had changed his mind about that.

  “Didn’t see any clues,” Peter Perkins said. “Maybe we should play it more.”

  “Did you look at the guys?” Jesse said.

  Nobody said anything.

  “Okay, we’ll run it again,” Jesse said.

  Around the table the cops groaned. Perkins had been kidding. Most of them were bored with it already.

  “Look at the guys, this time,” Jesse said. “Maybe we’ll see one again.”

  Jesse rewound the tape. And rolled it. The cops watched again, looking at the men. Jesse noticed they were quieter. Less uncomfortable, maybe. Jesse looked, too. There was nothing in the film to tell him where it was shot. Just a bedroom. Or at least a place with a bed. There was a hint of decorative brass. The room looked small. Could be a boat.

  When the tape had finished, Jesse said, “Okay, Peter, you’re the evidence specialist. Take the tape and get some head shots made of the guys. May as well get one of Florence, too. It’s better than her license photo.”

  “Guys at the lab will love this,” Perkins said.

  “Just make sure it comes back,” Jesse said.

  “You don’t think they’ll make a dupe?”

  “Of course they will,” Jesse said. “But I want the original in our case folder.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Perkins started to remove the tape from the VCR.

  “Leave it,” Jesse said. “I’ll give it to you after lunch.”

  “Gotta look for more clues, Jesse?”

  “Chief Jesse to you, pal. Go relieve Molly on the desk. Tell her I want to see her in my office.”

  Perkins saluted and the cops filed out. Jesse took the tape and went in his office. In a moment Molly came in. Jesse put the tape into the office VCR.

  “You know how to run this?” Jesse said.

  “No.”

  “Okay, I’ll start it and leave.”

  Molly nodded. Jesse punched up the tape and went out. He closed the office door behind him and leaned on the wall near it. He smiled to himself. Porn guard.

  When Molly came out she said, “That was disgusting.”

  “Yes,” Jesse said. “It was.”

  “Did the guys like it?”

  Jesse shrugged.

  “They pretended to. In fact, I think they probably found it a little disgusting, too.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You going to get head shots made?”

  “Peter Perkins is going to take care of it,” Jesse said.

  Molly nodded. “Thanks for letting me watch it alone,” she said.

  Jesse shrugged.

  “You’re a nicer guy than most people know,” Molly said.

  Jesse smiled at her. “Let’s not let that get around,” he said.

  14

  When Jesse went to meet Jenn for lunch she was finishing a long Steadicam walk-and-talk the length of the town pier with the sail-dappled harbor in the background. Jesse walked down and stopped beside Marty the producer. She picked up a pair of earphones that were hanging on the back of a folding chair and handed them to Jesse. He put them on. He could hear Jenn.

  “What draws them here,” she was saying. “What brings them from all over the Atlantic coast to converge here…in Paradise…for Race Week.”

  The director who had been staring at the monitor yelled “Cut.” And as Jenn looked up at him with her hands on her hips, he yelled, “Keeper.” Jenn nodded as if to say It better be, and came up the dock toward Jesse. He applauded silently as she came. When she reached him, Jenn kissed him.

  “I smell Emmy,” Jesse said.

  “You smell something,” Jenn said and took his hand. “I’m sick of the Gull. Is there someplace else? Quick? Good?”

  “We could walk up to Daisy’s,” Jesse said. “They bake all their own bread.”

  “Let’s,” Jenn said.

  “So what does draw them?” Jesse said as they walked up Washington Street. “Top-flight police work?”

  “Probably that,” Jenn said. “And a full month of booze and sex.”

  “Anybody sail?” Jesse said.

  “Not in the evening,” Jenn said. “I mean, wow! Like Mardi Gras.”

  “For us, it’s mostly fights and public urination and vandalism,” Jesse said.

  “Boy,” Jenn said, “just like Mardi Gras.”

  “What’s up this afternoon?” Jesse said.

  “I’m off a couple hours,” Jenn said. “Marty and Jake are going out and get B roll of the races.”

  “Without you?”

  “In a helicopter.”

  “Without you,” Jesse said.

  The crowd on the streets, even at midday, was thick and boisterous. The range of dress was extreme. Horizontal-striped shirts were popular, with three-quarter-length white canvas pants. There were a lot of women in big hats and gauzy dresses. Men in blazers and white flannels. Some of the crowd looked like e
ighteenth-century sailors. Some of them looked like they were at Churchill Downs. Jesse wore jeans and a blue short-sleeved oxford shirt. He had his gun and badge on his belt. Two young men and two young women, all in tank tops and cutoff jeans, were walking along carrying open bottles of beer. Jesse pointed at his badge, then at the beer, then, with his thumb, at a trash container chained to the lamppost. They looked like they wanted to argue, but none of them did. They dropped the beer into the trash and moved away.

  “Zero tolerance,” Jesse said.

  “Egad,” Jenn said at Daisy’s door. “Maybe we should have gone to the Gull.”

  The door was open and the line of people waiting was out onto the sidewalk.

  “Be the same,” Jesse said. “It’s like this everywhere.”

  Several people on the sidewalk had drinks. Jesse ignored them.

  “Selective enforcement?” Jenn said.

  “You bet,” Jesse said. “They’re just waiting to have lunch. They won’t do any harm. Besides, I don’t want to hurt Daisy’s business.”

  “Is there actually a Daisy?”

  “I’ll introduce you,” Jesse said.

  “But first, could you arrest somebody at a good table,” Jenn said. “So we can have it.”

  “I’ll talk to Daisy. Stay here.”

  Jesse slid past the crowd and in through the open door. He came back out with a strapping red-faced blond woman wearing a big white apron and holding a spatula. The woman pointed at Jenn.

  “You Jenn?” she said.

  “I am.”

  “I’m Daisy, get your ass in here,” she said.

  A woman in wraparound sunglasses and a large straw hat said, “We’ve been waiting half an hour.”

  “And you’ll wait a lot longer,” Daisy said, “you keep talking.”

  “But they…”

  Daisy waved the spatula under the woman’s chin.

  “My restaurant,” Daisy said. “I decide. Come on, Jenn.”

  Jenn slid sheepishly in behind Daisy, and followed her to a table by the back window where Jesse was drinking root beer. Inside, the restaurant was not crowded. The tables were well spaced and the conversation was absorbed by carpeting and sailcloth that draped the ceiling.