Split Image

by Robert B. Parker

  "The need to be noticed?" Sunny said.

  "Yes," Jesse said. "It ate her up, and she couldn't seem to overcome it."

  "You know why?"

  "Why she needed to be noticed?" Jesse said.

  "Yes."

  "No."

  "Does she?" Sunny said.

  "I don't know," Jesse said. "She still needs it."

  "And you were not enough," Sunny said.

  Jesse drank most of his iced tea and gestured to the waitress. She poured him some more. He added some sugar and drank another swallow and looked at Sunny.

  "No," he said. "I wasn't."

  "Does that bother you?"

  "That I wasn't enough?" Jesse said.

  Sunny nodded.

  "A lot," Jesse said.

  "Think it's why you drink?" Sunny said.

  Jesse was silent for a moment, looking at his iced tea.

  "I think I always drank too much," Jesse said. "But it got away from me when Jenn and I started having problems."

  "How you doing now?"

  "Pretty good," Jesse said. "Normally I have a couple at night after work, before I have supper. I haven't been drunk for a long time."

  Sunny reached across and patted his hand.

  "Why do you--" she said.

  Jesse's cell phone rang.

  "Excuse me," he said, and answered it.

  He listened for a moment.

  "Okay," he said. "I'll come along."

  He looked at Sunny.

  "Business?" she said.

  "Yes."

  "Go ahead," Sunny said. "I'll take care of the check."

  "That doesn't seem right," Jesse said.

  "Spike has never charged me for a meal," Sunny said. "I sign the check, and he tears it up."

  Jesse stood.

  "Boston, too?"

  "Boston," Sunny said, "here, doesn't matter. Spike loves me."

  "Maybe I should try that," he said.

  "Spike doesn't love you," Sunny said.

  "But he does you?" Jesse said.

  "Totally," Sunny said.

  "Spike's gay," Jesse said.

  "True," Sunny said. "So he doesn't want to have sex, but he loves me."

  "Some men might do both," Jesse said.

  "Anyone in mind?"

  "We'll talk," Jesse said. "You had a question before the phone rang?"

  "It can wait," Sunny said. "Go be chief of police."

  "I'm always the chief of police," Jesse said.

  "Even in a dressing room in a boutique on Rodeo Drive?" Jesse smiled.

  "Except then," he said.

  5

  SUNNY DECIDED TO VISIT the Renewal on her own. She had an address, and she knew it was in the neighborhood. She walked up the low-rise of Front Street from the wharf, along the harbor front. Jesse was so much like her ex-husband. Both of them contained, and interior, and physically competent. Both of them, maybe, a little dangerous. Her father was like that, too. She smiled.

  What a coincidence, I'm attracted to men like my father.

  But all that competence and grace, she thought, was exterior, and inside--confusion. At least in Jesse's case. At least about love.

  Most of the houses along this stretch of waterfront in the oldest part of town looked as if they'd been rehabbed recently by people with money. They didn't seem very interesting from the street side. They all appeared oriented toward the harbor.

  An ocean view, Sunny thought, like our first house. . . . It wasn't that far from here. . . . I wonder what Richie is like inside.

  She stopped walking.

  I don't know, she thought. I have no idea. . . . I have no idea what Richie was, or is, like inside. . . . Daddy, either . . . Except I know Daddy loves me. . . . I think maybe Richie does, too . . . or did. . . . I know more about Jesse than I know about anyone. . . . That has to mean something.

  A white-haired woman passed, walking an energetic beagle.

  "Are you all right, miss?" the lady said.

  Sunny nodded.

  "Yes, ma'am," Sunny said. "Thank you. I was just thinking."

  "Oh, my," the lady said. "We mustn't do too much of that." Sunny smiled at her.

  "No," Sunny said, "we probably shouldn't."

  The beagle scrabbled on the sidewalk at the end of the leash.

  "Oh, all right, Sally," the woman said to the dog, and let the beagle pull her off toward town.

  Sunny looked after them. She'd had to put her dog down a year and a half ago.

  I miss my Rose, she thought.

  She began to walk again, but slowly, as if she had no destination.

  But I know a lot about what Jesse is like inside, more than I know about my father or the man I married . . . except I don't know if he loves me . . . or can.

  The smell of the harbor was strong. She couldn't see much of it because the houses were very close along here; waterfront property was very expensive, no reason to waste any. She shook her head and laughed to herself without humor.

  Of course, I don't know if I love him . . . or can.

  Ahead of her was the uninteresting back of a gray shingled house that was right up against the sidewalk. There were a few small windows and a blank red door that faced the street. On the door was the number 17 in brass. The address of the Bond of the Renewal. When she reached the door, Sunny stopped and looked at it. There was a tiny passageway on each side of the house, which separated it from the adjacent houses. Sunny estimated she could turn sideways and get through, but she was pretty sure Spike couldn't.

  Do I want to go in there now. . . . No, I don't. . . . Do I want to swap small talk with the Renewal. . . . Not today . . . Right now I want to walk along the street some more and think of how fucked-up Jesse's life is . . . and mine . . . and pretty much everything goddamned else.

  She turned and walked back toward the Gray Gull at the foot of the long gradual downhill return.

  I think all I ever understood was Rosie.

  6

  PETER PERKINS CAME INTO Jesse's office, carrying a cup of coffee in one hand and a manila folder in the other. He put the coffee on the edge of Jesse's desk, sat down in one of the visitors' chairs, and opened the folder.

  "ME's report?" Jesse said.

  "Yep, on Petrov Ognowski."

  "So it was his car," Jesse said.

  "Yep. ID'ed him with his fingerprints. Got a big record. Shot once in the back of the head with a .22 slug, probably a Magnum load, the way it churned around inside his skull."

  "Identifiable?" Jesse said.

  "Nope, too beat up. ME says they could barely tell it was a .22, the way it was twisted out of shape." "Happens," Jesse said. "Got a time of death?" "Tuesday night between midnight and six." "Anything else?" "Not much. Petrov might have gone happy, though. He had sex earlier Tuesday evening." "You ever wonder how they know that?" Jesse said.

  Perkins looked startled.

  "You don't know?"

  "Not a clue," Jesse said.

  Perkins looked even more startled.

  He said, "Some kind of science, I guess."

  "Probably is," Jesse said. "What else do we know about Mr. Ognowski?"

  "He's a soldier with a mob headed by a guy named Reggie Galen. Strong-arm mostly. Arrested six times for assault. Served some time for extortion."

  "Where'd he do time," Jesse said.

  "Garrison."

  "See what they can tell you about him," Jesse said.

  Perkins made a note in his folder.

  "You know where Reggie lives?" Jesse said.

  "Here."

  "On the Neck," Jesse said.

  "In the old Stackpole house," Perkins said, "next door to Knocko Moynihan."

  "Who bought the old Winthrop house," Jesse said.

  "There goes the neighborhood," Perkins said.

  "Unless you're a thug," Jesse said.

  "Why do you suppose they did that?" Perkins said. "Moved in next door to one another."

  "My dick is bigger than yours, I suppose," Jesse said.<
br />
  "They don't get along, do they?"

  "I don't believe so," Jesse said.

  "Well," Perkins said. "Gives us a nice passel of suspects to talk with."

  "None of whom will be able to shed any light on the unfortunate crime."

  "Yeah," Perkins said. "Trouble with gang murders is nobody sees anything, knows anything. All of them got lawyers."

  Jesse smiled. Perkins was a good kid, but Jesse wondered just how many gang murders he'd worked on. Perkins saw the smile.

  "Don't you think?" he said.

  "I do," Jesse said. "He have a gun on him?"

  "Ognowski? No."

  "In the car?" Jesse said.

  "No."

  "Any kind of weapon?" Jesse said.

  "No," Perkins said. "That mean something?"

  "Guys in his profession," Jesse said, "usually like to be carrying something."

  "So, what's it mean that he wasn't?"

  "Don't know," Jesse said. "It's a little odd, so we mark it, you know?"

  "Yessir," Perkins said. "You gonna talk with Reggie Galen?"

  "I'll talk to Healy first, see what the staties know."

  "And I'll get hold of somebody at Garrison," Perkins said.

  "Good," Jesse said.

  "We got a theory of the case yet?" Perkins said.

  "Somebody shot Petrov and put him in his trunk," Jesse said.

  "Wow," Perkins said. "It's great to work with a professional."

  "I know," Jesse said. "I know."

  7

  I NEED A DRINK," Sunny said, as she came through Jesse's front door.

  "Martini?"

  "Yes."

  Jesse made her a martini and himself a scotch and soda and brought the drinks into the living room. Sunny drank nearly half of hers. Jesse raised his eyebrows.

  "Hey," he said. "I'm the boozer around here."

  "Richie's wife had a son. Richard Felix Burke, seven pounds, four ounces."

  Jesse nodded.

  "Drink up," he said.

  Sunny sat for a time in silence. Jesse was silent with her.

  Then she said, "Richie called me. He sounded so excited. So happy."

  "Must be an exciting thing," Jesse said.

  "It's over," Sunny said.

  "You and Richie?"

  "Yes," she said. "I know him. He will never leave his son or his son's mother."

  Jesse nodded. Sunny drank the rest of her martini. Jesse stood to make her another one.

  "No," Sunny said. "I don't want to get drunk. I just needed some kind of little jolt to help me get past this."

  "The jolt work?" Jesse said.

  "No."

  "Generally doesn't," he said.

  "Several more jolts won't work, either," Sunny said.

  "Probably not," Jesse said.

  "At least the roller coaster is over," Sunny said. "We're apart, we might get together, we might not, we might. At least we have closure. Excuse the dreadful cliche."

  "Excused," Jesse said. "You want to stay here tonight?" Sunny shook her head.

  "I couldn't."

  "No ulterior motives," Jesse said. "I can sleep on the couch."

  "Thank you, but no," Sunny said. "I think I need to be alone. . . . May as well get used to it."

  "You may not be with Richie," Jesse said. "But you won't be alone."

  Sunny smiled.

  "Thank you."

  They were quiet. Then Sunny stood and walked over to Jesse and kissed him gently on the mouth and straightened and walked out through the front door and closed it gently behind her. Jesse heard her heels go down the outside stairs, and she was gone.

  He still had most of his drink left. He sipped it slowly, looking at the big photo of Ozzie Smith stretched parallel to the infield, catching a line drive. Then he got up and made another drink and walked with it to the French doors that opened onto the little balcony that overlooked the harbor. He didn't go out. He sipped his drink and looked at the dark water.

  Then he raised the half-drunk glass of scotch.

  "Good luck, Richard Felix Burke," he said, and drank.

  8

  IT WAS SEVEN O'CLOCK in the evening when Healy came into Jesse's office.

  "You ever go home," Healy said.

  "Sometimes," Jesse said. "To sleep. How 'bout you?"

  "On my way," Healy said.

  He sat down and put his briefcase on the floor beside him.

  "You wanted to know about the late Petrov Ognowski and his employer?" Healy said.

  "Reggie Galen," Jesse said.

  "Course you know Reggie lives here," Healy said.

  "Right next door to Knocko Moynihan," Jesse said.

  Healy nodded.

  "How weird is that," he said.

  "They do any business together?"

  "None that I know of, now," Healy said. "I talked with some guys in our OC unit. None that they know of."

  "But they're not enemies," Jesse said.

  "Not that I know of," Healy said. "Or OC knows."

  "And you'd know," Jesse said.

  "I am a captain in the Massachusetts State Police," Healy said.

  "So there's nothing you wouldn't know," Jesse said.

  "This is correct."

  "Could you focus this vast knowledge in," Jesse said.

  "Ognowski, say, and his boss?"

  "Ognowski's a thumper, or he was," Healy said.

  He bent over, opened his briefcase, took out an eight-by-ten photograph, and put it on Jesse's desk.

  "You want somebody killed, or maimed, or scared, whatever," Healy said, "Petrov is your guy. He was working for Reggie Galen before his tragic demise."

  Jesse looked at the picture.

  "Good-looking guy," Jesse said. "Face doesn't look like he lost many fights."

  "Petrov could always find employment," Healy said.

  "Was he with Reggie for long?"

  "You know how it goes with these guys," Healy said. "They work for a while, they go away. They come back. We don't have the resources to keep track of everybody, and low-life boppers don't get all that much of our time. Best I can tell you, he's been with Reggie the last several years."

  "He ever work for Knocko?"

  "Don't know," Healy said. "You don't like them being neighbors, do you?"

  "Coincidences don't work for me," Jesse said.

  "Me, either."

  "But you got no explanation," Jesse said.

  "No."

  "And you a captain," Jesse said. "What about Reggie?"

  "Reggie had a good piece of the action in the North End and Charlestown, Everett, Revere, Malden. We tag-teamed him with the Feds, turned some witnesses, and sent him away for five."

  "You like working with the Feds?" Jesse said.

  Healy shrugged.

  "Lot of 'em ain't really street cops," Healy said. "But they got great information."

  "They got the money to pay for it," Jesse said.

  "And they do," Healy said.

  He took a manila envelope out of his briefcase and put it next to Ognowski's picture on Jesse's desk.

  "Names and numbers are in there," Healy said. "Read 'em at your leisure."

  Jesse nodded.

  "When did he get out of jail?"

  "Twelve years ago," Healy said.

  "Back in business?" Jesse said.

  "Sort of," Healy said. "We can't prove it yet. But as far as we can tell, he's like some sort of warlord, you know. He gets a skim off every bet made, every whore bought, every joint smoked, every number purchased, every loan sharked. He gets this everywhere he used to run things. So he doesn't have to do much, just be Reggie Galen, and the cash just keeps on coming."

  "And if it doesn't?"

  "He has members of his staff," Healy said, "go and collect it."

  "Which was where Ognowski comes in."

  "Yep. Got a bunch of Ognowskis," Healy said. "They protect and collect, you might say."

  "And Knocko's got no part of it?"

  "Don't kn
ow," Healy said. "When you called you didn't ask me about Knocko. He hasn't shown up in the morning report anytime recent."

  "Well, maybe I'll find out something," Jesse said.

  "You gonna talk to them?"

  "I'll go visit Reggie, see what develops."

  "Something you need to keep in mind," Healy said. "I know it, and a couple of the OC boys mentioned it. Reggie's a slick item. He's quite pleasant, seems like a good guy, easygoing. But he ain't. I don't know if he'd kill a cop, but I don't know that he wouldn't. Depends on how bad he needs to, I think. I don't know if he's got a soul or not. But I know he's got no conscience."

  "How about fear?" Jesse said. "He got any of that?"

  "He can cause it, but no, I don't think he's afraid of much."

  Jesse grinned.

  "Wait'll he gets a load of me," he said.

  Healy nodded slowly.

  "That's what worries me," he said.

  9

  THE TWO GATED ESTATES stood side by side on the open Atlantic side of Paradise Neck. They looked as if someone had flipped a picture. Both were rambling gray-shingled mansions whose focus was the ocean that broke against the foot of their sloping backyards. Each had a long driveway that curved up around the house to a parking area at the top. The driveways and parking areas were both cobblestone. Jesse couldn't remember who had moved there first. Who was copying whom? The flower beds were similar. The shade trees were similar. There were blue hydrangeas growing near each front porch.

  The gate to Reggie Galen's house was closed. Jesse stopped with the nose of his car at the gate. Inside the gate, on the left, there was a guard shack disguised as a small carriage house. One of its two doors opened on Jesse's side of the gate, and a tall man with a good tan and salt-and-pepper hair came out. He was wearing aviator sunglasses and a white shirt with epaulets, with the shirttails out, over dark slacks.

  "May I help you?" he said.

  "My name is Jesse Stone," Jesse said. "I'm the chief of police here in Paradise, and I am here to see Mr. Galen."

  "What is your business with Mr. Galen," the guard said.

  "Police," Jesse said.

  The guard nodded thoughtfully.

  "I don't think Mr. Galen's much interested in police business," the guard said.

  "You got a license for that piece?" Jesse said.