Split Image

by Robert B. Parker

  "Fella named Ognowski was killed around here, couple days ago," Jesse said. "We're just canvassing the neighborhood."

  Knocko laughed.

  "You're canvassing me and Reggie," he said.

  "It's where we've begun," Jesse said. "You know Ognowski?"

  "Petey? Sure I know him. He worked for my brother-i n-law."

  "Any reason you know that somebody would kill him?" Jesse said.

  "Not a clue," Knocko said. He looked at his wife. "You, sweetheart?"

  "Petey." Robbie shook her head. "Petey was the nicest man."

  "As leg breakers go," Jesse said.

  "That's not so," Robbie said. "Petey was a sweet man."

  She smiled at her husband.

  "Like Francis," she said.

  "Francis," Jesse said.

  "My real name," Knocko said.

  "Where'd Knocko come from?" Jesse said.

  "When I was a kid," Knocko said, "I used to be kind of a rough guy."

  "Petey do any work for you?" Jesse said.

  "I'm retired," Knocko said. "He used to run some errands now and then for Robbie."

  "Like what?" Jesse said.

  Knocko looked at his wife.

  "Honey?" he said.

  "Oh, pick up something at the market, take something to the cleaner's. He did the same for Becca."

  "That was it?" Jesse said.

  "You know Reggie was in the rackets once," Knocko said. "Everybody knows that. You're in the rackets, even if you ain't anymore, you need some security."

  "Which Bob's in charge of," Jesse said. "For Reggie."

  "Yeah."

  "We all know you were in the rackets once," Jesse said. "Who does your security?"

  "Security's kind of a fancy word," Knocko said, and winked at Robbie. "Got a buddy walks around with me."

  "What's his name?" Jesse said.

  "Ray Mulligan," Knocko said. "Met in grade school. Nuns seated us alphabetically, you know? I was always right next to Ray."

  He patted Robbie's arm. She smiled at him.

  "You're Rebecca Galen's twin sister," Jesse said.

  "Yes, identical twins. Unless we dress differently, even we have trouble telling us apart."

  "What was your, ah, birth name?" Jesse said.

  "Why you wanna know that?" Knocko said.

  "'Cause I don't know," Jesse said. "You been questioned before, Knocko. You know that cops ask questions to see where they lead."

  "You ever been a cop anyplace but here?" Knocko said.

  "Why you wanna know that?" Jesse said.

  "'Cause I don't know," Knocko said.

  Jesse smiled.

  "I worked robbery homicide in L.A. for a while," Jesse said.

  "So you done something but hand out traffic tickets," Knocko said.

  "Not much," Jesse said. "What was your maiden name, Mrs. Moynihan?"

  She looked at her husband. Knocko nodded.

  "Bangston," she said. "Roberta and Rebecca, the Bangston twins."

  "And how'd you two meet?" Jesse said.

  Knocko shook his head.

  He said, "Enough, Stone. You got no reason to suspect us of anything. We got no reason to sit here and blab about our private lives with you."

  "I know," Jesse said. "Just curious how twin sisters ended up marrying a couple of thugs like you and Reggie."

  "Thugs is kind of a harsh word," Knocko said.

  "Extralegal entrepreneurs," Jesse said.

  "Better," Knocko said.

  "You guys ever adversaries?" Jesse said.

  "No, no problem with Reggie and me. He had the North Shore. I had the South . . . 'fore we retired."

  Jesse shrugged.

  "Still kind of odd," he said.

  "Are you married, Chief Stone?" Robbie said.

  "No."

  "Ever been?" she said.

  "Yes," he said.

  "Then perhaps you have noticed," Robbie said, "that love is odd."

  "I have," Jesse said.

  14

  JESSE MADE his first drink of the day carefully. Tall glass, a lot of ice, not too much scotch, a lot of soda. If he got it right, it always resulted in a nice drink that made him feel fresh.

  He took the glass to his living room and sat at the bar. He raised his glass toward the picture of Ozzie Smith.

  "Howya doing, Wizard," he said, and took a swallow.

  He'd done it right; it was dry and clean and cold.

  The room was silent except for the soft sound of the air-conditioning, which somehow made everything seem more silent. He drank again, looking across his living room and through the French doors at the diminishing daylight that now had a faint blue tinge to it. He liked the silence, and the bluish light, and being alone. He might have liked being alone more if there was someone else in the house, or expected home.

  "Maybe I should get a dog," Jesse said.

  He drank.

  "Except who takes care of it when I'm working. If I had a wife, she could take care of it. But if I had a wife, I wouldn't need the dog."

  He drank.

  "I'd want a dog anyway," Jesse said.

  Ozzie Smith had no reaction. Jesse's glass was empty. He went to the kitchen and made another. He felt like getting drunk. Why was that? Often he was happy with a couple of drinks and supper. He took his drink back to the living room.

  "Who's here to tell me no?" Jesse said.

  What would Dix say? Jesse would say that if behavior changed, there was probably a reason for it. And he would say he had no way to know what that reason was. But Jesse knew Dix would think it was still about Jenn.

  "The hell with Jenn," Jesse said.

  So why today, and not, say, two days ago, or last Thursday. Why tonight did he feel pretty sure he wouldn't settle for two drinks?

  He looked at Ozzie Smith again.

  "I'da made the show, Oz," Jesse said. "Hadn't busted up my shoulder, I'd have made the show."

  He took a swallow.

  "I'm a good cop, too . . . sober."

  How did it happen that two thugs like Galen and Moynihan ended up with two beautiful women who seemed devoted to them? And he had ended up with Jenn.

  "Whoops," he said.

  He put his drink down and sat back in is chair. . . . That's why he wanted to get drunk.

  He was jealous. . . . No, jealous wasn't quite it. . . . He had seen the marriage he wished he'd had, and he'd seen two of them in two days. It underscored the failure of his own marriage. They had gotten women who wanted to make their husbands happy. He'd gotten one who wanted to be famous. He was an honest cop. They were mobsters.

  He went to the kitchen and made himself another drink.

  Love is odd, all right . . . and unfair . . . and it sucks. . . . Doesn't always suck, though. Working really well for Reggie and Knocko . . . Thought I was through worrying about it . . . Jenn's history . . . Thought I was past that . . . Guess I'm not . . . Maybe I can drink it into submission.

  He drank some more.

  15

  THE PHONE RANG. Jesse ignored it. His mouth was very dry, but he was too asleep to get any water. The phone rang again.

  "Shut up," Jesse said, and didn't answer it.

  He slept some more and then someone began pounding on his front door. He ignored it. The pounding continued. He could hear someone's raised voice. He rolled over onto his back and opened his eyes. It was day. He looked at the digital clock: eleven-thirteen.

  His head ached and his stomach was queasy. The pounding and yelling at the front door continued. He sat up. He was fully dressed, shoes and all. He stood. The room swam a little and then steadied. He walked slowly to the front door and opened it. Molly Crane was there. She looked at Jesse and then came in without a word and closed the door behind her.

  "Take a shower," she said. "Put on clean clothes. I'll make coffee."

  Jesse looked at her for a moment.

  "Wha's up," he said.

  "Brush your teeth, too," Molly said.

  Jess
e nodded.

  "Okay, but wha's going on?" he said.

  "Somebody killed Knocko Moynihan last night," Molly said.

  Jesse nodded, then turned and headed for the bathroom. He brushed his teeth. He shaved. He stayed under the shower for a long time. When he came out wearing clean clothes, Molly had coffee made, a glass of orange juice poured, two pieces of toast on a saucer. A bottle of aspirin stood beside the toast. Jesse sat.

  "No toast," Jesse said.

  "Eat the toast," Molly said. "Shape your stomach must be in, you don't want to put aspirin in there without food."

  Jesse nodded. The room distorted for a moment and settled. He drank some juice.

  "Feel human?" Molly said.

  "No," Jesse said.

  "Can you listen?"

  "Yes," he said.

  "Lifeguard found Knocko this morning, about six o'clock, sitting upright on a bench under the little pavilion at Paradise Beach. He'd been shot in the back of the head. There wasn't much blood. We're guessing he was shot someplace else and put there. But we don't have an ME report yet."

  Jesse drank some coffee to wash down a bite of toast.

  "Who's running it?" he said.

  "Suit, I guess, and me," Molly said. "Selectmen are in a twidgit looking for you."

  "Press?"

  "Quite a bit," Molly said. "Knocko was famous, I guess."

  "TV?" Jesse said.

  "Two stations," Molly said. "Stand-ups by the beach pavilion."

  "Scared to death of TV," Jesse said.

  "The selectmen?"

  Jesse nodded and wished he hadn't.

  "'Specially the new guy," Molly said.

  Jesse started to nod and stopped himself.

  "McAfee," he said.

  "Yeah," Molly said. "He's terrified he'll say something wrong on camera."

  Jesse finished his first piece of toast.

  "Okay," Molly said. "Take your aspirin."

  Jesse took two and swallowed them with the remaining orange juice.

  "He know where I've been?" Jesse said.

  "Suit told them you were out of town, something to do with your ex-wife."

  "Better than passed out from strong drink, I guess," Jesse said.

  "I guess," Molly said.

  She poured Jesse a second cup of coffee.

  "You going to eat the other piece of toast?" she said.

  "Can't," Jesse said.

  "I can," Molly said, and picked it up from his plate and broke off a piece.

  "Someday you can tell me what set you off," Molly said, when she had finished chewing.

  "Yep."

  "But right now we got to rescue the situation," Molly said.

  "Okay," Jesse said.

  "You up to it?"

  "After this coffee," Jesse said.

  Molly nodded and ate the rest of the toast.

  16

  SUNNY SAT in the vast ornamental living room of a disproportionate McMansion in Concord with Elsa and John Markham.

  "You've talked to our daughter?" Elsa said.

  "I have."

  "How is she?"

  "She seems fine," Sunny said.

  "She's still in that place," Elsa said.

  Elsa Markham was slim and tall with silver-blond hair and a dark tan. Her husband was also slim and tall. But his hair was dark and worn longish. He, too, had a deep tan.

  "Yes," Sunny said. "She's at the Renewal place."

  "Does she have friends?"

  "She has a boyfriend," Sunny said. "He seemed nice."

  He hadn't seemed anything to Sunny, but she thought it might reassure them.

  "Oh, God," Elsa said. "Unsupervised, of course."

  "Well, actually," Sunny said, "there's quite a lot of supervision; at least there are quite a few rules. No drugs, no alcohol, no smoking; interestingly enough, no meat."

  "Sex?" Elsa said.

  "No casual sex," Sunny said. "Only as part of a relationship."

  "Well, isn't that sweet," Elsa said.

  "They seem to be close," Sunny said.

  "Sex is for marriage," Elsa said. "Not for relationships."

  "Really?" Sunny said.

  "You don't believe that?" Elsa said.

  "No," Sunny said. "I guess I don't."

  "Well, we do, and we won't have a daughter who believes otherwise."

  "But maybe you do," Sunny said.

  "She's been corrupted by this cult."

  "It's not really a cult, Mrs. Markham. They don't advocate much that most people wouldn't approve of."

  "We are not most people," Elsa said.

  Sunny looked at Mr. Markham, who so far had sat in grim silence as his wife talked.

  "So, is Cheryl your biological daughter, too, Mr. Markham?"

  "Of course," he said. "What kind of a question is that?"

  "I don't mean to pry," Sunny said. "Although prying is sort of my profession. But why is her name different than yours?"

  "Our name was originally DeMarco," Elsa said. "We changed it as John began to make his way in business."

  "Why?"

  "DeMarco seemed so North End, you know?"

  She wrinkled her nose.

  "Johnny DeMarco," she said, and shook her head.

  "And Cheryl kept her original name?" Sunny said.

  "She took it back when she went off with those people," Elsa said. "Legally, she is Cheryl Markham."

  Sunny nodded.

  "So, I suggested that perhaps you might visit her," Sunny said. "Talk about this."

  "What a dandy idea," Elsa said, and lapsed into a mimicky voice. " 'Would you and John care to join us on the Vineyard this weekend?' 'No, we're going to visit our daughter at her free-love hippie commune.' 'Oh, really? How nice. Our daughters are at Wellesley.' "

  "Okay," Sunny said. "Not an idea that resonates."

  "No," Elsa said. "It's not. Have you any others?"

  Her husband had folded his arms and dropped his chin and looked even grimmer. He's learned every pose, Sunny thought.

  "No," Sunny said. "Do you?"

  "John?" Elsa said.

  "I got an idea," John said. "You send me a bill for your time, and then go about your business."

  "I don't wish to have an argument, but I would point out that you didn't hire me."

  "Mistakes are inevitable," John said. "But smart people don't nurture them. Send me a bill and then leave us alone."

  "And your daughter?" Sunny said.

  "We will tend to our daughter."

  He stood. Elsa stood. Sunny nodded and stood. No one offered to shake hands.

  As she drove her car down the long driveway, she spoke to herself out loud.

  "Wow!" she said.

  17

  IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON when Jesse went to Dix's office, but Dix looked as if he'd just stepped out of the shower. His bald head gleamed. His face seemed newly shaved. His seersucker jacket appeared freshly ironed. His white shirt was crisp. He wore a blue-and-yellow striped tie, perfectly knotted.

  He nodded as Jesse sat down, and leaned back slightly in his chair as if settling in to listen with interest.

  "I got drunk two nights ago and passed out and wasn't able to do my job the next day," Jesse said.

  "That must be painful for you," Dix said.

  "It is."

  "Tell me about it," Dix said.

  Jesse told him. Dix listened quietly.

  "What do you suppose brought it on?" Dix said.

  "All I can think of," Jesse said. "I was talking to a couple of mobsters who seem to be enjoying very happy marriages to some very appealing women."

  "Hardly seems fair," Dix said.

  Jesse nodded.

  "And I guess I sat there, the other night," he said, "and thought, Why them, not me? And got drunk."

  "Why couldn't Jenn have been like these women?" Dix said.

  Jesse nodded.

  "Exactly," he said.

  Dix was quiet. Jesse was quiet.

  "What are they like?" Dix said, after
a time.

  "The wives?"

  Dix nodded.

  "They're twins," Jesse said. "Identical twins."

  Dix waited.

  "They live side by side in big houses on Paradise Neck. Houses look alike, inside and outside. Like they were decorated, or whatever, by the same person."

  "Pretty close," Dix said.

  Jesse nodded.

  Dix waited.

  "They're very good-looking," Jesse said.

  Dix nodded.

  "And they love their husbands."

  Dix waited. Jesse was quiet.

  "How do you know?" Dix said.

  "They are so attentive," Jesse said. "They sit beside their husband. They pat his arm. They look at him and listen to him and seem thrilled to be with him."

  "Attentive," Dix said.

  "Yes."

  "Affectionate," Dix said.

  "Yes."

  "How about the husbands?" Dix said.

  "Reggie Galen," Jesse said. "And Knocko Moynihan. Both mobsters. Reggie ran things mostly north, and Knocko had the South Shore."

  "They still in the business?" Dix said.

  "They say not, but I don't believe them."

  "Why were you talking to them?"

  "Guy worked for one of them, slugger named Petrov Ognowski, got killed and his body dumped on the Paradise Neck causeway."

  "And you talked to the other man why?"

  "He lived next door," Jesse said. "He had a record."

  "Any reason to think they were involved?"

  "No reason to think anything yet," Jesse said. "You used to be a cop. Guy gets killed in the neighborhood of two mobsters, you talk to them."

  Dix nodded.

  "These gentlemen seem to recognize their good fortune?" Dix said.

  "In their wives, you mean?"

  Dix nodded.

  "They seem happy," Jesse said.

  "Attentive?" Dix said.

  Jesse shrugged.

  "I guess so," he said.

  "Affectionate," Dix said.

  "I imagine," Jesse said.

  "But it was the wives who really struck you," Dix said.

  "Yes."

  "Jenn ever attentive and affectionate?" Dix said.

  "Before we were married," Jesse said. "And a little while after."

  "So she was capable of it," Dix said.

  Jesse nodded.

  "What made it so frustrating," he said. "She could and she didn't."