Robert B. Parker’s the Hangman’s Sonnet

Tamara’s parting words rang in Jesse’s head louder than the hammer that had pounded in it earlier that day. So loud that he could barely pay attention as he sat across the table from Lundquist at Daisy’s. He did have the wherewithal to introduce Lundquist to Daisy when she brought the coffeepot over to their booth. She was her usual diplomatic self. Which is to say it was a good thing Lundquist wasn’t easily offended.

“Lundquist, huh? Norwegian?”

“Swedish.”

“Too bad.” She didn’t elaborate.

Jesse said, “He’s taken over Captain Healy’s job.”

“Healy. I liked Healy. He was a good tipper. Swedes good tippers?”

“Depends,” Lundquist said.

Daisy sneered at him and shook her head. “Wrong answer, son. Wrong answer.”

“She always so charming?” Lundquist asked when she walked away.

Jesse said, “On her good days, yeah. You read the autopsy report?”

“It’s Curnutt.”

Jesse wanted to know, “Anything else in the report catch your eye?”

Lundquist didn’t answer right away. He reached for his coffee mug instead, put in an obscene amount of sugar and a few drops of cream. Halfway to his lips, he put his coffee mug back on the table. “Wait a second. Is this right? There were traces of filter paper and metal fragments in the wounds not from the bullets dug out of the body. Holy sh — crap, the killer used a homemade sound suppressor.”

“Looks that way.”

“What’s that tell you, Brian?”

“It’s evidence of premeditation.”

“What else?”

“He used a homemade suppressor. Tells me he was an amateur.”

“Or not. Maybe he just wants us to think he is.”

Lundquist rubbed his left hand across his cheek. “You think this guy is playing with us?”

Jesse didn’t say anything. He just sat there drinking his coffee.

42

This time, the press conference was held at the police station and Mayor Walker was nowhere in sight. Even Nita Thompson hadn’t gotten closer than a TV screen in her office. If Jesse’s plan to starve the media of information went wrong, it would blow up in his face and his face alone. It would also supply the mayor with the excuse she’d been looking for to make Jesse an issue. Nothing like firing someone to look like a woman of action and to draw attention away from the real issue at hand.

Jesse understood the risks. He knew that Nita Thompson hadn’t gone along with his plan out of the goodness of her heart. He still wasn’t sure she had a heart. No, she had gone along with it because there was only an upside for her client. It was a win-win situation for the mayor, no matter how things turned out. But why had Jesse done it if all the risk was his? That was simple. He’d bought himself and his cops room to maneuver. In the end, what mattered to Jesse wasn’t losing his job or looking good in the press. What mattered was catching the bad guys.

What had become pretty clear to him, even if it wasn’t yet clear to anyone else, was that the ransacking of Maude Cain’s house, her death, and Kirk Kingston Curnutt’s murder were a continuation of the same crime. In spite of Jesse’s own rules about jumping to conclusions, he knew there had to be a connection. The bigger question was: Why murder Curnutt in that spot? Why murder him in Paradise at all? The answer seemed an obvious one: to draw as much attention as possible. For the moment, there was nothing to do on Curnutt’s homicide until some of the forensics results came back.

“Molly, come into my office,” he said after the press had cleared out.

She wasn’t happy. “What is it, Jesse? I’m exhausted.”

“Give me five minutes.”

“Five minutes! I gave you two hours and I’ve been on the clock since... Jeez, I don’t even remember which shift I started on.”

“Think of the overtime pay.”

“Right after I stop thinking about strangling you. You drink and I suffer. How does that work?”

“Believe me, Molly, I suffered. I’m still suffering. I’m probably going to suffer all night if I don’t take a—”

“Woe is you.”

“Molly!”

“I’m sorry, Jesse Stone. I love you, but I’m done with risking my ass for you.”

“Come on, Molly.”

“It’s not funny anymore. I’ve got two of the girls in college, and my pension, good as it is, wouldn’t cut it.”

“I’m sorry, Molly. You know what I think of you.”

“It’s not even me, Jesse. When Suit helps me with you, it’s one thing. Okay, he looks up to you. He would risk anything for you. He has. That was his choice. But you made me put Alisha at risk, and that’s where I draw the line.”

And there they were again, Tamara Elkin’s words about Jesse’s drinking, his selfishness going round and round in his head.

He nodded. “It won’t happen again.”

Molly was skeptical, but she had already said more than she wanted to. She didn’t have any energy left for a fight.

“All right, I surrender, Jesse. What did you want?”

“Maude Cain’s house.”

“What about it?”

“Remember I asked you to go through it and look for a—”

“A log book or registration books. Right.”

“Well?”