Authors: Michael Brandman

Killing the Blues (13 page)

BOOK: Killing the Blues

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“That may be beyond my control.”

“It's not beyond mine.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Neutrality.”

Vinnie Morris appeared not to be listening, but Jesse knew otherwise. Vinnie met Jesse's gaze with one of his own.

“I'm going to force the issue,” Jesse said.

“How uncharacteristic of you.”

“It may not be pretty.”

Gino took a cigar from the box on his desk. He offered one to Jesse. They both unwrapped their cigars. Jesse held his out for Gino to clip. Gino did so. He flicked his lighter and held it to Jesse's cigar. Then he fired up his own.

The two men smoked in silence.

“You're telling me this because . . .” Gino said.

“Because I like you.”

“I'm flattered,” Gino said.

Then he stood up and nodded to Vinnie Morris.

“It was nice seeing you, Jesse Stone,” he said.

Vinnie Morris escorted Jesse to the door. Jesse turned back to Gino.

“Thanks for the cigar,” he said.

“Don't mention it,” Gino said.

Vinnie saw him out.

I
t was late afternoon and Jesse was nearing Paradise on his way back from Boston when his cell phone rang.

“We've got a hostage situation at the junior high school,” Molly said.

“Tell me,” Jesse said.

“What we know is that an eighth-grader, a girl, has taken the principal hostage. She has a gun and is threatening to shoot.”

“I'm on my way,” Jesse said.

He turned on his siren and his light bar, and pressed heavily on the accelerator.

By the time he arrived at the junior high, several members of the Paradise police force were already there. He found Suitcase at the main entrance. The two men went inside the building.

“Talk to me,” Jesse said.

“Fourteen-year-old girl,” Suit said. “She's in Mrs. Nelson's office with her.”

“Anyone else?”

“No,” Suit said. “Classes were finished for the day. There were very few people in the building.”

“Who else knows?”

“We've kept it under wraps, Jesse. I know how you feel about the media.”

“Good work, Suit. Take me to the office.”

“You gonna go in?”

“Yes.”

“Girl's got a gun.”

“She got a name?”

“Lisa Barry.”

Jesse stood at the door to Eleanor Nelson's office. He knocked on it.

“Lisa,” he said. “This is Police Chief Stone.”

After several moments, the girl answered.

“Go away,” she said.

“May I come in?”

“I've got a gun.”

“I heard,” Jesse said.

“I'm not afraid to use it.”

“May I come in? I want to talk with you.”

“I don't want to talk. If you come in, I'll shoot the bitch.”

“At least give me a chance.”

“Why should I?”

“Maybe I can help.”

“That's a laugh.”

“I'm not here to harm you, Lisa. At least hear me out. If you still feel the same way after, then you can shoot.”

“Like you won't try to take the gun away from me,” Lisa said.

“I give you my promise that I will come in unarmed and not make any attempt to take your gun.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Because I'm the police chief and I want to help you,” Jesse said.

Lisa didn't say anything.

“Give me a chance, Lisa. I'm not your enemy.”

After a beat, she said, “Okay.”

Jesse cautiously opened the door. He stepped slowly into the room. He nudged the door closed with his foot. He held his hands in the air.

“No gun. See,” he said.

Lisa was in front of the principal's desk. She was holding what looked to be a Cobra Derringer automatic. It was pointed at Mrs. Nelson.

Eleanor Nelson was in her mid-forties. She wore a plain gray suit. Medium-length drab brown hair framed her long, pale face, which was marred by two raw-looking scratches.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Nelson,” Jesse said.

Mrs. Nelson nodded.

Jesse turned to Lisa.

“What's this about, Lisa,” he said.

“This bitch doesn't deserve to live. I'm going to kill her.”

Lisa leaned across the desk and pressed the pistol into the side of Mrs. Nelson's head. She raked it along her cheek, causing the woman to cringe.

“Bitch,” Lisa shouted, in Mrs. Nelson's face.

“Talk to me, Lisa. Tell me why you're doing this,” Jesse said.

“Because she's a bitch.”

Jesse looked at Lisa. Fourteen. Not yet womanly. Slender. Resolute. Stressed.

“Can you tell me what happened,” he said.

Lisa relaxed somewhat. She lowered the pistol and moved back.

“She wouldn't listen. I told her.”

“You told her what?”

“About the girls.”

“What about the girls?”

“How they ragged on me. How they wouldn't leave me alone.”

“Which girls?”

“The Lincoln Village girls. The clique,” Lisa said.

“What about the Lincoln Village girls?”

“They're like a gang. They think they're better than everybody. They only talk to themselves. They bully people.”

“How do they bully people?”

“They torture them. They gang up on them. They punch them.”

“Did they punch you?”

“Yes. They would wait for me. After school. Sometimes before school.”

“And?”

“And they would take turns smacking me around,” Lisa said.

“How often did this happen?”

“A lot. Sometimes every day. I told this bitch about it, and she did nothing.”

“You told Mrs. Nelson?”

“Yes.”

Jesse turned to the principal. “Did she tell you about this?”

“She accosted me in the parking lot one afternoon and started telling me about some girls who were bullying her,” Mrs. Nelson said.

“And?”

“I told her that the parking lot was not the place to discuss it.”

“You didn't talk to her?”

“I told her to make an appointment to see me.”

“Lisa, is this what happened?”

“She said, âNot now.' Then she got in her car and drove away.”

“Did she ask you to make an appointment to see her,” Jesse said.

“She might have.”

“Did you make an appointment with her?”

“Her assistant told me the bitch was too busy to see me. She told me to talk to my homeroom teacher.”

“Do you often see students with problems, Mrs. Nelson?”

“On occasion.”

“Were you aware that Lisa was trying to make an appointment with you?”

“No.”

“An upset student accosts you in a parking lot. You tell her to make an appointment. None is made. Did you wonder why?”

“I'm very busy, Chief Stone. I don't remember ever thinking of the incident again.”

“Did you speak with your homeroom teacher, Lisa,” Jesse said.

“Yeah, right. Like that dipshit would give me the time of day.”

“So you didn't speak with her?”

“Him. Mr. Tauber. He doesn't give a shit about me. He only cares about the Lincoln Village girls. They sit on his lap.”

Jesse looked at Mrs. Nelson, who looked away.

“So you didn't actually speak with anyone about the Lincoln Village girls?”

“I tried to speak with her again,” Lisa said, pointing at Mrs. Nelson. “Things had gotten worse. They were beating me up every day. Sometimes twice a day.”

Jesse didn't say anything.

“So I waited after school. In the hall. When Miss Shit-for-Brains here came out, I tried to tell her. Again, she wouldn't listen.”

“Is this true, Mrs. Nelson?”

“She may have tried to talk with me. I can't remember. There are so many things . . .”

“Did you tell your parents about this, Lisa,” Jesse said.

“My mom's dead. My dad works all the time.”

“So you didn't actually tell any grown-up about what was going on?”

“No. It was so bad I wanted to kill myself. I even stole my dad's gun. This one. Then I thought I'd kill this bitch instead.”

She raised the gun and waved it at Mrs. Nelson.

“I understand, Lisa,” Jesse said.

“Yeah, good. So you gonna do anything about it,” Lisa said. “Or are you gonna turn out to be just like this dirtbag?”

“I'm going to do something about it.”

Lisa didn't say anything.

“Do you believe me?”

“I'd like to believe you.”

“Will you give me the gun, Lisa? No one's going to hurt you again. I promise.”

Lisa looked at Jesse. After a while she lowered the gun. Mrs. Nelson took a deep breath. Jesse walked to Lisa and held out his hand. She put the pistol in it. He checked the safety. He pocketed it.

Then he reached out to her. He gently touched her shoulder.

“I'm sorry this happened, Lisa,” he said.

Tears started to fall from her eyes.

He hugged her until the sobbing stopped.

With his arm around her, Jesse and Lisa left the office. They went outside and walked slowly to his cruiser. He opened the passenger-side door for her. She got in.

Jesse made eye contact with Suitcase.

Then he got in the cruiser and drove away.

J
esse drove Lisa to the station. Together they went inside. After settling her in the conference room, he went looking for Molly.

When he found her, he told her what had happened. He asked her to sit with Lisa. To take down her story. He wanted the names of each of the Lincoln Village girls. He also asked her to check with Suitcase to see if the girl's father had been found. He walked with her to the conference room.

On the way, Molly mentioned that Rich Bauer had phoned.

“And,” he said.

“Two more Hondas were stolen.”

“Not a good sign.”

“I thought you might say that.”

“Look after Lisa. She needs some TLC.”

“I don't remember administering TLC as being part of the job description.”

“You don't fool me,” Jesse said.

“I don't fool you how?”

“You're a softie. Mush.”

“Mush?”

“You heard me.”

“That's not how I like to think of myself.”

“How do you like to think of yourself ?”

“Hard. Tough. Terrifying.”

“Works for me,” Jesse said.

“And the mush?”

“Side dish.”

“Just so we don't confuse a side dish with the main course,” she said, as she went into the conference room.

J
esse poured some coffee. He phoned Dr. Phyllis Canter, a child psychologist who lived in Paradise. He told her what had happened and asked if she might interview Lisa. She agreed to stop by the station and speak with her.

He stuck his head in the conference room. He explained to Lisa that Dr. Canter would be stopping by. He said he would see her later.

He left the station and headed for his cruiser, which was parked in its designated spot behind the building.

He only noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye. A man was rapidly approaching Jesse from behind a double-parked car. He was holding a pistol.

Jesse dove to the ground just as the man fired. He pulled his pistol from its holster. It was in his hand with the safety off before he hit the ground.

He got off two quick shots, the first of which struck his assailant in the chest.

Jesse rolled into a sitting position and fired three more times.

The double-parked sedan sped away, tires screeching. Jesse fired at it.

Then he stood, and with his pistol extended, walked toward the man lying on the ground. He knelt beside him and felt for a pulse. There was none.

Jesse holstered his pistol just as Suitcase and Steve Lesnick burst from the station house, their service weapons in their hands.

Jesse signaled to them that there was no longer a threat. They put their weapons away.

“See if he has ID on him,” Jesse said to Suitcase.

To Steve Lesnick he said, “There's a late-model sedan which just left the parking lot in a big hurry. I think it was a Buick. I couldn't get the license. Maybe there's someone who can track it.”

Suitcase searched the body.

Lesnick reached for his cell phone.

“Nothing, Jesse,” Suitcase said. “Not even a wallet. What do you make of it?”

“Mob hit,” Jesse said. “Secure the scene. Call for a CSI unit. Let me know if anyone spots the getaway vehicle.”

As Jesse walked back to the station, the two officers looked at each other.

“I was right,” Lesnick said.

“About what,” Suitcase said.

“About Jesse,” Lesnick said.

“What about Jesse,” Suitcase said.

“He didn't even flinch. It's like he's got ice water for blood.”

“Tell me something I don't know,” Suitcase said.

O
nce inside, Jesse took a couple of deep breaths. He realized how narrowly he had escaped being shot. He knew the hit was the work of John Lombardo.