Robert B. Parker's Debt to Pay (16 page)

D
iana listened to her Bach, Beethoven, Beatles, Beastie Boys, and Beyoncé playlist to drown out the engine noise, Jesse asleep next to her, his head resting on her shoulder. Even in sleep he seemed utterly composed and uncomplicated. She knew better. When you love someone the way she loved him, you learn to see past the fences they hide behind. You come to know their wounds and their lies, especially the ones they tell themselves. Jesse was a terribly complex man, and for the first time since they'd gotten together, she was scared for him.

She was scared for the both of them, of course. Although her skills were in forensic accounting, she had worked on cases at the Bureau involving men like Peepers: deadly, invisible, sadistic. Men who enjoyed the very act of victimization and the infliction of pain. It used to irk her when her colleagues would refer to them as “animals.” Animals killed to survive, to feed their young. They didn't do it for sport. Hunting for the hell of it was a particularly human foible. At the moment, she had a very acute sympathy for prey animals. It hadn't escaped her that she would be nearly as big a prize for Peepers as Jenn would be. That having Jesse watch him destroy her,
not Jenn, might actually be what was going on. Nor did it escape her that the woman Peepers had abducted in Dallas resembled both Jenn and herself. But she had accepted that she might be a target from the moment Jesse told her about Peepers's reappearance. Her fears at the moment were separate fears, fears for the man she loved.

He was drinking again in spite of how diligent he'd been about not slipping up. She had smelled the dark grace notes of defeat on his breath when they'd kissed at the gate. Nothing, not the coffee nor the mouthwash, could camouflage it completely. She had also seen the defeat in him, the disappointment in his eyes and the slightest slouch in his posture. He exuded confidence and competence. Not much about Jesse worried her about his personality except this, his reflexive withdrawal. It seemed to be his default setting. He wasn't a man to deflect responsibility or to point fingers. He was stoic in defeat.

It wasn't the drinking that bothered her, per se. She was used to that. In law enforcement, excessive drinking was part of the deal. She also drank too much. Not everyone did it. Not everyone was a drunk, but there were lots of them. High rates of infidelity, divorce, and a whole host of other ugly perks came with the shield and the gun. The thing that frightened her was how the drinking connected to Jesse's need for a sense of control. And if nothing else, Peepers thrived on showing the world who was really in control.

That whole self-contained-man aura was great. Right after she noticed Jesse's rugged good looks and athletic build, it was the thing about Jesse that had captured her attention. When you've been searching for something in a man your whole adult life, you recognize it when you see it. She guessed the great sex didn't exactly hurt, either. But self-containment or self-assurance or self-reliance, whatever you wanted to call it, had its drawbacks.

She saw the seat belt sign pop on, felt the engines cut back, saw the flight attendant marching down the aisle with a plastic garbage bag. Diana pulled out one of her earbuds in time to hear the captain announce that they were making their initial descent into Love Field. When the captain finished his announcement, she put up her tray table, leaned over, and kissed Jesse very gently on the top of his head.

“I love you, Jesse Stone,” she said, as much to herself as to him.

“What was that?” the passing flight attendant asked.

Diana smiled, blushing. “Nothing. Sorry.”

When she turned back, Jesse, eyes bleary from sleep, was staring back at her.

“You're not bad yourself,” he said, and closed his eyes again. “Wake me up when we land.”

She laughed at herself for thinking he would ever change. She knew he loved her fiercely, but public displays of affection would never be his thing.

A
t baggage claim, a driver in a black blazer and pants, a white collared shirt, and black shoes stood erect, holding a cardboard sign with Jesse's and Diana's names printed on it. His skin was heavily tanned, his neatly kept black hair wavy and thick. Jesse snorted at the sight of him. Everything about the man, from his posture to the rippling muscles barely contained by his clothing to his reflective orange Oakleys, screamed ex-military. The earpiece and trailing wire were also a dead giveaway that chauffeur had not always been his chosen profession. It was also perfectly obvious, in spite of the sunglasses, that the driver knew exactly who in the crowd he was looking for. Although the need for secrecy was less important now that Peepers had pretty much announced his intentions, Jesse hoped that Kahan's other people were a little more subtle than this guy.

Diana noticed, too.

“What do you think, Jesse, Navy SEAL or Air Force PJ Special Ops?” she asked.

“SEAL.”

“Wrong, Stone. He's ex-USAF. You work in D.C. long enough, you can tell.”

“What's the bet?” Jesse asked.

“I'm right, you sleep with me when we get back to the hotel.”

“And if
I'm
right?”

“You sleep with me when we get back to the hotel.”

Jesse laughed. “Deal.”

They walked up to the man holding the sign. Jesse introduced them and shook the man's hand. Diana, too.

“Look,” Jesse said, “we have a bet going. Are you ex-Navy or Air Force?”

Now it was the driver's turn to laugh and to display his straight white teeth.

“IDF, the
mistaravim.
That's a branch of our Special Forces,” he said in a heavy Israeli accent. “I'm Ari and I'll be driving you while you're in town. Now, if you don't mind, we'll collect your luggage and head out.”

They followed Ari to the carousel.

“So we both lose,” Jesse said.

“I figure we'll both have to pay up.”

“Looking forward to it.”

It was a short walk to where the car was parked. When they stepped out of the terminal they were hit with a blast of devil's breath. To call the heat oppressive was to be kind. The sky was a severe and cloudless blue. It was weather much easier to appreciate from the comfort of an air-conditioned room or car than from the pavement. It reminded Jesse of his youth in Tucson and Diana of her year undercover in Scottsdale. Neither of them said a word about it to the other. As they walked, Ari's head was on a swivel, ready to ditch their luggage and go for his weapon.

The black Escalade with its heavily tinted windows was already running. Ari opened the back door for Diana and Jesse before placing their luggage in the rear. Scott Kahan was sitting in the front seat and turned around, offering his hand to Diana.

“Scott Kahan, Hale Hunsicker's security chief,” he said. “You're ex-FBI?”

Diana nodded, shook his hand, and smiled a polite smile, but she saw the same thing in Kahan's eyes as she had seen in men's eyes her whole life: a mix of lust and a lack of respect. She half expected him to turn to Jesse and make some snide comment about how she was even hotter than Jenn. He didn't. Instead he held his hand out to Jesse.

“Stone, how are you?”

Jesse was all business. “Fine. What's the plan?”

“We're heading straight from here to the Vineland Park Village PD, where we'll meet with Jed Pruitt. He's chief and a friend of Hunsicker's. Ari will take Diana to the hotel, get you guys checked in, and issue your weapons. Jesse, what do you prefer to carry?”

Jesse had to think about it. For ages he'd carried a short-barrel .38, but he'd gifted it to Suit and had gotten used to his nine-millimeter.

“A nine-millimeter,” he said.

Kahan asked, “Diana, a .40 Glock 22?”

“Well, aren't you just the sweetest thing?” she said in a mocking Southern accent. “A man who asks the question and then answers it for me.”

“Sorry,” he said. “That won't happen again.”

“See that it doesn't. Yes, a Glock 22 is good.”

Jesse smirked and kept quiet. Diana Evans brooked no bullshit. He loved that about her. That and about a hundred other things.

Kahan continued. “There's a small reception at the Hunsickers' house this evening. A few friends and family. It's casual. Ari will come get you at a quarter to eight.” He turned to Ari, who had settled into the driver's seat. “Go.”

And with that, they were moving.

V
ineland Park's police headquarters was part of the town hall and municipal complex, done in Spanish Mission style with smooth, off-white stucco and red tile roofing. There was an ornate central tower topped with a slight dome and a courtyard with a simple circular fountain. The landscaping was green and lush and fragrant. There wasn't a leaf or petal out of place. The sight of the complex made Jesse smile because it looked like a smaller-scale version of the Beverly Hills town hall. Jesse remarked on that to Kahan.

“Should look like it,” he said as they walked from the SUV to the entrance. “Same man designed it. And by the way, Diana is even more beautiful in person than in photos. After what she said to me before, I figured I better not say that in front of her.”

“Smart man.”

They stopped at the front desk. The sergeant manning it, a fit, bald fellow with a passive
I've seen it all before
expression, smiled at Kahan.

“Hey, Bill,” Kahan said, removing a .40 Beretta from his hip holster and placing it on the counter. “This is Chief Jesse Stone of the Paradise, Massachusetts, PD. We're here to see—”

“Chief's waiting. Y'all can go on back. I'll locker this in the meantime,” he said, removing Kahan's Beretta from the desk.

As they walked back to Pruitt's office, Kahan explained that Vineland Park cross-trained their police as firemen and EMTs.

“These folks are very good at their jobs and very well paid. Lots of big money around here, so it's not your ordinary small village PD.” Then, realizing how Jesse might hear that, he said, “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“And don't be fooled by Pruitt's down-home cowboy manner. He's retired military intelligence and smart as the day is hot.”

They came to a big, high-arched dark wood door. Pruitt's name and title were inscribed in gold on a metal plaque. Kahan knocked.

“Well, come on in, boys.”

Pruitt was a tall man, all arms and legs, with a tanned, weathered face. He had droopy lids over faded blue eyes that had seen a lot of things but that wouldn't give up their secrets without a fight. He had an easy smile and the teeth of a man who had spent some money to bleach out the tobacco stains and had mostly succeeded. He stood a good six-four, and that was with a slight stoop. Still, the man looked sharp in his dark blue uniform.

There was a brief round of handshakes and of sizing one another up. Jesse noticed a hint of disdain in the way Pruitt looked at Kahan. Pruitt noticed Jesse noticed. They didn't need to discuss it. It was understood. No cop, especially a chief, wants to feel like he's got to lick a citizen's boots just because that citizen works for someone rich and powerful. Paradise may not have been Vineland Park in terms of wealth, but Jesse had had to deal with the rich and powerful and their flunkies from the day he accepted the job as chief. But there was something else in Pruitt's eyes beyond disdain that he hoped he'd get a chance to discuss with the chief.

“Have a seat, boys.” Pruitt gestured at the rustic, untanned cowhide chairs across from his desk.

When Kahan and Jesse sat, he sat.

Jesse, anxious to get back to the hotel and to call Paradise, spoke first. “Anything more from Belinda Yankton?”

“Nothing that'll help you. That sick bastard played mind games with that poor girl for weeks,” Pruitt said. “She may never be right again.”

“Well,” Kahan said, “she certainly won't be rude again.”

No one laughed.

“Why do you think he let her go?” Pruitt asked.

Kahan made a face. “She escaped.”

Jesse begged to differ. “No, she didn't. Peepers enjoys killing, pretty women most of all. He had an ulterior motive. He wanted her to deliver a message.”

“Which is?” Kahan wanted to know.

“That he's in control,” Jesse said. “It's up to him who lives and who dies and when. He also wanted her to feed us information. Chief Pruitt, do you think you could arrange for me to talk to Belinda alone?”

“Ain't a Vineland Park matter, but I'll see what I can do.”

Kahan laughed. “That means yes, Stone.”

Jesse noticed that disdain in Pruitt's eyes again.

“Like I said, Jesse, I'll see what I can do. But in the meantime, there's been a few other developments we should discuss.”

“Developments?” Jesse furrowed his brow.

Kahan's tone turned nasty. “And why don't I know about them?”

Pruitt stood tall out of his chair. “Listen, son.” He pointed at the stars on the epaulets of his uniform. “Your boss's money and influence make him someone this department listens to, but he's your
boss, not mine. Now, as soon as Chief Stone does me an honor, I'll brief you on the developments.”

“What can I do for you, Chief?” Jesse asked.

Pruitt reached into his top drawer. “You can sign this for me.”

It was Jesse's Triple A baseball card. And when Jesse saw it, that botched double play in Pueblo came rushing back to him. The glory of those years came rushing back, too. But the knot in his belly came from remembering the swinging bunt in the softball game all those Sundays ago, and the glory of the old days seemed much further away than it ever had before.

C
hief Pruitt placed the newly signed baseball card back in its clear plastic case and put the case back in his drawer. He exchanged the card and case for a file.

“I saw you play back in the day when I was stationed in New Mexico,” Pruitt said, still holding the file in his hand. “When Scott here came to me with what was going on and mentioned your name, I Googled you. Couldn't believe you were
that
Jesse Stone. You had a helluva arm there, a helluva arm. Seems to me you could hit a little, too.”

“Once,” Jesse said. “Once, a lifetime ago.”

Before sitting back down, Pruitt handed the file to Kahan. Pruitt was no fool. He had ruffled Kahan's feathers, but he didn't want to push things too far. He knew that he couldn't afford to make an enemy of Hale Hunsicker. So as Kahan scanned the files, Pruitt spoke to Jesse.

“Seems your Mr. Peepers is a smart fella. He didn't get catering jobs with the firms that have been hired by the Hunsickers to work their parties. No, sir. Would have been too easy for him to be tracked down that way. First place we would look. What he did instead was
get jobs at other area caterers whose employees work for several companies. That gave him access to people who
would
work the Hunsicker parties and who had worked Hunsicker parties previously. He also worked catering jobs at all the venues at which the wedding week celebrations are to be held, including the main event at the Vineland Park Country Club.”

Jesse made a face. “No one said he wasn't smart. What's in the file?”

“Interviews with the catering employees who worked with Peepers, some of whom he befriended. Transcripts of conversations they remembered having with him. Interviews with his supervisors at the three companies Peepers worked for.”

“Anything worthwhile?” Jesse asked.

“Not much we got out of it, but the way I figure it, you might see something we don't.”

Kahan laughed a quiet laugh as he read.

“I read those reports, Kahan,” Pruitt said, “and I don't recall much to laugh about. Would y'all care to share it with Chief Stone and myself? If you don't mind, I mean.”

“Okay, Jed, enough with the
Aw, shucks
routine. You don't like me. You resent Hale throwing his weight around. I get it. What I'm laughing at is the aliases Peepers used at the three jobs he worked: Luther Fish, Jesse Simpson, and Gino Stone. See what I find funny, Stone?”

Jesse smiled a crooked half-smile. Pruitt wasn't smiling. He had his pride and didn't like not being in on the joke.

“Peepers mixed up the three names of the men whom he blames for getting him shot and for interfering with his business. That's what this is all about. Luther Simpson is one of my officers, the one
who actually shot Peepers in the shoulder. Simpson got gutshot for that.” Jesse held the tips of his right thumb and index fingers close. “He came this close to dying. Gino Fish was a mob boss in Boston who had arranged for me to meet with Peepers.”

“Was a mob boss?” Pruitt said.

“Dead. He killed himself.”

Pruitt was confused. “Suicide? Why?”

“Peepers had just stabbed Fish's lover and receptionist through the heart and slit his throat. Fish knew the fate that awaited him if Peepers had gotten him out of the office. Fish killed himself to save himself from a slow and horrible death.”

“Jeez!”

“Chief,” Jesse said, “I know you've taken this seriously, but I think now you can understand why Peepers is so worrisome. He isn't like anyone any of us have ever dealt with. I worked Robbery-Homicide in L.A. for ten years and none of the perps I ever dealt with was a match for Peepers. He's part serial killer, part assassin, part terrorist, and he's invisible.”

“But is he even alive?” Pruitt asked. “We're a well-funded department, Jesse, but I can't afford to expend lots of resources chasing a ghost around Dallas. Kahan here filled me in on what happened in Paradise. Says you found his weapon and that the man in the car that exploded matched Peepers's general description.”

“I understand, Chief,” Jesse said. “I've got a budget, a mayor, and a group of selectmen to deal with. Problem is, we can't be sure if Peepers is dead. My department and the state CSU were only given clearance to go over the crime scene this morning, and the scene is a mess. We can't know if everything Peepers has done is to give us a false sense of security or if he's really dead.”

Pruitt looked skeptical. “But he couldn't have arranged for the car chase and accident in your town. You can't hire someone to die in your place. It had to be him.”

“I know it seems that way,” Jesse said. “But I think the accident was just that, an accident. If I didn't happen to return to the station house when I did, things would've happened very differently.”

“For what it's worth, Jed,” Kahan said, “I agree with Stone. We can't assume Peepers isn't a threat.”

Pruitt stroked his chin, sitting back in his chair. “Okay. For now, we'll keep the alert on and I'll assign the extra officers as we discussed, Kahan. But as soon as you hear anything from Paradise, I want to hear it second to you, Chief Stone. Break that protocol and I back my people off. Understood?”

“Uh-huh.”

There was another round of handshakes, but before Jesse was through the door, Pruitt called to him.

“See you at the party tonight, Chief Stone.”

Jesse winked and closed the door behind him.