Authors: Robert B. Parker
Barnes looked at her for a moment with the expressionless hint of humor that he projected.
“Ah, trace evidence,” he said.
“Thank you,” Kelly Cruz said, and closed her notebook.
“What’d they do up north?” Barnes said.
Kelly Cruz took a card out of her purse, and gave it to him.
“Florence Horvath died up there under unusual circumstances,” she said. “You think of anything interesting, call me.”
Barnes took the card.
“They think Darnell killed her?”
“I don’t know what their theory of the case is,” Kelly Cruz said. “I’m just asking questions for them.”
“Actually, I’m thinking of something sort of interesting right now,” he said.
“Not at thirty thousand feet,” Kelly Cruz said.
“’Course not,” Barnes said. “Who’s going to fly the plane?”
44
J
esse and Molly sat at the conference table in the squad room. The sound of shouting and loud bad singing came from the four-cell jail wing.
“Hark,” Jesse said.
“Drunk and disorderly,” Molly said. “On Front Street.”
“Today?”
“Un-huh.”
Jesse looked at his watch.
“It’s ten in the morning,” he said.
“No time to waste,” Molly said.
Jesse nodded. Molly had a big yellow legal-sized pad of blue-lined paper in front of her.
“Okay,” he said. “Here’s what we’ve got. We know Florence Horvath was alive when she came up here first week in June. We can probably pin that down exactly if we need to.”
Molly made a note. Jesse stood and walked the length of the squad room and looked out the back window at the Public Works garage behind the station.
“And we know she was dead when she washed ashore the beginning of Race Week.”
“July twelfth,” Molly said.
“ME says she’s been in the water at least a couple weeks, maybe longer,” Jesse said. “She was alive when she went in the water, but exact cause of death is uncertain due to the ratty condition of the body.”
“You have to say
ratty
?”
Jesse turned and walked back the length of the room.
“We know she came up here at Darnell’s request, and on his dime. We know she knew Thomas Ralston. We know Ralston and Darnell are connected and a lot tighter than either would admit. Everybody has lied about who they know. We know that Florence made the sex video with the two guys who used to work on Darnell’s boat. We know her twin sisters took the video. They said she told them that it was to make Darnell jealous because he had dumped her in favor of Blondie Martin. We know, because we checked the harbor registry, that both Darnell’s boat and Ralston’s boat were here in early June.”
Jesse turned and walked back toward the window.
“So where’s the video,” Molly said.
Jesse stopped.
“The video?”
“She must have sent it to him,” Molly said. “What happened to it?”
“Destroyed it,” Jesse said. “It was incriminating to have, and he didn’t know there were other copies. We know that there’s some kind of high-tech sex thing going on between Ralston and Darnell. And we know they have recruited local, and very young, talent.”
“This is probably not the only place,” Molly said.
“Probably not. We’ll see if Healy can help us with that.”
Jesse continued to look at the Public Works garage. Along one side of the garage, snowplow blades were lined up, waiting for winter. They looked like the skeletal remains of extinct beasts in the hot summer sun.
“We know both Darnell and Ralston have committed statutory rape,” he said. “And we’re pretty sure we can convict them. Darnell for sure. We’ve got him on tape. Ralston too if the kid will hold up in court.”
“And none of this tells us if either or both of them murdered Florence Horvath,” Molly said.
“Sad but true,” Jesse said.
He turned and began the trip back up the room toward Molly.
“In fact,” Molly said, “we can’t really prove that she was murdered at all.”
“She was murdered and Darnell was involved,” Jesse said.
“How about Ralston?”
“Yes,” Jesse said.
“Him, too?”
“Yes.”
“You’re so sure,” Molly said.
“I know them,” Jesse said. “I understand them. Darnell and Ralston killed her.”
“Together?”
“Don’t know.”
“But you know they did.”
“Yes,” Jesse said.
He was standing beside Molly. She looked up at him.
“Intuition?” she said.
“I’ve been a cop for a long time,” Jesse said.
“There’s something else,” Molly said.
She had turned in her chair and was facing Jesse, looking up at him as he stood in front of her.
“Maybe I’m a little bit like them,” Jesse said.
“The hell you are,” Molly said.
Jesse shrugged.
“I mean it,” Molly said. “You are in no way like either of those two scumbags.”
“Scumbags?” Jesse said. “Strong language for a Catholic girl.”
“Scumbags,” Molly said, “all of them. The men, the women, the damned victim. All of them. After I just talk about them, for God’s sake, I feel like I should take a long shower.”
“We do know more about them than anyone would want,” Jesse said. “That’s how murder investigations sometimes go. You accumulate evidence and accumulate evidence and a lot of it makes you want to puke and most of it doesn’t solve your case.”
“So how are you going to solve this one?”
“Same old way,” Jesse said. “Keep asking. Keep pushing. Try to scare them. Maybe somebody will roll on somebody. Maybe somebody will do something stupid.”
“Little hard to get somebody to roll on a murder rap by threatening them with stat rape,” Molly said.
“You might if you were willing to let one of them walk,” Jesse said.
“Are you?”
“No,” Jesse said.
“Accomplice testimony doesn’t get you anything in court, anyway,” Molly said.
Jesse sat on the edge of the conference table near Molly.
“Doesn’t matter,” Jesse said. “I’m going to get them both.”
They were quiet. Molly doodled a frowning happy face on her yellow pad. Jesse sat on the table edge and let his feet swing.
“You and Jenn okay?” Molly said.
“Yes.”
“Living together is okay?”
“Yes.”
“So far.”
“God, you’re cautious about this,” Molly said.
“I worry that I’ll do it again,” Jesse said.
“Do what?”
“Whatever drove her away last time.”
“Maybe she did something,” Molly said.
“I mean I know she did things, cheated on me and stuff, but what did I do to cause it.”
“Maybe nothing,” Molly said. “Maybe it was her fault.”
Jesse shook his head.
“Course,” Molly said. “If it’s her fault you got no control over it. Your fault, you do. You can be very careful.”
Jesse continued to look out the window.
After a time he said, “Thanks, Molly.”
And Molly left.
45
W
hen I’m stuck,” Healy said, “I go over it.”
“All of it,” Jesse said.
“Start at page one of my notebook and go page by page all the way through.”
It was Sunday. They were on his balcony looking at the harbor. Healy had a can of beer. Jesse was drinking Coke. Jenn was in the production office looking at videotape. On the floor of the patio a thick-bodied, middle-aged Welsh corgi lay on his side, his eyes closed, his nose pointed at the ocean. Jesse had put a soup bowl full of water near him. The soup bowl was white with a blue line around the rim.
“I know,” Jesse said.
“But you don’t want to,” Healy said.
“I don’t.”
“I’ll do it with you,” Healy said. “A second set of ears.”
“On a Sunday?”
“Sure.”
“It’ll take all day.”
“Not a problem,” Healy said.
“Something bad going on at your house?” Jesse said.
“My wife’s younger brother is visiting with his wife,” Healy said. “They have young children.”
“You don’t care for young children.”
“Neither one of us,” Healy said. “But it’s her brother.”
“And the dog?”
“They annoy the hell out of Buck,” Healy said. “When he can, he bites them.”
“So it wasn’t all about helping me when you dropped by.”
“It was nothing about that,” Healy said. “Why don’t you get your notebook.”
Jesse went to his bedroom and got the notebook and brought it back.
“You want another beer?” he said.
“No,” Healy said. “I’m fine.”
Jesse always marveled at people who could nurse any drink. He had already finished his Coke.
“Okay,” he said. “She washes ashore near the town wharf….”
And they went through it. Incident by incident. Interview by interview. Day by day.
“Cruz broad sounds pretty good,” Healy said at one point.
Jesse nodded.
“People don’t always work that hard to clear somebody else’s case,” Healy said.
“I think she’s kind of hooked into it,” Jesse said. “Talking to all the people.”
Healy nodded.
“Happens,” he said.
Jesse went on.
“I went aboard when everyone was at the clambake,” he read.
“With a warrant,” Healy said.
Jesse smiled, and didn’t say anything.
“Okay,” Healy said. “No warrant. I, of course, don’t know that and never thought to ask.”
“Absolutely,” Jesse said.
He went on. Healy listened. At one point Buck got up and drank water loudly from the blue-rimmed soup bowl. When he was through he went back to where had been, turned around twice and reassumed his position, with his nose pointed seaward.
“The twins told their parents they were in Europe,” Jesse said. “But they were actually in Sag Harbor, New York, with some guy named Carlos Coca.”
“You check that?” Healy said.
“No.”
“There’s a loose end,” Healy said.
“Here’s another one,” Jesse said. “They say they learned of their sister’s death from someone named Kimmy Young.”
“Haven’t checked her out, either,” Healy said.
“No.”
“Happens,” Healy said.
“Shouldn’t,” Jesse said.
Healy shrugged.
“Where’s Kimmy Young from?”
“Don’t know,” Jesse said. “I assume South Florida.”
“I’ll bet Kelly Cruz can find her,” Healy said.
Jesse nodded. He went back to the notes. It was late afternoon when they finished. Jesse had drunk four Cokes. Healy had nearly finished his beer.
“You don’t like to drink?” Jesse said when he picked up the can and found it not quite empty.
“I like to drink,” Healy said. “But I only like to drink a small amount.”
“Hard to imagine,” Jesse said.
“Never liked being drunk,” Healy said.
Jesse nodded. Jenn came in through the front door and walked to the balcony. Buck raised his head, looked at her carefully and put his head back down. Jenn saw Healy’s beer can. Jesse saw her eyes flick to him. She saw the Coca-Cola can.
“Captain Healy,” Jenn said with a big smile. “How nice to see you.”
Jenn was dressed in what she considered weekend leisure wear. Yellow running shoes with pale green laces. Green cargo pants with a studded yellow belt. A yellow top, a choker of green beads around her neck and jade earrings.
“Nice to see you, too,” Healy said. “Nice to see you here.”
“I know,” Jenn said.
Jenn crouched on her heels beside the dog. The movement made the cargo pants very smooth along her thighs and butt. Buck opened his black eyes and made a small movement with his miniscule tail.
“Is that a wag,” Jenn said.
“It is.”
“What’s his name?”
“Buck.”
“May I pat him?” she said.
“Sure,” Healy said. “He only bites kids.”
“Can’t blame him for that, can we?”
“Hell no,” Healy said. “Bite them myself if I wasn’t worried about my pension.”
46
K
elly Cruz sat courtside at the Tennis Club with Mrs. Plum while Mr. Plum played men’s doubles. Kelly Cruz had an iced tea. Mrs. Plum was drinking gin and tonic.
“Your husband plays very well,” Kelly Cruz said.
“Yes,” she said. “Doubles.”
“Not a good singles player?” Kelly Cruz said.
“No. I don’t think he could take the stress of one-to-one confrontation. Inferior players used to beat him regularly. He rarely plays singles anymore.”
“He’s more of a team player,” Kelly Cruz said, to be saying something.
Mrs. Plum didn’t comment.
“I’m sorry to bother you again,” Kelly Cruz said.
Mrs. Plum drank some gin and tonic. She shrugged.
“It’s not like my days are filled with important matters,” she said.
Kelly Cruz smiled. She felt very bad for Mrs. Plum.
“Do you know anyone named Kimmy Young?”
“Kimmy Young,” Mrs. Plum said, and took another drink. “Kimmy Young. Yes, of course, she was in school with my twins. She used to come over sometimes. Pajama parties. CDs. Brownies. You know how teenagers are. Her mother was Miss Oklahoma when she was a girl. Married Randy Young, Young Financial Services. He’s done really wonderfully well.”
“Do you know where I might find her?”
“The Youngs moved to Sarasota, I think. They found life in Miami a little fast, I suspect.”
Kelly Cruz glanced around at the sea of tennis whites. Mrs. Plum noticed.
“They’re somewhat younger than we are,” she said. “I suppose we’ve slowed our pace a bit.”
“Did the girls go to private school?”
“Oh yes.”
“Which one.”
“Vandersea,” Mrs. Plum said. “The Vandersea School.”
“Here in Miami?”
“Yes.”
Kelly Cruz wrote briefly in her notebook. Mrs. Plum flagged down a waiter and got another drink.
“Why are you asking about Kimmy?”
“Her name came up in that same case up north,” Kelly Cruz said.
“Kimmy was a nice girl,” Mrs. Plum said, watching her husband serve. “Smart.”
He had a nice hard serve, but Kelly Cruz noticed Mr. Plum didn’t follow it in. She didn’t know much about tennis; maybe it was strategy.