Fool Me Twice

50

Jesse wandered through the chrome-and-glass lobby of the Cone, Oakes, and Baldwin building on Constitution Square and boarded the high-speed elevator for the ride to the penthouse. Once there, he asked a receptionist to inform Rita Fiore that he had arrived for their appointment.

There was something electric about Rita when she strode through the big glass doors. Her deep green Donna Karan suit set off her fiery red hair. The knee-length skirt had just the right flare at the hemline to showcase her remarkable legs. The smile on her face reflected both curiosity and her own appreciation of Jesse’s appeal.

“Jesse Stone,” she said, with the faintest hint of amusement in her voice.

“None other,” he said.

She guided him back through the glass doors that led to her office. Her assistant asked if he needed anything. “Coffee would be nice,” Jesse said.

“Me, too,” Rita said.

He sat in front of her desk.

“What brings Jesse Stone into my parlor,” she said.

“You mean other than the opportunity to appreciate your legs?”

“Occasionally there are other reasons.”

“I’m riding the horns of a dilemma.”

“How poetic.”

He told her the William J. Goodwin story.

“The combination of his physical size, his voice, and the way he dresses makes him so stereotypically laughable that he’s often underrated and an easy target for ridicule. Especially in the corridors where the big boys roam. What he did was wrong. Unquestionably so. What’s eating at me, though, is the belief that he himself was wronged. He paid an inordinately hefty price for his physical misfortunes.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing has happened.”

“I understand too well how cruel the real world can be. What I don’t know is whether his actions are defensible under the law.”

“Which is why you’re here.”

“That and the legs, of course.”

“Of course,” Rita said.

They sat silently for a while.

“Here’s this weird-looking little guy who hits upon a potentially viable solution to a burgeoning problem and seeks to have it considered seriously at the highest levels. He’s articulate. He’s passionate. But he is who he is, and no one will take him seriously. He cracks. He takes matters into his own hands.”

“You want to know whether a crime is punishable if it was provoked by damaging and prejudicial behavior.”

Jesse didn’t say anything.

She struggled to find the exact definition that suited her.

“If the accused was the victim of persecution,” Rita said, “and, as a result, suffered diminished faculties and distorted judgment, and then subsequently committed a crime that he believed he had been goaded into committing, is that crime punishable under the law?”

“That would be the question,” Jesse said.

She thought about it for a while.

“I’d need to talk it over with my partners,” she said.

“Meaning?”

“It might make for a compelling argument. Would a jury see fit to convict in the face of it? I’d need to consider that some more.”

Jesse didn’t say anything.

“This is important to you,” she said.

“Apparently, although for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”

“Strange how a thing grabs you.”

“I’d like for him to find some measure of redemption,” Jesse said. “A feeling that in the end, he had made a difference.”

“Even in the face of LaBrea and the gun?”

“Yes.”

“You’re an odd duck, Jesse Stone.”

He smiled.

They stood.

“Thanks for your consideration, Rita.”

They shook hands.

“It was nice to see you,” she said.

“Ditto.”