Robert B. Parker’s Damned If You Do

26

When Jesse arrived at the station early the next morning, Molly followed him into his office.

“There’s good news and bad news,” she said. “Which do you want first?”

“What’s the bad news?”

“Carter Hansen wants to see you.”

“And the good news?”

“I lost five pounds.”

Jesse stared at her. She stared back.

“What does Hansen want,” he said.

“He didn’t say.”

“When does he want to see me?”

“As soon as possible. He didn’t sound happy.”

“He never sounds happy.”

“He does when he’s talking about himself.”

“Were there any other calls?”

“Alan Hollett.”

“What did he want?”

“He said to expect a call from Carter Hansen.”

Jesse looked at her.

“It might have something to do with the Golden Horizons inspections,” Molly said.

Jesse phoned Healy from his cruiser on his way to Town Hall.

“I got a name,” he said.

“Buddy Holly,” Healy said.

“It’s not Buddy Holly.”

“Yes, it is. He died in a plane crash with Ricky Nelson.”

“First of all, it was Jim Croce. And it wasn’t Ricky Nelson. It was The Big Bopper.”

“Ricky Nelson died in a plane crash with The Big Bopper?”

“No. Buddy Holly died in a plane crash with The Big Bopper.”

“But he still wrote ‘I Got a Name’?”

“Gimbel and Fox wrote it. Croce sang it.”

“Damn. I think maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.”

“But didn’t Ricky Nelson die in a plane crash?”

“He did. But not with any of those guys.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“How did we get started on this?”

“I said I got a name.”

“You meant the name of the dead girl.”

“I did.”

“Right. Do you want to tell me?”

“Janet Becquer,” he said.

“Becker?”

“B-E-C-Q-U-E-R.”

“I’ll run it,” Healy said.

“You’ll let me know?”

“The minute I know.”

“Thanks.”

“I could’ve sworn it was Buddy Holly,” Healy said, and ended the call.

Carter Hansen made a big show of closing his office door behind him. Jesse, already seated in the chair in front of Hansen’s desk, watched him.

“Would it be too much to ask what’s going on,” Hansen said.

“Going on how?”

“Don’t play footsie with me, Jesse. You know goddamned good and well what I mean. What’s with these inspections,” Hansen said.

“What inspections?”

“The goddamn Golden Horizons inspections. I must have had ten calls from the idiot who runs the place.”

“Binky?”

“Yes, Binky.”

“What about?”

“About the results of at least two inspections.”

“Excuse me, Carter, but I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Jesse. I know you’re behind this.”

Jesse looked at him.

“Why would both the fire department and the buildings department conduct inspections of the same place in the same week?”

“Beats me,” Jesse said. “What were their findings?”

“Lots of violations. Dozens of them.”

“That’s not good. Are they prepared to correct these violations?”

“The idiot isn’t saying.”

“That’s not good, either. Be a shame to have to close them down.”

“Close them down?”

“If the violations are serious enough.”

“Jesus,” Hansen said.

The intercom on Hansen’s phone began to buzz.

“What,” he said when he picked up the receiver.

He listened.

Then he said, “Shit.”

He looked at Jesse. Then, into the phone, he said, “No, no. I’ll take it.”

He put his hand over the mouthpiece.

“It’s the idiot,” he said to Jesse.

“Send him my regards,” Jesse said.

Hansen glared at him. Then into the phone he said, “Carter Hansen speaking.”

He listened for quite a while. Jesse could detect a raised voice on the other end of the line but couldn’t make out what was being said. Without ever saying another word, Hansen hung up the phone.

“Jesus,” he said.

Jesse didn’t say anything.

“They’ve had another inspection. The Department of Health. Apparently the kitchen is a biological disaster, too.”

Jesse stood.

“Strange,” he said.

“What’s strange,” Hansen said.

“Three inspections in the same week.”