Robert B. Parker’s Damned If You Do

34

En route to Boston, Jesse phoned Martha Becquer.

“Can you remember the exact day that Janet moved out,” he said.

“You mean the date?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember it offhand, but I can find it.”

“Would you?”

“Yes.”

“You mentioned that she had taken up with the wrong kind of people,” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

“Do you know specifically who it was she had taken up with?”

“You mean their names?”

“Yes.”

“No,” she said.

“You’re sure.”

“Yes. How’s it going?”

“Hard to tell. But I may be onto something,” Jesse said.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Not just yet. Be sure to let me know when you find out the date.”

“It’s important?”

“I think so.”

“I’ll look it up straightaway.”

“Let me know.”

Jesse steered his Explorer onto Beacon Hill, found number seventeen, and parked across the street, directly in front of a fire hydrant. He cracked the windows, turned off the engine, and settled in to surveil Clarice Edgerson’s town house. He unwrapped a corned-beef sandwich that Daisy’s had prepared for him, unscrewed the cap of his Thermos, and poured himself a cup of hot coffee.

He waited.

At exactly two-thirty, a yellow cab stopped in front of number seventeen. A well-dressed man got out, handed some bills to the driver through his window, then walked to the house and rang the doorbell.

After several moments, the door was opened by a middle-aged white-haired black man, formally dressed in a full butler’s uniform, black suit, gold cummerbund, white dress shirt, and black bow tie. He greeted the visitor warmly, shook his hand, smiled and welcomed him in.

Before he closed the door, the butler looked around. He spotted Jesse and stared at him for a moment. Then he went inside and closed the door behind him.

An hour later, the door opened and the well-dressed man stepped out. He looked in both directions, then walked south, toward the Common.

Nothing happened for a while. Then Jesse saw a silver Lexus sedan double-park in front of the town house. A small, conservatively dressed elderly man emerged from the backseat, walked to the house, and rang the bell. The butler opened the door. The man swept past him and went inside. The Lexus drove away.

The butler saw Jesse and again stared at him for several moments. Then he went back inside and closed the door.

Jesse had just poured himself more coffee when he heard a sharp rapping on the front passenger-side window. He looked over and saw a Boston Police Department patrol officer motioning with his nightstick for him to move on.

Jesse lowered the window.

“Move on,” the patrolman said. “You’re illegally parked.”

“May I reach into my pocket, Officer,” Jesse said.

“What for?”

“I’d like to show you my credentials.”

“I don’t care about your credentials. Just move your car.”

“I’m a police officer,” Jesse said. “I’m watching one of the houses on this street.”

The patrolman didn’t say anything.

Jesse reached into his pocket and produced his identification information. He also handed the patrolman his shield.

“You’re from Paradise?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have no jurisdiction here.”

He tossed the ID and the shield onto the passenger seat.

“I’m investigating a homicide at the behest of Captain Healy, the state commander,” Jesse said.

“Do you have a letter of authorization?”

“No.”

“Then move it, bub. I’m sure you’re an excellent cop back there in Paradise, but in Boston you have to adhere to our rules and regulations. And currently you aren’t.”

“Why don’t you call Captain Healy’s office. He’ll confirm who I am and why I’m here.”

“No,” the patrolman said.

“No?”

“You’re beginning to get on my nerves, Jack. Either you move away from this here fire hydrant or I’ll call for backup.”

“You don’t believe what I’m telling you?”

“I don’t really give a rat’s ass what you’re telling me. I’m telling you to get the fuck out of here.”

“Is there a reason why you’re being such a lughead,” Jesse said.

“You got about five seconds to start your engine and move.”

Jesse sighed.

“You got a name, Officer,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because I have a right to know it.”

“Jim Walsh,” he said.

Jesse started the car.

“Have a nice day, Officer Walsh,” Jesse said.

Then he pulled out and slowly drove away. He dialed Healy’s number.

“What,” Healy said.

“I’m engaged in a stakeout in front of Clarice Edgerson’s house,” Jesse said.

“So?”

“One of Boston’s finest rousted me.”

“Gee, I wish I could have seen that.”

Jesse didn’t say anything.

“I’m guessing that you want me to square with the BPD that it’s okay for you to continue your surveillance?”

“That would be nice,” Jesse said.

“Let me guess again,” Healy said. “You were parked in front of a fire hydrant.”

“Amazing the breadth of knowledge you command.”

“Am I right?”

Jesse didn’t say anything.

“Did he ticket you?”

“No.”

“He should have.”

“Is it too much to ask if you’re going to do anything about this,” Jesse said.

“I’m thinking,” Healy said.

“Officer’s name is Jim Walsh.”

“He’s there now?”

“I believe so.”

“Drive around the block a couple of times. Let me see what I can do.”

Jesse ended the call. He started to slowly circle the block. He saw Walsh watching him as he drove by. Twice. The third time Jesse passed him, Walsh was talking on his cell phone. The fourth time, he was gone.

Jesse parked in front of the hydrant. He sat quietly for a while. Then his cell phone rang.

“Everything okay now,” Healy said.

“Looks like it.”

“Good. Next time, get an authorization. I’m going to presume that this stakeout might go on for a while.”

“It’s possible.”

“You learn anything yet?”

“Nothing of substance.”

“You’ll let me know?”

“I will.”

“You’re still parked in front of the hydrant?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s pray that the building doesn’t inexplicably burst into flames,” Healy said.