You want to know where Roarke eats the rest of the week?” Richie said to Jesse, after they’d been lucky enough to find a parking spot on Boylston Street in front of the Capital Grille. “My father swears he has the guy’s dining-out schedule. Says Roarke is a creature of habit.”
“The way he’s tracking the guy,” Jesse said, “sounds like your old man is, too.”
“Roarke prefers the Rubbed Bone-in Rib Eye, in case you were wondering,” Richie said.
“By the way,” Jesse said. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Biggest night out I’ve had in a while,” Richie said.
Roarke was having his dinner in a private room. The maître d’ was happy to share that information, more reluctant to tell them which private room. At that point Jesse badged him and told him he was here because of a murder investigation involving a policeman up in Paradise.
“And we promise not to bother the decent people,” Jesse said.
“Mr. Roarke isn’t going to be happy about this,” the maître d’, whose name tag read ellis, said.
“Yeah, if you think about it, who other than you really gives a shit?” Richie said.
Liam Roarke’s private dining area was to the left of the main dining room. As they walked in, Richie nodded at the man with white-blond hair at the head of the table. Bright blue eyes Jesse could spot from where he stood. Jesse didn’t feel the need to tell him that he would have been able to figure out who Roarke was on his own. There were two men, each seated on either side of Roarke. No food yet, just drinks. Martinis all around. One of Roarke’s guests was black, the other white. Roarke was in a blazer, red pocket handkerchief, white shirt, no tie. There was a muscle guy standing at the other end of a table much too long for just three people. The muscle guy’s suit appeared to be about two sizes too small. Or maybe he’d just grown out of it. He crossed his arms and glared at Jesse and Richie. Jesse tried to keep himself from fainting dead away.
The maître d’ leaned down and said something to Liam Roarke.
“It’s fine, Ellis,” Roarke said. “I’m sure this won’t take long.”
Then Ellis was gone. Jesse admired the fact that he’d managed to keep himself from running out of the room, maybe to a new job.
“Ellis says you want to talk to me about a murder,” Roarke said to Jesse. “You don’t happen to have some ID I could look at?”
“Don’t want to see mine?” Richie said.
“I know who you are,” Roarke said to him. “The way you know who I am, Mr. Burke.”
“Mr. Burke is my father,” Richie said. “And you know who he is, too.”
Jesse put his badge out in front of Roarke.
“You got a name, Chief?” Roarke said.
“Jesse Stone.”
Roarke smiled. “So you’re the guy from that shoot-out up in Paradise that I read about. I believe you took out one of Tony Marcus’s former employees that night.”
Jesse smiled at him. “And another angel got its wings.”
Roarke stood up then, and just seemed to keep going once he did. Six-five or — six. Giving the impression that he was looking down from a great height at his two dinner companions. “Could you just take your drinks to the bar and give us the room for a few moments?”
The two men knew it wasn’t a request, and wordlessly got up and left, almost as quickly as Ellis the maître d’ had.
Jesse and Richie made no move to sit in the empty chairs.
To Richie Roarke said, “What are you doing hanging around with a cop?”
“Been asking myself that question all night.”
Roarke sat back down and refocused his attention on Jesse. The muscle guy stayed where he was, unmoving. But staring down only Jesse now.
“Who’s the dead cop you mentioned upon your arrival?” Roarke said.
“His name was Charlie Farrell,” Jesse said, “and he was once the chief of police in Paradise.”
“Now I do recall reading something about that,” Roarke said.
Jesse quickly told him the rest of it, how Charlie died, Roarke saying he’d read about that, too, the death of Sam Waterfield, and the disappearance of Steve Marin.
“Marin used to work for you,” Jesse said. “I believe in your headbanging division.”
“You say.”
“His arrest record says.”
“A lot of people work for me,” Roarke said.
He looked down, as if just remembering he had a martini in front of him, and drank some of it.
“My friend Charlie gets his head caved in,” Jesse said. “Marin’s roommate gets thrown off a cliff. It turns out Marin used to bounce people around for you. Or worse. I’m just trying to understand if there might be a connection.”
“Go try to understand someplace else,” Roarke said, “and not come down here from your precious little town and insult me in front of business associates.”
“From what I hear,” he said, “insulting you might not be even possible.”
“That supposed to be an insult?”
“Kind of.”
“Beat it before you make more trouble for yourself than you already have with this bullshit fishing expedition of yours.”
“Not quite yet,” Jesse said.
The muscle guy took a couple steps in their direction. Roarke held up a hand.
“Before my friend died,” Jesse said, “he had taken a sudden interest in cryptocurrency. And I have recently heard you described as the crypto king of Boston. So stay with me here: I’ve got a guy who’s called the crypto king and a guy who used to work for him disappearing from my precious little town. That’s why I don’t see this as making trouble for myself. Or you. Just solid police work.”
“Your problems, not mine,” Roarke said.
Roarke shifted slightly in his chair and looked back at Richie now.
“Make sure to tell your father there could be consequences for a breach of respect like this,” Roarke said.
“Respect for whom?” Richie said. “Or from whom, that might be a better way of looking at it?”
No one said anything then. The muscle guy didn’t move. Roarke stood up again. Definitely a big boy. He came around the table. He and Jesse were close enough Jesse could smell the gin. Even Jesse had never liked the taste of gin.
“You made a mistake coming here with nothing tonight,” Roarke said. “So now I’m telling you not to make a bigger one and bother me ever again.”
“Yikes,” Jesse said.
“I’m old school, Stone,” Roarke said in a quiet voice.
“I always wonder what that actually means,” Jesse said.
Roarke smiled. “Maybe it means that it would be a terrible tragedy if one dead cop turned out to be just a start.”
Jesse let Roarke have the last word and walked out first. Richie followed. He drove Richie back to where he’d parked at Tony and Elaine’s, and thanked him for the ride-along.
“I really didn’t do anything,” Richie said.
“You did a lot you didn’t have to do with no skin in the game,” Jesse said. “I owe you one.”
“You poked a bear tonight,” Richie said. “I think even my father is afraid of this guy, even though he’d die before admitting that to me. And I’ve never known Desmond to be afraid of anyone.”
“Did it occur to you that Roarke’s response wasn’t proportional to me showing up here?”
“Just watch your back,” Richie said. “And maybe not just yours. That’s coming from the son of an old-school guy.”
They shook hands.
“You want me to tell Sunny you said hello,” Richie said.
“Your call,” Jesse said.
He was already thinking about making a call of his own, and did, as soon as he was on 93 heading north. He had a bad feeling about Liam Roarke.
Molly occasionally accused him of not being in touch with his feelings.
Not tonight.