Robert B. Parker’s The Devil Wins

34

Jesse didn’t get into Boston much anymore since Jenn had left for good. When he did make it into the city, it usually wasn’t to visit people who kept suites in glass-and-steel office towers. He wasn’t sure how often Molly got into Boston. Probably about as often as she wore a gray blazer, black slacks, and black pumps. Though she was very pretty dressed that way, her curves less well hidden than in her uniform and winter jacket, she seemed utterly uncomfortable. Jesse thought she looked like a woman with a thousand itches to scratch but no idea where to start.

They hadn’t exchanged ten words before they got into the elevator at 111 Huntington Avenue. It was Molly who spoke first.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“I’ll talk,” Jesse said. “You listen, observe. If you have any questions, ask them. Don’t ask too many. You’re here to unnerve him.”

Molly smiled in a way she hadn’t since before the nor’easter. “I’m the bad cop.”

“Uh-huh.”

The elevator opened up directly into the offices of Commonwealth Colonial Capital, Inc. The receptionist sat at a green granite kiosk, the company logo — a triangle of three interlocking frosted-glass C’s — displayed on the matte black wall behind her. After a minute of false pleasantries, they were shown to Lance Szarbo’s office.

Thin, hazel-eyed, and silver-haired, Szarbo was a handsome man of fifty-five, unashamed to display the perks of wealth. From his Patek Philippe watch to his hand-tailored suit to his custom-made shirt and shoes to his perfect and square white smile. The three walls of glass behind his desk offered a panoramic view of Boston.

Szarbo asked, “So how do you like the view?”

“Impressive,” Jesse said.

Molly was cool. “All that glass must make it tough to hang pictures.”

“Yes,” Szarbo said, head tilted. “I confess to never having thought of it that way.”

Jesse struggled not to laugh and asked, “What sort of firm is Commonwealth Colonial?”

“Venture capital, but I don’t believe you’re here with a business plan to beg funds. Please sit,” he said, gesturing at the chairs that faced his desk. “Can I get you something to drink? Some coffee or tea, perhaps? Water?”

Jesse said, “Nothing. Thank you.”

Molly shook her head, barely acknowledging their host.

“So you’re here about the missing girls,” Szarbo said. “I’ve been keeping up. Terrible thing about the one girl’s mother killing herself that way.”

“It’s not officially a suicide,” Jesse said.

“Makes sense, though, doesn’t it?” Szarbo asked.

Neither Jesse nor Molly reacted. Instead, Jesse removed a folded sheet of paper from his inside jacket pocket. He waved it at Szarbo and then placed it in front of him.

“That’s a copy of the statement you gave the police twenty-five years ago,” Jesse said. “Take a minute to read it over.”

Szarbo did as he was asked, muttering parts aloud. “Yes,” he said, looking up. “That’s about it. I wish I could have been more helpful, but as you are no doubt aware, I was several sheets to the wind at the time.”

“Celebrating?” Jesse asked.

“I suppose I was, yes. I was doing mostly real estate investment back then and I had just gotten the news that my first considerable deal was going to pay off rather handsomely.”

Jesse said, “This was in Paradise?”

“Stiles Island. Until that time, the island wasn’t much to speak of. There were several old, larger houses scattered around the island, but no real community. A group of fellow investors and I supplied the funds for the first meaningful development. By May of that year, all the plans had been approved and the permits issued. So a few of us in the investment group decided to go to Paradise on the Fourth of July to celebrate.”

Molly said, “But you were the only one looking out the window of the restaurant?”

“I can’t say, Detective Crane. I can only tell you what I saw.”

“And what was that?” Jesse asked.

Szarbo gave an impatient look at his visitors. “You read the statement.”

“Many times, but humor me, Mr. Szarbo. I’ve been at this a long time. Sometimes when you speak about the past, new details come to light.”

“I was staring out at the island because that deal meant a lot to me and you know how you get when you’re so hammered. You just fix your gaze and you don’t even realize it. Well, in any case, it was dark, but the marina was lit up and I think there was a full moon. I might be misremembering that, but I seem to recall being able to see pretty well in spite of the dark. There were a lot of motorboats out on the water to watch the fireworks. A little while after the fireworks ended, I noticed—”

“How long after?” Jesse said.

Szarbo shrugged. “Ten minutes, a half hour, an hour. Who knows? I had no sense of time by then. I can’t even tell you how long I was staring out at the island. I was so hammered that I hadn’t even noticed that the woman I’d come with had taken a ride back to Boston with one of the others.”

“Go on.”

“After the fireworks had ended, I caught sight of a rowboat headed toward Stiles Island.”

“How do you know it was headed toward Stiles?” Molly asked. “Couldn’t it have just been in the harbor like all the other boats, there to watch the fireworks? Then when the fireworks were over, it was circling back to the mainland?”

“No. No. It was definitely headed directly toward Stiles.” There was no doubt in Szarbo’s words or in his voice.

Jesse said, “In your statement you mentioned that the rowboat was low in the water and that the people in it were kids.”

“What I said was that there were a few kids in an overcrowded boat rowing out toward Stiles Island.”

“Kids?” Jesse asked. “How did you know they were kids?”

“I don’t know that. They just seemed like kids. To say anything else would just be speculation.”

“Boys? Girls?”

“Both, I think,” Szarbo said. “I can’t be sure. Again, I don’t know why I think that. Look, Chief Stone, you have all of this—”

“Just a few more questions and then Detective Crane and I will be out of your hair.”

Szarbo looked relieved.

“Close your eyes and try to picture the rowboat. Just focus on the boat, not the people on it, not on the water, not on anything else.”

“Okay.”

“Just answer quickly. Don’t think about it. What did the boat look like?”

“It was too dark, Chief Stone. I’m sorry.”

“Was it old or new?”

“Old, I think.”

“How many people were rowing, one or two?”

“Two.”

“Boys?”

“Yes, boys. I’m not—”

“How many people were on the boat?”

“Four... no, five. I don’t know. I think I’m just making that up.”

Szarbo opened his eyes.

“Thank you,” Jesse said.

“I don’t see how any of this helps,” Szarbo said. “The only thing I know for sure is having seen the boat rowing out to Stiles. The rest is... I don’t even know what to call it. Guessing?”

Jesse offered Szarbo his right hand. After Szarbo shook it, he shook Molly’s as well.

In the elevator on the way down, Molly seemed to have withdrawn even further into herself than she had on the ride to Boston.