Robert B. Parker’s The Devil Wins

86

When Tamara Elkin pulled back her front door, she looked exhausted and worried. He was exhausted himself, but the worries, at least for now, were gone. Jesse hugged her long and tightly.

When they broke their embrace, she asked, “Is everything all right? I was watching the news and fell asleep on the couch. Is it done?”

“It was him.”

“Marchand?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You arrested him?”

“After he broke into my house and killed the hell out of the dummy we use to teach CPR.”

“But you’re—”

“Fine. Marchand confessed to everything. There won’t be a trial.”

She smiled at him.

“He almost got away with it,” Jesse said.

She shook her head. “You would have gotten him eventually.”

“Maybe.”

She smiled again, but this was a different smile.

“What’s that smile about?”

“Water in the lungs,” she said.

“What about it?”

“There wasn’t any in either Dragoa or Millner. So unless they just happened to fall overboard the second after they both stopped breathing, someone would have had to push them overboard. You would have followed it back to Marchand.”

“We’ll never know. Tomorrow, compare the knife wounds in Millner to the wounds you found on Mary Kate’s ribs. Marchand says it was the same knife.”

“Will do.”

He kissed her softly on the forehead. “Thank you for doing this for me. How’s Jameson?”

“He’s asleep in the spare bedroom. God, I was so nervous. Jesse Stone, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a living patient? Don’t you ever do this to me again.”

Now it was his turn to smile. “Should I take him back to the hospital now?”

“He’ll be fine until tomorrow. I gave him something for the headache, but he’s not showing any other symptoms. That man’s had a rough life. The story his body tells is very sad.”

“That’s a pretty unclinical analysis, Doc.”

“There’s a reason I’m more comfortable working with the dead, Jesse.”

He didn’t say anything to that. “Can I get a drink?”

“For a price,” she said.

“Like?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“In the meantime, how about that drink?”

She hugged him. When she let go, she said, “This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“If I ever get that drink.”

“You are a persistent SOB, Jesse Stone.”

“My most charming feature.”

Without another word, she walked to her cabinet and twisted off the cap of a new bottle of Black Label.