Robert B. Parker’s the Hangman’s Sonnet

47

Mayor Walker’s invitation to dinner at the Gull was a polite one, but Jesse Stone understood it was a command performance. It was just the three of them at the table by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the marina and Stiles Island. Although Jesse had gotten to the restaurant ten minutes early, he was the last to arrive. Just like with the polite invitation, he knew what that meant. The mayor and Nita were back at it, looking for every possible edge. They wanted to pick the table, to pick the chair he’d sit in. They wanted to see if he staggered a little when he approached. Jesse didn’t think Nita’s recent thawing toward him was all an act, but he understood her priorities.

He removed his PPD baseball cap as he approached their table, bowed his head slightly. “Your Honor. Miss Thompson.”

“No need for the formality tonight, Jesse,” the mayor said, smiling up at him. “We all seem to be on the same page these days, if not quite the same team.”

Jesse nodded, put his hat down on the seat next to him, the one without the place setting before it. “Okay, Connie.”

The mayor waved for the waitress.

“I’ll have a very dry martini with three olives.” She turned her head to her aide. “Nita?”

“Jim Beam Single Barrel. One ice cube.”

Jesse didn’t need prompting. “Club soda, lime, in a tall glass.”

The mayor and her adviser gave each other a look. They both seemed to want to say something, but neither did.

“So, Jesse,” Walker said when the waitress was out of earshot. “Nita tells me I owe you a debt of gratitude. That it was your idea to keep most of the information out of the media’s hands as to where this Curnutt fellow’s body was discovered and who may have called it in.”

“I didn’t want to deal with a media feeding frenzy any more than you did, Connie. How’s it working? I’ve been busy today and haven’t had time to catch the news.”

It was Nita who answered. “So far so good. No one on our end of things has said anything and none of the reporters have worked it out yet. They’ve all been focused on Curnutt’s connection to the Cain incident and speculating about whether his partner killed him and why.”

The drinks arrived. The waitress asked if they wanted to hear the specials before they ordered, but the mayor shooed her away.

“Give us some time. I’ll call you over when we’re ready.”

The waitress didn’t need to be told twice. The three of them raised their glasses to the others, but without uttering a word. None of them, least of all Jesse, believed this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

“Where were you this morning, Jesse?” Nita asked. “I tried you at your house several times.”

“I had to go into Boston.”

Nita seemed to want him to give her a more complete answer, but Jesse had said all he intended to say. Molly and Suit knew about Dix. Healy had known, too, but Jesse didn’t want to broadcast to the world that he went to therapy. He was old-fashioned in that way. In spite of all the good seeing Dix had done for him, he had never gotten over thinking needing help was a sign of weakness.

“And then I tried your cell later in the day,” she said, immediately regretting it when she saw the confused look on the mayor’s face.

Jesse let her off the hook. “I spent some time with Henry Wilmott.”

Nita was confused. “Who?”

Mayor Walker put down her martini and said, “The curator of the Cain Library and Museum. And what did you and Henry discuss, Jesse? Henry doesn’t strike me as much of a Red Sox enthusiast.”

Jesse explained about Maude Cain’s missing ring. He took out his cell phone, tapped the screen, and scrolled. He showed them the image of the ring. They both gasped at the sight of it, but it wasn’t beauty the mayor had on her mind.

“A motive.” The mayor clapped her hands together. “That’s why those men tore poor Maude’s house apart. They were looking for the ring.”

Jesse was tempted to rain on her parade. He decided against it. He didn’t believe that’s what had happened, but he couldn’t disprove it.

“So one partner killed the other to take the ring for himself,” Nita said. “It all starts to make sense now.” She took a sip of her bourbon, then pulled out her cell phone. “Let’s get this out there. Let the press know we’re making progress.”

“No,” Jesse said, not shouting, but making it very clear it wasn’t up for negotiation. “Lundquist and I have already alerted all the PDs, pawn shops, and jewelry dealers in New England, New York, and southeastern Canada. We’ve let our other contacts know that it would be in their best interest to alert the authorities if that ring walks through their door.”

“But—”

“Can’t do it, Nita. For now Hump Bolton thinks the ring is his meal ticket. He thinks he can unload the ring to a fence or a dealer and be gone. But the second this becomes public knowledge, we lose him and the ring. He’ll toss the ring in the closest body of water and run. This way we have the advantage. We can get Bolton and get the ring back. You can’t trade that in for a day of good press.”

“I’m afraid Jesse’s right, Nita,” Walker said, gently pushing Thompson’s phone hand down toward the white linen tablecloth. “Let’s see how it plays out. What are you doing to sew the case up?”

“We received the ballistics report earlier and the forensics results should be coming in within the next few days. We also discovered some documents in the Cain house that might help us track down some of Maude’s former lodgers and—”

One of the martini olives seemed almost to turn rancid in the mayor’s mouth, her tone of voice reflecting the foul taste. “But not two minutes ago you told us you know who perpetrated these crimes and why. I’d say it would be irresponsible of you to waste further resources pursuing unnecessary lines of investigation.” She guzzled her drink and signaled furiously to the waitress for another.

“Actually, Connie, I didn’t. You and Nita came to those conclusions yourselves. I don’t have the luxury of relying on reasonable guesses. The PPD has to be able to prove what we suspect. Until we have enough proof to shut down other lines of investigation, we’ll keep digging.”

Mayor Walker tried unsuccessfully to smile but stopped trying when Nita Thompson took Jesse’s side.

“He’s right, Connie. If Jesse or, worse, you came out and made a statement only to have it be wrong, it would be politically disastrous.”

“Very well,” the mayor said, waving at the waitress to hurry with the second martini. “Very well. Shall we order?”

Jesse didn’t feel much like eating. That excess energy he’d had earlier in the day had evaporated. All he wanted to do now was sleep, but that was neither on the agenda nor on the menu.