Robert B. Parker’s the Hangman’s Sonnet

88

Lundquist dropped Jesse and Niles off at the station. One look at Molly and Jesse knew there was trouble, but first they had to deal with Roscoe Niles.

“Book him. Keep him isolated. No one knows he’s here,” he said. “When that’s done, come into my office. I’m getting some coffee.”

Fifteen minutes later, Molly came into Jesse’s office with a file folder in her hand. Jesse was seated behind his desk, sipping coffee.

“What’s wrong?”

Molly waved the file folder and placed it in front of Jesse.

“Forget it, Crane. I’m so tired I couldn’t make sense of anything.”

“We found a Walther P22 in Bascom’s apartment and an oil filter box in the garbage that will probably match the homemade sound suppressor. The ballistics match the slugs the ME dug out of Curnutt.”

“Anything else?”

Molly shook her head. “Nothing you want to hear. Peter also found a slip of paper with a Vermont phone number on it.”

“And when you called it?”

“No answer.”

“Why am I not surprised? How about Bascom’s cell phone?”

“No.”

“The Vermont cops didn’t find one on his body or in the van. We can subpoena those records.”

“There’s this,” Molly said, more upbeat. “I did a quick background check on Bascom.”

“And...”

“Guess who his employer was before he hired on to be the security contractor for Stiles Island.”

“Crane!”

“The Massachusetts Department of Corrections. His last assignment was on the same block as—”

“Curnutt and Bolton. I know, Molly, don’t say it. I should have been a detective.”

Lundquist’s words echoed in Jesse’s head. So far all he could likely prove was that Bascom had hired Curnutt and Bolton, that he’d killed Curnutt, and that Niles had killed Bascom. Niles’s statement was probably enough to implicate White but maybe not convict him. White could claim Niles was lying and point to Evan Updike. To save her own neck, Bella Lawton would back White up and probably walk away. Jesse had an idea about how he might change that, but he had something else to discuss with Molly.

“Take a seat.”

She eyed him suspiciously but sat. “What’s wrong, Jesse?”

“Listen, you know how I joke with you about you becoming chief, but—”

She cut him off. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not quitting on me, Jesse Stone. I don’t want the job.”

“Depending on how this shakes out, you may not have a choice, but relax, I’m not quitting. I don’t quit. When this is over, I’m taking some time off. I’ve got more than a decade’s worth of vacation time and I’m going to use part of it.”

“Going to travel?”

He thought about being coy but realized that if he owed anybody the truth, he owed it to Molly. “Rehab. I’ve given it a lot of thought over the last few days. If I hadn’t been drinking so much since Diana’s murder, I might’ve been able to see what’s been going on here. I’ve fooled myself long enough that my drinking doesn’t matter. It matters. You and Doc are right, it’s selfish of me and my liver’s not getting any younger.”

“If you’re waiting for me to talk you out of it, forget it. Under those circumstances, I can handle the job of chief until you get back.”

“As far as anyone else knows, I’m going to Tucson to visit family.”

She asked, “You going via Austin?”

“Doc told you she’s leaving?”

“She’s kind of great. I’ll miss her.”

“Me too, Crane. Okay, get out of here.”

Jesse stood, stretching. He picked up his glove, turned to the window, and pounded the ball into the pocket. He had thinking to do.