37
He pulled up to the maintenance shed on the grounds at Sacred Heart Girls Catholic just as he had on the night the nor’easter blew into town. This time there was no flash and roar of gunfire, no need for him to back up into the delivery bay. No body for him to dispose of.
“It would creep me out, working here. Doesn’t it ever get to you?” he asked.
“Why?”
“Because the girls went to school here.”
“Yeah, I guess. Sometimes,” he said, draining the oil from the old red tractor they used to plow the snow off the sidewalks in front of the school. “Mostly, I don’t think about it. I can’t afford to be choosy. With my record, I’m lucky I got a damn job at all.”
“Which one of you shot Zevon?”
He turned, looking over his shoulder at his visitor. “Who do you think?”
“You?”
“’Course. I didn’t like Zevon that much to begin with and I liked him even less that he came back to town. Besides, our other pal talks a good ball game, but underneath, Mr. Tough Guy’s... you know him. He was the one that caused all this shit to begin with. You know what he had the nerve to tell me at the Scupper the other night? That he didn’t even wanna go to Stiles the night we... you know, that night.”
“I call bullshit on that!”
“That’s what I said. You hear about Maxie Connolly?”
“Sure,” he said. “Looks like she killed herself. Threw herself off the Bluffs, but that doesn’t mean you were wrong the other night. Our friend’s definitely a problem.”
“He’ll be all right. You know how Alexio gets sometimes, all hot-blooded and crazy. We just got to keep him calm, hold his hand a little. That’s all.” He turned around again. “Come over here and help me with this filter a second. The guy who put it on didn’t lube it and then put it on so tight—”
“Do it yourself. I’ve got to get back to my office. I can’t get dirty.”
“No, that’s right. You don’t like getting dirty.”
He ignored the dig. “It’s too late for hand-holding. Jesse’s already had a talk with him.”
“With Alexio. Shit!” He dropped his wrench, sent it clanging against the concrete floor. “What? What happened?”
“Alexio was in the Whaler Lounge at the hotel and Maxie Connolly walked in. First he hit on her and then he got all stupid, telling her how sorry he was about Ginny. A few hours later, she was dead.”
“You don’t think Alexio—”
“He didn’t. But Jesse Stone is smart. Alexio’s on his radar screen now and he’s not coming off it until the chief has somewhere else to look.”
“Hey, don’t even think about putting Stone on me. I’ll give you—”
“Don’t be an idiot,” he said. “How far would it get any of us to throw suspicion at you? No, we’ve got to think of a way to get Jesse to look someplace else. You think Alexio still has the knife from that night?”
“Sure he does. You know how cheap he is. He’s still got his grandpa’s first nickel. He won’t sell fish to the tourists because he thinks it’s a waste.”
“Okay, give me a day or two. I think I might have an idea of what to do.”
“What should I do until then?”
“Nothing. Not a thing. Finish changing the oil. Go about your job. Do what you always do. If Alexio calls, keep him calm and tell him we’ve got it all under control.”
“Do we?”
“Do we what?”
“Have it all under control.”
“Not all of it, not yet, but we will.”
“You sure about that?”
“I’ve gotten us this far. Let me worry about it. Don’t call me unless it’s an emergency. I need time to set things up. I’ll be in touch when I’m ready.”
“You got someone in mind?”
“I do.”
“Okay, then. You better get out of here.”
He left without another word. He knew what had to be done, but in spite of his urge to just get it over with, he knew he had to keep his wits about him and wait for the right moment. Unlike that night on Stiles, he couldn’t let this spiral out of control.
38
He had decided on a spot he thought would make sense, a place where someone walking along the Bluffs might eventually stumble onto Maxie’s handbag. It wasn’t too far from where they used to meet when he thought all he wanted was her. Even now, having murdered her and coldly tossed her body off the Bluffs, he flushed at the memories of their stolen moments in his car, of the times they could sneak off to a Boston hotel for a night. Then there were the times they had pushed their luck beyond all reason, like when they’d run into each other outside the restrooms at the Gray Gull. He remembered getting weak at the sight of her, then his fury at the thought of her being at the bar with another man. How Maxie fanned the flames by rubbing up against him and taunting him.
“Do you want me, Loverboy?” she’d say, her lips brushing his ear, her warm cigarette breath against his neck. “Get rid of that stuck-up fiancée of yours and meet me here in an hour.”
He exploded, pushing her into the men’s room, locking the door behind them, taking her in the stall. It was all over in an instant, but was so much more exciting than anything he had done with any other woman before or since. His heart raced at the thought that he had ever been so stupid or so impulsive. Thinking back on it, he wondered if Maxie hadn’t set him up. Was she really there with another man or did she follow me to the restaurant? He’d been so blind back then that he had never considered the possibility she was lying to him. That was all so long ago, but it felt alive in him.
Before leaving the spot and going back to his office to retrieve Maxie’s bag, he smiled at the cleverness of his plan. How he would fashion a kind of suicide shrine out of Maxie’s bag, a file photo of Ginny, and a couple candles. The cops, even Jesse Stone, would eat it up. He knew the press would. He was sure of that. He envisioned the headlines:
He was still feeling the rush of pride as he pulled up in front of his office. All he had to do was get the stuff, head back up to the Bluffs, and it would be over. He’d worry about the missing letter when the time came. If it came. For now, it was one thing at a time. The street was quiet when he stepped out of his car and put the key in the office door lock.
“Hey!” a man’s gravelly voice cut through the quiet and the dark.
He startled, fumbling his keys.
“Relax,” said the voice, and a man stepped out of the shadows of a nearby storefront. He was a rough-looking guy with a face full of dark stubble and a dangling cigarette. “I’m here to do you a favor.”
“Really?” he said. Removing the keys from the lock, he worked them between the fingers of his right glove. He didn’t want a fight. Hadn’t studied or sparred in years, but he hadn’t forgotten his training and one blow with a fist full of keys was better than just a fist if it came to that. “You’re here to do me a favor. And do I get to know the name of my benefactor?”
“Cut the crap, mister. We need to talk.”
The keys were in place. He forced his body to relax, preparing to strike with his right arm if the guy got too close. “About what?”
“About how I seen you drive up to the Bluffs the other night to snuff the blonde.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Cell phones are great things, you know, especially ’cause they come with cameras. I got a nice shot of your car, plate and all, with you behind the wheel. I thought it was real weird, her having me drop her off up there alone like that in the freezing cold. I figured I might snag me some married guy going up there to meet her for a little backseat bingo.”