“Let me get you a Black Label,” Healy said as Jesse slid in across from him.
“Nothing for me.”
“I don’t know, Jesse. Getting shot at would give me a powerful thirst.”
“It gives me a knot in my belly.”
“Any idea who it was?” Healy asked, sipping his Irish.
Jesse answered with his own question. “You been keeping up with what’s been going on around here?”
“You mean about the break-in at the Cain place and the body you found out in the woods?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
Healy laughed. “Usually is.”
Jesse laid it out for him, every detail of the case including the index card, the missing dragonfly ring, the master tape, and the appearance of the sonnet.
“So you think it was this Hangman character who took shots at you?”
Jesse shook his head. “I don’t. Everything the guy’s done until today made sense. There seemed to be a purpose behind all the moves he made. Everything from calling in the location of Curnutt’s body, to faxing the photo of the index card and note to Selko, to having the sonnet delivered to Roscoe Niles all made sense. They were all done to whet people’s interest, to get a buzz going, and to create a seller’s market. But what does killing me get him?”
“Well, maybe he figures he’ll stop you from blocking the press from going big with it.”
“Maybe, but it wouldn’t be worth it because he’d be killing a cop. That’s not like having an old woman die on you or killing an ex-con who caused the old woman’s death.”
“You’re right,” Healy said. “Kill a cop and screws up the deal.”
“Exactly. You can’t have that tape associated with the murder of a cop. That’s going to cut out any legitimate bidders for the tape if it resurfaces. That’s just dumb and this guy isn’t dumb.”
“So what does that tell you?”
“That there’s more than one person involved.”
“Could be, but also could be one person and for some reason he’s trying to distract or confuse you. Maybe he’s trying to create chaos or he wants you looking left when you should be looking right.”
“That’s too bad for him, because the only two people who are ever going to know about the shooting are sitting right here.”
“You’re not going to make a report?”
Jesse shook his head. “I don’t think he shot at me to create chaos or distract me. It felt personal.”
“Strangulation is personal. Sticking a potato peeler in your jugular, that’s personal, Jesse. A rifle with a scope... I’m not so certain.”
“I know, but that’s how this felt.”
Healy finished his drink. Jesse waved at the barman, pointed at his friend’s empty glass, and said, “Another.”
The barman was less than thrilled at playing waitress, but brought the second drink over to the table. Jesse paid for it and gave him a five-dollar tip.
“So why the powwow, Jesse? You can’t miss me that much. I saw you at the wedding last Saturday. Besides, I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”
“I need you to do something for me.”
“I’m going to regret this, but ask away.”
When Jesse was done explaining himself to Healy, they shook hands. Jesse stood as they did.
“I’m headed to the Wickham place now. You can get started tomorrow. You sure this won’t interfere with your golf game?”
Healy laughed. “Even though I was a pitcher, I used to be a fair hitter. I could hit the curve pretty well, but I can’t hit a damn ball that’s sitting still on a tee. Anyway, it will get me out of my wife’s hair. Let me tell you, Jesse, nothing tests a marriage like retirement.”
“Tomorrow, then.”
With healy in the fold, Jesse decided he was going to push back. He called Roscoe Niles and told him to read the sonnet on-air. His next call was to Molly.
“Call the mayor’s office for me and warn her the shit’s about to hit the fan.”
“Did someone leak it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you know who?”
“Me.”
“Why?”
“Because it was time for us to stop playing defense and take control of the situation.”
Molly was skeptical. “But how can we take control of things?”
“My field training officer told me that opportunities to control a situation may not be obvious, but they’re always there. It’s all about the choices you make.”
“Choices?”
“Even a man with a gun to his head has a choice, Molly. It may not be a great choice, but as long as there’s any room for a choice, the man with the gun doesn’t have total control.”
Jesse didn’t bother to explain. Molly was smart enough to work it out for herself.
“If you need me, I’m going over to Stiles to have a talk with White and Bella Lawton.”
“I bet you are,” Molly said, wriggling her eyebrows.
“Later.”
As Jesse drove out of the Swap, a Paradise firetruck went screaming by him, siren blaring and light bar whirling. Jesse had a strict rule about his cops using their lights and sirens within village limits, but he guessed it was a little bit different for the fire department. He was curious about where the firetruck was headed, but not too curious. He figured he already had enough on his plate.
69
This time, Jesse came through the gate of the estate and entered the house through the front door. Stan White came to the door, cell phone wedged between his cheek and neck. He was nodding as if the person on the other end of the line could see him agreeing with what was being said.
“You shouldn’t have done it anyway, friend or not,” White said into the phone. “Listen, I’ve got to go. The police are here. For what, I don’t know. Okay, yeah, we’ll speak later.”
After he put the phone back in his pocket, White offered his hand to Jesse. Jesse took it, gave it a shake that wasn’t exactly warm and friendly, nor was it icy and belligerent. It was a shake to signal he was here on business. White understood.
“You look like a man on a mission, huh?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Let’s go into the kitchen to talk. I need some coffee.”
Jesse followed White into the enormous country kitchen of the Wickham house. He sat at the island while White fussed with the coffee machine.
“Look at this thing, Chief. It’s more complicated than the Saturn Five rocket. It grinds the beans, brews the coffee, steams the milk. I don’t know, I miss the days when coffee came in a can, you threw a few scoops in a basket, added some water to the pot, and you percolated the shit out of it. I’m getting old, Stone.”
Jesse, who’d didn’t have much use for White, thought this was the first human moment they’d shared. It was the first time White let his guard down and stopped being Terry Jester’s blustery manager and promoter. And White wasn’t done showing his human face.
“The music business, too. It used to be a glorious thing. Now it’s like a bad-paying hobby. Kids don’t think you should have to pay for anything anymore. They’ve been raised in a Walmart and Amazon economy where everything can be shopped down to prices so low no one can make a living. Art for them is free. With file sharing and piracy... I’m glad I’m almost out of it.” White got a faraway look in his faded blue eyes. “The business used to be exciting, so full of characters. We used to create product you could hold in your hands. Now what do you have? You have atoms rearranged on a hard drive. Where’s the album cover, the liner notes? It’s all gone down the crapper.” He came back into the moment as he finished steaming his milk and pouring it into his espresso. “So, what can I do for you?”