“That is sufficiently close, Chief Stone. Be assured no harm will befall this woman as long as you try nothing foolish. Now step away, please.” When Jesse had walked back ten paces, Sarkassian turned to the nurse and said, “Drive, quickly.”
She put the car into drive, the tires squealing when she stepped down hard on the gas. The black-and-yellow barrier arm smashed against the windshield as the car barreled through the exit. Turning left out of the lot, there were four barely distinct pop-pop-pop-pops as spikes dug into the tires. The Camaro slowed, but skidded because of the speed and the severe angle of the turn. Sarkassian was thrown against the door. By the time the Camaro came to a stop and Sarkassian had reoriented himself, Gabe Weathers had his nine-millimeter pointed at his head. Officer Spellman had already gotten the nurse out of the vehicle.
Sarkassian dropped his weapon. He wept as he was laid facedown, frisked, and cuffed.
At the station, Jesse and DA Malmon sat across from Arakel Sarkassian. The digital video camera was pointed at the prisoner, a yellow legal pad was on the table in front of him, a pen atop the pad. For the time being, the camera was switched off. None of them said a word, but for this once, Jesse wasn’t willing to let silence be his weapon of choice.
“I have Brandy Lawton in a holding cell, Sarkassian,” Jesse lied. “DA Malmon is in a deal-offering mood today. Isn’t that right, Mr. DA?”
“It must be the warm weather, but yes.”
Jesse said, “You are the bigger fish, Mr. Sarkassian, so you get first crack. But if you don’t supply us with a full confession and accounting of the mechanics of your operation, we’ll march from here into Brandy’s cell, and given the fact that she is willing to say just about anything for a Vicodin... She may not be able to give us much, but she can sure as hell give us you.”
Sarkassian laughed. “You need not threaten me, Chief Stone. A man can only drown himself once. I believe I have already accomplished that feat. You may turn on your camera.”
Jesse hesitated. “First, the name and location of the men in the white van.”
“Gladly.” Sarkassian smiled. “Sending them away will almost make my sins worth it.”
After gleefully giving up Stojan and Georgi, Sarkassian explained as much of the network as he could. He explained how they used area doctors and the pill mills to find candidates like Brandy to use for their purposes. He explained how addicts like Brandy were eager volunteers and were willing to do anything to keep their drugs coming.
“She would find someone like Chris or this Petra, seduce them, and we would exploit their weakness for Brandy to distribute our products. Foolishly, I had let Brandy introduce me to Chris. I helped arrange for him to sell the goods he received in trade with Precious Pawn. I should never have done such things. It was inexperience on my behalf. And then I came to very much like the boy...” Sarkassian’s voice faded away.
He remembered what he had witnessed Stojan and Georgi do to Chris and how they had turned him into a murderer. When he spoke again, any hint of gleefulness was gone from his voice.
Eighty-two
Maryglenn was standing on the tarmac at the foot of the small jet’s door ladder. The engines were spinning in earnest, whining. The air stank of spent jet fuel and hot metal. The wind was whipping her hair into her face. Her face was lit on and off and on again by the strobing wingtip lights. Three black Suburbans were parked between the two of them and the hangar. There were six blank-faced special-ops types spread out around the jet. All of them seemed so uncomfortable in their civilian clothes. They looked much more at ease with the M4s held at their chests.
Jesse was surprised to get the call and had been reluctant to go to the little private airport in Marshfield. Still, one thing therapy and rehab had taught him was to not swallow as much pain as he always had. He’d always been so damn stoic about everything. What he had come to realize was that his Marlboro Man act was not only a defense but a means of intimidation. You can’t hurt me. You can’t touch me. But of course he could be hurt. He hurt a lot, and the tough-guy act only drove the hurt deeper and made it more persistent. Besides, he wanted answers. Jesse always wanted answers.
“Thank you for coming, Jesse. This is very Casablanca.” She laughed. “The airport farewell, I mean. All we need is Claude Rains, Humphrey Bogart, and the usual suspects.”
Westerns were usually the movies Jesse loved, but he got the reference. He had seen Casablanca. Can’t be a cop in Hollywood and not pick up on movie history, no matter how hard you might try to avoid it.
“The end of a beautiful friendship,” he said.
She bowed her head. “Maybe not the end, but at least a temporary halt to things.”
“Why am I here, Marygl — wait, that’s not your name, is it?”
She smiled. It was a sad smile. “No fooling you, Chief Jesse Stone.” She held her right hand out to him. “Esther. I can’t tell you my last name. Sorry. I’m sorry for the lies.”
He took her hand and could not deny feeling the jolt of attraction. That hadn’t simply evaporated. “Nice to meet you, Esther. Very Old Testament.”
“It was meant to be. Obviously, almost nothing you know about me is true. Well, I have always loved art. Art is the only way I manage to hold on to who I was.”
“Anything else?”
She leaned forward, kissing him hard on the mouth. “That is true. I am more than a little in love with you, I think. I don’t even understand it.” She pulled back and studied his face in the strobe light. “I think you may feel the same.”
Jesse said nothing, but smiled.
“I do very dangerous work, Jesse,” she said. “I did dangerous work. Important work, and there are some people looking for me.”
“Bad people.”
“The worst kind of people and the most dangerous kind. People with revenge on their minds and people with nothing to lose. People who would kill themselves and everyone in Paradise if it meant getting to me.”
“A new name a new place for you?”
“There’s a file on the plane and someone to teach me about who I am and will be.”
Jesse looked past Esther at the jet. There was a man’s head in one of the portholes. The man was staring back at Jesse. “I’m sorry,” he said. “They probably aren’t pleased about you talking to me this way.”
“I don’t care. They owe me and I owed it to you. I’m sorry, too, but I can’t risk other people’s lives, especially not yours.” She reached out and stroked Jesse’s face. “If I can ever get word to you, I will. But get on with your life, Jesse. You deserve happiness. I’ll miss you.”
“I already miss you,” Jesse heard himself say without quite believing it. He really was making progress. “Be safe and take care of yourself.”
“I promise I will. Enjoy Cole’s party. I wish I could be there.”
Before Jesse could say anything, one of the special-ops types came and stood between them. He turned to Esther and said she had to go.
She said, “Give me a second.”
When Special Ops hesitated, she stepped around him and threw her arms around Jesse. Jesse hugged her tight. When they let go of each other, the special-ops guy told Jesse he had to leave before the jet took off. He did as he was told and didn’t look back.
Eighty-three
Jesse had the party for Cole at Daisy’s two nights before he was to enter the academy. It had taken a lot of schedule rigging to allow Suit, Molly, Gabe, Peter Perkins, and their spouses to attend. Still, they managed to do it without the collapse of the Paradise PD. Healy and his wife were there, as well as Lundquist and his girlfriend. Jesse’s AA sponsor, Bill, came. Tamara Elkin, the former ME and Jesse’s friend, came up from Austin to meet Cole and to visit. Jesse had invited Jenn and Hale Hunsicker out of some strange sense of pride and loyalty. He was relieved when they sent their regrets. Hunsicker, being Hunsicker, sent a thousand-dollar gift card along with their regrets. Even Dix had broken protocol to come. But what made his son happiest was that Jesse had flown in Cole’s two best friends from L.A.