Night and Day js-8 Page 3

  “Was time, when I was your age,” Ingersoll said, “I could have pie in the middle of the afternoon and still stay in shape.”

  “Sometimes I have two pieces,” Jesse said.

  The young woman behind the counter came down and Ingersoll ordered black coffee.

  When it came, he stirred in two packets of Splenda.

  He raised the cup toward Jesse and said, “Cheers.”

  Jesse raised his empty fork in response, and Ingersoll sipped some coffee.

  “Whoa,” he said. “Hot.”

  “Often is,” Jesse said.

  Jesse noticed that Ingersoll’s cheeks dimpled when he smiled.

  “I’m Betsy Ingersoll’s husband,” he said.

  “I know,” Jesse said.

  “I just wanted to tell you that I thought you handled that incident at the school like a pro,”

  Ingersoll said. “No press. Nothing blown out of proportion.”

  Jesse patted his mouth with his napkin.

  “I am a pro,” he said.

  “I assumed you’ve closed the file on it,” Ingersoll said.

  “Um-hm,” Jesse said.

  “Um-hm what?” Ingersoll said.

  “Um-hm, I hear what you’re saying.”

  “And my assumption is correct?”

  “No.”

  “You haven’t closed the case,” Ingersoll said.

  “Not yet,” Jesse said.

  “For God’s sake, why not?” Ingersoll said. “There’s no crime here.”

  “Haven’t found one yet,” Jesse said. “I figure there’ll be some civil action.”

  “And if there is?” Ingersoll said.

  “I thought I’d watch,” Jesse said. “See what I could see.”

  The lines around Ingersoll’s mouth deepened.

  “What the hell are you after, Stone?”

  “You representing her?”

  “I’m her husband, for crissakes.”

  “And her lawyer?” Jesse said.

  “Whether or not I personally represent her,” Ingersoll said, “you can be sure my firm will be involved.”

  “Rita Fiore?” Jesse said.

  “She’s a criminal litigator,” Ingersoll said. “How do you know Rita?”

  “I’m the chief of police,” Jesse said. “I get around.”

  “You see this as your big chance?” Ingersoll said. “Make a name? Make some money?

  What’s this about?”

  “I think your wife violated those girls’ rights,” Jesse said.

  “Oh, for crissakes, Stone.”

  “You asked,” Jesse said.

  “Would I have done it?” Ingersoll said. “No, I suppose not. Betsy is probably a little more, ah, authoritarian than I am, I guess. It’s no easy job being a school administrator.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But no harm was done. No one was injured. No crime was committed,” Ingersoll said.

  “So you say.”

  “I have, of course, talked with Howard Hannigan about this,” Ingersoll said, “and he as-sures me that his office has no interest in pursuing the incident.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t,” Jesse said.

  “But you do,” Ingersoll said.

  “I’m not ready to clear it,” Jesse said.

  Ingersoll was silent for a moment. Then, with his hands folded tightly on the counter, he leaned toward Jesse a little.

  “You are a small-town policeman,” Ingersoll said. “You were fired from your last job. I am the managing partner of the biggest law firm in the state. If you continue to be an annoyance, I will bury you.”

  “No doubt,” Jesse said.

  He laid a five-dollar bill on the counter, and stood and walked out of the restaurant.

  8

  IT WAS WEDNESDAY night. It was his time. And the Night Hawk was beginning to dress.

  Black jeans, black socks, black sneakers. He put on a white T-shirt, and over it a black windbreaker, which he wore unzipped. He put on a navy-blue baseball cap, and pulled it low over his forehead, and looked at himself in the mirror. His beard covered the lower half of his face, and with the bill of the cap down low over his forehead he would be hard to recognize. He nodded to himself and reset the cap on the back of his head. Then he turned out the lights in his bedroom and went down the stairs and out the back door. He walked past Daisy’s Restaurant, on down toward the water, past the Gray Gull and up Water Street. With no one in sight, he turned suddenly into a narrow alley just past the Paradise Inn. In the alley he zipped up his black windbreaker and pulled his baseball cap down over his forehead, then moved down the alley and into a scraggle of trees behind the inn. Past the trees was the harbor. The Night Hawk stood nearly invisible among the trees and looked into a first-floor bedroom at the back of the inn. The shade was up. The lights were on, but there was no one in the room. I can wait, the Night Hawk thought, and stood just outside the window. Stolid, stoic, silent, and unseen. The strong smell of the harbor drifted past him on the quiet evening air. The trees he stood among were white pine, and they added their pleasant scent to the night. Faintly from the inn came kitchen sounds, a hint of television, some barely audible music. The net effect was to emphasize the quiet. He looked at his watch. I’ll give it forty-five minutes, the Night Hawk thought. He stood perfectly still, wrapping himself in the darkness. It was so still in the darkness that he could hear his own breathing. His breathing felt deep and quiet to him. He felt as if his heart was strong and his senses were keen. As if he could almost taste life in its full range and richness. The bedroom door opened and a woman came in. She was maybe fifty, with red hair and angular black glasses. She’ll do, the Night Hawk thought. He felt the pressure, as if his interior were straining against the containment of his exterior. The woman was wearing tan slacks and a dark green top. She walked to the window and looked out. She was maybe two feet from him. He breathed very softly. She touched her hair, and the Night Hawk realized she wasn’t looking out; she was studying her reflected self in the dark glass.

  He held his ground. Then she reached up and pulled the shade. He stayed steady, looking closely to see if the shade fully obscured the window. It didn’t quite, but it allowed only a narrow view of a corner of the room, where a table stood. He watched to be sure. But she didn’t go to the table, and after a while the lights went out. The Night Hawk shrugged and moved back down the alley toward Water Street. Before he stepped out of the alley, he tilted his cap to the back of his head and unzipped the black windbreaker so that the white T-shirt gleamed in the dim light from the streetlamps. He looked at his watch. The night is young, he said to himself, and started up Water Street like a watchman making his rounds.

  9

  JESSE SAT with Suitcase Simpson in Jesse’s unmarked car parked on an affluent street on the west shore of Paradise, where, on very clear days, from the second floor of certain homes, one could look north and see Cape Ann.

  “Three doors up on the right,” Jesse said. “Big garrison colonial with the fieldstone front.”

  “Yeah?” Suit said.

  “That’s the Clark house.”

  “Okay,” Suit said.

  “My information is that at regular intervals they gather a number of couples together in that house and swap wives.”

  “Here?” Suit said. “In Paradise?”

  “Incredible, ain’t it,” Jesse said.

  “Unthinkable,” Suit said.

  “I have it on good authority,” Jesse said.

  “And you want me to go undercover,” Suit said.

  “Be more convincing if you had a wife,” Jesse said.

  “Well, maybe Molly—”

  “Stop it,” Jesse said.

  Suit grinned. “So what do we care that they’re banging their brains out in there?” he said.

  “Ain’t illegal, is it?”

  “Not that I know,” Jesse said.

  “So?”

  “You know the Clarks?” Jesse said.

  “I don’t kno
w, what’re the first names?”

  “He’s Chase. She’s Kimberly.”

  “Kimberly Magruder?”

  “Yes.”

  “I went to school with her younger sister, Tammy,” Suit said. “Tammy was pretty hot.”

  “And you know that how?” Jesse said.

  Suit grinned again. “Hey,” he said. “I was a football hero in high school, remember?”

  “I remember you telling me,” Jesse said.

  “I cut a pretty wide swath in my letter sweater,” Suit said.

  “I’ll bet you did,” Jesse said. “You know Kimberly?”

  “Just to say hi.”

  “Know anything about her?”

  “I know she still looks pretty good,” Suit said.

  “Still? For crissakes, Suit,” Jesse said. “She’s not even forty yet.”

  “I’d give her a shot,” Suit said.

  Jesse nodded.

  “Wear your football jersey,” Jesse said. “How about the husband?”

  “He played, but before I did,” Suit said. “I think he’s some kind of big-deal advertising guy in Boston now.”

  “I want you to find out everything you can about him, and about her, and about their social life.”

  “You mean the wife-swapping?” Suit said.

  “They probably call it the swinging lifestyle,” Jesse said.

  “Course they do,” Suit said. “But why do we care?”

  “Their daughter came to me about it.”

  “Jesus, the daughter?” Suit said. “How old is she?”

  “Thirteen,” Jesse said, “I would guess.”

  “And she knows?”

  “She knows,” Jesse said. “And so does her eight-year-old brother.”

  Suit was quiet, looking down the street at the handsome house behind its smooth green lawn.

  “Okay,” he said. “It’s awful, but what can we do about it.”

  “Not much,” Jesse said. “Maybe something with children’s services, but I kind of promised the daughter I wouldn’t tell.”

  “You told me?”

  “You don’t count,” Jesse said.

  Suit grinned again.

  “That ain’t what Tammy Magruder used to say.”

  “For the moment,” Jesse said, “we learn as much as we can. I mean, it’s possible, you know, that the kid made it up.”

  “Thirteen?”

  Jesse looked at him.

  Suit nodded.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I withdraw the question.”

  10

  “OH, JESSE,” Jenn said on the phone. “I’m so excited. I’ve got an offer in New York.”

  “New York,” Jesse said.

  “A new show called Early On ,” Jenn said. “I’d do weather, and some lifestyle stories.”

  “You gonna take it?”

  “Oh, I have to. I mean, it’s a huge jump up for me,” Jenn said. “The show is syndicated, and looks like it’ll go national in a while.”

  “So when do you leave?”

  “I start on air next Monday,” Jenn said.

  “You got a place to live?”

  “Well, I’ll stay with a friend,” Jenn said. “Until I find a place.”

  “Friend?”

  “A guy friend.”

  “Anyone I know,” Jesse said.

  “I don’t think so. He used to be up here, at Channel Three, and now he’s producing Early On .”

  “That how you got the job?”

  “Well, they were looking for somebody, and Rick thought of me.”

  “I’ll bet he did,” Jesse said.

  “Oh, Jesse,” Jenn said. “You’re not going to go all jealous on me, are you?”

  “Not me,” Jesse said.

  “I mean, you know, you left me,” Jenn said, “when we first broke up.”

  “I did,” Jesse said.

  “I’ll stay in touch,” she said. “I promise.”

  “Okay,” Jesse said.

  “I will. I’ll call you. We can e-mail. I don’t want to lose touch with you, Jesse.”

  “I’ll be standing by,” Jesse said.

  “You can call me on my cell,” Jenn said. “If you need to.”

  “Sure,” Jesse said.

  “Well, I gotta get organized. Monday is coming quick.”

  “Yep.”

  “Wish me luck, Jesse?”

  “Always,” Jesse said.

  They hung up. Jesse sat back a little in his chair and stared at nothing in the empty room.

  They weren’t married anymore. She had a right to go where she wanted and to fuck who she wanted. His throat felt tight, and it was difficult to swallow. He stood and made himself a drink.

  Tall glass. Lot of ice. Couple of ounces of scotch. Fill with soda. He stood for a moment, stirring the drink with his forefinger. Behind the bar was a big picture of Ozzie Smith. Ozzie was in midair, parallel with the ground, stretched out as far as he could stretch, catching a line drive. Jesse nodded at the picture.

  “Wizard,” he said.

  His voice sounded intrusive in the silent room. He took a drink of scotch.

  “Best that ever played,” Jesse said.

  He drank some more scotch. He looked at the big bottle of scotch on the bar—1.75 liters.

  It was nearly full.

  “I wouldn’t have been that good,” Jesse said. “But I’d have made the show. If I didn’t get hurt, I’d have made the show.”

  He turned, carrying his glass, and walked across the living room. He stood and looked out the French doors at the harbor and began to drink his scotch.

  11

  IT WAS becoming harder for the Night Hawk to wait for Wednesday night. He hadn’t actually seen nakedness yet, but he’d seen women moving about in their bedrooms, unaware of being watched. If he kept his pace, sooner or later, he would see. Tonight he was in position to watch Lindsey Monahan through her bedroom window. There was a field behind her house, which you could reach by walking down the railroad tracks behind it. He lay flat in a low part of the field, behind a small outcropping of rock, with his binoculars. The light was on in her bedroom. But the room was empty. The Night Hawk was patient. Bagging the quarry was only the end part of a process. Like any hunt, the process was part of the pleasure. After an hour or so, Lindsey came into her bedroom. She took off her blouse, and her slacks. Her undergarments were red and frilly. Lindsey is hotter than she seems, the Night Hawk thought. She went into the bathroom and stayed there, out of sight for maybe ten minutes. When she came out of the bathroom she had a towel wrapped like a turban around her head, and was wearing a white terry-cloth robe that looked too big for her. All spanking clean, the Night Hawk said to himself. She came to the bed and sat, facing the window. The robe fell away a little over her knees, as the Night Hawk focused through his binoculars. He could feel his heart beat. She leaned sideways and turned off the light. Damn . The Night Hawk lay in position for a time, his binoculars ready. But the light didn’t go on again. When he was sure it wouldn’t, the Night Hawk stood and checked his watch, and walked back to the railroad tracks. She sleeps naked, he thought. He looked at his watch. Late. Too late to go to one of his other spots. He’d spent all evening on Lindsey and gotten to see her in her fancy underwear. That was something . . . but it wasn’t enough.

  12

  JESSE HAD slept in his clothes and, despite a long shower, a pint of orange juice, three cups of coffee, and two aspirin, he still had a hangover. He was sipping his fourth cup, at his desk, when Molly Crane stuck her head in.

  She said, “Two things, Jesse.”

  He nodded.

  “We got a Peeping Tom report,” Molly said. “And the DA is going to stop by here after lunch.”

  “Anything special about the peeper?” Jesse said.

  “Nope. Some guy looking in a window,” Molly said. “Ran off when the woman’s husband yelled at him.”

  “Who’s on patrol?” Jesse said.

  “John Maguire and Arthur Angstrom,” Molly
said.

  “Send John,” Jesse said. “Howard Hannigan give a time?”

  “I didn’t talk to him,” Molly said. “But his, ah, girl didn’t specify exactly. Just ‘after lunch.’ ”

  “Wish I had a girl,” Jesse said.

  “You got me,” Molly said.

  “You’re a woman,” Jesse said.

  “Well, I’m glad you noticed.”

  “Crow told me,” Jesse said.

  Molly blushed.

  “Our secret, Moll,” Jesse said.

  “I certainly wish it were just mine,” Molly said.

  “Almost the same,” Jesse said.

  “I hope so,” Molly said.

  She studied Jesse for a moment.

  “You’re looking a little peaked today,” she said.

  “Drank more than I should have, last night,” Jesse said.

  “Alone?” Molly said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Jenn?” Molly said.

  “Yeah.”

  Molly took in a big breath of air and let it out slowly.

  She said, “Might be time to move on, Jesse.”

  “Sure,” Jesse said.

  “If you can,” Molly said.

  “Sure,” Jesse said.

  “What’s Dix say about it?”

  “He seems to think I’m obsessed.”

  “You think so?” Molly said.

  “Maybe I want to be obsessed.”

  “Maybe,” Molly said.

  Jesse didn’t say anything else. Molly waited a moment in the heavy silence.

  Then she said, “I’ll send John down to talk to the Peeping Tom folks.”

  Jesse nodded. Molly stood for another moment, then turned and left the office. Jesse drank some coffee.

  13

  HOWARD HANNIGAN was thin-faced and dark-haired. He wore big horn-rimmed dark glasses, which he left in place when he came into Jesse’s office.

  “Jesse,” he said. “We need to talk.”

  Jesse nodded and gestured Hannigan toward a chair.

  “What’s going on with Betsy Ingersoll?” Hannigan said.

  “Nothing,” Jesse said.

  “So why is Jay Ingersoll telling me that you are persecuting his wife?”

  “Don’t know,” Jesse said.

  “Have you cleared the case?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Hannigan said.