Robert B. Parker’s the Hangman’s Sonnet

They met for dinner at the Lobster Claw. The Claw had been open for a few years but had never managed to catch on like the Gull. Jesse couldn’t figure it out. The only decent food choices at the Gull were sandwiches and salads, and while the rest of the menu wouldn’t put you in the hospital, the best thing you could say about their hot dishes was that they were usually hot. Jesse mentioned his confusion to Tamara. She shook her head at him.

“You know, for the best cop I ever met, you sure can be thick sometimes,” she said.

“How so?”

“It’s that small-town thing. You still don’t get it, do you, even after that thing with the missing girls?”

“But this isn’t about dark secrets. It’s about a restaurant.”

“I agree with you, Jesse, the food’s better here, but it’s not about the food, it’s about comfort. Small towns like their comfort. It makes them feel safe. It insulates them from ‘out there.’” She gestured with both hands.

“When did you become an expert on small towns?”

“You ever see Texas on a map? Next to Alaska, there’s not a better place to study small-town life than in Texas. You learn that early on. The more this area becomes an extension of Boston, the harder people are going to cling to places like Daisy’s and the Gull. Someday, maybe sooner than you think, this town and the others nearby will be very different places.”

Jesse took a sip of wine, consternation on his usually inscrutable face.

“What?” Tamara asked. “Something wrong with the wine?”

“The wine’s okay. You’re the second person in the last few days to say something like that, about how Boston would start encroaching on Paradise. Something wicked this way comes.”

“It’s inevitable, I guess, with more people moving up here and commuting to the city. Who was the first person to mention the subject?”

Just then, Jesse’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Being chief had its perks, but they came at a price. He didn’t usually have the luxury of blowing off calls. And when he saw who this particular call was from, he knew he was going to pick up.

Tamara was curious. “Who is it?”

“The person you were just asking about. I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, standing up and heading for the Lobster Claw’s outside deck.

“Stone, you there?”

“I’m here, Vinnie. You have something for me?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? This a negotiation?”

“That’s up to you.”

“What’s it going to take, Vinnie?” Jesse asked, looking out into the blackening ocean. He remembered two years earlier, standing on the deck just after the Lobster Claw had opened. He had a Black Label in his hand that night, not a cell phone. Although he had been drinking wine to appease Tamara, the prospect of bargaining with Vinnie Morris was making the thought of a double Black Label neat very appealing.

He repeated Jesse’s question. “What’s it going to take? Nothing too crazy. Just an understanding between us.”

“What sort of understanding?”

“The same sort you had with Gino. A favor done is a favor earned.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with—”

Vinnie cut him off. “Never. You got my word on that. That thing was something I did for us both, and it wasn’t business. What I’m talking here is business, good business for us both. Always worked for you and Gino.”

“Until it didn’t.”

“Yeah, until it didn’t. But that’s not going to happen to us, Stone. And just to show you I mean what I say, this one’s on the house. You got a pen and paper handy?”

Jesse reached into his back pocket for the notepad he’d always carried since his days in uniform in L.A. and into his front pocket for a pen. He looked around to make sure no one was in earshot, then put the phone on speaker and placed it on the deck rail.

“Shoot.”

“Kirk Kingston Curnutt. Goes by King. Petty thief who’s good at boosting cars. Last stretch was for pistol-whipping a gas-station attendant. Got out a few months ago. His cellmate was a clown named Humphrey Bolton.”

“Hump.”

“See, I knew there was a reason you’re chief. Word is you don’t want to tangle with him. Country strong and good with his fists. They’re both in the system.”

“Thanks, Vinnie.”

“Remember, Stone, this one’s on the house. Next time it’s business.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You know what I like about you, Jesse?”

“No.”

“Most of the time you talk even less than me.”

The phone went quiet. Jesse scrolled to Lundquist’s number but got voicemail. He left a message that included the information Vinnie Morris had just given him. Then he called the station and had Alisha look up Curnutt and Bolton in the system and put together a packet for him to present to the mayor and the DA. He also had her make up two photo arrays that included the suspects. He supposed he could have had her alert the state and local authorities, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself.