Robert B. Parker’s the Hangman’s Sonnet

He turned back to the body, but Tamara wasn’t quite finished.

“Jesse.”

“Yeah.”

“Slow down. For goodness’ sakes, please, slow down.”

He knew what she meant. She knew he would, but she didn’t want to stay to argue about it.

The body was on its back. The head wound was small, though obvious enough against the dead man’s bloodless pale skin. The chest wound was less obvious, but that wasn’t Jesse’s concern at the moment. He checked the pockets of the dead man’s cut-off sweatshirt and the front pockets of his jeans. No wallet. No ID. Nothing. He ran his gloved hands along the front, outsides, and insides of the victim’s legs, and felt around his ankles. Again nothing. But he didn’t come up empty when he gently turned the body over and patted down the vic’s back pockets.

“Peter,” Jesse said. “Bring an evidence bag over here.”

Perkins didn’t ask why, just carried a bag over to his boss. “What is it, Jesse?”

“An old index card with some letters and numbers written on it. Log it in and then bring it over to Lundquist. I think the state lab should get a close look at this asap.”

“You think it’s significant?”

Jesse didn’t answer immediately, continuing to pat the victim down to see if there was anything else on him. When he was done he looked up at Perkins.

“Significant? I don’t know, but it’s the only thing he’s got on him.”

“No wallet?”

“No nothing except that faded old card. Tell Lundquist I’ll be right over.”

When Jesse was done, he looked hard at Curnutt’s remains. As far as Jesse could tell, what was left didn’t amount to much. He hoped the same wasn’t true for the index card.

40

The sun had finally taken a seat low in the sky about the time Jesse got to where Lundquist and Molly were waiting, Lundquist holding the evidence bag with the index card.

“Is this all he had on him?” Lundquist asked, waving the clear plastic bag in the air.

“One second, Brian.” Jesse walked past him and went over to where Peter Perkins was packing away his equipment.

“What’s up, Jesse?”

“Did you see the blood off to the side of the body?”

“I did. I got a sample of it, marked it in my notes, and got photos of it.” Perkins tilted his head in confusion. “Why you asking?”

“You didn’t move the body, did you?”

“You know I know better than that. All I did was check for a pulse to make a hundred percent sure he was dead. Then I backed away and followed procedure.”

Jesse smiled as best he could, given how lousy he was feeling, and patted Perkins’s left biceps. “Good work. I had to ask.”

When Jesse got back to where Molly and Lundquist were standing, Lundquist repeated his question. “Is this all he had on him?”

“All I could find.”

“An old index card. Not much to go on.”

“I’m not so sure,” Jesse said.

That got Molly’s attention. “Not sure about what?”

“Something doesn’t feel right about this.”

“What feels right about murder?” she asked.

“It’s not only that,” Jesse said. “That car was stolen from up north. Why come back to Paradise? Why would he expose himself like that?”

Molly spoke first. “Maybe he had no choice, Jesse. Maybe he had left something behind in that shed on his way out of town, money or something he took from Maude’s house we didn’t know about.”

Jesse remained silent.

“More likely he was meeting someone and whoever it was didn’t feel like sharing, possibly his partner,” Lundquist said.

Jesse shook his head. “Maybe. I don’t like it.”

Molly pointed over Jesse’s shoulder. “Well, you’re going to like this even less.”

When he turned, Jesse saw the mayor’s black Suburban pulling to a stop. He had hoped he might be able to get away from the scene before the mayor showed, if only to shower again, shave, and shut his eyes for an hour.

“Brian,” he said, turning back to Lundquist. “See what your lab can do with that. I’ll have Peter send the rest of the stuff over as soon as possible.”

“Okay, Jesse, but we’re not done talking about this crime scene and what you don’t like about it.”

“Fine. Go ahead. We’ll talk later,” Jesse said. “Molly, you too. I’ll deal with the mayor.”

“You sure, Jesse?”

“Always. Now get out of here.”

But as he watched Lundquist and Molly retreat to their vehicles, he noticed only Nita Thompson getting out of the Suburban, two large cups of coffee in her hands. There was no sign of Mayor Walker. As she got to Jesse, Nita handed him one of the cups.

“I think this is how you like it,” she said. “But you look like you could use it whether it’s how you like it or not.”

He took a big sip of the steaming coffee, the smell of it filling his head. He was almost as thankful for the aroma as he was for the taste of the coffee. “Thanks. Where’s Mayor Walker?”

Nita ignored the question. “Rough night?”

“I’ve had rougher ones. The mayor?”

“Right. Sorry. I advised her not to show her face here until we knew what we were dealing with.”

“That’s why the media hasn’t shown up. You don’t know how to spin this yet.”

“I don’t know why I ever underestimated you,” she said. “Is it him, Kirk Curnutt?”