Robert B. Parker’s the Hangman’s Sonnet

“You created the myth of the album, leaked the names of the musicians who played on the recording, and then faked the theft of the master tape.”

“Just like that, Jesse. Exactly. But I created two monsters: the myth itself and—”

“Evan Updike.”

“That blackmailing little bastard. I needed someone who could give credibility to the myth other than me. He came cheap at first. Ten grand. That was nothing to me and Terry back then. But as the myth grew, Updike kept coming back for more and more, threatening to expose the truth. I couldn’t afford that because the myth had taken on a life of its own. The myth became the engine behind Terry’s sales. Every few years I would get the rumors going again and Terry’s sales would spike.”

“But you killed Updike.”

“With my bare hands,” White said, voice full of pride. “I strangled the life out of that weasel as soon as the lawsuits were settled. Otherwise, he would have kept soaking us. Terry’s care cost so much money.”

“But why this? Why now?” Jesse asked. “That’s the one thing Roscoe and Bella couldn’t tell me.”

“Because I got word Terry’s going to be dead in a few months. Leukemia.” White’s tears were flowing again. “I needed to finally cash out and use the myth one last time to do it.”

“How’d you get Bascom on board?”

White laughed. “He was easy. He had gambling debts up the wazoo. He’d already blown most of his pension. And who can say no to Bella besides you? Bascom knew all the wrong people, which is what I needed. I planted the safety-deposit box key in the old lady’s house a few months ago under the guise of a prospective buyer. It was my mother’s key. She kept it like that, taped to an index card. Then I needed someone to discover the key and get the whole thing going. Bascom hired those two idiots. We didn’t figure on the old lady dying. I’m sorry about that and the delivery guy.”

“Too late for sorrow now, Stan. And killing Curnutt?”

White shrugged. “He became like another Updike. Once he figured out what was going on, he wanted a lot of money. We didn’t have it. We had used almost every dime we had to set it all up, so what choice did we have? Besides, it gave us an opportunity to get the press involved. That was smart of you, Jesse, trying to force our hand by keeping the press starved for facts. We didn’t count on you being so sharp. Roscoe said you were a drunk and lost after your fiancée’s... you know.”

“He was right, Stan.”

“So where does this leave us, Jesse?” White took another big pull on the vodka bottle. Jesse edged a little closer. “I don’t suppose there’s any wiggle room for me here.”

“Not an inch.”

Jesse had hoped that might cause White to go for the vodka bottle again, but instead he went for the .38. Not even Ozzie Smith in his prime could have made up the distance between them and prevented Stan White from beating Terry Jester into the next life.

91

By the end of August, Paradise had fallen back into its usual late-summer rhythms. Suit was home with Elena. It still made Jesse smile remembering how Suit had asked if there was any excitement in town while he was gone.

“A little, Suit,” Jesse had said. “Just a little.”

The press was gone and were back at covering stories that mattered. True to his word, Jesse had given Ed Selko an exclusive. All the crime scene tape had been taken down from the Cain house and the nature preserve. The dragonfly ring had been returned to the museum and was on display with the remainder of the jewelry from the set. The Wickham estate had been rented for the fall to some painter Jesse had never heard of.

Jesse parked his Explorer, new tires et al., at the station, walked into his office, and tossed his keys onto his desk. The thing was, Molly was sitting behind the desk.

“Morning, Chief Crane,” he said, saluting.

“That’s Acting Chief Crane to you, Stone. I may hate you forever for this.”

“I doubt it.”

“Don’t be so sure, Jesse. I’m about as comfortable in this chair as a man wearing sandpaper underwear.”

“I’ll be back in five or six weeks or so. Relax, Molly.”

“I know. So how long you figure it’ll take you and Tamara to get down to Austin?”

“A week. We’re going to do a little sightseeing on the way. Then I’ll spend a few days with her until she settles in.”

“Are you sure about this, Jesse?”

“About rehab? No, but Dix says the place I’m going to is as good as any.”

“I don’t mean about will it work,” she said, exasperated. “I mean are you sure you should go?”

“Uh-huh.”

Molly changed subjects. “Do you think Bella Lawton will get prosecuted for Bascom’s murder?”

“She deserves it. It’s the right thing to do, but that’s up to the DA. I told her all bets were off if she lied in the statement.”

Molly shook her head. “That was brilliant the way you let Niles hear Bella’s interview. He couldn’t wait to give us a full statement implicating her after he heard that.”

“Old trick.”

“I hear you’ve got an offer on your house.”

Jesse smiled. “It’s all but sold. Closing should all be set up by the time I get back.”

There was a knock on the office door.