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  THE SPENSER NOVELS

  Robert B. Parker’s Little White Lies

  (by Ace Atkins)

  Robert B. Parker’s Slow Burn

  (by Ace Atkins)

  Robert B. Parker’s Kickback

  (by Ace Atkins)

  Robert B. Parker’s Cheap Shot

  (by Ace Atkins)

  Silent Night

  (with Helen Brann)

  Robert B. Parker’s Wonderland

  (by Ace Atkins)

  Robert B. Parker’s Lullaby

  (by Ace Atkins)

  Sixkill

  Painted Ladies

  The Professional

  Rough Weather

  Now & Then

  Hundred-Dollar Baby

  School Days

  Cold Service

  Bad Business

  Back Story

  Widow’s Walk

  Potshot

  Hugger Mugger

  Hush Money

  Sudden Mischief

  Small Vices

  Chance

  Thin Air

  Walking Shadow

  Paper Doll

  Double Deuce

  Pastime

  Stardust

  Playmates

  Crimson Joy

  Pale Kings and Princes

  Taming a Sea-Horse

  A Catskill Eagle

  Valediction

  The Widening Gyre

  Ceremony

  A Savage Place

  Early Autumn

  Looking for Rachel Wallace

  The Judas Goat

  Promised Land

  Mortal Stakes

  God Save the Child

  The Godwulf Manuscript

  THE JESSE STONE NOVELS

  Robert B. Parker’s Debt to Pay

  (by Reed Farrel Coleman)

  Robert B. Parker’s The Devil Wins

  (by Reed Farrel Coleman)

  Robert B. Parker’s Blind Spot

  (by Reed Farrel Coleman)

  Robert B. Parker’s Damned If You Do

  (by Michael Brandman)

  Robert B. Parker’s Fool Me Twice

  (by Michael Brandman)

  Robert B. Parker’s Killing the Blues

  (by Michael Brandman)

  Split Image

  Night and Day

  Stranger in Paradise

  High Profile

  Sea Change

  Stone Cold

  Death in Paradise

  Trouble in Paradise

  Night Passage

  THE SUNNY RANDALL NOVELS

  Spare Change

  Blue Screen

  Melancholy Baby

  Shrink Rap

  Perish Twice

  Family Honor

  THE COLE/HITCH WESTERNS

  Robert B. Parker’s Revelation

  (by Robert Knott)

  Robert B. Parker’s Blackjack

  (by Robert Knott)

  Robert B. Parker’s The Bridge

  (by Robert Knott)

  Robert B. Parker’s Bull River

  (by Robert Knott)

  Robert B. Parker’s Ironhorse

  (by Robert Knott)

  Blue-Eyed Devil

  Brimstone

  Resolution

  Appaloosa

  ALSO BY ROBERT B. PARKER

  Double Play

  Gunman’s Rhapsody

  All Our Yesterdays

  A Year at the Races

  (with Joan H. Parker)

  Perchance to Dream

  Poodle Springs

  (with Raymond Chandler)

  Love and Glory

  Wilderness

  Three Weeks in Spring

  (with Joan H. Parker)

  Training with Weights

  (with John R. Marsh)

  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

  Publishers Since 1838

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street

  New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2017 by The Estate of Robert B. Parker

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Coleman, Reed Farrel, author.

  Title: Robert B. Parker’s the Hangman’s sonnet / Reed Farrel Coleman.

  Description: New York : G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 2017. | Series: A Jesse Stone novel

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017009189 (print) | LCCN 2017012599 (ebook) | ISBN 9780698166615 (epub) | ISBN 9780399171444 (hardback)

  Subjects: LCSH: Stone, Jesse (Fictitious character)—Fiction. | Murder—Fiction. | Police chiefs—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / General. | FICTION / Suspense. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction. | Suspense fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3553.O47445 (ebook) | LCC PS3553.O47445 R65 2017 (print) | DDC 813/.54—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017009189

  p. cm.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  For Chris Pepe

  CONTENTS

  Also by Robert B. Parker

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Ch
apter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  In death’s black-lined womb I seek her grace.

  The mirror has revealed my hangman’s face.

  —FROM THE HANGMAN’S SONNET

  1

  Fully sober for the first time in weeks, Jesse Stone was pounding the ball into the worn pocket of his old glove. As he slammed the ball into the glove over and over again, he stared out his office window at Stiles Island and the morning sunlight reflecting off the dark blue waters surrounding it. He was trying to steady his hands and empty his mind.

  Some men prayed the rosary. Some meditated. He wasn’t one to overthink things. At least he hadn’t been until Mr. Peepers had shot Suit. Jesse could trace his self-doubt and second-guessing back to that bloody day. How many times in the last few months had he traced a jagged red line from the day Suit was wounded to the day Diana was killed? How many times had he rehashed the events between those two incidents, questioning his decisions? And today those questions rang in Jesse’s ears as loudly as they ever had.

  “Jesse,” Alisha said, sticking her head through his office door. “I didn’t expect you in today, with Suit’s wedding and all.”

  He didn’t turn around but stopped pounding the ball. “Just making sure things are in place, with most of us scheduled to be at the wedding.”

  The truth was that he hadn’t slept more than a few hours last night, nor did he want to be alone in his house with his memories and doubts.

  “We’ll be fine. Nice tux,” she said, noting Jesse’s outfit hanging from his coatrack.

  “Thanks.” He turned slightly, smiled. “What did you come in here for, anyway?”

  “Since you’re in, there are some people here to see you. Should I send them in?”

  He cursed under his breath. He was desperate for a drink but was duty-bound to stay straight for the rest of the day.

  “Who?”

  “Roger Bascom.”

  “Send him in.”

  “He’s not alone. He’s got two other people with him.”

  “What two other people?” he asked, his voice edgy, impatient.

  Alisha shrugged. “Bascom didn’t bother introducing them, but one of them is stunning. She’s dressed in a few thousand bucks’ worth of clothes and jewelry. Her Christian Louboutin shoes and her makeup alone cost more than I make every two weeks. Believe me, Jesse, she’d get your attention if she was dressed in a potato sack.”

  “The third member of the party?”

  “An older man. Well dressed, but he reminds me of a used-car salesman.”

  “Send them in,” Jesse said, placing his ball and glove on his desk.

  Roger Bascom was the head of private security for Stiles Island. Stiles, largely a playground for the wealthy, was under Jesse’s jurisdiction. Most of the time there was little reason for his cops to venture over there to do anything but routine patrols. Early in Jesse’s tenure, there had been a failed assault on the island by a gang of thieves, during which the bridge to the mainland was blown up and several cops, guards, and criminals had been killed. Since that day, the islanders had seen fit to get more serious about protecting themselves and their assets. Over the years there had been a gradual upgrading of security, in terms of both personnel and equipment.

  Jesse didn’t have much use for Bascom, a lean man with a military brush cut and a chilly demeanor. He took himself a little too seriously for Jesse’s taste. Dealing with him was like dealing with a household appliance, only less enjoyable, but Jesse wasn’t paying much attention to Bascom when the trio walked into the office.

  Alisha’s assessment of the woman with Bascom was spot-on. She wasn’t yet thirty, drop-dead gorgeous, with hair that shone in the light like a blackbird’s feathers in the sun. She had intense green eyes flecked with gold. Beautiful eyes, but intelligent and assessing. She had goddess cheekbones and a thin sculpted body that was only enhanced by the cut of her suit, the height of her heels, and her taste in jewelry. Alisha had gotten it right about the third member of the party as well. In his seventies, too tanned, with a head of wispy Einstein hair, he wore a light brown suede jacket over a white silk shirt, the open collar of which exposed a tangle of furry white chest hair. He also had on expensively ripped jeans and running shoes.

  Jesse stood and got a third chair to add to the two that permanently faced his desk. He asked all three to sit and then went back behind his desk. He sat, too, keeping his shaky hands out of sight.

  He nodded. “Roger, what’s going on?”

  “Chief Jesse Stone, meet Bella Lawton and Stan White. The chief prefers to be called Jesse.” Bascom made a disapproving face.

  Jesse ignored that and nodded to them. He saw that Bella Lawton’s eyes focused on his baseball glove. Bascom noticed her notice.

  “Chief Stone was a professional baseball player. In the Dodgers’ system, I believe.”

  “Uh-huh. Now that we all know one another’s names and you know I played ball, what can I do for you?”

  Jesse saw Bella’s eyes shifting from his glove to his tuxedo.

  “One of my officers is getting married later this morning, so if you don’t mind, can we get to the point?”

  The three visitors looked at one another as if silently arguing about who would answer the question. Finally, Stan White spoke up.

  “Terry Jester,” he said, as if those four syllables were self-explanatory.

  Jesse nodded, thinking that maybe they were.

  2

  Stan White stared at him impatiently, mistaking Jesse’s silence for ignorance. That was usually a grave mistake. Jesse didn’t mind. He knew that in most situations it was better to be underestimated, and cops were always being underestimated. Still, Jesse kept quiet. Silence could be a cop’s best friend. He enjoyed watching White squirm. As he did, he took sideways glances at Bascom and Bella. Bascom was his usual unreactive Frigidaire self. Bella was trying unsuccessfully not to smile, and her smile did nothing to damage Jesse’s opinion of her looks.

  White had had enough of Jesse’s silence and repeated himself, only louder. “Terry Jester! You’ve heard of Terry Jester, haven’t you?”

  “Who?”

  White thought that if he kept repeating Jester’s name over and over, it might get through to Jesse. He stood up, wagging his finger at Jesse. “Terry Jester. The Terry Jester.”

  Jesse shrugged and tilted his head like a confused puppy. “Sorry. I got nothing.”

  White turned to Bascom. “Is this guy for real?”

  “Relax, Stan,” Bascom said, shaping his mouth into something that passed for a smile.

  Bella said, “I think Chief Stone—Jesse is . . . I believe the technical term would be busting your
balls. Is that right?”

  If she was trying to make a good impression, she was doing a hell of a job.

  Jesse laughed his first meaningful laugh in months. “I’m sorry, Mr. White. I know who Terry Jester is. I played ball. I didn’t live in a cave. Folks around here call him the Boston Bob Dylan.”

  But instead of calming down, White was apoplectic.

  “Bob Dylan isn’t fit to kiss Terry’s tuchus. Until Terry went into semiretirement, their record sales were about the same. And as a poet, Dylan couldn’t hold a candle to Terry. Dylan the genius . . . get outta here. You wanna see where ‘Mr. Tambourine Man’ comes from and all those swirling, rapid-fire words from Zimmerman, go get yourself a copy of Mexico City Blues, for chrissakes! Terry Jester never had to rip off Jack Kerouac.”

  “Take it easy, Stan,” Bella said, grabbing his forearm and urging him back into his seat. She turned to Jesse. “You’ll have to forgive Stan. He’s been Terry’s manager for—how long has it been?”

  “Fifty-three years.” White puffed out his chest, a wistful look in his eyes. “We were just two kids, Terry and me, bumming around Greenwich Village then, not even eighteen. We didn’t have two nickels to rub together, but we did gigs, had fun. I could sing a little, write a little, but Terry, Terry . . . He had the magic. He had the gift, the looks. Me . . . I had business sense and some family connections. One thing led to another and . . .”

  Jesse said, “All very fascinating, Mr. White, but—”

  “Stan, please.” His agitation was suddenly replaced by a winning smile and polite charm. “Please forgive my outburst. Old men get impatient.”

  “No need to apologize, Stan, but what has all this to do with the Paradise Police Department?”

  White said, “It’ll be all over the local media soon about Terry and the album, so we thought we should give you a heads-up is all.” White had leaned forward and whispered the words the album like he was giving Jesse top-secret information.

  That got Jesse’s attention. “The album?”

  White raised his palms, winked at Jesse, and said, “You’ll see. Terry might even sing a few songs from the album. That would be a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

  Before Jesse could ask anything else, Bascom spoke up, “A month from tomorrow, Mr. White will be throwing a gala seventy-fifth birthday party for Mr. Jester at the Wickham estate on Stiles Island. There will be several celebrity guests in attendance. Some will be arriving by chartered yacht from New York City, but most will be coming by car through town. You will no doubt want to have your entire department on duty that weekend and alert your auxiliary as well. Mayor Walker has given Mr. White and Ms. Lawton her assurance that you will give us your full cooperation.”