Robert B. Parker's Colorblind Page 16

  Weld stopped the video. “I don’t think we need to watch him, do we, Chief Stone?” It wasn’t really a question. “He rented a Browning 1911, a Colt Python with a six-inch barrel, and a Luger. Note the time stamp. This session ended approximately ninety minutes before the video footage of Officer Davis, gun drawn, chasing Vandercamp, unarmed, directly past this station.”

  “Apparently unarmed,” Jesse said. “Just because Vandercamp didn’t have a weapon in his hand at the time doesn’t mean he was unarmed.”

  “That’s almost verbatim of what Mr. Bernstein and his client claim. She says that just before they come into frame on the station’s camera she thought she saw Vandercamp reaching into his jacket for a weapon.”

  “Do you have any reason to doubt her?” Jesse asked.

  “You mean besides the fact that we can’t find this weapon, she was legally drunk, and she was the responding officer to the cross-burning for which Mr. Vandercamp was a person of interest? I’d say we have plenty of reason to doubt her.”

  Jesse’s cell buzzed in his pocket. “Excuse me.” He looked at the screen, saw it was Connor Cavanaugh from the hotel, and refused the call.

  “Look, Chief, I’m not trying to bury your cop, but it just doesn’t look good and I didn’t want you to get your hopes up about the GSR.”

  “Thanks for the courtesy. I understand you’ve got your job to do. Off the record, cop to cop, is there anything at all that you’ve found that hints at exonerating her?”

  “Cop to cop . . . Two out of the eleven witnesses who heard the shooting claim they counted nine shots, not eight, and one witness who lives on the town side of Newton Alley says she heard people talking and footsteps in the alley after the shooting. But some people heard five shots, some fifteen. And the witness who says she heard footsteps and a conversation . . . lives on the second floor with only a sealed bathroom window onto the scene. It’ll all be in the report.”

  “How long before you issue the report?”

  “Still waiting on some of the forensics,” she said, “but pretty soon.”

  There was nothing more for either one of them to say. It was pretty obvious what Weld’s conclusions would be. And Jesse had to admit, given the evidence, he would probably draw the same conclusions: Alisha had killed an unarmed man.

  50

  Jesse picked his old glove off his desk and pounded the ball into the mitt. As he did, he considered what he was being asked to believe. What a jury was likely going to be asked to believe. The difference was that he wouldn’t buy it, but that a jury almost surely would.

  Jesse wasn’t a big fan of coincidence but accepted that things did sometimes just happen. He supposed it was possible that the suspect in the cross-burning just happened to be standing twenty feet in front of Alisha at the precise moment she left the Gull. It was possible that serendipity had played a part in the suspect running directly past the police station surveillance cameras at a time when Alisha had drawn her weapon. Was it serendipity, too, that had caused John Vandercamp to flee down the only dead-end street in that end of Paradise? Was it simply by chance that he had been to a shooting range only hours before his death? Although it was a stretch to believe the innocent confluence of any two of these things, believing all of them was ridiculous. Problem was, there wasn’t anything he could do about it . . . not officially, anyway.

  “Molly, get in here,” he said, shouting so that she could hear him through the door.

  When Molly opened the door, Jesse was facing out the window behind his desk. The glove was still on his left hand and the ball was cupped in his right.

  “Sit down, Crane.”

  “What is it, Jesse?”

  “What if I told you that John Vandercamp was at a shooting range about an hour and a half before Alisha killed him?”

  “I’d say that was pretty convenient if Alisha is telling the truth and Vandercamp fired first.”

  “I agree,” he said, still facing the window. “Where are the only official CCTV cameras in this part of town?”

  “Jesse, you know the answer to that.”

  “Humor me, Crane.”

  “The only cameras are surrounding the station house.”

  “If you were running from someone in this part of town, where would you run?”

  “That’s easy. I’d run into the marina. It’s pretty dead this time of year. It’s dark and there are plenty of places to hide. Plenty of boats to hide on, too. You could jump into the water, use the planking for cover, and swim away. Never mind that you can access parking lots from the Lobster Claw and the Gull, and from there you can get back into town.”

  “So you wouldn’t run in a straight line right past the station house cameras and into a dead-end street?”

  “I grew up here. I’m a cop here. Vandercamp probably didn’t know better.”

  Jesse turned to face Molly, placing the ball back in the glove and the glove on the desk. “Who in this department would you trust with your life?”

  “Everyone,” she said without hesitation. “I have to or I couldn’t come to work.”

  “Good answer. Who would you trust with your kids’ lives?”

  She didn’t answer right away. “You and Suit . . . Peter. Gabe, too. What are you getting at, Jesse?”

  “Not Peter,” Jesse said. “He’s too by-the-book. I need to talk to the rest of you.”

  “I’m here. Talk to me now.”

  Jesse shook his head. “It needs to be all of you at once.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said.

  The front desk phone rang.

  “You better get that, Molly.”

  Less than a minute later, she was back.

  “It was the mayor, Jesse. There’s trouble.”

  * * *

  —

  THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM was now officially over. When Jesse got to town hall, the battle lines had been drawn and it was pretty clear that actual battle was about to break out. The two groups of protesters had surged toward each other and several were nose-to-nose. It wouldn’t take much—the first punch, a shove, one thrown bottle, a shift in the wind—to set off a full-scale donnybrook. And there, at a safe distance, cameras rolling, the media.

  It was no wonder to Jesse. One look at the signs that Leon Vandercamp’s people were carrying and the flags they were flying left little doubt that a fight is just exactly what they wanted. Nobody loved the United States more than Jesse, but there were times he wished the framers had done a little more tweaking of the first two amendments. As he had told Molly, there were pretty ugly aspects of freedom of speech. Mix those ugly aspects with guns and you could have a real problem on your hands.

  “Molly,” Jesse called in. “Get three cars off patrol and down to town hall. Call in the auxiliaries and call the staties.”

  When the cops and the auxiliary officers showed up, Jesse had them get between the groups and urged them at least twenty feet apart.

  “Suit, line the cruisers end to end to keep them apart. Don’t let the guys get in anyone’s face. Nobody with a badge does anything to provoke the protesters. Let the groups shout at each other all they want, but one person from either side throws something or charges the other way, arrest them.”

  “Where are you going, Jesse?”

  “To have a talk.”

  51

  Jesse walked over to where Leon Vandercamp was standing. He was holding a color portrait of his dead son but looking about as pleased as he could. James Earl was standing next to his father, holding a bullhorn carelessly at his side and drinking a cup of coffee. Jesse could smell the bourbon in the steam coming off the coffee. James Earl gave Jesse the look that was kind of like a secret handshake. They weren’t Masons or Elks, but they were drunks. Jesse nodded, giving the look back. He didn’t know why, but he felt kind of sorry for James Earl, and it wasn’t just about the drinking.


  “Mr. Vandercamp,” Jesse said to the father. “I was wondering if I could have a word with you in the mayor’s office.”

  Leon Vandercamp wasn’t at all as happy to see Jesse as his son was. He didn’t answer right away, and it seemed to Jesse he was making a calculation.

  “You have my word that my officers will do nothing to your people as long as they remain on this side of the building.”

  “Your word. Ha! You hired that bitch that executed my boy.”

  There were about twenty things Jesse would have liked to have said to that. He also would have liked to have punched him in the face. He said none of them and kept his hands at his sides. What he did say was “Mr. Vandercamp, please come inside to the mayor’s office. I’m sure James Earl can handle things out here.”

  Jesse could tell James Earl liked that. James Earl didn’t seem like a man who’d ever had much praise heaped on him or been given much responsibility.

  “Clearly, Chief Stone, you aren’t a very good judge of character. But I guess even James Earl can manage for a few minutes.”

  “Up the steps, through the door, down the hall,” Jesse said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  When the father left, James Earl turned to Jesse. “Real loving man, my father. I’m the wrong son. I’ve always been the wrong son. You have kids, Chief?”

  Jesse ignored that. “Like I told him, just keep your people on this side and we’ll be good.”

  James Earl lifted the bullhorn. Jesse took that opportunity to approach Reverend Sam.

  “I saw you talking to the enemy,” Mahorn said before Jesse could even open his mouth.

  “Well, Reverend Sam, you’re going to get the opportunity to express your opinion to the enemy if you’ll come with me.”

  “Come where?”

  “Into the mayor’s office.”

  It was just the four of them in Mayor Walker’s office: Vandercamp, Mahorn, Jesse, and the mayor. They had at least one thing in common. None of them was happy to be there.

  “Gentlemen,” Connie Walker said, “please sit.”

  She sat, but none of the men did. No one was going to risk showing weakness.

  “Let’s get this over with. The less time I have to spend in a room with him,” Vandercamp said, pointing at Mahorn, “the better.”

  “Don’t think I enjoy breathing the same air as you, you hateful racist son of a bitch.”

  “Temper, temper, Reverend Sam,” Vandercamp said. “Your people have such trouble controlling their emotions. Got my boy killed.”

  Connie Walker got that sick look on her face again. She looked over to Jesse to do something, but Jesse was his usual cool, unreadable self.

  “My people!” Mahorn said.

  Vandercamp’s unblinking cruel eyes were focused on Reverend Sam, his mouth shaped into what passed for a smile. He brushed his fingers across the skin of his cheek, rubbed his fingers together as if they were dirty, and wiped them off on the thigh of his pants. “Your people. You know what I mean.”

  Mahorn laughed at Vandercamp. “You think you’re gonna incite me, you half-wit cracker fool.”

  Vandercamp was no longer smiling. He turned to walk out of the office, but Jesse stepped in front of him.

  “You’re not going anywhere, not yet. Neither one of you is.”

  “Get out of my way, Chief Stone,” Vandercamp said.

  “Or what?” Jesse didn’t move.

  Vandercamp didn’t like that but said nothing.

  “Listen to me, both of you,” Jesse said. “I don’t care about your agendas, either one of you. The people out there can do what you just did in here. But someone, anyone, throws a punch, commits an act of violence or vandalism and I’m going to hold you as responsible as the person who did it. And if you think I’m kidding, try me. This is a small town, so people are going to cross paths. You both go back out there and say what you have to say to save face, but make it clear.”

  “We don’t believe in violence,” Reverend Sam said, moving toward the door.

  Vandercamp said, “We won’t distract from my son’s execution by doing anything but demanding justice and rightful retribution.”

  Jesse opened the door, let them out, and then shut the door behind them.

  “Do you think that will do any good, Jesse?” Connie asked.

  “In the long run, probably not. But if it buys us some time until the preliminary investigation is done . . .”

  “For now, I guess it’s one day at a time.”

  One day at a time. That was a phrase Jesse had been hearing a lot lately. But with the way things were in town, he probably wasn’t going to hear it that night.

  52

  When Monty Bernstein walked into his office, Jesse was happy for the distraction. That was right up until Monty said, “You look like you could use a drink.”

  “No drinking, not anymore.”

  “You serious?”

  Unconvinced, Monty walked around to Jesse’s side of the desk and tugged on the handle of Jesse’s bottle drawer. Jesse didn’t stop him.

  “Holy shit! You are serious.”

  “What are you doing here, Monty? You know your being here won’t play well.”

  “Right now, Jesse, the only way they could play worse was if there was HD video and full sound of Alisha shooting Vandercamp. I can hear the prosecutor’s opening remarks, because they would be mine.” The lawyer stood in front of Jesse as if in front of the jury. He held up his right thumb. “One, Officer Davis was inexperienced and was hired against the objections of many of Paradise’s elected officials.” Index finger. “Two, she lost her cool several weeks before the shooting during a confrontation with bikers when she was called the n-word. She was so irrational during that incident that when fellow officers showed up at the scene, she was insubordinate.” Middle finger. “Only days before the tragic shooting of John Vandercamp, there was a vicious assault on an African American woman in a neighboring town. This now deceased woman was involved in an interracial relationship, as is Officer Davis. This, combined with a cross-burning on the lawn of an interracial couple in Paradise, heightened Officer Davis’s already hypersensitivity to racial issues.” Ring finger. “And when the victims of the cross-burning asked that it be reported as simple vandalism instead of a hate crime in order to shield their young children from publicity, Officer Davis was furious and protested to her chief.” Pinkie. “So that when the one person of interest in the cross-burning, John Vandercamp, appeared in front of Officer Davis, who, the evidence will show, was legally intoxicated at the time . . . I think you get the picture.”

  “You left out the racist leaflets,” Jesse said.

  “Those cut both ways. As a defense lawyer, I could use them to tie the kid to the father and make him look less sympathetic. A smart prosecutor would avoid them until he or she is forced to deal with them.”

  “Good point.” Jesse looked at the clock. “Buy you breakfast or an early lunch?”

  “Not today. Me being in here with you is one thing.” Monty headed for the office door. “The two of us being seen together out there, that’s something else. Good luck with the drinking. I mean—”

  “I know what you mean, Monty.”

  53

  Daisy’s was even busier than it had been the day before. Jesse made sure to give his best fish-eyed stare to anyone who remotely resembled a member of the media. A few of them seemed on the verge of approaching him and then thought better of it. Cole gave Jesse a wave and a smile, which he took to be continuing progress. Chinese proverbs aside, Jesse still couldn’t figure out why it mattered.

  Daisy wasn’t as enthusiastic about Jesse’s presence. To say she didn’t hide her feelings was an understatement. Before Jesse could order, she said, “You didn’t find a place for him to stay, did you? Look, Jesse, I know this is a mess with Alisha and all, but I go
t a business to run.”

  “I’ll take care of it right now,” he said. “Can I borrow him for five minutes?”

  “If you’re taking care of it, sure thing. What do you want to eat?”

  “Let’s wait on that. If this doesn’t work, you might poison my food.”

  “Don’t give me any ideas, Jesse.”

  Jesse motioned for Cole to follow him into the alley. Cole looked at Daisy and she waved for him to go.

  “What?” Cole asked. “I’ve got to get back in there.”

  “You can’t sleep here anymore. It’s interfering with Daisy’s operations.”

  Cole sneered at Jesse. “So this is where you tell me to get out of town?”

  “This is where I tell you you can come stay with me . . . temporarily.”

  “No way.”

  “Way I see it, you don’t have much choice.”

  “There’s always a choice.”

  “That’s true,” Jesse said. “You can blow whatever money you saved so far in two nights at the hotel or one night at a B-and-B, but they won’t have room now, with the controversy in town. Or you can split and screw the person who gave you a job and who needs you. Or you can swallow your pride and take my spare bedroom until things settle out. I’ll charge you, if that makes you feel better.”

  “Let me think about it.”

  “You don’t have time to think about it.”

  Cole was shaking his head, though what he said was “Okay. Okay. I’m doing this for Daisy. I don’t abandon people.”

  “I didn’t think you were doing it for me.

  “I’ll write the address down and I’ll call ahead so you can get in. It’s about a ten-minute walk from here. You want to go back to work, go ahead.”

  Cole Slayton held his ground, a puzzled look on his face. “You don’t know me and you don’t owe me anything. Why would you trust me in your house?”

  “Because I know you’re not stupid. But even if you were dumb enough to steal from me, there aren’t many things that mean that much to me.”