Robert B. Parker's Colorblind Read online

  “Should I ask why?”

  “No,” Jesse said, flipping his car keys to Suit.

  Suit handed Jesse the keys to his Dodge. They shook hands. He watched Suit pull away in the Explorer. Jesse used to love the idea of heading home, used to daydream about it, because he knew his Ozzie Smith poster, his Johnnie Walker, and his drinking rituals were there waiting for him. Now the only things there were Ozzie, forever frozen in midair, and Jesse’s empty, neatly made bed. Even if he never drank again, there were things he was going to miss about it.

  26

  Jesse parked Suit’s pickup down the block and across the street from the big Victorian house on Bald Hill in Swan Harbor. There wasn’t anything about either the house, lovely as it was, or Bald Hill that held any particular attraction for Jesse. He was there because the two trucks parked in front of the grand Victorian bore the name GARRISON’S LAWN AND LANDSCAPING, the company Miguel Cabrera had been working for when he was approached by the soldier.

  Jesse watched as six men performed like a well-coached team. Three of the men were blowing leaves onto a huge blue plastic tarp, then hauling the leaf-laden tarp over to a huge vacuum attached to one of the trucks and then sucking the leaves into the rear of the truck. A fourth man was riding a mower and cutting the grass that was now uncovered by leaves. Two other men worked at edging the lawn and pruning the hedges. All of the men would have fit Miguel Cabrera’s general description: short, black-haired, with brown and prematurely wizened faces. Jesse knew that many of these men had stories to tell that were not unlike Miguel’s, though not all were as dramatic, and not all of these men were here illegally. Some were, maybe even most, but Jesse wasn’t here to play immigration agent. He was here to see if the soldier might reappear.

  It was after noon and this was his third stop in Swan Harbor. He had watched two other Garrison crews do their work, take breaks, and get back to it. All the crews, with one or two exceptions, were like the men he was currently watching, doing their work with precision, barely exchanging a word and making no eye contact with passersby. They acted as if they wished they could be invisible. In some ways, Jesse guessed they were. It was no different in Paradise or Salem: The men acted as if they couldn’t be seen and the people in town played along. There’d be no illegal immigration if only one side reaped the benefits.

  In another important way, this crew, now breaking for lunch, was like the other two Jesse had watched. Neither had been approached by the soldier. And as far as Jesse had been able to tell, he was nowhere in sight. Maybe, Jesse thought, the soldier hadn’t caught wind of what had happened last night with Miguel. Jesse dismissed the thought even as it occurred to him. No, the people behind the cross-burning and the fliers would be alert to the townspeople’s reaction. That was the whole idea, or at least part of it. Since there were no fliers to be found on any windshields in Paradise that morning, there would be no reaction. Jesse didn’t imagine that would make the SS very happy.

  At the moment, Jesse wasn’t very happy, either. There still hadn’t been any hits on the kid who’d purchased the kerosene and, according to Lundquist, the staties had made no progress on Felicity Wileford’s assault. Jesse had asked Peter Perkins to see if he could isolate any fingerprints on the fliers from Miguel’s abandoned shopping bag. The other fliers, the ones he and Suit had collected off the car windshields, had been tossed into the furnace at the station house. That’s where the others would go when Perkins was done.

  Jesse, a patient man, was about fresh out, and he was on the verge of exiting Suit’s pickup to talk to the landscaping crew when his cell buzzed in his pocket. The Paradise Hotel number came up.

  “Jesse Stone.”

  “Hey, Jesse, it’s Connor.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Listen, I hate to do this to you, but the kid’s got to vacate. The hotel owner’s coming into town tomorrow and the manager’s on the warpath. It’d be tough for me to explain—”

  “Understood, Connor. I appreciate what you’ve done. Pack his things up for him and leave them in your concierge room. I’ll come by later and collect them.”

  “Will do. What are you going to do with him?”

  Jesse laughed. “Good question. Thanks again.”

  It was a good question, but Jesse had bigger questions to deal with at the moment. He stepped out of the Dodge and strode up to three of the work crew eating their lunches on the sidewalk between the two trucks. They sensed Jesse wasn’t a curious neighbor there to ask about their rates. Even when Jesse made all the right noises and spoke in Spanish, none of them did more than nod. Jesse had to admit he looked like a cop, in or out of his PPD clothing. When he asked if any of the men knew Miguel Cabrera, they shook their heads and asked Jesse to please let them have their lunches in peace. One of them, the oldest of the men, seemed particularly upset at the mention of Miguel.

  Until that point, Jesse had resisted playing the heavy. He had no desire to cause them trouble, but there was stuff going on that needed to be stopped in its tracks, and if that meant he had to get tough, so be it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his chief’s shield. None of the men ran, though it was clear that at least two of them were fighting the urge to take off.

  “I’m not here to cause trouble,” he said, holding his one empty palm up. “I met Miguel last night in my town and he told me he was approached by a soldier. Have any of you seen this soldier?”

  The older man, the one most upset by the mention of Miguel, said in perfect English, “Your Spanish is very good for a Northerner, but please, leave us alone. We don’t need any trouble.”

  “I don’t want to give you any. Why don’t you give me two minutes over by my pickup and then you and your crew can eat in peace.”

  The older man stood, said something to the others, and followed behind Jesse to Suit’s Dodge.

  “I’m Roberto,” he said to Jesse. “I’m the crew chief.”

  “Did Miguel work on your crew?”

  But before Roberto could answer, a GMC Denali with a light bar on the roof and SWAN HARBOR POLICE written across its doors pulled up. Screeching to a stop right behind it was an extended-bed Escalade. Jesse didn’t know the red-faced guy who hopped out of the Escalade, but he recognized the man who got out of the Denali. It was Bradley Forster, the Swan Harbor chief of police.

  27

  The bald man stared across his desk at the soldier. He wasn’t saying anything. He didn’t have to. The condemnation was writ large in his intense gray eyes, in the folds of his fleshy face, and amplified by the drumming of his fingers on the desktop. The soldier, as was his wont, stood at ease, eyes focused on the past, remembering the ruined bodies of his buddies. The images came back to him without warning, and with them the haunting thought that pieces of their bodies would be forever lost to the soil of a strange and distant land. Pieces of him, too. Invisible pieces that no one but him knew were missing.

  Finally, the man behind the desk spoke. “Don’t misunderstand me, son. I appreciate the irony of having an illegal do our work for us. I truly do.”

  “I did it to insulate us, sir, not for the irony.”

  “Am I hearing things? Did someone in this room give you permission? Did I ask you to speak?”

  “No, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  “As I was saying, I can appreciate the irony of it, and I understand that if the beaner got caught, there wasn’t anything he could tell the authorities about us, but it was shortsighted, son.”

  “Permission to speak, sir.”

  “Go on.”

  “How was it shortsighted, sir? The man I chose could neither read nor speak English. All he saw was the money. If he got caught, it would be a dead end, sir.”

  The fleshy man laughed, shook his head, and stood up from his chair. “The difference between us, son, is that we both want to save this country and we both want to bring down the forces that would stain it and make
it unrecognizable, but I understand our enemies. I hate them as you hate them, but I am not blind to them. You’re a tactical thinker. I’m a strategic one.”

  “Pardon me, sir, but—”

  “You thought that the Mexican’s lack of English would protect us, but did you stop to think that many of our own people have betrayed us by stooping to learn their language? No, you didn’t, did you? Apparently, Chief Stone is quite proficient in Spanish.”

  “Even so, sir, what could he possibly tell the police that would be of any value?”

  That set the gray-eyed man off. “He could tell them about you, you idiot!”

  “I’m nobody, sir.”

  “Were that only true, but, God help me, it is not. I need you. The movement needs you and you put yourself at risk. Don’t you understand that Paradise is the perfect place for us to knock down the first domino, for the first shot of our revolution to be fired? It’s our Lexington. It’s a town near the place that began this country on the way to its greatness. We have scouted it for a year. We have members, true believers in place to help us, help you light the fuse that will blow the lid off all the anger and desperation to return this country to what it was meant to be. You have heard of Plymouth Rock and Lexington?”

  “Yes, sir,” the soldier answered, not wanting to point out that the pilgrims on board the Mayflower were themselves immigrants and that one of the men killed during the Lexington Massacre was black. The soldier didn’t think he’d bother bringing either thing up just then, irony be damned. No one knew the Colonel’s moods or the price of his wrath better than the soldier.

  “It’s also a town in transition, a town being turned to mud by invaders. Sometimes, son, there is a confluence of perfect places, perfect situations, and perfect moments in time. This is one, and we dare not miss our opportunity. You never know when we’ll come across it again.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Is everything in place?”

  “Yes, sir, but—”

  The Colonel’s face turned red. “But what?” he shouted. “Are you going to start in on that again? Because I’m not going to hear it. Haven’t you ever had to make sacrifices in war?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve seen a lot of sacrifice in war, but—”

  “There’s that word again. Do you know about Coventry, son?”

  “Coventry, sir?”

  “It’s a city in England, and during W W Two, Churchill’s codebreakers discovered that it was to be bombed. Churchill had a decision to make. He could evacuate the city and ambush the attacking German bombers with RAF Spitfires or he could let Coventry go unprepared, unwarned, thereby allowing German bombers to do their worst. Do you know what choice he made?” The Colonel didn’t wait for an answer. “He let Coventry get the shit bombed out of it because he couldn’t risk the Germans finding out that his people had broken the German code. Do you see my point?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yes, sir, indeed. If Churchill could sacrifice an entire city in order to win the war, then how can we not be willing to do the same, and at such a small price? Don’t you agree, son?”

  No! “Yes, sir.”

  “Go back to Paradise and await my instructions.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The soldier had taken two strides toward the back door when the Colonel called after him.

  “Remember, son, Coventry. Coventry.”

  28

  Chief Forster, in his crisp brown uniform, perfectly shined black shoes, and trooper-style hat, walked up to Jesse with his right hand extended.

  “Chief Stone, good to see you in our fair town.”

  Jesse shook his hand. “Good to be here, Brad.”

  Jesse didn’t necessarily dislike Forster. He just didn’t think much of him as a cop. He was more a politician than a policeman. That was okay most of the time. Swan Harbor wasn’t exactly crime central, and the citizens liked having a man who looked like a Macy’s window mannequin as their top cop. It suited the town’s image. Problem was that when real crime reared its head, Forster was about as effective as a mannequin. That’s why it had always wound up in Healy’s lap, and now Lundquist’s.

  “Anything I can help you with?” Forster asked.

  “Not really.” Jesse shrugged, keeping his eyes on the man who’d gotten out of the cream-colored Escalade. “Is that Mr. Garrison there?”

  “That’s right,” said the red-faced man, his voice less than friendly. “What are you doing cutting into my men’s work? I’ve got a business to run.”

  Garrison looked the part. He may have been driving a Cadillac, but he was dressed much like his men: company sweatshirt, jeans, and boots. His was a weathered face, wind-chapped and sun-scarred. The deep smile lines around his mouth and eyes were misnamed. He didn’t seem to Jesse the type of man to smile at anything.

  “Take it easy, Jim,” Chief Forster said, playing the politician. “I’m sure Chief Stone meant no harm.”

  “That’s right,” Jesse said. “I wasn’t cutting into anybody’s work. They were having lunch and I just wanted to ask a few questions.”

  That got a rise out of Forster’s right eyebrow. “Questions? Questions about what?”

  Garrison chimed in. “Yeah, about what? My men got a right to eat in peace and get back to work.”

  The way Garrison said that last part was clearly a message to Roberto. Roberto received it loud and clear and walked away from the pickup. A few seconds later, the whine of leaf blowers and the roar of the mower broke the relative quiet of the street. Lunchtime was over.

  “I caught one of Mr. Garrison’s men breaking the law in Paradise last night,” Jesse said above the din.

  “Well, that’s between you and Miguel,” Garrison said.

  Jesse smiled. “I didn’t mention his name.”

  “He didn’t show up to work this morning, Stone. Don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out which one of my men you were talking about. Besides, I’m not responsible for my men after hours.”

  “Your men,” Jesse said. “You keep saying your men. I wonder if I asked Brad to check on your men, how many of them would have green cards?”

  That did it. Garrison’s red face turned a few shades brighter. Pushing past Forster, he got chest to chest with Jesse. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You got no jurisdiction in this town.”

  Jesse ignored him, looking over Garrison’s head at Chief Forster. “Brad, your friend here is getting awfully close to getting himself in trouble, one way or the other.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, ‘one way or the other’?” Garrison said, his voice almost loud enough to drown out the lawn equipment.

  Jesse turned his head down and smiled at Garrison.

  “Relax, relax,” Chief Forster said, working his way between the two men. “I’m sure Chief Stone meant nothing by it, Jim. Now step back, please, and let me handle this. I’d hate to have to arrest you for assaulting a law enforcement officer. Jim, step back!”

  Garrison stepped back and Chief Forster waved him farther away. Jesse was impressed. That was the most forceful thing he’d ever seen Forster do during his brief tenure in Swan Harbor. Now it was Jesse’s turn.

  “Look, Jesse, Jim’s a hothead and an ass, but don’t come into my town and threaten our local businessmen. What happened in Paradise, anyway, that was such a big deal that you had to come into town to bug these guys?”

  Jesse reached into his back pocket, pulled out one of the fliers, and handed it to Forster. “Given what just happened in your town, I think you can understand my concern.”

  Forster rubbed his smooth-shaven face. “I see.”

  “I caught one of Garrison’s men papering cars in Paradise with those late last night. The guy said a man who reminded him of a soldier paid him to do the work. I was just asking the crew if they had seen the soldier or if any of them had been approac
hed by him.”

  Forster looked over at Garrison, who was now far enough away to be out of earshot. “You think Garrison’s involved?”

  “I don’t know. You say he’s a hothead, so maybe that’s all his reaction is about.”

  “Maybe.” Chief Forster didn’t sound convinced. “Listen, let me do the asking after you split and I shoo Garrison away. Garrison will be happy to see you go, and I’ll call you later. Deal?”

  “Uh-huh. The guy I was speaking to was named Roberto, the oldest man in the crew.” Jesse pulled a photo out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Forster. “Ask him if this was the soldier.”

  Forster looked confused. “Wait a second. I recognize this guy. This is Randisi, Wileford’s boyfriend. He’s got a plastic arm, for crissakes!”

  “Doesn’t hurt to eliminate suspects,” Jesse said. “Humor me.”

  Jesse drove Suit’s pickup away. As he did, he used the truck’s mirrors to watch Chief Forster herd Garrison back into his Escalade.

  29

  Jesse drove straight over to the Paradise Hotel and picked up Cole’s things from the concierge, then headed to Daisy’s. Slayton almost smiled at Jesse when he walked in and took a seat. Daisy came over to him before the kid did.

  “He’s good, Jesse. I think I’ll keep him.”

  “Let’s see if he wants to be kept.”

  “You ever know a man who didn’t want to be kept?”

  Jesse laughed. “That’s a sentence I never expected to hear from you.”

  “You don’t have to be a dog to know dogs or to get fleas.”

  “Now, there’s the diplomatic Daisy we all know and love.”

  But instead of the crooked smile and wink he expected from Daisy, what he got was a worried expression. It looked as out of place on her as a beard.