"Two," I said. "Mustard and relish."
"Want to pay for it?" Hawk said.
"No."
Hawk nodded. "Irish are a thrifty lot," he said, and moved off toward the stand.
We had eaten our hot dogs and drunk our coffee and taken turns at the men's room in the beach house. An Explorer and a couple Volvo wagons had gone by. An unmarked police car with a whip antenna pulled into the parking lot and stopped behind us. The driver got out and walked toward the car. He was a young guy, medium-sized, built like a middleweight boxer, moved like an athlete. He wore a short revolver on his belt and handcuffs and a badge. He came to the car on my side.
"How you doing," he said.
I nodded to indicate we were doing fine.
"My name's Jesse Stone," he said. "I'm the chief here in Paradise."
He didn't look like a small-town cop. Something about the eyes and the way he walked.
"Nice to meet you," I said.
Behind his Oakleys, Hawk did not appear to be looking at Stone.
"You been sitting here since seven-thirty this morning," Stone said.
"Pretty good," I said. "You picked us up fast."
"We got a nice little department here," Stone said. "I don't wish to intrude, but what are you doing?"
"My name's Spenser," I said.
"I know. We already ran your plates."
"I'm trying to locate Sonny Karnofsky's daughter, Bonnie," I said. "There's a state cop named Healy can probably vouch for me."
"I know Healy," Stone said. "He still doing vice?"
"He never did vice," I said. "He's at One Thousand Ten Commonwealth. Homicide Commander."
Stone smiled slightly. "Why do you want Bonnie Karnofsky?"
"Long story," I said. "The short version is we think she's a witness in a murder investigation."
Stone nodded. "You want coffee?" he said.
"Sure," I said.
Without speaking, Hawk held up two fingers. Stone smiled again.
"Cream and sugar?"
"Both," I said.
"I'll be back in a couple minutes," Stone said.
He walked back to his car.
"He ain't no small-town shit-kicker," Hawk said.
"I know."
Stone reached into his car through the open side window, took out the radio mike, talked for a couple minutes, and put it back. Then he strolled toward the snack bar. While he was gone, five cars crossed the causeway, none of them registered to Sonny. In a few more minutes, he came back from the snack bar carrying three cups of coffee in a cardboard carrying tray. Balancing the coffee comfortably, Stone got in the backseat, sat, and distributed the coffee.
"Healy tell you I was everything a crime fighter should be?" I said.
"No. He said you'd probably do more good than harm."
"Ringing endorsement," Hawk said.
Stone nodded at Hawk. "He said you should be in jail."
"Nice of you to check," Hawk said.
With a pocket knife, Stone cut a little hole in the plastic lid of his coffee cup. He drank some coffee.
"Tell me the long story," Stone said.
I told him the story, editing out the shooting at Taft. He listened soundlessly. Three more cars passed us on the causeway. None of them Sonny's. When I was through, Stone stayed quiet for awhile, drinking his coffee.
"Sonny hasn't got her," he said finally.
"You know that," I said.
"Yeah."
"You know where she is?"
"No."
"How do you know she doesn't live with Sonny?" I said.
"Sonny's lived here awhile; we like to keep tabs on him."
"You've had him under surveillance?" I said.
"Yep."
"Has he spotted you?"
"Nope."
"How are you doing it?"
"One of his neighbors is a good sport," Stone said.
"You're in a house."
"Yep."
"You do camera surveillance?" I said.
"Yep."
"You have any pictures of Bonnie?"
Stone drank some more of his coffee. He seemed to like it. Another car went fruitlessly by on the causeway. Then he said, "Yep."
46
I was in Stone's office at the Paradise Police Station. Hawk was still at the causeway. On Stone's desk were four somewhat grainy black-and-white head-shot blowups of a middle-aged woman. They weren't great pictures, but Bonnie was fully recognizable in them.
"So how come you never found out where she lived?" I said.
"No reason."
"Did you get her license number when she visited?"
"Sonny always sent a car for her."
"And you never followed her?"
"I got a twelve-man force," Stone said. "The surveillance is voluntary. We're lucky to get him covered as much as we do."
I nodded. On top of a file cabinet there was an expensive and often used Rawlings baseball glove.
"Sonny's daughter would have been about sixteen when he bought the house."
Stone turned one of the head shots toward him and looked at it for a minute.
"That would make her, what, fifty-seven?" Stone said.
"Somebody must have known her."
"You'd think," Stone said.
"She go to school here?"
"Don't know," Stone said. "I can find out."
"And find out if anyone knew her?"
"Probably," Stone said.
"Without getting Sonny all worked up," I said.
"I got the impression Sonny was already worked up," Stone said.
"I don't want him to bury her where I'll never find her," I said.
"According to Healy, that would have to be pretty deep."
"Wow," I said. "He likes me."
"I wouldn't go that far," Stone said.
I shrugged. We were quiet for a moment, looking at the photos on the desk.
"You ever do business with the Bureau?" I said.
"FBI?" Stone said and smiled. "Yes."
"What do you think?"
"I think a lot of the agents could have used more street time."
I nodded.
"You've had some," I said.
"Yep."
"Where?"
"L.A."
"You know a homicide guy named Samuelson out there?"
"I know the name," Stone said. "I worked for Cronjager."
"Don't know him," I said.
I took out one of my cards. "You learn anything, let me know," I said.
Stone took my card and slid it under the corner of his desk blotter. Then he picked up the photographs and slid them into a manila envelope.
"Take these along," he said. "I got more."
"Thanks," I said.
"Be my pleasure to bag Sonny," Stone said. "I don't like him."
I started for the door. Stone followed me.
"You being alone," Stone said, "I'll tail along back to the causeway."
"How kind," I said.
"Sonny murders you in my town," Stone said, "it'll fuck my chances for a pay raise."
47
I was at the Hotel Meridian with Susan, at a fundraiser for Community Servings, which was, like me, a nonprofit to which Susan was devoted. Hawk was with us, leaning against the wall, monochromatic in black and no more noticeable than a machine-gun emplacement. I myself was everything the date of a prominent psychotherapist should be: unobtrusive in a dark blue suit, dark blue shirt, pale blue silk tie, and a pair of sapphire cufflinks that Susan had given me to celebrate my virility. Susan was amazing in red silk and painful shoes. There were hors d'ouevres in quantity, an open bar, and an ice-sculpture fountain from which flowed free and endless martinis. This seemed a great invention to me, and I felt privileged to have seen it.
The evening was called Life Savor and, in addition to Hawk, it drew a celebrity crowd. I spotted Oedipus, who was the program director for the big rock station in town and admitted to no other name. Will McDonough was there, and Bobby Orr, and Bill Poduska, the helicopter guy, and Fraser Lemley. I talked with Mike Barnicle and David Brudnoy. I was introduced to Jenifer Silverman, who assured me she was not related to Susan. I chatted with Chet Curtis. The Mayor came by, and a candidate for governor. Susan was on the board of this organization and raced around the room, greeting people and charming the ass off anyone lucky enough to be in her path. For a moment, that person was me.