Roarke smiled. It reminded Jesse of a large dog baring its teeth.
“You only know what you think you know,” he said. “It’s why I’m frankly not quite sure why you’re here. What gave you the idea that I was going to get scared off by some small-town asshole ex-drunk of a cop?”
He drank whatever it was he was drinking. There was a bottle of Hennessy on a tray next to the desk. That had to be it. Jesse had never been a brandy guy, unless it was all that was handy.
“Because I need you to listen to what I know,” Jesse said, “whether I can prove it or not. And not to make too fine a point of things, but I must scare you, or you wouldn’t have come to Paradise and tried to cut a deal with me.”
“I’m listening. But make it fast. I’ve got a private plane to catch.”
He told Roarke that Marin should have been smart enough to be on the run himself, except he was never very smart. A friend of his had given him up by now for the fire set at Tony’s property. Tony had tracked down Marin at a strip club near Chinatown.
“Marin told Tony about the side game he and Sam Waterfield had going with scam calls of their own, and how you found out about it. Then how Marin went to my friend Charlie Farrell’s house after Charlie convinced him he was some feeble old man so scared of the IRS coming after him that he’d drawn out twenty thousand in cash. When Marin got there Charlie put a gun on him and Marin panicked and killed him. When you found out about all that, Waterfield and his wheelchair went into the ocean.”
“That’s some story. I just don’t happen to know anything about it.”
Jesse ignored him. “What I don’t understand is why Waterfield had to die and Marin got to live.” Jesse shrugged. “At least until tonight.”
“Maybe, since we’re just speaking hypothetically, I needed a fire-starter one last time. For old times’ sake, maybe?”
Roarke crossed his long legs.
“Not that it matters to you, Stone. But I had nothing to do with that old man dying. I never had anything to do with killing a cop in my life.” The bared-teeth smile again. “I mean, maybe until now.”
“But you set it all in motion, you son of a bitch.”
Roarke drank.
“I thought you said you came here to talk about Tayshawn, by the way.”
“That just got me in the door,” Jesse said. “You can never go wrong breaking the ice with sex.”
“Had a feeling this had to be about more than some missing queer.”
Jesse was still hopeful that he could goad Roarke into making a mistake, or an admission, that could actually be used against him. Jesse had palmed the micro-recorder he’d brought when they’d patted him down outside, then again when Dennis went through the drill. Now it was inside his jacket. If Roarke did say something stupid, the recorder would be even better than a Glock.
Roarke hadn’t done it yet. He really hadn’t told Jesse anything Jesse didn’t know when he walked through the door.
“You know what I really think, Roarke?” Jesse said. “I think that wherever you go on the fucking earth, I’m going to find you. I don’t know if the confession I’m going to get out of Marin will be enough to nail your ass, but I’m going to try like hell to make it so. Maybe even after you have run like the dog that you are.”
“And maybe when we’re done here,” Roarke said, “just thinking out loud, my guys could hold you down and pour a bottle of whiskey down your throat and you could have a tragic drunk-driving accident.”
Roarke drank again.
He let the threat linger in the air.
“Where’s Tayshawn?” Jesse said.
Roarke sighed. “Tayshawn got greedy and threatened to tell on us. Then, as far as I know, he chose to go on a long, unplanned vacation.” He paused. “Now are we done here?”
Jesse reached into his jacket, slowly, came out with a copy of Jack Carlisle’s phone records, the one Suit had printed out for him before he’d left Paradise.
“Just one more thing,” Jesse said. “For the life of me, what I can’t understand is why somebody using the More Chocolate Wi-Fi — again, the dumb bastard must have gotten careless — ghosted the phone of Hillary More’s son, and sent a text to another kid named Jack Carlisle, telling Jack to come meet him at the Bluff the night Jack died.”
Before Roarke could respond, they heard voices arguing outside the room, and then the door was opening.
“Boss,” Dennis said, “I didn’t know how to stop him without having to hurt him.”
Kevin More stepped in behind Dennis.
“Dad,” he said, “is it true what Mom said, that you burned down her fucking company?”
He noticed Jesse then.
“Wait,” Kevin More said. “What’s going on here?”
Jesse stared at the kid, processing what he’d just heard.
“Even more than I knew,” he finally said.
Eighty-Two
Roarke tried to remain calm. In command. Still the big boss, still in control of the room. But Jesse could see it was a struggle for him now with his son in the scene.
“You know you’re not supposed to interrupt business meetings,” Roarke said.
“I spoke with Mom,” Kevin said. “She told me you’re behind the fire. And that she told Chief Stone the same thing.”
“She’s lying, Kevin,” Roarke said.
Kevin barked out a harsh laugh. “Like she hasn’t been lying to people my whole life about who my father really is?”
In a quiet voice Roarke said, “You have no idea just how much your mother lied to herself about me. And about what.”
He’s got that right.
Jesse wondered when Hillary More knew about Roarke being gay. Or if she knew.
Or cared.
Kevin turned to Jesse now.
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Partially.”
“Not another goddamn word!” Roarke shouted at Jesse.
He jerked his head at Dennis and said, “Get this asshole out of my sight. Now.”
“You get the fuck out of here, Dennis,” Kevin said. “Now.”
As if he was the one in charge now.
As if he had the room.
Dennis looked at Roarke, who nodded, almost imperceptibly. Dennis said he’d be on the other side of the door if Roarke needed him.
Roarke was stuck. Jesse knew it. So did he. Dennis wasn’t going to come back in and put a gun on a cop, not in front of Roarke’s son.
Kevin was Roarke’s son.
There was a slight resemblance, but not one Jesse would have ever noticed. The boy was more his mother. Her dark hair. But Roarke’s blue, blue eyes. Tall, almost as tall as his old man.
“Before you walked in,” Jesse said to Kevin, “I had just asked your father if he happened to know why a text message had been sent from your phone to Jack Carlisle the night Jack died. A text sent off the More Chocolate Wi-Fi.”
“Now he’s lying,” Roarke said. “He’s just trying to turn you against me.”
To Roarke, Jesse said, “And why would I be looking to do that, having just now discovered that he’s your son?”
To Kevin he said, “Apparently, kid, everybody lies except your criminal of an old man. Go figure.”
Roarke started to get out of the chair. Stopped himself. Still in a very bad place.
This place.
“Kevin,” he said, “I don’t know anything about Wi-Fi or a text message or any of that.”
“I could tell you what was in the text,” Jesse said. “Whoever was impersonating you told Jack how much he loved him, and that the two of you needed to talk.”