office by off-duty firemen. A meeting room in the Paradise Town Hall had been converted to a press headquarters. Vans from the Boston television stations were parked in the public works lot behind the town hall, and almost every day a television reporter was doing a live report standing in front of the Paradise Police Station.
Police in Paradise are pressing their search today for the
killer or killers in a series of seemingly random murders that have terrorized this affluent North Shore community. In a news conference earlier today, Paradise Police Chief Jesse Stone said the full resources of his department, augmented by the Massachusetts State Police are being brought to bear on this investigation. But to this point the reign of terror continues.
Reporting live in Paradise, this is Katy Morton. Back to you, Larry.
That’s a tense situation up there, Katy.
Now to other news,
an heroic Siamese cat today …
Jesse shut off the television. With him in his office was a state police sergeant named Vargas.
“Jeez,” he said.
“Didn’t you want to know about that
cat?”
“I’ve got enough excitement in my
life,” Jesse said. “How many
people can you give me?”
“Captain says we’ll continue to help with the investigation, and
he wants to know what else you need. How many patrols you got out now?”
“Five cars, two shifts.”
“Ten people,” Vargas said. “How
many people you got on the
force?”
“Twelve,” Jesse said. “Including
me. Molly Crane covers the desk
days, and I stay here at night.”
“You’re swamped,” Vargas said.
“I’ll get some of our guys to
cover the night patrols. Captain says to tell you that we aren’t
taking this thing over. You’re still in charge of it.
I’m just
liaison.”
“You’ll need an office, and a
phone,” Jesse said. “You can set
up in the squad room.”
Molly came into the office without knocking. She was holding a business card. Her eyes looked heavy. She put the card on Jesse’s
desk.
“There’s a reporter from one of those national talk shows,”
Molly said. “Wants to interview you.”
“No,” Jesse said.
He didn’t look at the card. Molly smiled.
“He won’t like this,” Molly
said. “He’s kind of pleased that
he’s famous.”
“There’s a press briefing every
morning,” Jesse said. “Tell him
where and when.”
Molly nodded and went out.
“Press don’t like being
stonewalled,” Vargas
said.
“Who does.”
“They can say bad things about you,”
Vargas said.
“Who can’t,” Jesse said.
Vargas grinned.
“Don’t seem too media savvy,” he
said.
“My people are beginning to sag,” Jesse said. “How soon can we
get some patrol help?”
“Tonight,” Vargas said.
“Good,” Jesse said. “How close
is Healy to getting me a list of
people who’ve bought twenty-two firearms or ammo?”
“I’ll check,” Vargas said.
“Those records aren’t always
immaculate, and even if they were, people get guns from a lot of places.”
“I need whatever he’s got,”
Jesse said.
Molly stuck her head in the door again.
“Jenn,” she said, “on line one.
You want to take
it?”
Jesse nodded.
“Sit tight,” he said to Vargas.
“I’ll only be a
minute.”
He picked up the phone and punched line one and said,
“Hi.”
“Was that woman that got killed the one you used to date?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Jesse, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” Jesse said.
“What’s up?”
“My news director and I had a fabulous idea,” Jenn
said.
Jesse closed his eyes and put his head back against his chair.
“Every news outlet in the country is dying for some sort of
inside something on this,” Jenn said.
“I know.”
“We thought because of our, ah, connection, you know? We thought
I could come out with a cameraman and track the investigation. An inside look at the workings of a police manhunt. We would stay out of your way. And when you catch the guy we’d have a whole series
about it, and maybe a special, and maybe we could sell it to one of the national outlets …”
“No,” Jesse said.
“Oh, I know, Jesse. Believe me I know what an imposition it is.
But we’d stay out of the way, and, Jesse, it would mean so much to
my career.”
Jesse still had his eyes closed and his head back.
In a soft voice, he said, “No, Jenn,” and put the phone back in
its cradle.
37
Chuck Pennington was an architect. He had been an intercollegiate boxing champion at Harvard and still looked in shape.
He must have been pretty good, Jesse thought.
There’s not a mark on his face.
He had thick black hair brushed straight back. He wore a rust-colored tweed jacket and a blue oxford shirt. He sat with Jesse in the living room of the house he’d designed, with his wife
and daughter and a lawyer named Sheldon Resnick. Molly Crane sat near the door. Through the glass back wall of the living room Jesse could look a long way out over the Atlantic Ocean. Mrs. Pennington was speaking.
“We wanted to spare you this,” she said to her husband. “We know
how important your work is.”
“My daughter is more important than my work,” Pennington said.
“But we can put that aside for the moment and listen to Chief Stone.”
“You promised to keep my daughter’s name out of this,” Mrs.
Pennington said.
“I did what I promised your daughter I would do,” Jesse
said.
“You spoke to her without me?” Mrs.
Pennington
said.
“It seemed the only way I could,” Jesse said.
“Sheldon,” she said. “I want you
to make that clear to this
policeman that we will not tolerate scandal.”
“Mr. Stone has been nice to me,” Candace said.
“Candace, you be quiet,” Mrs. Pennington said.
“No, Margaret,” Pennington said.
“You are the one that has to be
quiet.”
“Chuck …”
“This didn’t happen to you,”
Pennington said. “It happened to
Candace. It matters what Candace wants.”
“My God, Chuck, she’s
…”
Resnick put his hand on Mrs. Pennington’s forearm.
“Chuck’s right, Margaret. Now is not the time.”
Mrs. Pennington opened her mouth, then closed it, and clamped her lips and sat back in her chair and folded her arms.
Pennington turned in his chair and looked at Jesse. He had very
pale blue eyes.
“I know the kind of pressure you must be under now,” he said.
“And I appreciate your taking the time for this.”
“Candace has always known who raped her,”
Jesse said. “But she
and I agreed that if she blew the whistle on them, uncorroborated, we might not get them, and her life in Paradise would be ruined.”
Pennington nodded.
“They were going to show my picture to everyone,” Candace
said.
Pennington nodded again. He showed no emotion, though Jesse noted that the knuckles on his clasped hands looked white.
“Now they probably won’t,” he
said.
He looked at Jesse.
“No,” Jesse said. “They
won’t. They’re scared.”
“Good,” Candace said.
Jesse nodded slowly.
“And they’re scared of you,”
Jesse said.
Candace looked at Jesse, then at her father, and then, more covertly, at her mother.
“Excellent,” she said.
“The law always talks about justice,”