Amber watched the shapes move on the silent screen. She knew Esteban was talking to someone, and she could hear the words he said, but the words weren’t real. What was real were the endlessly fascinating shapes.
“When I get the dough, I’ll ship the package,” Esteban said.
Amber took in some smoke and held it for a time before she eased it out. The colors on the huge television were very bright and had a kind of inviting density to them. She’d never realized quite how inviting they were.
“Sure it’s a lot, man, but I can’t just stick it on a plane, you know? I mean, it’s gotta be driven down there. And somebody gotta go along with it, you know? I mean, it ain’t gonna want to go at all, man. I gotta see to it that it does.”
Amber took another toke. The movement and the colors tended to blend into something. She didn’t know what. But it made her feel religious.
“Yeah, man,” Esteban said. “You call me when you see the news about Momma. We’ll arrange the other delivery.”
He shut the cell phone off and came to the couch.
“You believe in God, Esteban?” Amber said.
She offered him her half-smoked joint.
“Sure, baby,” Esteban said, “long as he believes in me.”
“You believe in the devil?”
“Baby,” Esteban said. “I am the devil.”
Amber giggled. Esteban took a toke and passed the nearly burned-out roach to Amber. She finished it.
“I like to drink wine when we smoke a joint.”
Amber was watching the colors. She didn’t move. Esteban gave her a smart slap on the side of her butt.
“You gonna get us some wine?” he said.
Amber stood up.
“You don’t have to hit so hard,” Amber said.
“Told you, baby, I’m the devil.”
She giggled happily and went to the refrigerator, and came back with a jug of white wine. She put out two unmatched water glasses and filled each one with the jug wine. There were four more joints rolled and lying beside a box of kitchen matches on the wooden crate that served as a side table. Esteban drank some wine and lit another joint.
“You talking to my daddy?” Amber said.
“Yeah, we was arranging the payoff for putting Momma down.”
“Bye-bye, Momma,” Amber said, and giggled.
“Bye-bye,” Esteban murmured, and sucked in a big lungful of smoke. As it drifted slowly out of his lungs he murmured again, “Bye-bye.”
35.
Jenn came into Jesse’s office in the late afternoon.
“You look tired,” Jenn said to him.
“Up most of the night,” Jesse said. “I got a couple hours’ sleep in one of the cells in the back.”
Whenever he saw her, Jesse felt like jumping up and wagging his tail. He always wanted to tell Jenn how beautiful she was and how much he loved her and how nothing she could do or say would shake him on that. And the strain of not doing that, which both he and Dix had agreed was in his best interest, was very burdensome.
“So what can you tell me about this murder,” she said.
“On the record?”
Jenn paused for a minute, then she sighed a little.
“I hate when you ask me that,” she said.
“I hate that I have to ask it,” Jesse said.
Jenn nodded.
“But you do,” she said. “I’m in my professional reporter costume, so, yes, we’re on the record.”
Jesse nodded.
“The body was discovered by Officer Luther Simpson….” Jesse said.
“That’s Suit’s real name?” Jenn said.
“Yep,” Jesse said, “on routine patrol at approximately two a.m. this morning, on the front lawn of the Crowne estate on Paradise Neck. The victim has been identified as Fiona Francisco, who was a resident of Eleven Sewall Street in Paradise. While she lived there she was using the name Frances Franklin.”
“Why the alias?” Jenn said.
“We don’t know yet.”
“How long she live there?”
“We’re checking that. I’m guessing two, three years.”
“Cause of death?”
“ME says two twenty-two-caliber bullets in the back of the head at close range.”
“Was she killed at the Crowne estate?”
“At or close,” Jesse said. “She bled a lot on the grass where they put her.”
“Do you see any connection to the Crown estate school project, which drew protesters when it began?” Jenn said.
“None so far,” Jesse said.
“Next of kin?”
“She has a daughter, Amber Francisco,” Jesse said, “who called herself Alice Franklin while she lived here.”
“Where are they from?”
“Don’t know yet,” Jesse said.
“Any leads?”
“Not yet.”
“Any suspects?” Jenn said.
“Not yet.”
“Can we do a stand-up on camera?” Jenn said.
“Nope.”
“Oh, poo, Jesse,” Jenn said. “Why not?”
“I don’t ever recall getting in trouble by not talking,” Jesse said. “Especially on camera.”
She smiled.
“What about my career,” she said.
Jesse sucked in his cheeks a little and did a bad impression of Clark Gable.
“Frankly, my dear,” Jesse said, “I don’t give a damn.”
“I know,” Jenn said.
They were quiet. Jesse was always puzzled by the fact that despite all her talkative charm and bubble, Jenn never revealed much of what she was thinking…. No, Jesse thought, of what she was feeling.
“You know,” Jesse said. “That’s not true. I went for the easy joke. But it’s not true.”
“You do give a damn about my career?” she said.
“Yes,” Jesse said. “There’s self-interest in it. But if we are ever going to make it together, you have to be fully you.”
“What did you say?”
“We can’t…” He couldn’t think exactly how to say it. “You can’t care enough about me until you can care enough about you.”
She stared at him in silence for what seemed to him a long time.
Finally she said, “I…I don’t…I am very happy that you know that.”
Jesse nodded.
“Give Dix the credit.”
Jenn smiled.
“I already did,” she said. “Is there anything off the record that you can tell me.”
“Aha,” Jesse said. “Putting it to the test already.”
Jenn smiled again, and inclined her head.
“Well,” she said. “Is there?”
“A lot,” Jesse said.
Jenn took out a notebook, as Jesse started to talk.
When he was through she said, “So what’s the connection between Crow and the Francisco family, and the Crowne estate?’
“I don’t know,” Jesse said.
“But you think there is one?”
“Give me something to investigate,” Jesse said.
“What if it’s a false lead?” Jenn said.
“Maybe I’ll come across the real one in the process,” Jesse said.
“Better than doing nothing?”
“The daughter, Amber, has a boyfriend who’s a Hispanic gangster in Marshport,” Jesse said. “The Crowne estate is a place where small Hispanic children are bused in from Marshport, despite local opposition. Amber’s mother’s body is found on the front lawn of the Crowne estate.”
“Could be coincidence,” Jenn said.
“Could be,” Jesse said.
“But if I were on the story,” Jenn said, “and I didn’t follow up on the possible connection, they’d fire me.”
Jesse nodded.
“What I don’t get,” Jenn said, “is Crow.”
“Nobody entirely gets Crow,” Jesse said.
“But if he doesn’t want to kill the woman and return the girl, why doesn’t he just go away?” Jenn said. “It’s not like he hasn’t done worse.”
“Says he likes women.”
Jenn nodded.
“You believe him?”
“He let those hostages off the boat ten years ago,” Jesse said.
“And kept the money,” Jenn said.
“Which he didn’t have to split with anybody,” Jesse said.
“So maybe it’s just something he tells you,” Jenn said. “That he likes women.”