Jesse got there twenty minutes early, owing to the fact that the Little Armenia Café was located in the South End, less than a mile from Precious Pawn and Loan. He wanted to watch Arakel Sarkassian’s approach, see how he would react. There had been nothing about their phone conversation to make Jesse suspicious. Sarkassian had seemed reasonable, if slightly nervous, and had cooperated. In spite of the fact that Jesse had given Molly a perfectly rational explanation of why Chris Grimm might have the business card of a man in the Oriental rug trade in Boston, he wasn’t sure he believed it himself. He would know soon enough.
Sarkassian walked into the restaurant and was immediately greeted by the hostess and the owner. They shook hands as well as kissed on both cheeks. There were smiles all around, and real warmth among all three. Jesse guessed this was why he had been treated with such deference when he arrived and said he was here to have lunch with Arakel Sarkassian. He had turned down the offer of a complimentary glass of wine but had enjoyed the bread and various dips they had provided him with. The owner, a friendly man, seventy-five if a day, with a serious gray mustache, had spoken with Jesse for a moment.
“A shame about Arakel’s family business, no?” said the owner, almost as if thinking aloud. “They sold only top-notch merchandise, but these days... a shame, a shame. Well, I hope you enjoy the meal. I will send over something for you to eat while you wait.” It hadn’t been a question.
When Sarkassian came to the table, Jesse stood and they shook hands. It was difficult for Jesse not to notice the superior quality of Sarkassian’s navy blue, gray-pinstriped suit. Like Jerry’s at the pawnshop, Sarkassian’s white shirt was custom-made with French cuffs, his initials embroidered in black into the cuffs. His cuff links were gold, encrusted with blue sapphires. His tie was gold silk. He wore a Patek Philippe watch, a simple gold wedding band, and a diamond pinkie ring. Jesse couldn’t see his shoes in the low light, but he was sure they were handmade Italian. Even Vinnie Morris would have envied how Sarkassian was turned out. There was something else Jesse couldn’t fail to notice, the smell of vodka and of the mouthwash meant to hide it on the man’s breath.
Sarkassian made a gesture for Jesse to sit as if he owned the place. Now Jesse understood why Sarkassian had selected this restaurant. It was familiar ground, a comfortable place, an arena in which he thought he could control his lunch guest. That was fine with Jesse. He always believed it was a great advantage to be underestimated. Jesse reinforced Sarkassian’s comfort by letting him order for the both of them and carrying the conversation. Jesse didn’t bring up Chris Grimm or the business card until the coffee was served. But during the meal, he had asked about the restaurant owner’s commentary on Sarkassian’s failed business.
Sarkassian made a sad face, shook his head. “Tigran is old-school. He cannot imagine a world in which the traditional values are not kept. See the beautiful rugs on the wall.” Sarkassian pointed. “We, my brothers and I, we sold him these. They tie Tigran to the homeland. We must make allowances for the old.”
When Jesse had asked about what business the family was in now, Sarkassian’s answer was just like the rest of his presentation — reasonable. “Now we import and export more than rugs. Traditional food, musical instruments. Like that.”
Jesse left it there and Sarkassian seemed at ease with the subject. The same could not be said about the subject of Chris Grimm and the business card.
“Jesse, I have not any clue how the boy got hold of my business card,” Sarkassian said, rubbing his fingers nervously along the edge of the tablecloth.
“Uh-huh. And did you two ever do business together?” Jesse made sure to be less than specific about what type of business.
“Not really. What I mean to say is that the boy said he had come across some small Oriental rugs for which he needed an appraisal. I explained that my business was no longer in existence, but that for a fee I could look at his rugs and give him an accurate estimate of their value.”
“And you met?”
“Yes, here in this restaurant, as a matter of fact. He came, I looked at his two rugs and supplied him with a fair-market-value estimate. When I saw he was so young, I asked only that he pay for the meal as my fee.”
“Armenian rugs?”
“Persian. Good quality, but nothing very valuable, a few thousand dollars each.”
“Were you suspicious of a high school boy in possession of valuable pieces?”
“Looking back, I suppose I should have been.” Sarkassian shrugged. “But he was such a nice boy and polite... I did not think to suspect. I suppose I was foolish.”
Jesse stood, but when he reached for his wallet, Sarkassian clamped his hand over Jesse’s. “It would be an insult. It is my honor to pay.”
Jesse let him and then dropped a bomb of sorts on Sarkassian. “Thank you for the meal and your time. I’ve been a cop of one type or another for a very long time now, and there’s one thing I’m surprised at, Mr. Sarkassian.”
“And that is?”
“That you never asked about why the police are interested in Chris Grimm in the first place. And one more thing, Listerine works much better with vodka than the minty stuff.”
Jesse left before Sarkassian could react. As Jesse headed to his Explorer, he failed to notice the two men in the white van parked across the street from the Little Armenia Café.
Thirty-nine
Bill met Jesse at the Starbucks near the old Episcopal church, where they used to go for coffee after the AA meetings. Far from the eyes of Paradise’s citizens, those were the first meetings Jesse had ever attended, and Bill befriended Jesse early on. Bill’s encouragement really helped Jesse get through those early sessions and helped him buy into the plan. Not everyone has to buy into it like it is the gospel truth, Bill had told him, but Bill had also warned Jesse that too much doubt and straying too far from the twelve steps was also a route back to drinking. So when Jesse picked a sponsor, he chose Bill.
“You okay, Jesse?” Bill asked after they’d said their hellos and settled into their favorite table by the window.
“You could see the church from Diana’s apartment windows,” Jesse said, referring to his murdered fiancée. He smiled sadly. “That’s why I picked the church for my first meetings, to feel close to her.”
“Still miss her?”
“Every day.”
“Seeing anyone?”
Jesse told Bill about Maryglenn.
“Serious?”
Jesse shrugged. “I’m not sure what that means, Bill.”
Bill knew it was time to change the subject. “How about your boy?”
That chased away Diana’s ghost and questions about Maryglenn for the time being and changed Jesse’s mood. Jesse could feel himself smiling and his chest jutting out.
“He’s going to be a Statie. Applied without me knowing about it. He’s going into the academy next month.”
Bill reached over and shook Jesse’s hand hard. They held on to each other’s hand a beat longer than usual.
“Bet you felt like having a double Johnny Black when you heard that news.”
“You know it.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I did not,” Jesse said.
“So, Jesse, not for nothing, but I’m not sure you couldn’t have told me all this good news over the phone.”
“I was going to be in town today anyway, and I could use your expertise.”