he thought. The houses on Stiles were even bigger than the houses on Paradise Neck, but there was less variety. From the harbor, as Costa chugged past them, they looked nearly the same, with only an occasional variation in the color of the siding or the shingles. Past Stiles Island point, Costa turned the boat east and ran it straight toward the morning sun along the north shore of Stiles.
He used to bring a dog on board with him, but his wife had gotten the dog when she divorced him, along with almost everything but the boat. It was all right. He could get another dog. Get a purebred this time, a big dog, maybe one of those Dalmatians. He liked Dalmatians. He was planning to have one by now, but he couldn't bring a new dog on board for a deal like this. He'd get it when he went home. Get a male. Be a good watchdog for the boat.
Off the right side of the boat, he saw the cove, down past the seaside restaurant with its big picture windows, bright and blank with reflected sunlight. He throttled back to idle and let the boat drift awhile with the wind and the chop. There was no sign of activity.
Nothing was happening on the island. He looked at his watch.
10:10. Macklin was scheduled to have set up by now on the island, and Macklin was big for schedules. Costa smiled a little. Or he says he is, Costa thought.
FORTY-THREE.
Jesse drove up to talk with Harry Smith.
He brought Suitcase Simpson with him and Anthony De Angelo Both of them wore vests and carried shotguns. If Travis Randall was afraid of the Indian, Jesse would be too.
'Stand by in the car,' Jesse said.
'If I ' get scared, I'll holler.'
Walking up the stairs to the front door of condo 134, he could feel the muscles tighten across the back of his shoulders.
He'd seen some scary gang bangers in South Central L.A.' but there was something about the way Randall had talked about the Indian.
Mrs. Smith answered the door. Jesse was not in uniform, and she drew a blank at first. He showed her his shield.
'Jesse Stone,' he said.
'Paradise Police.'
Faye felt a stab of fear run the length of her gut.
'Oh, yes,' she said.
'Chief Stone. What brings you here?'
'Well I was hoping to talk with Mr. Smith. Is he home?'
What did he want? Why was he here? The thing on Stiles Island had already started. How could it be a coincidence? She had to make him talk. She had to know.
'No, I'm sorry. He's not, may I help you with something?'
Faye noticed that there were at least two more cops below in the cruiser.
'I don't know,' Jesse said.
'May I come in?'
'Of course.'
She stepped away from the door, and Jesse went into the apartment. The wall opposite was all glass and looked straight out onto Boston Harbor, with the Boston skyline across the water. The doorway to the bedroom was ajar, and Jesse noticed that the ceiling was mirrored. Atta girl, Mrs. Smith. She was a good-looking woman.
Nice body, looked strong.
'Coffee?' she said.
'Or something stronger? I suppose I shouldn't say that, should I? You being a policeman on duty and such She did the fluttery housewife thing pretty well, Jesse thought, but if you paid attention there were a lot of little details that suggested strength, not flutter.
'Nothing, thank you, Mrs. Smith. May I sit?'
'Of course. Please call me Rocky.'
'Short for?'
'Roxanne,' she said.
Jesse nodded. Faye marveled at how she'd pulled 'Roxanne' out of the air. What the hell would 'Rocky' be short for?
'Do you know anyone named Wilson Cromartie?' Jesse said.
'Wilson Cromartie, no. I can't say I do,' she said.
It was an easy lie for Faye because when he said the name, it didn't mean anything. Only as she was saying it over, did she realize that it was Crow.
'Maybe you don't know him by that name,' Jesse said.
'He's an American Indian. Says he's Apache, calls himself Crow.'
'I'm sorry, Chief Stone. I really don't know anyone like that.'
Jesse nodded again. He was pleasant and easy speaking. But Jimmy had said he was more than he seemed.
'How about anyone named James Macklin?' Jesse said.
Jesus Christ. Faye felt the thrill of fear jag through her intestines. How much does he know?
'I don't think so,' she said.
'You're not sure?'
'Yes, I'm sure. It's just that you meet so many people...'
'A maroon Chevy van registered to Wilson Cromartie was parked underneath this condo Sunday night, and three men, one of whom appeared to be an American Indian, came out of this condo and got into the van and drove away.'
He knows something's up, Faye thought. But he doesn't know what. If he knew what, he wouldn't waste time talking to me like this.
'They were here to see Harry,' she said.
'I don't think he knew them very well.'
'What were they here to see Harry about?'
'I don't know. They had some sort of business proposal. I believe Harry wasn't interested.'
'What's Harry's business?' Jesse said.
Mrs. Smith smiled.
'He always says he's like a strapless gown no visible means of support,' she said.
'I guess you'd say he was an entrepreneur. Real estate. Banking. Stocks and bonds. Buys a business, builds it up, sells it at a profit. I frankly don't pay a bunch of attention to my husband's businesses.'
'Wilson Cromartie is a career criminal,' Jesse said.
'He is? My God. I didn't spend any time with them, but he seemed perfectly nice when I let them in.'
'I thought you should know,' Jesse said.
'I'll tell Harry. Maybe he knows. Maybe that's why he wouldn't do business with them.'
Jesse sat quietly looking at her. Everything she said was plausible. And Jesse didn't believe any of it. Something was going on. But he had no basis to arrest her or search her home or do anything else but what he'd done. He took a card from his shirt pocket and handed it to Mrs. Smith.
'Please ask your husband to give me a call when he comes in,' Jesse said.
She put the card down, face up, on the glass-topped coffee table.
'Of course,' she said.
Jesse stood. She stood with him and walked with him to the door.
Driving out of the Navy Yard, Suitcase glanced at Jesse.
'Just the woman in there?'
Jesse nodded.
'So you didn't need us?'
'Nope, I was able to hold her at bay.'
They were quiet as they drove toward City Square. Jesse sat beside Suitcase. Anthony De Angelo sat in back.
'You happen to fuck her, Jesse?' Anthony said.
'Not this time,' Jesse said.
'Good to know there's someone,' Anthony said.
He and Suitcase chortled lengthily as the cruiser turned onto the ramp and headed north over the Tobin Bridge.
Jesse said, 'You guys have little interest in making sergeant, I assume.'
This made both of them chortle harder, as the cruiser headed back to Paradise.
FORTY-FOUR.
Nothing had happened to her, and maybe nothing would. Harry and the Indian had paid no more attention to her as she lay on the couch. Two other men came in.
Would they do something to her? The taller of the new men had a red ponytail;
the other one was smaller and had his black hair slicked into a duck tail My Godt a duck tail Both men looked at her curiously.
'Dessert?' JD said to Macklin, Marcy felt the terror again, rippling through her like an electric serpent.
'Leave her alone,' Macklin said.
'Shame to waste her,' JD said.
'You touch her, and you'll have to explain it to Crow after we're finished,' Macklin said.
JD looked at Crow. Crow glanced at him for a moment. JD made a motion that might have been a shrug or a shiver.
'She's safe with me,' JD said.
'She better be,' Macklin said.
'I'm going to ask her when we come back.'
Marcy felt the serpent again. They had come in here and pointed a gun at her and tied her up and gagged her, but she had already begun to see them as protectors. She didn't want them to leave her with these other men. She made a noise.
'You breathing okay?' Macklin said.
She nodded.
'Want to go to the bathroom?'
Marcy shook her head.
'You're scared of these guys,' Macklin said.
'No need. They won't touch you, will they Crow?'
'They won't,' Crow said.
Marcy could hear in his voice what the two men heard, and she realized they wouldn't dare cross him. She felt grateful to the Indian.
'Sit tight,' Macklin said to Fran and JD.
'Don't answer the phone unless it's me. Monitor the calls on the answering machine.
We'll be back in half an hour.'
Mr. Smith and the Indian went out the door and Marcy was alone with the two strange men. They both looked at her silently for a moment and then ignored her.
The Stiles Island Patrol was part of a security company called Citadel Security, which was run by a former Marine captain named Kurt Billups. Billups dressed his men like drill instructors complete with campaign hats tilted sharply down over their noses. There were no fat, aging rent-a-cops on the
