dragged off her ankle and took a shoe with it?”
“So, the weight and the rope should be in the water around here.”
“It should,” Jesse said.
Chapter Eight
Jesse could hear the music from beyond the curve. As he came around the curve he could barely squeeze his own car between the cars parked on both sides of the street. He could see the blue light revolving on the roof of Arthur Angstrom’s cruiser parked in the driveway of a big, sprawling Victorian house that sat at the top of a rolling lawn. Angstrom stood beside the cruiser talking to a short man with a dark tan. The man was partially bald. His remaining hair was gray and hung to his shoulders.
“You’re Chief Stone?” the man said.
“Yes.”
“I’m Norman Shaw.”
“I know.”
Shaw looked gratified. “Good,” he said. “Your officer here appears to think there’s a crime being committed here.”
Shaw’s eyes were bloodshot, and beneath the tan on his face was a web of broken veins. He was wearing shorts and a white oxford shirt with the tails out. His legs were tan and skinny and nearly hairless. He wasn’t fat, but he had an assertive belly that pushed against the shirt.
“Actually he’s not my officer,” Jesse said. “He’s yours. He works for the town.”
“Casuistry aside,” Shaw said, “I like to talk with the man in charge.”
“That would be me,” Jesse said.
“Young for the job,” Shaw said.
“I’m aging fast, though.”
“Well, I am sure you’re old enough to explain to this officer…”
“Angstrom,” Jesse said. “Officer Angstrom.”
“I’m sure you can explain to him that Party Patrol is not the best use a policeman can make of his time.”
“You had a complaint?” Jesse said to Arthur.
“Noise,” Angstrom said. “Obstructing access. Drunk and disorderly. Public lewdness. Littering. Urinating on a private lawn.”
“Punishable by death?” Shaw said. “It’s a party, for God’s sake. The Lieutenant Governor is here. Michael DeSisto came all the way from Stockbridge. There are state reps. A congressman. My attorney. Do I have to get my attorney down here?”
“Chills run up and down my spine,” Jesse said. “You’ll have to move some cars.” He turned to Angstrom. “You got the names of the complainants?”
“Yep.”
“Will they point out the culprits?”
“They say so.”
“Move cars?” Shaw said. “You expect me to go from person to person asking if they own the fucking blue Mercedes or the black Saab?”
“Yes.”
“And take all the juice right out of the party?”
“That’s not a bad thing,” Jesse said.
“Well, I’m not doing it.”
Jesse shrugged. “Call Frankie’s Tow,” he said to Arthur. “Have them start hooking up.”
“Tow?”
“Yep.”
“You can’t tow all these cars.”
Jesse ignored him. “Then get John Maguire out here, and Peter Perkins. They’re on shift. Have John supervise the towing. You and Peter get the complainants over here and start arresting the guests.”
“For what?”
“Noise,” Jesse said. “Obstructing access. Drunk and disorderly. Public lewdness. Littering. Urinating on a private lawn.”
“You are going to get yourself in serious trouble,” Shaw said.
His face was flushed under the tan, and he was breathing harshly. “You have no idea what kind of guest list is here.”
“Gee, maybe we’ll make the papers,” Jesse said.
