“And her first name is?” Jesse said.
“Ah.” The concierge tapped the computer built into her desktop.
“Brianna, Brianna Lincoln.”
“Thank you,” Jesse said.
“We’ll go up.”
“I can call up for you, sir.”
“No need,” Jesse said as he and Simpson walked to the
elevators.
When they got to the penthouse floor, the elevator opened into a
small foyer furnished with a tan leather wing chair and a Chinese red-lacquered end table. Anthony and Brianna Lincoln were waiting for them at their door.
“Chief Stone?” Anthony said.
“The concierge called ahead.”
“I’m
Jesse Stone,” Jesse said. “This is Luther Simpson, may we come
in?”
“Of course,” Anthony said. “Tony
Lincoln, this is my wife,
Brianna.”
The room was spectacular, Jesse thought. Glassed in on three sides, it overlooked the beach, the ocean, and the stretch of hard coast, where expensive houses had been built among the rocks. There was a vast white rug, blond furniture, and cream-colored full-length drapes that looked as if one could close them if one tired of the view. Everything matches, Jesse thought.
Everything is clean and exact and just right, and it looks like
nobody lives here. Simpson looked around uneasily.
“We’ll need to talk,” Jesse
said. “This all right?”
“Of course,”
Brianna said. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Sure,” Jesse said.
“Cream and sugar. Suit?” Simpson shook his head. He was still
standing. “No coffee for me,” he said. Brianna smiled and went to
the kitchen. “Why don’t you sit there, Suit,” Jesse said, “by the
door.” Tony Lincoln was slim and tall. His hair was combed back in
a neat wave, parted on the left side, and so blond that it was almost white. He had a deep tan which, Jesse thought, meant either winter vacation or tanning lamp. It balanced well with his pale hair. His eyes were very blue and his movements were alert and graceful.
“What did you call him?” Anthony said.
Brianna returned from the kitchen.
“Coffee is brewing,” she said.
Jesse nodded and smiled at her. Then he answered Tony’s
question.
“Suit,” Jesse said. “Short for
Suitcase.”
“Harry ‘Suitcase’
Simpson,” Anthony said. “The baseball player.”
“Exactly,” Jesse said.
Tony not only knew baseball, Jesse thought, he’d remembered
Suit’s last name.
“Tony remembers every baseball player that ever lived,” Brianna
said. “And most other things, too.”
Brianna was as slim as her husband and nearly as tall, with thick black hair worn short. She was as tan as Anthony, and carefully made up. Her mouth was wide and her dark eyes were very big. She was barefooted in faded jeans and a scoop-necked white T-shirt. Her husband was wearing gray suede loafers with no socks, satin sweatpants, and a V-necked black cashmere sweater. The sleeves of the sweater were pushed up over his forearms. He smiled.
