to be killed…Maybe I been a cop too long…but maybe she did. If she did, who did the killing? Esteban? Why? And why take her to the Crowne estate. Did they kill her there? Kill her elsewhere and dump her there?
Jesse walked once more through the house, hoping it might tell him something. All it said to him was that it was an unpleasant place to live. He went out the front door and closed it behind him and got in his car. ’Course, Horn Street wasn’t a week in Acapulco, either.
He started the car and put it in gear and drove back toward the crime scene. The sky was starting to lighten. It was 4:58 on the dashboard clock. It would be daylight soon. Jesse knew it was too early to speculate. But he also knew it wasn’t often that somebody got killed for no reason, or got killed by a perfect stranger. Now and then it happened. Like Son of Sam in New York, or the pair that Jesse had put away a few years ago. But they weren’t common.
If a few more dumpy beer-drinking women with adolescent daughters get killed, Jesse thought, I’ll revise my position. But right now it’s got something to do with Louis Francisco, and Amber, and maybe Esteban Carty. And maybe something about the Crowne estate.
Or not.
34.
Amber was sitting cross-legged on the daybed, smoking a joint, while Esteban talked on his cell phone. They were alone in the garage with the huge television screen. The TV was on but silent. They both liked to smoke a joint and watch TV without sound.
“It’ll be in the Boston papers, man, you want to go online and see,” Esteban said.
He stood in the doorway with his back to Amber, looking down his alley.
“Yeah, I know you’ll pay. I still got the other package to deliver.”
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
