Death in Paradise

"That's the evidence I've developed," Kelly said.

"If there's something going on with young girls, it doesn't seem to be going on here."

"Not while we're looking," Kelly said.

"Which, between us, is most of the time."

"But not all," Kelly said.

"No."

They were silent. The heat pressed on them. The street was nearly empty. The metal exterior of the car was too hot to touch.

"You're putting a lot of time on this," Kelly said.

Jesse nodded.

A single yellow cab rolled by, going slowly, as if it were too hot to drive fast.

"I worked homicide for a while," Kelly said. "I always hated it when it was a kid."

"Yes."

They were quiet again. Kelly shrugged.

"Not every case gets solved," Kelly said. "You worked homicide for a while. You know that."

"I do," Jesse said.

They were quiet again.

"I'm up the street," Kelly said after a while. "You want to go see that nun, I can sit here and do nothing for a while."

"That would be good," Jesse said.

"You find out anything interesting, you'll let me know."

"I will," Jesse said.

Chapter Thirty-eight

The basement room was cool. There was an air conditioner in the window near the ceiling. Sister Mary John was wearing cutoff jeans and a tank top.

When Jesse came in, he said, "Jesse Stone."

"I remember," Sister said.

"You have something helpful? About Billie Bishop?"

"I don't know. Most of the girls that we have here come and go without a trace. We have a first name, or a nickname, and no last name, and no address. They are not required to tell us any more about themselves than they wish to. Our rules are simple. No drugs. No alcohol. No sex partners."

"Sex partners?"

Sister smiled.

"Some years ago one of the girls was using the shelter as a place to ply her trade. We ca

"And things changed, so in the interests of sexual equality…" Jesse said.

"You understand," Sister said.

"I do. We now call our people police officers."

"It is good to be current," Sister said.

"It is," Jesse said. "Billie Bishop?"

"Some of the girls, like Billie, when they depart, leave us a phone number or forwarding address. It occurred to me that if I went through our file of those, I might find a pattern."

Sister paused. Jesse waited.

"And I believe I have," Sister said.

"Sister, social worker, counselor, sleuth," Jesse said.

"A renaissance nun," Sister said. "There were, in the past five years, fifteen girls who left us a phone number or address. There was no correlation among the addresses, but in the last year two of them left the same phone number."

"Did they leave here at the same time?" Jesse said.

"No. They left about six months apart."

"Did they overlap?"

"You mean were they here at the same time? No."

"Did you call the number?"

"I did."

"And?"

"It is no longer in service."

"But you have written it down for me."

"Yes."

Sister handed Jesse a piece of blue-lined notepaper with a phone number written on it in a very smooth and graceful hand.

"In this area code?" Jesse said.

"Yes."

Jesse took the notepaper and folded it and tucked it into his right hip pocket.

"Can you find out who had that number?" Sister said.

"Yes."

"Do you think it will be helpful?"

"We'll see," Jesse said. "Do you have anything else?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry, Sister. You do good work."

"God's work," she said.

It was odd to hear her talk that way, Jesse thought. Even though he called her Sister, he didn't think of her, in her tank top and shorts and ornate Nike ru

"He's lucky to have you," Jesse said.

Chapter Thirty-nine

Across the table, through the candle flicker, Je

"You don't see that Abby person anymore, do you?" Je

She was wearing a short red-and-blue flowered dress with thin shoulder straps. When he had arrived at her condo, Jesse had noticed the amount of leg showing between the hem of the dress and the top of her high black boots.

"No," Jesse said. "Not socially."

"How about Marcy Campbell?"

On the table between them was a bottle of Riesling, a bottle of Merlot and a bottle of sparkling water. Jesse poured her some Riesling and himself some sparkling water.

"I see Marcy sometimes," Jesse said. "We're friends."

"Sex?" Je

"Do I ask you about your sex life?"

"Yes," Je

"And do you tell me about it?" Jesse said.

"I admit to one."

"Me, too," Jesse said.

The table was set with linen napkins and good china. Je

"You don't want to walk into the sunset with Marcy," Je

"No. We're friends. We sleep together sometimes. Neither of us wants to marry the other one."

"She came to see me after Stiles Island," Je

Jesse sliced some bread, took a piece, and ate it with some blue cheese. He sipped some sparkling water. With the good bread and the strong cheese, the sparkling water tasted thin.

"She likes you," Je

"What did you tell her?" Jesse said.

"That I didn't know."

"At least you're consistent," Jesse said.

"Anyone else in your life?" Je

"Woman who's a school principal in Swampscott."

"And of course you're sleeping with her, too."

Jesse nodded.

He felt the hot feeling he always felt with Je

"I like her," he said.

"Because you can fuck her?" Je

"No. The other way," Jesse said. "I can fuck her because I like her."

Je

"And you like her why?"

"She's smart," Jesse said. "She's good-looking, she seems nice, and she likes baseball."

"You know I date," Je

"Yes."

"I often sleep with my dates," Je

"I know," Jesse said.

Je

"And still," Je

"And where is that?"

"Between a rock and a hard place," Je

Jesse got up and went to the cupboard in Je

"So much for sparkling water," Je

"So much."

Jesse took a large swallow. He could feel it spread through him. His breathing seemed deeper. He could handle this.

"I meet men I like," Je

Jesse took another drink. Usually he had it with soda.

"Because?"

"On the surface it's because they turn out to be badly flawed. Drink too much, or selfish, or womanizers, or dishonest, or emotional cripples, or people for whom sex is entirely about them… something. And I have to break up with them."