Trouble in Paradise

"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 Stiles Island Patrol. All his men were trim and neat. Their pistol belts were polished. Their shoes gleamed. The khaki shirts had military creases in them. The red and white Ford sedans they drove were always clean. Like most of the patrol, Michael Deering and Dan Moncrief were Marine Corps veterans. Deering had been to the Gulf. Moncrief had spent his full enlistment in San Diego. Deering was driving, and both were drinking the first coffee of the day as they came over the hill on Sea Street with the morning sun warming the car.

They were on the seaward side of Stiles Island, at the point farthest from the bridge. There was a long section of Sea Street reserved as green space by the resort pla

Kids used it sometimes to drink beer and smoke pot. And people with dogs brought them here to let them run despite the Island leash law. This morning there was a maroon Chevy van skidded off the road, and a man lying in the street beside it. As Deering and Moncrief drove toward the scene, a man struggled out of the van and crouched beside the prone figure. Deering pulled over on the opposite side of the street, and he and Moncrief got out and walked across.

"What happened?" Deering said.

The man on the ground rolled over onto his back and shot Deering through the forehead. Moncrief didn't even get his hand onto his gun before the man on the ground shot him through the forehead too.

"Nice," Macklin said.

Crow got up, let the hammer down on his gun, dropped the magazine from the handle, methodically replaced the two rounds, slapped the magazine back up into the handle, and holstered the weapon. Then he and Macklin pulled the two dead men by their ankles into the woods. Macklin stripped the uniform shirt from Deering. Crow began to cover them with leaves and branches.

Macklin drove the patrol car into the woods on the other side of the street and piled boughs they had already cut to conceal it.

They got into the van together, Macklin driving, and pulled away. The killings and concealment had taken three minutes and eight seconds.

"Gatekeeper?" Crow said.

"Yep."

"Who you going to put in there?"

"On the bridge? Fran. He says he can blow the bridge from there."

"Perfect."

FORTY-FIVE.

Jesse was in the donut shop with Suitcase Simpson. Suitcase had two Boston cream donuts on a paper plate in front of him.

"Suit, those things will kill you," Jesse said.

"Then I'll go happy," Suitcase said and put half of the first donut into his mouth.

As he chewed, he fished in his shirt pocket and got out his notebook. Suitcase put the notebook on the counter and leafed through it with his left hand while he held the donut in his right, leaning over the counter so that it wouldn't leak onto his notebook.

When he got enough of the donut chewed and swallowed, Suitcase said, "I got some stuff on this guy Macklin."

Jesse sipped his coffee. It was 10:00 in the morning. The donut shop was almost empty after the early commuter rush, and the counter people were bustling around cleaning up napkins and newspapers and throwing away stray paper cups. A guy in a white apron and tee shirt brought out a big basket of new donuts, and the smell of them mixed happily with the scent of coffee.

"Macklin's a career criminal," Suit said.

"Mostly armed robbery. Got out of MCI Concord about six months ago. Done time in Arizona and Florida and Michigan. Got a girlfriend named Faye Valentine been with him as far back as we go."

"Description?"

"Better," Suitcase said and produced a mug shot.

"Harry Smith," Jesse said.

Suitcase nodded. He was proud of any detective work he did, even if it were simply back-checking. Jesse handed the picture back to Suitcase.

"Nice work, Suit," he said.

Suitcase's naturally high color deepened.

"There's more," he said.

"There's a notation that anybody got information on Macklin should contact a homicide detective at Boston Police Headquarters."

"Which you did," Jesse said.

"Yeah, I went to see him."

Jesse knew that Suitcase could have called, but the chance to go into the big city police station and talk with the big city homicide cop, man to man, was more than the kid could resist. It made Jesse want to smile. But he didn't. And it wasn't a bad thing for a young cop to be excited by the job. Suitcase took a moment to finish his first donut. He wiped some cream filling off the corner of his mouth.

"Sergeant named Belson," Suitcase said.

"Been trying to catch Macklin for ten, fifteen years, he said."

"Homicide cop?"

"Yeah. Says he knows Macklin murdered some people but he can't prove it, and he has taken, like, a personal interest."

"Macklin's his hobby," Jesse said.

Suitcase looked at Jesse with nearly blatant admiration.

"Yeah, that's just the expression Belson used. Hobby. Macklin is his personal hobby, he said."

Jesse nodded. He knew that Suit would file that phrase and eventually somewhere in his career would use it, and, because he was going to be a good cop, would in fact make somebody his personal hobby some day.

"He tell you about it?"

"Yeah. He says Macklin's a stone killer. Says there was a hostage situation in a liquor store heist couple years back in Brighton, before Macklin went to Concord. Robber held the clerk and two customers hostage when a silent alarm tripped and the cops showed up and caught him in the act. Store was in a mall, and they sealed off the front and the back. But he apparently found a way out by going through the cellar and up the stairs into one of those discount department stores next door. Nobody ever got a good look at the robber, except the hostages. When our side got in, the hostages were shot dead and the perp was gone."