Stone cold

“Yes. He never even gets mad, very much.”

Jesse nodded.

“You didn’t try to stop it,”

Candace said.

Jesse smiled. “He was wi

“You wanted them to get punched up,” she said.

“I did.”

“Daddy boxed in college, you know.”

“I know.”

“Did you ever box?”

“I don’t box,” Jesse said.

“I fight.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Rules,” Jesse said. “How is it

for you at

school.”

“Sometimes Bo or Troy will, like, smirk at me when I pass one of

them. But they don’t say anything. A lot of the kids are great

about it. Some of the other boys, football players and stuff, they call me Centerfold.”

“Like Playboy

Centerfold,” Jesse said.

She nodded.

“That sucks,” Jesse said.

Candace shrugged. Jesse pulled off of Summer Street onto a narrow road that led down to Pynchon Pond.

Bob Valenti lived at the edge of Paradise in a small yellow house that backed up to the pond. The house was right next to the street, and the modest backyard had been enclosed with a wire fence. Jesse pulled his car up in front of the house. He parked without shutting off the engine, so he could leave the heater ru

“There’s Goldie,” Jesse said.

The vizsla was sitting in the back corner of the yard, motionless, looking through the fence. He saw the car and followed it with his eyes as it parked. He didn’t bark.

“Omigod,” Candace said. “The

poor thing.”

“Things will be better for him,” Jesse said.

“Yes,” Candace said. “I will

really take care of

him.”

“Remember,” Jesse said.

“He’s lost one owner, and is now

relocating again.”

“I never had a dog before,” Candace said.

“Your father said he did.”

“Yes.”

“He’ll be nervous for a while,”

Jesse said.

“But if I love him …”

“He’ll get over it,” Jesse said.

“I hope my mother isn’t mean to

him.”

“That would be a bad thing,” Jesse said.

“Can you talk to your

father about that?”

Candace nodded.

“Daddy says she won’t be mean.”

“Your mother probably loves you,” Jesse said.

“Of course she does.”

“Then we should be able to bring her around if we have to,”

Jesse said.

“Can I change his name? I hate Goldie for a name.”

“Sure, just go slow. Wait until he’s used to

you.”

“I have to think of a new name anyway.”

“You might ask your mother to help you think of a new name,”

Jesse said.

“So she’d feel like he was hers

too?”

“Something like that,” Jesse said.

They were still for a minute. The heater still on, the motor still ru

“It’ll be all right?” she said.

“It will,” Jesse said. “But you

have to give it

time.”

They sat silently for another moment.

Then Candace said, “Can we get him now?”

“Sure.”

They got out of the car and walked through the old unlovely snow

toward Valenti’s front door. The dog watched them for a moment, and

then stood and came down the fence line toward them.

61

Parking on Beacon Hill was impossible in mid summer. In winter,

with plowed snow choking the narrow streets, it had become unthinkable. Jesse finally settled for a hydrant on Beacon Street down from the State House, and walked in along Spruce Street, carrying a flowered bottle of Perrier-Jouet.

Rita lived at the Mt. Vernon Street end of Louisburg Square in a

high narrow brick townhouse with a dark green door and gold-tipped wrought-iron fencing across the tiny front yard. Jesse rang the bell, and in a moment Rita opened the door.

“Criminal law pays good,” Jesse said as he stepped into the dark

red foyer.

“Better than working for the Norfolk County DA, which is what I

used to do,” Rita said.

They went into her living room. There was a fireplace with a fire going. The room was done in a strong yellow with gold drapes striped with dark red. Rita was all in ivory: pants and blouse, and three-inch ivory heels.

“I don’t know which is more

impressive,” Jesse said. “You or the house.”

“Me,” Rita said and took the champagne bottle from

him.

“Will you join me in some of this?” she said.

“No. I’ll have some club soda, with

cranberry juice if you have

it.”

“I noticed,” Rita said. “I also

have orange

juice.”

“I’ll start with the cranberry and

soda,” Jesse said. “If the

evening gets really rousing, I’ll step up to the OJ.”

“I expect it to get rousing,” Rita said.

She made Jesse’s drink and poured herself some champagne.

“How is my disgusting client doing at his community service?”

she said.

“He’s there every afternoon after

school,” Jesse said. “He and

Drake treat Feeney like the fink-out that he is, but they’re too

scared to do anything about it.”

“So what are they doing?”

“Make-work mostly. Wash the floors, clean the toilets, polish

doorknobs. Molly finds stuff for them.”

“They probably ought to get more punishment than that for

gang-raping a young girl.”

“They had good legal counsel,” Jesse said.

Rita smiled.

“You know the argument as well as I do. In order for the justice

system to work, every one has the right to the best legal representation they can get.”

Jesse nodded.

“Doesn’t mean I liked any of

them.”

“I don’t either,” Jesse said.

“How’s the girl doing?”

Jesse shrugged.

“She and I went out and adopted a dog for her.”

“You and she?”

“It belonged to one of the serial victims. I was trying to find

it a home.”

“Did that make her happy.”

“I don’t think it made her happy. It did give her something to

care about.”

“What would make her happy?”

“I don’t know,” Jesse said.

“Maybe a couple years with a good

shrink.”

“Is that going to happen?”

“I gave her a name,” Jesse said.

“My goodness,” Rita said. “Cop

for all seasons.”

“I know a shrink,” Jesse said.

“You think she’ll see the

shrink?”

“Most people don’t,” Jesse said.

Rita nodded.

“I did,” she said, “after my

last divorce.”

“You’ve had more than one?”

Rita smiled and poured herself more champagne.

“I’ve had three,” she said.

“And after each one, I was inclined

to fall deeply in love with the next guy I dated.”

“You still do that?”

“No,” Rita said. “But it

doesn’t mean I won’t.”

“After my divorce,” Jesse said,

“I wanted to fall in love with

someone else and couldn’t.”

“You’ve only been divorced once?”

“Yes.”

“The more it happens, I think,” Rita said,

“the more desperate

you get, and the more likely you are to grab at the first loser that strolls by, which makes it more likely that this marriage will fail, too.”

“And you’ve learned not to do

that.”

“Until now,” Rita said.

Jesse drank. The cranberry and soda seemed particularly insufficient for this moment. They were silent.

Finally, Jesse said, “Me?”

“It feels like it,” Rita said.

“Another loser?”

“No,” Rita said. “You are not a

loser.”

“Thank you, but I’m not so sure.”

“Because?”

“Because Je

Rita put her glass down and stood, and began to unbutton her blouse. When it was unbuttoned she slid out of it. She stepped out of her shoes and unzipped her pants, and slid them down over her legs and stepped out of them. Her lingerie was ivory. So it won’t show through, Jesse thought. She unsnapped her bra, slid