August 31—Hasty heard about me dating Joe Hudson. He wanted to know what we did, and I told him none of your business and he got real mad and said he was going to break up with me if I kept going out with Joe. I told him you do what you want Mister nosy. I go out with anybody I want, unless you want to divorce the old lady and marry me. Well you should have seen his face. But then we did it and he cried while we were doing it and said he could never lose me and after he gave me a really nice set of pearl earrings to match the necklace.

September 7—I told Hasty I thought it was sick, him asking all that stuff about Joe Hudson and if we had sex and what we did. He said he loved me so much he needed to know everything, and nothing would be as bad as what he imagined. Divorce your wife I told him and marry me, and then we can talk about whatever you want.

September 8—Poor Hasty is so agitated about me and Joe Hudson, and me wanting him to get divorced. I didn’t really mean I’d tell him about me and Joe. That would be tooo weird!!!!!! But if it gets him, it’s just a little white lie. I don’t really get it anyway. I do the same thing with Joe as Hasty. What’s so different about it???

September 11—I told Hasty I was going to go public about me and him. I got all his letters. I said it was time for him to either go or get off the pot.

September 15—Hasty says give him a week. He said he would make it right. I said okay, but I wouldn’t see him until he decided.

September 17—Got some new jeans at Marshall’s and one of those great midriff sweaters. Going to take myself out for a few drinks tonight at the 86.

September 17 was the last entry. Jesse read his cut-and-paste narrative sitting alone on the little balcony overlooking the harbor. It was too cold to sit out there, even with his jacket on. But somehow it made the reading less painful to be out there, as if the openness of the setting compensated for the hermetic quality of the small life lived so briefly in the excerpted pages. When he was finished he sat for a long time looking across the harbor at the lights from the Yacht Club.

Chapter 62

“I want you to know,” Hasty said, “that I fully support you in whatever decision you make about Lou Burke.”

Jesse nodded without comment. They were sitting at the counter in the Village Room. Jesse had coffee. Hasty had coffee and a large cinnamon roll with white icing on it.

“We both know it’s not a popular decision,” Hasty said. “But you’re the professional. You run the department your way.”

Jesse nodded again. He poured some half-and-half into his coffee.

“When I hire a man I back him until he proves I shouldn’t,” Hasty said.

He took a bite out of his cinnamon bun. Jesse stirred two sugars into his coffee.

“I just hope to God you know what you’re doing.”

“Me too,” Jesse said.

“You do, don’t you?” Hasty said.

He was talking around his mouthful of cinnamon bun. There were crumbs on his tie.

“Yes,” Jesse said.

“I mean you better have some solid evidence, everybody likes Lou in town.”

Jesse nodded and drank some of his coffee.

“You do, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“It would help me support you if I knew what you know,” Hasty said.

Jesse shook his head.

“Why not,” Hasty said. “For God’s sake, Jesse, I’m the chairman of the Board of Selectmen.”

“I’ve never gotten in trouble,” Jesse said, “being quiet.”

“Jesse, damn it, I’m your boss.”

Jesse smiled at him and said nothing. Hasty started to speak again, and caught himself. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“You are going to need me on your side,” Hasty said finally. “And don’t forget it.”

“I’m counting on you, Hasty.”

“You could count on me more,” Hasty said, “if I had a better idea of what you’re doing.”

Jesse finished his coffee and put the cup down carefully on the saucer.

“You’ll be among the first to know,” Jesse said and got off the stool. “Coffee on you?” he said.

Hasty nodded. Jesse stopped at the end of the counter to say hello to a couple of postal clerks having pie and coffee on break. Then he left the Village Room and walked back across the common toward the police station.

Chapter 63

“Stone has to go,” Hasty said to Jo Jo.

They were in Hasty’s car cruising Route 128, north toward Gloucester.

“Mistake,” Jo Jo said.

“No, he has to go. He’ll ruin everything if he doesn’t.”

“You can’t kill the chief of police,” Jo Jo said, “and think it’ll keep things quiet. You seen that state cop, whatsisname.”

“Healy.”

“Yeah. You think that he’s going to kiss it off when the second police chief in less than a year dies in this fucking town?”

“It’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Hasty said. “We’re too close to the arms deal. The arms deal is crucial.”

“What’s this ‘we’ shit, paleface? I’m the guy has to do the clip.”

“We’re in this together, Jo Jo.”

Jo Jo looked almost amused.

“Sure,” he said. “Why don’t we ace Lou Burke?”

“Lou?”

“Yeah. He’s the only thing connects you to Tom Carson. Deep-six Burke and the connection’s gonzolla.”

“Lou Burke?” Hasty said. “I’ve known Lou Burke for thirty years.”

“I dump him,” Jo Jo said, “hide the body, make it look like he took off after Stone suspended him.”

“Lou’s one of us,” Hasty said. “He’s a Horseman.”

“And you think they ain’t going to find somebody out in the wild west to finger him, say, yeah, he’s the guy blew Tom Carson up? And you think when they get that they won’t squeeze him, and when they squeeze him you think he won’t spill his freaking guts?”

“Lou wouldn’t talk.”

“You think so, huh? I don’t know how they do it in freaking Montana . . .”

“Wyoming,” Hasty said.

“Whatever,” Jo Jo said. “I don’t know if they electrocute you or hang you or do it with an injection or a fucking firing squad, but just say you’re Lou Burke and you’re sitting in jail and they tell you they are going to hang you or, if you don’t like that idea, you can give us something and maybe we won’t. You think Lou’s gonna say gimme that noose, baby?”

“Are you afraid to kill Jesse Stone?” Hasty asked.

“I ain’t afraid,” Jo Jo said. “And I ain’t stupid either. It’s a lot smarter to take out Lou Burke than it is to clip Stone.”

“I can’t betray the movement.”

“You hit Stone and it’ll turn into a bowel movement,” Jo Jo said.

As they talked about the crime Jo Jo’s vocabulary became more and more like a movie tough guy. Hasty hated him at that moment, more than he thought was possible. Jo Jo was a sneering, posturing bully. He cared for no cause, no person. No question of honor had ever penetrated that thick Neanderthal skull. He cared only about his muscles and the fear he could instill in people. Except Stone. Stone wasn’t afraid of him, and Hasty was pretty sure that Jo Jo was afraid of Stone. What made the hatred worse, though, so that it trembled in his solar plexus, was the fact that Jo Jo was probably right this time.

“How would you hide the body?” Hasty said.

“Let me figure that out,” Jo Jo said. “What you don’t know you can’t tell the cops later.”

“You think I’d tell the police anything?”

Jo Jo looked at him without answering.

“You don’t understand, do you,” Hasty said. “You don’t understand commitment, or honor, or loyalty. And you certainly do not understand responsibility. You don’t even know what these things mean. All you understand is fear.”

Jo Jo snorted.

“What I understand, Hasty, is you want some guy iced, but you haven’t got the balls to do it. We both understand that, don’t we.”

Hasty was silent for a time. They reached the Gloucester circle, and went around it, and started back, southbound, on Route 128.