“What are you going to send me?” he said.

“Videotape. Florence and two guys having sex together.”

“Amateur?” Jesse said.

“Far as I can tell. She’s having sex with both of them at the same time,” Kelly Cruz said. “Looks uncomfortable as hell to me but she seemed happy with it. Kept turning to smile into the camera. Sort of proud.”

“As well she should be,” Jesse said. “You got anything else?”

“I got a call into her family but so far nothing back. I’m working on the earlier husbands, but so far no names. She used to live in Boca. I’ll check around up there. Not too many people knew much about her around here.”

“It’s ten or fifteen miles, isn’t it?” Jesse said. “You sure the budget will stand it?”

“Good, be a northern wiseass,” Kelly Cruz said. “It encourages us down here in the swamps.”

“Just a little light-hearted banter,” Jesse said.

“Is that what it was,” Kelly Cruz said. “You hotshots learn anything up there?”

“We’re in the middle of a series of yacht races up here,”

Jesse said. “Race Week.”

4 9

R O B E R T B . P A R K E R

“Oh boy,” Kelly Cruz said.

“Three of the yachts are out of Fort Lauderdale,” Jesse said.

“Hot damn,” Kelly Cruz said. “I’m only a detective for five years, but that might be a clue.”

“Might be,” Jesse said. “They are owned by the following, you got a pencil?”

“I’m ready.”

“Thomas Ralston,” Jesse said. “Allan Pinkton. Harold Berger.”

“Addresses?”

“All in Fort Lauderdale,” Jesse said and read them off.

“Never heard of any of them,” Kelly Cruz said. “But they probably never heard of me, either. I’ll check them out. They may not be home, of course, they may be up there taking part in the excitement.”

“You seem negative, Detective Cruz,” Jesse said, “about yacht racing.”

“Don’t mean to,” Kelly Cruz said. “Must be at least as exciting as watching a miniature golf match.”

Jesse was silent for a moment.

“Well, no,” Jesse said slowly. “It’s not that much fun.”

5 0

12

C hannel 3 Action News set up downtown in Paradise, in the parking lot behind the Ranch Market. There was an equipment

truck, and an air-conditioned mobile home to house production, wardrobe, and makeup and Jenn. Jenn had a small dressing room in it, with her own bathroom. A maze of hookups ran around the trailer and across the parking lot.

“I can even take a shower,” Jenn said.

“Always wise,” Jesse said.

A stocky strong-looking woman came in without knock-ing. She had short gray hair and Oakley sunglasses and seemed, even standing still, to be in a hurry.

R O B E R T B . P A R K E R

“Marty,” Jenn said, “this is my . . . friend Jesse Stone.

He’s the police chief here. Jesse, this is Marty Freeman, my producer.”

“Stone?” Marty said. “Same name as yours.”

“We used to be married,” Jenn said.

“Nice to meet you,” Marty said. “Come on, Jenn, got to use all the light we can.”

Jenn was in full makeup. She kissed Jesse, very carefully, on the mouth, and went out after Marty. Jesse watched as she went away. She had on a dark blue top and white pants, and expensive sneakers. Very yacht-y. The pants fit her well, and Jesse watched her backside twitch as she walked away. He was seeing her sexually again. Was he supposed to? Christ, who wouldn’t see her sexually? He looked around the small dressing room. There was a small closet with several changes of clothes. He could smell her perfume. He knew that when she took a shower and toweled off, she would spray scent in the air and walk into it naked. He wondered how many other men knew that. He imagined them watching her, as he had.

A group of them. Faceless, nameless, somehow triumphant.

Laughing and elbowing each other like players in a bad farce.

She smiled at them. Soon she’d have sex with them. He could hear himself breathing. That’s it, he thought. That’s the bastard. I don’t know what it is yet, but it’s not love.

He looked at himself in the mirror. His face looked ordi-nary, the way it always looked. He spoke to the image in the mirror.

“Man,” he heard himself say. “I need a drink.”

5 2

13

E verybody’s in the squad room,” Molly said.

“Alert and ready to examine evidence.”

“Video come in from Fort Lauderdale?”

Jesse said.

“How’d you guess?”

“Male intuition,” Jesse said. “Who’s in the cars?”

“Martin and Friedman,” Molly said. “Not happy.”

“And the other eight members of Paradise’s finest?”

“In the squad room,” Molly said. “Waiting for you. Prob -

ably sent out for popcorn.”

“You want to watch it?”

“I’m a cop,” Molly said. “I need to see it, I’ll see it.”

R O B E R T B . P A R K E R

“You don’t need to see it with eight lecherous loud-mouths,” Jesse said. “Stay on the desk. There’s something you need to see, you can watch it alone later.”

Molly was silent for a moment.

“I’m part of the department, Jesse,” Molly said softly. “I don’t want everyone else to know something I don’t know.”

Jesse said, “Somebody has to be on the desk, Moll.”

She nodded. Jesse turned toward the squad room.

“I’ll watch it later,” Molly said.

“Absolutely,” Jesse said. “You can use the VCR in my office.”

Molly was silent for another moment. Then, just as Jesse was opening the door to the squad room, she said, “Thank you.”

Jesse said, “You’re welcome,” and went in.

The cops were gathered at the long table. The VCR and monitor, which were on a small metal cart, had been wheeled into position at the foot of the table. The screen was glow-ing. Jesse’s chair at the head of the table was empty, and in front of it was the padded mailer from Kelly Cruz. All of the cops were drinking coffee and someone had brought a cup for Jesse. He peeled the lid off as he sat down.

“No Jujubes?” Jesse said.

“We was going to get a keg of beer,” Suitcase Simpson said. “But we figured you’d be prudish about it.”

“Remember, the woman in this tape is dead,” Jesse said,

“and she may be the victim of a crime. We are looking at evidence. Try to notice something other than her snatch.”

5 4

S E A C H A N G E

Somebody said, “Yes sir!”

Jesse opened the mailer, took the cassette down to the other end of the table, put it in the VCR, picked up the remote, walked back to his chair, sat down and pointed the remote at the VCR.

“To serve and protect,” he said and clicked play.

There was a naked woman, shot from behind. She was having sex with a man who lay on his back beneath her on a bed, or sofa, or something with a blue-and-yellow stripe. As the camera watched, another man walked into the shot and mounted her.

The cops around the table cheered. Simpson was the youngest of them.

“Jesus,” he said. “Front and back.”

The woman turned, sandwiched between the two men, and smiled widely at the camera. It was clearly Florence Horvath. She was a lot better-looking than her license photo.

Jesse smiled to himself without pleasure, Or any other time I’ve seen her. Clearly she wanted to be recognized. She kept looking back at the camera as she enjoyed her double penetration, which enjoyment she was at pains to display. Jesse didn’t enjoy it much. I can’t define pornography, he thought.

But I know it when I see it, and pro or amateur, this is it.

After about two minutes’ running time, the cops began to talk. Pornography gets boring quick, Jesse thought.

“Between wives,” Arthur Angstrom said, “I used to date a woman, wanted me to bring a friend. I told her I could never get it up with another guy involved.”