"Split Image" - читать интересную книгу автора (Parker Robert B.)

9

THE TWO GATED ESTATES stood side by side on the open Atlantic side of Paradise Neck. They looked as if someone had flipped a picture. Both were rambling gray-shingled mansions whose focus was the ocean that broke against the foot of their sloping backyards. Each had a long driveway that curved up around the house to a parking area at the top. The driveways and parking areas were both cobblestone. Jesse couldn't remember who had moved there first. Who was copying whom? The flower beds were similar. The shade trees were similar. There were blue hydrangeas growing near each front porch.

The gate to Reggie Galen's house was closed. Jesse stopped with the nose of his car at the gate. Inside the gate, on the left, there was a guard shack disguised as a small carriage house. One of its two doors opened on Jesse's side of the gate, and a tall man with a good tan and salt-and-pepper hair came out. He was wearing aviator sunglasses and a white shirt with epaulets, with the shirttails out, over dark slacks.

"May I help you?" he said.

"My name is Jesse Stone," Jesse said. "I'm the chief of police here in Paradise, and I am here to see Mr. Galen."

"What is your business with Mr. Galen," the guard said.

"Police," Jesse said.

The guard nodded thoughtfully.

"I don't think Mr. Galen's much interested in police business," the guard said.

"You got a license for that piece?" Jesse said.

"A license?" the guard said.

"A license to carry."

"I ain't carrying," the guard said.

"Yeah," Jesse said, "you are, right hip, under the shirttail."

The guard looked at Jesse. Jesse looked at the guard.

"May I see your gun license?" Jesse said.

"Lemme call up to the house," the guard said. "Tell 'em you're coming."

"Sure," Jesse said.

By the time he had driven up over the cobblestones and parked in the turnaround beside the house, two guys in seersucker sport coats and pink Lacoste polo shirts were standing on the side porch. Jesse got out and walked toward them.

"Chief Stone," one of them said.

He was a pleasant-looking man, about Jesse's size. He was clean shaven and tanned and had a nice, healthy look about him.

"Here to see Mr. Galen," Jesse said.

"Chief of all the police?" the other man said. "In this whole big town?"

This man was younger and bigger, a bodybuilder with a crew cut and a tiny beard that occupied about two triangular inches below his bottom lip. Jesse looked at him for a moment without saying anything.

"You have a gun," the older man said.

"I do," Jesse said.

"Generally we're not supposed to let anyone bring a gun inside," the older man said.

"But there's probably an exception for chiefs of police," Jesse said.

"I don't see no reason for exceptions," the younger man said.

The older man looked at him and then at Jesse and rolled his eyes.

"Normie," he said. "It ain't always wise to start up with the cops."

Normie snorted.

"What kind of cop work you do?" Normie said. "Bust people for clamming out of season?"

"What's your name?" Jesse said to the older man.

"Bob Davis," the man said.

"Can we stop horsing around with Joe Palooka here and go on in and see Mr. Galen?"

"What's that mean?" Normie said. "What's he mean, Joe Palooka?"

Bob smiled and shook his head.

"The perfect combo," he said to Jesse. "Stupid and aggressive."

"Hey," Normie said. "Who you-"

Bob looked at him and said, "Shhh."

Normie stopped.

"Stay here," Bob said to Normie.

Then he looked at Jesse and nodded for him to head toward the porch door. Bob's got a little clout, Jesse thought, as he followed him through the door.