Killing the Blues - Michael Brandman [28]
Jesse waited for a moment, then fell in behind the Lombardo car. He followed as it drove deeper into residential Cambridge. It wasn’t long before it turned into an exclusive area that featured multimillion-dollar homes.
The Mercedes stopped in front of a two-story Colonial-style house that appeared to have been recently restored.
Jesse drove by the house and made note of the address. He drove past the corner and onto the next block, where he turned around, shut off his headlights, and drifted back to a spot from which he could see the Mercedes. He watched as the Lombardos signaled their good nights and went inside the house. The Mercedes pulled away.
Jesse watched until the lights in the house went out. Then he went home himself.
31
By six the next morning, Jesse had resumed his vigil at the Lombardo house. He was armed with a thermos of coffee and a box of donuts.
At exactly eight o’clock, a Mercedes sedan pulled into the driveway of the house. John Lombardo came out and got into the rear seat. The car backed out of the driveway and pulled away. After a beat, Jesse followed.
The Mercedes made its way through Cambridge, crossed the Charles River into Boston, and headed across town to the Old Harbor. After winding its way through a maze of side streets, it pulled to a stop on Rowe’s Wharf, in front of a converted warehouse. John Lombardo emerged from the sedan and went inside.
Jesse parked in front of a fire hydrant, got out of the Explorer, and walked to the warehouse. As he passed, he took note of the name on the door: Zenith Enterprises. Which appeared to be the building’s sole occupant. He returned to the Explorer and drove away.
He was back at the station by mid-morning. Once in his office, he was greeted by Molly, who wandered in and sat down.
“Which do you want first, the good news or the bad news,” she said.
“Is there a difference,” Jesse said.
“Not this morning,” she said. “Carter Hansen wants to see you.”
“What’s the good news?”
“I lost four pounds.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Another dog.”
“And?”
“What are you gonna do about the dogs, Jesse?”
“What does Bauer say?”
“He and Denny Lange drove around all night and didn’t see a thing.”
“Put Alexis Richardson on the call list,” Jesse said.
“The call list?”
“Whatever list you keep the phone calls on.”
“I don’t keep a list.”
“Then how do you know who’s called?”
“I have a message pad.”
“Well, put Alexis’s name on the message pad.”
“Would that be business or personal?”
“Must you always find a way to bust my balls,” Jesse said.
“Job wouldn’t be any fun otherwise.”
“Never mind.”
“Never mind what?”
“I’ll call Alexis myself.”
Molly stood.
“I knew it was personal,” she said, and left the office.
Jesse sighed.
Then he called Alexis Richardson.
“Where have you been,” she said.
“Fighting crime,” he said. “But I can’t foresee a crime spree this evening.”
“Is that good news?”
“It is for those who lust.”
“Which would include?”
“Us.”
“I’m glad to see you’ve got your priorities straight. Was that why you phoned?”
“Yes and no.”
“What’s the no part?”
“I need you to step up your public-relations efforts,” said Jesse.
“Meaning?”
“This dog vendetta continues, and I want to make certain that we do everything we can to tell people to keep their animals indoors after dark.”
“You can count on me,” Alexis said.
“I do,” Jesse said.
“And the yes part?”
“Did I mention lust,” he said.
Jesse arrived at the Town Hall and went directly to the meeting room. There he found Carter Hansen, Morris Comden, and Hasty Hathaway. No stenographer was present.
“Would you care to tell us about what’s going on,” Hansen said, without any preamble.
“About what,” Jesse said.
“We appear to be weathering a storm of animal killings.”
“We are,” Jesse said.
“What are you doing about it?”
“We’ve begun a regular night patrol. We’ve launched a major PR campaign asking the public to bring their animals indoors at night.”
“What about the fire?”
“What about the fire,” Jesse said.
“What are you doing about it,”