Роберт Паркер - The Bitterest Pill

“Yes, should have.” He paused in order to take a gulp of vodka. “There have been many should-haves that have not been where you are concerned. Have you read a Boston paper recently?”

She swallowed hard before answering. “Yes. I’ve read about the mur — the deaths.”

“Then you understand. I will see about the girl, but you have to disappear... soon.”

“But I need—”

“At the moment I care very little for what you need. What I need for you is to prepare to go away.”

He was off the line, but she had already stopped listening to him. She was staring at the white plastic container on her dresser. The one that was nearly empty of everything but the silicate drying packets. It held the few pills she had left to her. She had no choice but to score.

Cole’s facial bruises had darkened and he looked worse than he had the day of the accident. Even so, he claimed to feel better. Jesse had already explained that the car accident was no accident and that he, not Cole, was the intended target.

Cole had laughed it off and said, “Jeez, Dad, it was safer when I hated you.”

It stung, but Jesse realized his son was in no shape to comprehend how that comment hurt. Two important women in Jesse’s life had been murdered due simply to having a relationship with him: Abby and Diana. And there it was again, the thirst. So he was learning how important the meetings were, because there was no way to control what would trigger the thirst. With Maryglenn in a cell and the real suspect still out there, he had no time for a meeting. He excused himself and went into his bedroom to call his sponsor, but as he was scrolling for Bill’s number, the cell vibrated in his hand. His landline rang as well. For once, the simultaneous calls were a good omen.

Arakel turned to Stojan and Georgi. He despised these men for what they were and for what they had forced him to become.

“The time is here,” he said. “Go to Paradise. The girl and the teacher. No torturing them, none of your twisted pleasures. Just kill them and be done with it.”

Stojan screwed his ugly lips up into a sneer. “The teacher, yes. We are already told to do this. We know where she is. She is a threat.”

“I said no torturing. Just kill her.”

Stojan laughed. “We have instructions. We do not listen to weak fools.” He pointed his thick, gnarled index finger at Arakel. “The girl, you. You, you do the girl.”

Arakel thought he had not heard correctly. “What did you say to me?”

“You are hearing right, rug merchant.” He stepped close, jabbed his big ugly finger into Sarkassian’s chest. “You are wanting the girl dead, you do it. You have gun. You have killed. Is easier the next time. I know it. Right, Georgi?”

Silent, Georgi nodded.

“See, Georgi says so.”

“The girl is in a hospital under police guard.”

Stojan frowned and shrugged. “Too bad on you. You wanting the girl dead, is for you to make it so. Georgi, neka trugnem . Let’s go!”

As the men walked away, Arakel grabbed Stojan by the shoulders. Stojan turned and slapped Arakel across the face, knocking him to the floor.

“We do not work for you, idiot. Yes, the teacher, she is a threat, maybe to all of us. The girl, she knows nothing of us, only of the teacher and maybe of you. Why should we kill this girl? Think of how you will enjoy prison when you are squeezing the trigger.”

Arakel Sarkassian, the taste of his own blood in his mouth, was stunned and frightened. Frightened because the thug had confirmed for him what he always believed — that Stojan and Georgi were tools not of Mehdi and him, but of the people who had entrusted the franchise to them. Frightened, too, because the brute was right.

Petra North’s face went blank when she saw Jesse walk into the ICU. Her parents were on either side of her, and it was clear Annette had been crying. The shocking thing for Jesse was that Ambrose North’s eyes were no less red. Maybe, Jesse thought, it isn’t so shocking after all. He couldn’t imagine how he would have reacted had the Explorer crash been worse and Cole’s injuries more serious.

“Hi, Petra,” he said. “Can I borrow your parents, just for a minute?”

She seemed relieved and a bit confused. “Sure.”

The three of them stepped outside the unit, where Robbie Stanton was now stationed.

“Go get a cup of coffee, Robbie.” Jesse tilted his head at the stairway door.

Before Jesse could speak, Ambrose said, “She’s scared, Chief.”

“Of what? We don’t want to get her into trouble, we just want to get her help.”

Ambrose turned to his wife. “Annette, go be with her. I’ll be in momentarily.”

Annette looked scared, opened her mouth to protest, but instead placed her hand on Jesse’s forearm. “She was desperate, Jesse. Please remember that.” Then she walked past him and back into the ICU.

“Jesse, I heard you have a teacher in custody. Is that correct?”

“Am I speaking to Ambrose North, Petra’s father, or Ambrose North, attorney at law?”

“Both, I’m afraid.”

“We have someone in custody.”

North took Jesse by the left biceps and began walking down the hospital corridor. Jesse walked with him. “What if I told you I have it on good authority that you have the wrong woman in custody?”

“I know that already, but the evidence is damning. Until I can have someone or something to refute—”

“And what if I could give you the identity of the person you should have in custody? Would you be willing not to press charges of distribution of a controlled substance? Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“She dealt drugs, your hypothetical daughter?”

Ambrose flushed red, coughed. “This isn’t easy for me to say, Jesse. This person, this other teacher, she... she seduced Pet — my hypothetical daughter. She promised to... God, this is difficult. She promised to continue their affair and to supply this daughter with drugs if she... did what she asked. It lasted for only a few days. Jesse, please. I’m begging you as a father not to imperil her future.”

Jesse dropped the hypotheticals. “You know the charges are up to the prosecutor, but if you give me the name now and Petra is willing to testify, I will go to the wall for her with the prosecutor.”

“That’s not a guarantee, Jesse.”

“Not mine to give, but I’ll keep my word. I don’t want to hurt any of these kids.”

“I’m sorry,” Ambrose North said, the strain evident on his face. “She’s already been through so much and we didn’t do the best for her in the past. Now we must. Call the DA’s office and get someone over here.”

“You’re willing to let an innocent woman sit in jail?”

“I’m afraid so, if it means protecting Petra.”

Jesse glared at the lawyer. “Then don’t expect help from me, Mr. North. I was a professional baseball player. Trust me when I tell you, you don’t know what hardball is. I walk out the front door of this hospital without that name and Petra’s on her own with no backing from me.”

Robbie Stanton returned, a white foam cup in hand, steam rising through a hole in the lid. The aroma cutting against the medicinal smells of the hospital.

“She’s a target now,” Jesse said to Robbie, loud enough for North to hear. “No one in but the parents, the doctors, and the nurses. Any of the visitors you don’t recognize need approval from a nurse or a doctor. No excuses, no stories. I’ll have Suit send someone down to help, but no bathroom breaks until your backup arrives.”

“Okay, Jesse.” Stanton took a sip of his coffee and put the cup on his chair. He stood outside the ICU entrance, arms folded across his chest.