Twenty-Nine

TWENTY-NINE

JIMMY IS WAITING FOR me on the street in front of the mansion in North Haven. The late Carl Parsons, the guy I called Gramps to his widow, had built the home for his wife and their daughter with a spectacular view of Noyac Bay and Shelter Island.

The place is actually just a couple of miles from Jimmy's own house. Couple of miles. Like a different world.

Carl's view of the water, I'm sure, is much better.

There is a police cruiser with lights flashing just inside the gated entrance, then more cruisers leading up to the house. Somehow Jimmy, who seems to know all police in the area, has gotten word to the cop acting as gatekeeper at the end of the driveway that I should be allowed through. When I get near the front door, I notice a black Dodge Charger Pursuit with a State Police license plate.

Jimmy is leaning against the cruiser as if it and this crime scene are his.

"Considering our client's romantic history with at least one of the deceased, it's probably a good thing the state has turned him into a shut-in," I say.

"Both of the deceased," Jimmy says.

I nod at the house. "How did you find out what happened?"

Jimmy shrugs. "People like talking to me. Or maybe it's the free drinks I hand out to cops like I'm handing out flyers."

Cops keep walking out the front door with evidence bags. Somehow, even as they walk slowly over to the black East Hampton Police Department van parked in front of the garage, there is an urgency to it all. An intensity. A focus. The bags go into the van and the cops turn around and go back into the house. Jimmy says it all the time. Murder is still the main event.

"So if our horny client has an airtight alibi, why am I here, exactly?"

"Because half the town saw one of the victims bitch-slap you at the benefit. And because it got around pretty quickly that before you walked out, you told the late Elise Parsons that if she ever tried anything like that ever again, her face would need more than filler."

"I was joking!"

"Ha ha," Jimmy says. "You funny."

I now see a cop that I don't recognize. Tall guy, Top Gun aviator jacket, Ray-Ban sunglasses, coming straight for us after he removes his surgical gloves and booties. Long black hair. He appears to be vain enough to have taken some of the gray out, though there's more gray than black in his beard stubble, like it's a mismatched set.

He's talking on his phone, which he now puts away. Grinning underneath the shades as if the best part of his day is about to begin.

Even from a distance I can see that he's trying too hard to be cool.

Way too hard.

Like he felt he was going through life with the top down.

One of those.

"The reason they asked me to call you, Janie, as I believe you're about to find out, is that they've got some questions," Jimmy says.

I'm listening to Jimmy, but my eyes are on the guy in the Ray-Bans and Tom Cruise jacket, who has now made his way over to us and hears the last thing Jimmy said.

"Guess who the questions are for?" the guy asks.