Free Blue Screen by Robert B. Parker

said. “I’ll call him.”
    I wanted to talk some more. I liked hearing his voice. But I couldn’t think of anything else to say. And Jesse seemed to have no interest in chatting. So I said good-bye.
    After I hung up I sipped my second drink and thought about how much I liked Jesse on such brief acquaintance. Then I picked up the room-service menu and began to concentrate on what to eat. The menu told me all I needed to know. The clarity was gratifying.

19
    C RONJAGER HAD a nice office, big, with a window. He stood when I came in and walked around the desk to shake hands with me. He was a tall man, sort of rangy, with an assertive nose and snow-white hair. His skin was tanned and he looked healthy. His handshake was hard but not showy.
    “Jesse Stone said you’d be in. Fine officer, Jesse.”
    “He told me you fired him for drunkenness.”
    Cronjager smiled a little and went back around his desk. He indicated a chair for me and sat down. I sat across from him.
    “So much for professional discretion,” he said. “I understand he’s got it under control.”
    “Seems to be in remission, at least.”
    “Good,” Cronjager said. “Waste of a very good cop.”
    “Did he tell you why I’m here?”
    “No. Just said you were smart and good-looking and I’d enjoy you.”
    “Wow,” I said.
    “So far he’s right,” Cronjager said. “What do you need?”
    “Jesse and I are working on the same case,” I said, and told him about it.
    “Erin Flint,” he said when I was through. “Can’t act, but something to see.”
    “She was married once, under what appears to be her birth name, Ethel Boverini, to a man named Gerard Basgall.”
    “And you’d like me to help you find Gerard,” Cronjager said.
    There was something about him that was like my father. They didn’t look alike, but they had a quality of courtliness. Older tough guys who had seen everything, men for whom time and experience had somehow smoothed the hard edges and made them graceful.
    “My father was a captain,” I said.
    “Boston?” Cronjager said.
    “Yes. Like you, homicide commander.”
    “Retired?”
    “Yes.”
    Cronjager smiled.
    “I should be,” he said.
    He picked up a phone and said something into it and put it down. In a moment a Hispanic woman came briskly into the room. Her clothes were good. Her gray/white hair was stylish. Cronjager stood when she entered.
    “Elaine Estallela,” Cronjager said. “Sunny Randall.”
    We each said, “How do you do.”
    Cronjager said, “Sunny’s looking for somebody named Gerard Basgall, Elaine. Think he might be in the system?”
    Elaine smiled.
    “That means,” she said to me, “‘Elaine, would you look him up because I’m afraid of the computer.’”
    Cronjager and I both smiled. Elaine walked to a side table and tapped the keys of a computer keyboard. The screen lit up.
    “Any cross-references?” Elaine said.
    “He’s been married….” Cronjager looked at me.
    “He married Ethel Boverini,” I said. “In 1988.”
    Standing in front of the screen, Elaine tapped the keyboard some more. She was an attractive woman, and graceful. I wondered if she might be younger than her gray hair suggested.
    After a time she said, “Mr. Basgall is in the system.”
    “Whaddya got,” Cronjager said.
    Elaine began to read off the screen.
    “1986, living off the earnings. 1988, living off the earnings. 1988, assault. 1991, possession with intent. 1994, extortion.”
    “Gerard Basgall,” Cronjager said, “the early years.”
    “Anything on Mrs. Basgall?” I said.
    “Not so far,” Elaine said. “Assault. Extortion. Oh, look. Gerard was twice arrested on suspicion of murder—1997, 1998. Insufficient evidence.”
    “Working his way up,” Cronjager said.
    “Maybe he made it,” Elaine said. “After 1998 there’s no arrests.”
    “Gee,” I said. “Maybe he went straight.”
    “That’s probably it,” Cronjager said.
    Elaine continued to look at the computer