“Makes sense.”
“Anything else, Jesse? I have a rehearsal with my band in fifteen back at school.”
“What was the combination to locker 113?”
“Six right, fourteen left, seventeen right, twenty-nine left.”
“Last question, and it’s the hard one.” Jesse took his notepad from his jacket pocket. “Names of anyone else you know was buying from Chris Grimm.”
“You give me your word they won’t get in trouble?”
“As long as they’re not selling, I give you my word.”
This time they shook on it.
“Steve Parkinson, Petra North, Lidell Thomas, Sara York, Carl Bedell, Bob Mark . . . That’s it, Jesse. I swear. Lidell and Bob graduated with me. Must be others, too, but I don’t know them.”
Jesse stood, replaced the notepad in his pocket, and bumped fists with the kid.
“Okay, Django. Thank you for your honesty. Get to rehearsal.”
He watched the kid disappear into the night. As he did, he thought about the price people paid for their missteps. Not the price in money, but the cost in dignity and self-respect. Money could always be recouped. He wondered about the rest of it. Remembered how he almost drank himself to death and embarrassed himself after Diana’s murder.
Forty-three
Suit was at the desk, reading a paperback. Jesse had stopped on the way up from Boston and bought Suit a jelly donut. The times of Suit devouring three or four donuts were over. Elena had seen to that. Suit even ate salads these days and went to the gym. His belly no longer strained at the buttons of his uniform shirts. He put down the book when Jesse came through the door.
Jesse held up the bag. “Only one.”
“Jelly?”
Jesse nodded.
Suit smiled, but it was sheepish. “Elena will kill me. Hell, Jesse, I’m down to less than my football-playing weight in high school.”
“How do you feel?”
“Great.”
“So you don’t want this?”
Suit’s right hand swung out and snatched the bag from Jesse’s hand. “Did I say that?”
Jesse enjoyed watching as Suit relished each small bite of the donut.
They hadn’t discussed Suit’s bravery at the old meetinghouse since right after it happened. Suit had been awarded a medal for his bravery, a plaque had been placed on the wall of the stationhouse, but like most real heroes, he was almost embarrassed by the attention. What mattered to Luther “Suitcase” Simpson had nothing to do with medals and plaques. He had always longed for Jesse’s respect. Not respect as a person. Jesse had always afforded him that. It was that he had always craved Jesse’s respect as a cop. There was no question of that now.
What still surprised Suit was not that he’d walked back into a building knowing he was very probably going to die inside. Nor was it that he’d done it only several months after getting married and finding true happiness for the first time. It was that when he walked into the old meetinghouse, it had nothing to do with winning Jesse’s approval or respect. It was all about doing his duty and doing what was right in spite of being choked with fear. He had done it because that’s what a good cop did.
“Did you hear about Cole?” Jesse asked, as Suit swallowed the last bite.
“No. What?”
“He’s going into the State Police Academy next month.”
Suit felt a twinge of something when Jesse said that and saw the smile light up his face. Suit hadn’t much liked Cole when he arrived in Paradise. Truthfully, Cole hadn’t made it easy for anyone to like him. And though Suit had earned everything he wanted from Jesse, he guessed what he felt was a touch of jealousy. Suit had always acted the part of Jesse’s surrogate son/younger brother, and a piece of him didn’t want to relinquish that just yet.
“Good for him,” Suit said, in spite of himself. “How do you feel about it?”
“Proud and scared. I’m going to throw him a party before he goes in.”
Suit changed the subject. “How did it go in Boston?”
“Mixed.”
“What’s that mean?”
“What it means,” Jesse said, “is that we’re going to change tactics tomorrow.”
“How so?”
“We’re going to put some people on notice at the high school.”
“We are?”
“We are. You have tomorrow off, right?”
Suit nodded.
“Want some overtime?”
“Sure, Jesse.”
“How long are the periods at the school?”
Suit thought about it. “If things haven’t changed, the periods last fifty minutes. With ten minutes between classes.”
“And school starts at seven?”
“Seven, yeah.”
“You meet me for breakfast at Daisy’s at nine.”
“Then what?”
“Then we’re going to the high school to shake the trees and see who falls out.”
“Whatever you say, Jesse.”
Jesse retreated into his office. Suit tried to go back to his book but felt too guilty about his reaction to Jesse’s pride over Cole. Suit had to laugh at himself for the irony of his petty jealousy. But he no longer had to walk around in silence, burdened by his thoughts and feelings. He had a wife at home to talk to and share with. Now he smiled at the prospect of talking to Elena, and the guilt disappeared even faster than the jelly donut had.
Forty-four
At eight, before heading to Daisy’s for breakfast to discuss what he wanted to do at the high school, Jesse was at the stationhouse, talking to Molly.
“Peter have any luck yet with the Grimm kid’s computer?”
Molly shook her head. “None.”
“We probably won’t find anything on it, even if we get into it.”
“I’ve gone over his cell phone records,” Molly said. “Nothing there either. I checked the numbers in and out.”
Jesse took out his notepad and tore off a sheet. “Get the home and cell numbers for these kids and match them against Chris Grimm’s records. He was using prepaid phones, but when addicts are desperate, they don’t tend to follow the rules. My guess is some of their numbers will show up.”
Molly paled when she read the names on the list.
“My girls are on the field hockey team with Sara York and they’ve known Carl Bedell since they were little. We are in a supper club with the Bedells.”
Jesse hadn’t thought it through and realized he should have had someone else handle this aspect of the investigation.
“Molly, I can have Suit do this tonight.”
“No, Jesse, absolutely not. I can do my job. But are you sure about them?”
“I got their names from a reliable source.”
Molly was clearly upset, simultaneously angry and sad.
“But you can’t say anything to these kids or their parents, and definitely not to your girls. Not yet. We can’t compromise the investigation.”
Molly bit her bottom lip. “I understand.”
Jesse knew better than to ask again or to make Molly promise not to share the information or warn the kids’ parents. Molly didn’t frequently go ballistic, but when she did it was ugly, and Jesse was usually on the receiving end of her wrath. He moved on.
“I want you to go through the evidence from Chris Grimm’s room. Look for receipts from Quinn’s Self-Storage in the Swap. Also, see if you can find a key to a storage unit from Quinn’s. I don’t know if their units have their own locks or if the renters have to supply them. In any case, write up a search-warrant application for Quinn’s and leave the unit number out. I want it ready for when we get that info.”
Jesse rarely touched Molly, and when he did it was never in a manner that could be misperceived by anyone watching as even remotely romantic or sexual. It was
the same when they were alone. They loved each other, deeply, in a way that would be hard for either one of them to explain or for anyone else to understand. From early on they understood that they were professionals and that the job was always the most important thing. Before heading to his office, Jesse put his hand on Molly’s shoulder and left it there for several seconds. They did not look at each other. No words passed between them, but Molly knew Jesse was acknowledging how difficult it was for her to be a mother, a wife, and a cop.
When the phone rang, Jesse lifted his hand from her shoulder and went into his office.
Forty-five
Jesse sat with Suit and Gabe at a booth at Daisy’s. Cole waited on their table. Suit, who had discussed his jealousy with Elena earlier that morning, stuck out his big hand to Jesse’s son.
“Congratulations on getting into the academy. I know we haven’t gotten on so well, but I’m happy for you.”
Cole smiled and shook Suit’s hand. “I didn’t exactly make it easy for you or anybody else to like me. I’m sorry about that.”
Jesse smiled but said nothing.
Gabe was confused. “What am I missing here?”
Suit said, “Jesse’s son is going to be a Statie.”
Gabe scowled. “A Statie! Watch out, kid, us local cops hate the Staties.”
There was a second of hesitation and confusion on Cole’s part. When the three cops at the table saw it on his face, they burst out laughing.
“Get used to it, Cole,” Suit said. “These guys give you any trouble, come to me.”
“Thanks, Suit. Now, what do you want for breakfast.”
Once Cole had walked away from the table, Jesse thanked Suit for his gesture.
“That was a nice thing to do, Suit.”
Suit deflected Jesse’s praise and asked about what the plans were for the high school.
Jesse said, “I’ve been playing it low-key. I didn’t want to cause a big stir after Heather Mackey died. The kids needed time to mourn and reflect. I also didn’t want to send people running for cover. But since now I’m certain Chris Grimm was the connection and he’s already split or dead, we’re going to serve notice today and make people nervous.”
Gabe, a former Boston cop, understood perfectly. “We’re going to put on a show.”
“Uh-huh.”
Suit asked, “What kind of show?”
Not revealing his source, Jesse explained about locker 113 and how it was used as a transfer point for orders and deliveries.
“Between classes, while the kids are outside their rooms and going to their lockers, we’re going to make a show of cutting the locker open.”
“But you have the combination,” Suit said.
Gabe answered, “That’s part of the show, Suit.”
“We want to make a lot of noise for as many people as we can, students, teachers, secretaries, administrators, and maintenance people,” Jesse said.
This time it was Gabe who didn’t understand. “Teachers? Janitors?”
Jesse nodded. “I was thinking about it last night. Who would have access to Chris Grimm? Who would approach the kid? How would Chris get a spare locker? I’m thinking that maybe the person next up the ladder from the kid works in the school.”
Both Suit and Gabe were nodding now, too.
Suit said, “Do you think we’re going to find anything in the locker?”
Jesse shook his head, taking a sip of coffee. “Unlikely, but it tells us something either way.”
Gabe smiled. “If there’s still drugs and unfilled orders in the locker when we open it, it means they haven’t replaced the kid as the supplier and his customers are going to be in pretty bad shape.”
“And if it’s empty,” Suit said, “then it means they have moved on and that there’s either a new locker or a different system already being used. Also means that your theory about it being someone at the school who was the kid’s connection makes sense.”
Before they could discuss it any further, Cole arrived with their breakfasts.
Gabe said, “You sure you want to give up all this glory to be a Statie?”
Cole laughed. “Tough choice.”
* * *
—
WHEN HIS COPS went outside and after Jesse paid the bill, he cornered Daisy. It bugged Jesse that Daisy, who had always been simpatico with him, had seemed to avoid him that morning. And he couldn’t get past Cole’s comment about how Daisy had seemed jealous of his relationship with Maryglenn. Jesse was a man who liked things to make sense. That’s what being a homicide detective had been about, bringing order to or making sense of circumstances and events that, at first glance, seemed disconnected. Of course, there were and would always be cases that defied sense and reason, but most of the time it was simply a matter of doing the work.
“Are you going to give me a hard time about covering for your son?” she said. “Because if you are, mister, you can just forget it. I’m—”
“Not that. I’m glad you two trusted each other so much and that you gave him the space to go for what he wanted.”
“You got quite a boy there. His mother did a good job raising him. Don’t screw your part up.”
“She did and I won’t. But what’s the deal with you and Maryglenn? And don’t tell me to go ask her. I’m asking you.”
“You know Swingline Sue’s?”
“No.”
“Then educate yourself.” She pushed past Jesse, about-faced, “And congratulations. You have a party for him, I better be there.”
She didn’t give Jesse a chance to say another word before she disappeared into the back of the restaurant.
Forty-six
Jesse and Principal Wester understood each other’s position.
“The kid is officially missing, so I don’t need a warrant to get into his locker. Locker 113 is something else, but I could get a search warrant for it if you force my hand.”
“I know precedent says that the students should have no expectation of privacy on school grounds, but this will hurt my relationship with the students, and the school board won’t be pleased.”
“They’ll be even less pleased if there’s a delay and another kid ODs.”
As displeased as she was with the notion of giving the police access to the lockers, she was even less happy about Jesse’s insistence on doing it as the kids moved between classes. Jesse’s explanation of why that was the best time to do it made sense. Still, none of it was to her liking.
Inevitably, a crowd of students and teachers formed around Jesse, Suit, and Gabe. Peter Perkins, evidence bag in his gloved hands, had joined them as well. Principal Wester stood next to Jesse. Things got surprisingly quiet, and when they did, Jesse turned and faced the crowd.
“We’re cutting open the lock on number 113,” he said. “I know for a fact that this locker was used as a transfer point for pill orders and deliveries. Heroin, too. Let me make this clear to you, I am not looking to get anyone in school in trouble. If you’ve got a problem, all we want to do is get you help. If you don’t want to come to the police, I understand. Go to a teacher, your guidance counselor, the school psychologist, Principal Wester, or a friend. We don’t want any more of you hurt. But let me put anyone involved in selling the drugs on notice: You have one chance to come forward. I realize you might be addicted yourself and feel trapped. You’re not. We’ll get you help. Here’s the thing. I found out about this locker and I will find you. That’s what I am paid to do. If I find you before you come forward, that won’t be good for you.” Jesse turned to Gabe. “Cut it.”
Gabe Weathers placed the sharp jaws of the lock cutter on either side of the combination lock’s U-shaped metal and squeezed the long handles together. The jaws cut cleanly through the curved metal. Peter Perkins stepped forward and put the lock in an evidence bag. He opened the locker. As Jesse expected, it was empty. Peter Pe
rkins put the bagged lock away and got busy taking photos. It was all part of the show.
Jesse nodded to Virginia Wester.
“Okay, everyone, back to class,” she said, looking at her watch. “The excitement is over and I don’t want to hear any excuses about being late for class. Let’s go. Let’s go.” She gestured with her arms, shooing them away.
Jesse had wished she would have repeated some of what he had said, but he understood why she hadn’t.
He leaned over to Suit. “You stay here with Peter. Keep an eye out for any kid who sticks around or seems like they want to approach you. When Peter’s done, go home and get to sleep before tonight’s shift.”
“Sure, Jesse. You think this did any good?”
“Too soon to tell, Suit.” Then he walked over to Peter. “When you’re done with this locker, open Chris Grimm’s locker. I want everything in it bagged and cataloged.”
“I will.”
“Gabe,” Jesse said. “You can go out on patrol.”
* * *
—
AS THE SCHOOL’S FRONT DOOR closed behind Jesse, Maryglenn raced to catch up to him. When he turned to face her, the expression on her face wasn’t what he expected. Instead of smiling at him as she usually did, she was scowling and there was very real anger in her eyes.
“I didn’t expect that of you,” she said, brushing hair out of her eyes.
“I was doing my job.”
“Is it your job to scare the hell out of these kids? I heard that was some display you and the troops put on.”
“‘Troops’?”
“Well, it was a show of force, wasn’t it?”
He nodded.
“Word has already spread around the school.”
“Good,” he said. “That was the idea.”
“What was?”
“I wanted word to spread and I wanted to scare some people.”
“At what cost?”
“Trying to make sure Heather Mackey is the last casualty.”
Robert B. Parker's the Bitterest Pill Page 15
