Chapter Thirty-two

Jesse had breakfast with Lilly before she went home, and he was late coming to work. It was a deeply still summer morning that you can only get in a small town. Cloudless. Hot. Silent. As if everything was going to live forever.

"Suit's in the squad room," Molly said when Jesse came into the station. "He says to come see him."

Simpson was at one of the computers.

"I got a hit," he said when Jesse came into the room.

"On what?" Jesse said.

"Gino Fish. I got a connection with Paradise."

"Which is?"

"This'll knock your socks off," Simpson said.

"Sure," Jesse said.

"Norman Shaw," Simpson said. "How about that?"

"Knocks my socks off," Jesse said. "What's the connection?"

"Article in the Globe five years back," Simpson said. "Shaw was going to write a book about Gino and they were going to make a movie out of it."

"You print it out?"

"Yeah."

Simpson handed Jesse a sheet of paper.

"Anything else?" Jesse said.

"Not that helps us. He did ten years at Walpole for killing a guy with a straight razor."

"Nice," Jesse said.

"Was one of the people they covered when they did that big spotlight thing on organized crime."

"Anything about girls?"

"Says in here he is alleged to be gay."

"I know. Anything about prostitution?"

"Nothing specific. Just says he's the alleged boss of all criminal activity in Downtown and Back Bay."

"Well," Jesse said and gestured with the printout. "I'll take this. You print out the rest and put it on my desk."

"Print out all of it?"

"Yep."

"There's 5,145 entries for Gino Fish."

"Most of them are for fish markets, or tropical fish collectors, or sportsmen or other guys named Fish, or Papa Gino's pizza," Jesse said. "Internet's not too selective."

"Don't I know it," Simpson said.

"So just print out the ones about Gino Fish, and don't duplicate."

"I hate the Internet," Simpson said.

"Information highway," Jesse said.

"Mostly bullshit highway," Simpson said.

"No one ever said crimebusting was pretty," Jesse said.

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