Robert B. Parker’s Fallout

Twelve

Jesse sat with Healy at Daisy Dyke’s at eight the next morning.

Healy had been a captain with the Massachusetts State Police, homicide department, since before Jesse had arrived in Paradise from Los Angeles, back to when Charlie was still chief. He had retired as a Massachusetts legend in law enforcement a few years ago.

But he had heard about Charlie Farrell. Here they were.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Jesse said to him, “but I hope I look as good at your age as you do.”

“You don’t know my age,” Healy said. “And ask yourself a question, by the way: What are my options?”

Neither one of them had ordered breakfast, just coffee for both of them. Daisy, whose hair this spring seemed to include most of the colors of the rainbow, said to Jesse, “The whole town heard what happened, you need to eat,” when she brought the coffee to the table herself.

“I’m good,” he said.

“Don’t get smart with me,” Daisy said, and left, at least for the time being.

“She seemed to take it personal, you not ordering food,” Healy said.

“Daisy likes to play the long game,” Jesse said.

He sipped some coffee. He had never asked, but was sure Daisy made up a pot special, just for him, knowing how he liked it, strong enough to take the trailer hitch off the F-100 pickup Healy had parked out front.

“Personal,” Healy said, “is how you and me are going to treat Charlie’s death.”

“No more personal than this,” Jesse said.

Healy’s hair had gone completely white. There were more lines in his face than there’d been the last time Jesse had seen him. But he was as trim and hard-looking as ever. As good and hard a cop as Jesse had ever known, with the LAPD or here.

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” Jesse said.

“Ought to be my line,” Healy said. “All the times we’ve both had to deliver bad news to somebody, now we’re on the other side of it, because it just happened to us.”

Jesse said, “How long did you know Charlie?”

“That long,” Healy said.

Two state cops, Crandall and Scoppetta, had shown up at Charlie Farrell’s house not long after Suit and Molly and Dev Chadha had arrived.

“You’re retired,” Jesse said. “Shouldn’t Lundquist be here?”

Brian Lundquist. Healy’s successor with the Staties.

“He’s all jammed up with some Mob thing in the city,” Healy said. “He called me soon as he heard. Asked if I wanted to take a ride over and help out a young up-and-comer like yourself. I told him that on some things you don’t need to ask.”

Jesse grinned. “So you cleared your schedule.”

“As luck would have it,” Healy said, “and by the good and enduring grace of God, my wife is out in Northern California visiting our grandchildren for a month.”

He sighed.

“They were coming here for a month once school let out,” he said. “But she missed them so much she decided to go there now.”

“You gonna miss her?” Jesse said.

“Sure,” Healy said. “Why not.”

Jesse had shown him the crime scene photos by now. Told him Charlie’s wallet was gone, which he thought was nothing more than a head fake from whomever did it, trying to make it look like a robbery. Cell phone nowhere to be found. Gun hadn’t been fired.

“Doorbell cam?” Healy said.

“Charlie?” Jesse said.

“Had to put it out there.”

Jesse told Healy now about the nuisance calls Charlie had been getting, and how he’d vowed to do something about them, take matters into his own hands, even though Jesse had tried to discourage him, telling Charlie to let the PPD handle it.

“How’d that go?” Healy said.

“Might have gotten him killed, is how it went,” Jesse said.

“You believe it did?”

“Operating theory.”

Healy picked up his mug, looked at it, gently placed it back on the table.

“If old cops don’t die on the goddamned job,” he said, “they’re not supposed to go out like this.”

“With all his bullets still in the chamber,” Jesse said.

Daisy came and gave them refills. It was the same table Daisy used to save for Jesse and Charlie if Jesse called ahead and told her they were coming.

“Is it all right if I come in on this?” Healy said.

“Some things you don’t have to ask,” Jesse said.

He reached across the table. He and Healy knuckled each other some fist.

“How old are you?” Jesse asked.

“Charlie’s age,” Healy said.