Robert B. Parker’s Fallout

Five

The day Jesse’s father died in the line of duty for the LAPD, died in the crossfire of a gang shoot-out in South Central, Jesse had done the only thing he knew how to do, when he was the young cop dealing with a death in the family.

He went back to work.

One way or another, there or here, drunk or sober or somewhere in between, it always came back to that for him. Only mechanism that worked for him. Like he had his own ideas about grief counseling.

Nellie still didn’t have all the details on the party. Still didn’t have the name of the other kid in the fight with Jack Carlisle; none of the other players would give it up, at least not yet.

“It’s almost like there’s some kind of code,” she’d said to Jesse on the phone.

“Not almost,” he said. “There is a code.”

A fight didn’t necessarily explain why Jack Carlisle had ended up in the water. But it was something. A start. One foot in front of the other.

Jesse was at Paradise High School a few minutes after the bell at nine o’clock. Jesse knew real grief counselors would be on-site before the morning was out, breaking off kids into small groups, or even working one-on-one with the ones most upset. Jesse knew the drill. There had been a suicide at the start of the school year, the girl who was vice president of the student council.

By now, Jesse was certain, the whole school knew what had happened to the star shortstop of the high school baseball team. The world of social media. Such a joy.

The principal, David Altman, told Jesse he’d need a few minutes to get the baseball team to the gym, as Jesse had requested.

Jesse was in Altman’s office with him. Being there made Jesse remember all the times in high school he’d been in the principal’s office. Never voluntarily.

Always with cause.

“I’ll meet you there,” Jesse told him. “The gym.”

“I’m frankly not sure how the parents are going to feel about their children being questioned by the chief of police,” Altman said. “As if the boys are suspects or something.”

“If they object,” Jesse said, “have them call me and I’ll explain this one crucial thing to them.”

“What thing?”

“That I don’t give a flying fuck about their feelings,” Jesse said.

Altman was short, bald, slightly overweight, favored the kind of bow tie he was wearing this morning. His face now turned the color of a cherry blossom at Jesse’s word choice, which didn’t surprise him, since he’d always considered the principal of the high school an officious little prig.

“I certainly hope you won’t use language like that in front of the student athletes,” Altman said.

“Only if one of them fucking annoys me,” Jesse said.

Fifteen minutes later the members of the Paradise High baseball team were facing Jesse from where they all sat in the bleachers.

Jesse told Altman he could leave.

“This is my school, Chief Stone,” Altman said.

“It’s your school about as much as this is my town,” Jesse said. “I need the boys to be able to speak freely.”

“They can do that in front of me,” Altman said.

“No, they can’t,” Jesse said. “We can do this here, or I can load up the team bus and take them all to the station and you can speak freely to their parents about that.”

Altman stood his ground, but not for long, then turned and walked out of the gym as if he had important school business waiting for him somewhere else in the building.

Jesse stared up into the faces of kids he had watched win the big game the day before.

“Listen, I knew Jack Carlisle,” Jesse said. “And some of you might know that. I worked with him some on playing shortstop. Won’t wear you out with a trip down memory lane, but I made it as high as Triple-A when I was young. Dodgers chain. I just wasn’t as good as Jack was going to be.”

He was walking up and down in front of them.

“Most of you know Jack was the nephew of one of my officers,” Jesse said. “So this is as personal for us as it is for you.”

One of the kids raised a hand. Jesse recognized him. Kenny Simonds. The starting pitcher in yesterday’s game. His father owned an auto repair shop just over the line from Paradise, in Marshport.

“Why are we here?” Simonds said. “None of us want to talk to you. And my father always says that nobody had to talk to the police if they don’t want to.”

Jesse nodded.

“They don’t,” Jesse said. “But just so you know, Kenny, I am officially treating what happened to Jack as a suspicious death.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Simonds said, his voice full of sarcasm.

“I wasn’t finished,” Jesse said, putting some snap into his voice. “Nobody here has to talk to me. But if you don’t, if you choose not to help me investigate what happened to your friend, I’m going to look at you as hindering my investigation. And get suspicious about that.”

He moved to his right, so he was directly in front of Kenny Simonds.

“Do I have your attention now?” Jesse said.

Simonds nodded. He wasn’t the only one in the bleachers doing that. Jesse reminded himself these were high school kids, some of them or even most of them dealing with the death of a buddy for the first time in their lives.

“Were all of you at the party at Bluff Lookout?” Jesse said.

More nods.

Jesse took a closer look at the faces in front of him, noticed that the team’s first baseman, Scott Ford, was wearing sunglasses.

“Now I already know one of you had some kind of beef with Jack at some point in the proceedings last night,” Jesse said. “Now I need to know who with.”

“Who said there was a beef?” Kenny Simonds said.

“Son,” Jesse said. “I’m the one asking the questions here.”

Jesse waited.

He was good at it.

Better than them.

He walked down to Scott Ford and said, “Lights too bright in here for you, Scott?”

Ford mumbled something.

“I’m sorry, son, I didn’t quite catch that,” Jesse said.

“I said I didn’t want everybody to see I’ve been crying,” Ford said. “Is all.”

“Is all,” Jesse said, nodding.

Then he quickly walked up the aisle and, before the kid could react, took off the glasses. Ford’s left eye was purple, swollen, nearly closed. Maybe he hadn’t known that Jesse knew about a fight before he walked into the gym. Maybe he was afraid to be the only team member not in attendance. He was a kid. Maybe he thought he could get by telling Jesse he’d been crying, as if he’d given up some crucial piece of information.

But here he was, anyway.

Jesse handed Ford back his glasses. Ford put them back on.

“Let’s take a walk,” Jesse said to him.

“What if I don’t want to?” Scott Ford said.

“Then I can call Jack’s uncle and get him over here and you can explain about the fight to him instead of me,” Jesse said. “Your call.”

The kid got up and began walking toward the double doors at the end of the gym. Jesse followed him. Before he was out the doors, he looked back over his shoulder. None of the other players had moved. They were just staring.

Boys to men, Jesse thought, this fast.

He thought: It must already seem to them as if somebody else won the big game.