Robert B. Parker’s Fallout

Fifty-Three

When Jesse saw Molly on the other side of the window, he waved her in.

Gary Armistead was in one visitor chair, Scott Ford’s father, Ted, was in the other.

Suit was standing next to Jesse, Jesse’s side of the desk.

“I don’t know if you two have met, Ted,” Jesse said. “But this is Deputy Chief Molly Crane.”

Ford turned his head just enough to nod at Molly.

“And of course you know our boss, Molly,” Jesse said.

“Mr. Mayor,” she said.

Somehow when Molly said it she always sounded to Jesse like she was making fun of Gary Armistead. Or his title. Or both.

“Okay,” Armistead said, “you guys now have us outnumbered.”

Jesse couldn’t keep himself from smiling.

“Would have been that way if it was just me,” he said to Armistead.

Armistead turned to Ford. “The chief is a noted wit.”

“Witless, as far as I can tell,” Ford said.

Molly sighed.

“I was just explaining to Jesse,” Armistead said to Molly, “that Ted here has filed an official complaint against the department.”

Ford pointed at Suit.

“Not the department,” he said. “That guy. For harassing my son.”

No one spoke right away. Molly had moved over and was leaning against the file cabinet to Armistead’s right.

“What I want to know,” Ford said, leaning forward in his chair, jabbing a stubby little finger at Jesse now, “is what you have to say about that.”

“For starters,” Jesse said, “don’t point your finger at me in my office.”

“Please cut the shit, Jesse,” Armistead said.

You first, Jesse thought.

Jesse turned and looked up at Suit.

“Have you been harassing Mr. Ford’s son, Detective?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

Jesse turned back to Armistead and Ford, clapping his hands together as he did.

“Okay, then,” he said. “We’re done here.”

Armistead rubbed his temples as if he felt a migraine coming on.

“Let’s not make this situation worse than it already is,” he said. “Ted has lodged a serious complaint against this department, and I expect you to take it seriously.”

Jesse looked back at Ford. He was already at the edge of his chair, like he was in attack-dog mode, straining at a leash. If he made another move forward, Jesse was worried he might end up under the desk, trying to bite his lower leg.

“Define harass,” Jesse said.

“He accosted my son when he was coming out of Daisy’s,” Ford said. His face was now the color of beets. “Probably followed him there, for all I know. When Scott told him he had nothing to say, your guy prevented him from getting to his car.”

“It didn’t happen that way,” Suit said.

“I’m not talking to you, hotshot,” Ford snapped.

“Ted?” Jesse said, still keeping his voice level. “You are going to speak respectfully to members of this force, or I am going to lift you out of that chair by your ear.”

Before Ford could say anything, Armistead put up his hand to stop him.

“What is your version of this event, Detective Simpson,” he said. “Just for the record.”

“I simply was there to ask Scott why he got into a fight with my nephew that night at the Bluff,” Suit said. “And he told me what he’d told us before, that it was a jam-up about Ainsley Walsh. I then explained to him that I didn’t find that a credible version of things, since Jack and Ainsley were no longer a couple at that point, and everybody at Paradise High except the custodian seemed to know that. Then Scott told me, and I quote, ‘I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think.’ ”

“You didn’t interfere with him leaving?” Jesse said.

“No, sir, I did not,” Suit said. “But before he left I told him what I’ve been telling other kids when they’ve refused to talk to me.”

“Which is what?” Jesse said.

“That I believe they are all withholding information relevant to the investigation of my nephew’s death,” Suit said. “And that I didn’t give a rat’s ass why they were doing it, but the truth is going to come out eventually whether they like it or not.”

“Scott took that as a threat,” Ted Ford said.

“The last time I threatened a high school boy,” Suit said, “I was a high school boy.”

They all let that settle until Ford said to Suit, “If your boss won’t tell you this, or his boss won’t, I will. Stay away from my son.”

Suit came around the desk then, until he was standing over Ted Ford.

“Your son is alive,” Suit said. “My nephew is dead. And until I see your son again, which I most likely will, you can give him a message for me: Whatever he’s hiding, he’s not going to be hiding it for much longer.”

Suit headed for the door.

“We’re not done here,” Armistead said as Suit walked into the squad room.

“Yeah,” Suit said over his shoulder, “we are.”

My boy, Jesse thought.