Robert B. Parker’s Fallout

Eight

Jesse and Molly were standing near the place at Bluff Lookout where Jack Carlisle had likely spent his last moments on earth.

“Amazing view,” Molly said.

“Of infinity, maybe,” Jesse said.

Suit had started yelling again after Molly had raised the prospect of suicide. This time Jesse sent him home.

“Don’t talk shit!” Suit had said to Molly.

“And don’t you talk to Molly like that,” Jesse said.

Jesse couldn’t remember another time when Suit had ever done that, spoken to Molly that way.

“Jesse, you knew him,” Suit said.

“Everyone thinks they know a kid suffering from depression until they don’t,” Jesse said.

“You’re saying that’s what happened?” Suit said.

He was shouting again, at both of them then.

“There is no way he killed himself!” Suit said.

“Not saying that he did,” Molly said. “But we have to at least consider the possibility. We wouldn’t be doing our jobs if we didn’t.”

“This is such BS,” Suit said, shaking his head.

“You need to take the day, Suit,” Jesse said.

“No,” Suit said.

“Wasn’t a request,” Jesse said.

Molly had walked Suit to his car, then gotten into Jesse’s Explorer for the ride to what was now a crime scene.

Just what kind of crime?

Jesse looked down at the waves crashing against the rocks, high tide now.

“He could have jumped,” Jesse said.

“Or been pushed.”

“Or gotten too close to the edge, and fallen off the end of the world,” Jesse said.

“Shit shit shit,” Molly said.

“We’re gonna need to talk to everybody who was at that party,” Jesse said. “Establish some sort of timeline. The last time anybody besides the Ford kid saw him. And no phone in his pocket, right?”

“Probably lost at sea,” Molly said.

“We can still use his phone number to see who might have reached out to him in the hours after the party that night, though it’s going to be the usual grind getting a subpoena for the records.”

“What if we classify it as a homicide, that might speed up the process with our asshat DA.”

“It’s not a homicide,” Jesse said. “Might not ever be. Suspicious death for now. We go by the book.”

“Until we don’t,” Molly said.

“Shhhh,” Jesse said.

“We’ll start with a list of the kids at the party, get their phone numbers.”

Jesse said, “And get the numbers of his other friends.”

“And see if there’s any we don’t recognize when we get the phone records.”

“Sounds like tons of fun,” Molly said.

“You know what they say. Not a job. An adventure.”

“Pretty sure that’s the Navy,” Molly said.

Jesse shrugged. “We are near the water.”

Before Gabe Weathers had left the scene this morning, he’d done castings of the footprints they’d found up here, inside the crime scene tape. In addition, Gabe had taken photographs of all the prints from shoes and sneakers and sandals and whatever the hell else the ones who had come here to look at the water and the waves under what had been a full moon had been wearing. The deeper prints had enabled Gabe to pour down some of the dense liquid, Jesse forgot what it was called, that he used to make the castings.

“You gonna check everybody’s shoes?” Jesse had said.

“Why the hell not?” Gabe said. “Maybe there’s one print that doesn’t belong. Jesus, some of these kids have big feet.”

He grinned at Jesse.

“Aren’t you always the one saying we need to build cases from the ground up?” Gabe said.

“Molly keeps thinking that quoting me to me is gonna get her a promotion,” Jesse said.

“Wouldn’t that mean your job?” Gabe said.

“She already thinks she’s got it,” Jesse said.

Jesse and Molly walked away from the water now, over to where the party had been held. The kids had at least cleaned up after themselves, Jesse had to admit, around the fire pit. He found a couple stray cans. A few cigarette butts. That was it.

Night of fun.

Until Jack Carlisle had wandered off.

They’d find out, sooner rather than later, if there had been other witnesses to the fight. Scott Ford said he couldn’t even remember exactly where they’d been when the punches had been exchanged in the night.

He said he had put Jack Carlisle on the ground. Said when he realized they’d turned the whole night into Stupidville he reached down and tried to help Jack up, but had his hand slapped away. That was when Scott Ford had walked back toward the party. They would find out eventually if Jack ever came back.

“Jack’s girlfriend was at the party,” Jesse said.

“Ainsley,” Molly said.

“The doctors’ daughter,” Jesse said.

“Concierge doctors, if you please,” Molly said.

“Do we know if she went looking for him?” Jesse said.

“One of the things I plan to ask her when she gets home from school,” Molly said.

They were walking to where Jesse had parked his Explorer when they saw Nellie Shofner waving and heading their way.

“Weren’t the two of you supposed to meet at the malt shop after your last class?” Molly said to Jesse.

“Is there no end to your dated references?”

“I try so hard to be good,” Molly said.

“Try harder,” Jesse said.

Nellie got right to it. Something else she always did. Something else about her that Jesse found appealing. Her not talking just to talk. Jesse had always thought small talk shortened your life.

“The fight was over a girl,” Nellie said.

“We already know that,” Molly said.

She smiled at Nellie.

“But no worries,” Molly said, “it won’t affect your final grade.”

She told Jesse she’d wait in the car. Jesse and Nellie watched her go.

“You think maybe she and I can be friends?” Nellie said.

“Maybe you can get her to adopt you,” Jesse said.

“You got anything I can use for my story?” Nellie said.

“No.”

“Hey,” she said, “I helped you out today.”

Now Jesse started walking toward the Explorer.

“Okay, here’s what I got for you,” he said. “Ready?”

She took out her notebook.

“No comment,” Jesse said.

“Wait a second,” Nellie said, walking faster to keep up. “I thought the rules of engagement between us had changed.”

“They haven’t,” Jesse said.

“So we’re back to playing it that way?” she said.

“We never stopped,” Jesse said.

“Wow,” she said.

“We’re friends with benefits,” Jesse said. “Just not those kind of benefits.”