Robert B. Parker’s The Devil Wins

33

Darkness had settled over Paradise by the time he got back to the station, but it wasn’t dark enough to hide him from the press gathered outside. Jesse waded through them without bothering to say “No comment.” A TV type Jesse recognized from a national morning show stood in his path and shoved a microphone in his face.

“Do you think Maxie Connolly’s death is connected to the other murders?”

Of course it is, you idiot. It’s connected whether Maxie committed suicide or was herself murdered. It’s not a question of if, but of how.

“No comment” is what Jesse said, then gave the correspondent his coldest stare, the stare he used to give pitchers who had thrown at his head. The TV guy withered under it, stepping out of Jesse’s path. Jesse made sure none of the reporters followed him into the station.

“Everything confirmed for tomorrow in Boston?” Jesse asked Suit.

“He’s expecting you around ten o’clock at his office.”

“Heard from the ME?”

“I checked. She says sometime tomorrow.”

“You’re getting good at this, Suit. I don’t know. I may have to keep Molly on the street permanently even after the town doctor clears you for active duty.”

Suit slumped in his chair. “Just kill me now.”

“Relax. I was kidding.”

“Don’t kid like that, Jesse. I’m going nuts in here.”

“Anything else?”

“Molly’s in your office and...”

“And what?”

“I don’t know if this is legit or not, Jesse, but I got a call from a guy who says he might be able to help us ID our John Doe.”

“Let’s get him in here.”

Suit waved his palm back and forth. “This guy sounded a little crazy to me. You want to waste your time with some nut?”

“We haven’t had any luck otherwise. Get him in here.”

“That’s the other thing.”

“Suit, come on. Don’t make me pull teeth.”

“He lives in some weird little town in Arizona. Diablito, he said. Says he saw the story on the news. He says he recognized the tattoo.”

“Name?”

“Wouldn’t give it to me. Said he would only give it to my superior officer.”

Jesse shook his head.

“See what I mean, Jesse?”

“Okay. Give me his number and I’ll call him.”

Suit handed him a slip of paper that Jesse put in his back pocket as he headed for his office, where Molly was pacing a rut in the floor.

“What’s up?” Jesse asked, sitting himself down in his chair.

“You smell like cigarette smoke.”

“Compliments of Alexio Dragoa. We had a talk.”

She made a face. “Him? What did you have to talk about with him?”

“He says he knew Ginny Connolly. That the town was smaller then. That all you kids knew each other. True?”

Molly shrugged. “I guess so. Twenty-five years ago we weren’t as connected to Boston. People didn’t commute to work from here like some do now. We were more of our own town. All of us kids knew each other or knew of each other. Like I said, Jesse, Paradise was a different town then.”

“But you can’t say definitively about Alexio and Ginny?”

“I was best friends with Mary Kate, not Ginny. I didn’t keep track of Ginny the way I did with Mary Kate. What did you talk to Dragoa about?”

“Seems he was one of the last people to see Maxie Connolly alive. Forget about Alexio Dragoa for now. Let me ask you something, Molly, how many times were you interviewed by the cops when the girls disappeared?”

“Three times, I think. Once by Freddy Tillis and twice by the staties. Isn’t it in the files?”

“Tell you the truth, the file’s pretty spotty. Looks like they interviewed just about every kid in town, but none of the interviews went anywhere and there wasn’t any follow-up to speak of. Seems like the Paradise PD bought into the theory that the girls actually ran away.”

Molly made a face.

“Words, Crane. What’s with the face?”

“Freddy was a nice man, but he wasn’t much of a cop,” she said. “Even as kids we knew that.”

“That’s what Healy says.”

“I guess I can’t blame people in town for wanting to believe that Ginny and Mary Kate ran away. It’s easier to live with that thought than that one of your neighbors is killing teenage girls. And there was no evidence of foul play back then.”

Jesse took it all in. As off balance as Molly had seemed to him since the discovery of the three bodies, this was the Molly he had come to rely on. Her assessment was honest and untainted by her closeness to the case.

“I’ll pick you up at your house at eight-thirty tomorrow morning,” Jesse said, changing subjects. “We’re going to Boston to interview Lance Szarbo.”

“Who?”

“He’s the one witness who claimed he saw the rowboat heading out to Stiles the day the girls disappeared.”

That got Molly’s attention. “He was blasted, wasn’t he?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you sure it’s worth the trip, Jesse?”

“Won’t know until we speak to the man. You just said that Freddy wasn’t much of a cop, and by the look of the file I’d have to agree. And because we don’t have much else to go on.”

“Okay,” she said without much enthusiasm and headed for the office door. Jesse called after her. She stopped, turned. “Yeah, Jesse.”

“Don’t wear your uniform.”

“What should I wear?”

He said, “Not your uniform.”

“That’s not very helpful.”

“Dress like a detective.”

“How does a detective dress?”

“I have faith in you, Molly. You’ll figure it out.”

“I thought the Paradise PD couldn’t afford detectives.”

“If we could, you’d be one.”

“What would the job pay?”

“Not enough. Go home and get some rest. Be with your family.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Anything else?”

He smiled. “Your Highness... I could get used to that.”

“Don’t.”

Jesse took the slip of paper Suit had given him out of his pocket, looked at his watch, and dialed. The phone rang six times before someone picked up.

“Diablito Motel. Paco speaking.”

Jesse introduced himself. Titles didn’t seem to impress Paco, nor did Paco seem to know anything about a guy calling the Paradise PD earlier in the day. The only thing Paco seemed interested in was getting off the phone.

“Where is Diablito?” he asked, sensing Paco’s impatience.

“Between Tubac and Nogales.”

“East or west of I-19?”

“Towards Sasabe,” Paco said, testing Jesse.

“So you’re west of 19.”

“How you know that?”

“Grew up in Tucson.”

“Me, too,” Paco said with a big smile in his voice.

“So can you help me out here, Paco?”

“Wait a second.”

Jesse held on.

“A call was put through to your number from Cabin Twelve this afternoon. Lasted about seven minutes.”

“What’s the guy’s name?”

“John Smith,” Paco said. “We get a lot of Smiths and Gonzaleses in here.”

“I bet. Can you put me through?”

“I can, but it would do no good. He split. Checked out a half hour after the call.”

“Can you tell me anything about this Mr. Smith?”

“Ex-military, I think. Tattoos everywhere, some from prison.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I been in both,” Paco said without hesitation. “Trust me. I know.”

“How was he?”

“Loco with a big L. Looking for enemies under the mattress and in the mirror. Paid me in pennies and crumpled-up singles. I was happy to see him go.”

After he hung up with Paco, Jesse put in a call to the Helton police chief. Jesse figured it was the Helton PD’s turn to have a chat with a motel deskman.