Robert B. Parker’s The Devil Wins

47

Suit, Molly, Peter Perkins, and Captain Healy were seated around the table in the conference room. Jesse stood by the whiteboard. With the exception of Healy, Jesse had called them all into his office that morning. He’d invited the captain to the meeting the previous evening between drinks in the wake of the news report from Trench Alley. Jesse had a good laugh at himself for thinking that he was on the verge of leaving alcohol behind him. Then he passed out on his couch, woke up at three in the morning, and couldn’t get back to sleep.

Everyone was finished with their coffee and donuts when Molly asked the question they were all thinking about.

“What are we doing here, Jesse?”

“We’re going to shake things up.”

Molly kept after him. “Shake things up how?”

“I’ll get to that,” he said. “First I want to talk about what we’re dealing with, one case at a time. Any progress on John Doe? Anybody?”

Suit raised his hand. “Nothing on this end, Jesse. We haven’t even gotten any calls since that weirdo from Arizona called.”

“Nothing on our end, either, afraid to say,” Healy said. “John Doe’s prints don’t seem to be on file anywhere and no one’s come forward about that tattoo. If we’re going to get an ID on the vic, we may have to try and wrangle up some funds to do a forensic facial reconstruction.”

“We might just have to, but today’s not going to be the day to ask.” Jesse looked at his watch. “My guess is that Bill Marchand or one of the other selectmen will be in here sometime this morning to deliver a warning to me. Not exactly the time to ask for favors.”

“A warning about what?” Suit asked.

Molly gave Suit a cold stare. “About his job.”

“They wouldn’t fire you, Jesse,” Suit said. “Where would this town be without you?”

“Thanks, Suit, but I wouldn’t blame them. We’ve got three unsolved homicides and a questionable suicide on our hands. You played ball. You know how it works. When a team is losing, you can’t fire the whole team, so you fire the coach. It makes you look like you’re doing something. If they fire me, it will take the pressure off them for a little while. But we’ll worry about that later. Where are we on the cabdriver?”

Suit spoke again. “Just like you thought, Jesse, Wiethop’s got a record. Kiting checks, shoplifting, stuff like that. Nothing violent.”

“No sex offenses?” Perkins asked.

Suit shook his head. “Nothing like that.”

Jesse said. “You put it all out on the wire?”

“I did, but he’s not exactly public enemy number one. All we got him for is suspicion of possessing stolen property. If he ditches his car and keeps his head down, it’s not going to be easy to find him.”

Molly said, “Wait a second. Am I the only one in the room who heard you call Maxie Connolly’s suicide questionable? You think Wiethop killed her?”

“I’m not sure what I think about what happened to Maxie, but there’s a lot not to like about it.”

“I agree,” Healy said. “First we can’t find any of her possessions, then most of her stuff turns up under the cabbie’s bed like that.” He snapped his fingers. “No, sir, it feels like amateur hour to me. A guy like this Wiethop fella, he’s done time. He wouldn’t keep her stuff. He’d take her cash and cards and dump the rest in a garbage can or toss it in the ocean. Never mind the panties. Suit says he’s not a perv, so that really doesn’t make sense. It’s like maybe someone wanted your department to find it all there.”

Jesse took some quiet pride in Healy’s confirmation of everything he’d said to Tamara Elkin the night before.

Perkins said, “The funerals for the Connolly woman and her daughter are tomorrow, Jesse. Are you going to get a court order to stop the mother’s burial?”

“No. The forensics report from the state came up with nothing and I spoke to the ME about it this morning. She went over her autopsy results again last night. The cause of death hasn’t changed, and without evidence to the contrary, it still looks like a probable suicide. I can’t go to a judge and ask him to stop the interment because I have a gut feeling. For now, we’re going to keep any doubts about the suicide to ourselves,” Jesse said. “But when it comes to the girls, I’m going to start being very cooperative with the press.”

Suit made a face. “But we don’t have anything.”

Jesse smiled. “They don’t know that. As a matter of fact, we now have a prime suspect and a report from the lab that says they might be able to salvage some DNA from the blanket found near the girls’ remains. We also might have some hairs and fibers that aren’t a match to either of the girls. First thing you’re going to do, Suit, is release the girls’ autopsy results, but without the photographs.”

Suit opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it.