Robert B. Parker’s The Devil Wins

60

Jesse let Suit drive the cruiser over to Sacred Heart. He knew it would please Suit to be in control. Jesse sat quietly looking out at the streets of Paradise. He still couldn’t get past how that nor’easter had blown through town and, in a few short hours, blown up his illusions all at once. He had thought that after a decade-plus as police chief Paradise was finally his town, that he had its measure, knew its rhythms. But it seemed to him now that illusion, not knowledge, was exactly what he had until the night of the storm.

Suit broke the silence. “So why would a guy like Millner set fire to those houses?”

“He’s a punk. Somebody probably hired him to do it.”

“But who?”

Jesse smiled. “That’s the big question. We find out who hired him, we’re one step closer to our killer.”

“You think there was only one killer?”

Jesse shrugged. “Let’s start with one and work our way up. If there’s more than one, when the first one falls, they’ll all fall. It’s one thing for a guy to take a burglary rap for someone else. Do your bit, keep your mouth shut. I haven’t met too many people willing to take the fall to protect someone else from a murder rap. Not many people worth doing twenty-five to life for.”

“But some do?”

“Gang members do it.”

Suit made a face. “Why?”

“Sociologists will tell you it’s part of the gang mentality, part of the macho culture and the brotherhood code.”

“You don’t buy that, do you, Jesse?”

“Makes for good textbooks. The truth is uglier.”

“Uglier?”

Jesse said, “Roll over on your gang brothers and there’s a big price to pay. Even if you snitch, you’re still going to do time. Prison is the loneliest place in the world without protection, and about the most dangerous. If you think gangs are bad news on the street, they’re worse in close quarters. You got black gangs, Muslim gangs, white supremacist gangs, Hispanic gangs, Asian gangs. The list is long and you don’t want to be in that shitstorm without an umbrella. You keep your mouth shut and your head down, you’ve got protection. Maybe your family on the outside gets taken care of. You snitch and maybe it’s not only you who pays the price.”

Jesse could see that Suit was thinking about that. Then Suit’s expression changed.

“You know, Jesse, we never talked about what happened after I got out of the hospital. Not really.”

“Forget it.”

“I wish I could.”

“You’re going for your sessions, right?”

“I told you I was,” Suit said, his voice tinged with anger and impatience. “You know, Jesse, it’s not like I was trying to get shot.”

Jesse felt the pressure building, but kept it in.

Suit wasn’t through. “I was only doing what you are always at me to do. I thought you would need help, and you’re not the kind of man to ask for help. I was just trying to help, is all.”

Jesse’s jaw was clamped so tight his teeth ached.

“I’m not stupid, Jesse. I know what you think of me as a cop.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jesse asked, knowing exactly what it meant.

“Nothing. Just forget it.”

“We’ll talk about this later.”

“Sure, Jesse.”

As they walked to the door of the maintenance shed, it seemed to Jesse that Suit’s steps were once again slow and labored.