Robert B. Parker’s The Devil Wins

70

Healy left Jesse at the hospital, saying he had to wrap some things up in Framingham and that he would give the state marine unit a call to help motivate them to look for the Dragoa Rainha. Jesse didn’t doubt there were loose ends that needed tying up in Framingham and he appreciated any help Healy could give him tracking down Dragoa. But the real reason Healy left had much more to do with what Jesse found stuffed in Jameson’s jacket pocket than the search for Dragoa. Over the course of his career, Healy had delivered all kinds of horrific news to people. People who’d done nothing to deserve the tragedies that he brought to doorsteps. Even so, hardened as he was, he didn’t want to be anywhere near Paradise that night when it was Jesse’s turn to bring tragedy to someone’s door.

First Jesse had to drive Suit home. But before he could do that, Bill Marchand showed up at the ER. Maybe he’d judged Marchand too harshly the other day, Jesse thought. No one else from the town government had showed up to check on Suit. In most municipalities, it was tradition for the mayor to pay a visit to the hospital when a cop is hurt on the job. Not in Paradise, apparently, and not when the town had gotten so much bad press. Jesse had to give Marchand credit for coming.

“How is Suit?” Marchand asked, shaking Jesse’s hand.

“He’ll live. If the gunshot didn’t kill him, that rusty old pickup wasn’t going to do it.”

“And the other gentleman?”

“Jameson,” Jesse said.

“Who is he, exactly?”

“He’d come to town to help us identify our John Doe. Unfortunately, he didn’t get the chance.”

“What’s his condition?”

“He’s still unconscious. The doctor thinks the next few hours are critical.”

“What do you think about what happened, Jesse?”

“I think what Alexio Dragoa did is a strong indication that he had something to do with the deaths of Ginny Connolly and Mary Kate O’Hara.”

“But you don’t think he acted alone?”

“I don’t have any real evidence even he was involved,” Jesse said. “But I think the mayor can exhale and relax a little. We’re close. I just need to find Dragoa.”

“Good luck, Jesse. Let me know if I can help. If you can give the mayor something soon, I’m pretty sure you’ll keep your job.”

“You just like winning at softball.”

Marchand smiled. “There is that. Now I’d like to go talk to Suit for a minute, if I could. I’d like to express my appreciation.”

Jesse pointed to his left. “Suit’s in there. Tell him to hurry up, that getting hit by a truck is no excuse for making me wait.”

For a brief second, he considered calling out to Marchand and telling him what he’d found in Jameson’s pockets. He decided against it. When he was this close to finally putting the murders behind him, he thought he’d better make sure of his facts. A misstep at this point by raising expectations too high might lose him the job he thought he had just saved.