Robert B. Parker’s The Devil Wins

81

An hour later, Jesse was in the library of Sacred Heart Boys Catholic with Tommy Deutsch. Deutsch was the skipper of the varsity baseball team at Sacred Heart Boys and the second baseman on the Paradise PD’s slo-pitch softball team. Tommy was a spry sixty and still had that competitive fire in his belly that was the difference between mediocre players and coaches and great players and coaches. Jesse and Tommy recognized the fire in each other the first time they met at a charity pancake breakfast the year Jesse moved to Paradise.

“What’s this about, Jesse?” Deutsch asked, turning his key in the library door. “Usually when you want a favor, it’s to take grounders and to test out that bum arm of yours. Never thought we’d meet here.”

“Got something against books, Skip?”

“Nothing at all. I’m just curious why you called me out in the snow to open up the library for you.”

“I’m curious, too.”

“About?” Deutsch asked, clicking on the lights.

“Were you around during Coach Feller’s time as the basketball coach?”

Deutsch frowned. “Our paths crossed during my first few years here. Can’t say as I cared much for the man.”

“Why’s that?”

“Feller was a Neanderthal. Cruel to his boys, you know. The type of coach who thought Leo Durocher was too soft on his players. But he got results. Won a lot of games without much talent. His teams were always tough and smart. Pressed from the opening tip. Slowed it down when they had the advantage. Pushed the ball up court when they were behind.” Deutsch tilted his head. “What’s this about, Jesse? Deke Feller’s been dead for fourteen or fifteen years.”

“They keep copies of the yearbooks in here?”

“Of course they do,” Deutsch said.

“Where?”

“Okay, Jesse, I’ve played along up to this point, but if you want me to keep playing, you’ve got to give me a little bit more than this.”

“That’s fair, Skip.”

Deutsch walked Jesse to a dark, windowless corner of the library. There was a faint musty odor in this part of the library. “Far as I know, they’re all on these shelves right here. If any are missing, I can’t help you.”

“Thanks.”

“So what is it you think you’re going to find in these yearbooks, Jesse?”

“Three murderers.”

Tommy Deutsch blanched. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Just click off the lights and close the door behind you when you leave. It’ll lock itself.”

“Skip,” Jesse said. “This is between us. Just us.”

The baseball coach nodded, then left.

When Deutsch was gone, Jesse counted back twenty-five years, pulled a yearbook off the shelf, and carried it over to the librarian’s desk. The spine was clean, but the top of it was covered in a downy layer of dust. He brushed off the dust and ran his hand across the textured crimson-and-white cover. The spine crackled with age and resisted as he pulled open the cover, and the pages, unwilling to surrender their secrets, stuck stubbornly together. One page at a time, Jesse went through the yearbook, looking at the photos, reading some of the captions. He recognized some of the names, some of the faces. Even had a laugh or two. So that’s what he looked like when he had hair! Then he came to the page he was looking for, the sports team photos.

The basketball team photo wasn’t perfectly in focus, but it didn’t need to be. Coach Feller looked exactly like Jesse expected him to look. He was a hulking, sourpussed man with his gray hair in a military brush cut. He was dressed in an unfashionable brown suit, a white shirt, a tie that didn’t match, and mean shoes. There were many more familiar faces in the shot. In the back row were two faces he immediately recognized. There were three familiar faces in the front row as well. Two he expected to see and one he had hoped not to. In his years as a street cop, homicide detective, and police chief, Jesse thought he had learned his lesson about hope. He knew better than most just how little purchase hope ever really has.