48.
They were all in the squad room, except Molly, who was with Amber, and Arthur, who was on the desk. There was coffee, and an open box of donuts. Jesse sat at the far end of the conference table.
“We’re all on call now, all the time, until this thing shakes out,” Jesse said. “I’ll try to get you enough sleep. But if I can’t, I can’t.”
No one spoke.
“Here’s what we know,” Jesse said. “The vic is a guy named Rico Larson. His driver’s license says he lives in Miami. He was carrying a Glock nine when he was killed by one bullet from a .350 rifle. The shot probably came from about a hundred yards down the road and across the street. He was shot in front of a condominium town house rented by Wilson Cromartie.”
Suitcase Simpson reached across the table for a donut.
“Crow,” he said.
Jesse nodded.
“Everybody in that neighborhood works during the day,” Jesse said. “No one saw anything. No one heard a shot.”
“We got a theory of the crime?” Peter Perkins asked.
“Guy in Miami,” Jesse said, “his wife ran away, took his daughter with her. Guy in Miami—name’s Francisco—hired Crow to find them. So Crow found them…here. Daughter’s got a boyfriend in Marshport, gang kid named Esteban Carty. Crow calls up Francisco, says, ‘I found them, what do I do now?’ Francisco says, ‘Kill the mother, bring back the daughter.’ Crow says, ‘No.’ This much I get from Crow, and it’s probably true.”
“You been talking to Crow?” Buddy Hall said.
“Yes.”
“How come he didn’t do what the Miami guy wanted?”
“Crow says he likes women,” Jesse said. “And besides, he didn’t feel like it.”
“You believe that?” Cox said.
“I believe he didn’t do it,” Jesse said.
“So how about the mother,” Cox said. “Did he kill her?”
“Crow? I don’t think so. He says it was probably the gang kid, Esteban.”
“That make any sense?” Peter Perkins said.
“Esteban made a deal to turn her over to her father,” Jesse said. “Maybe he made a deal to kill the mother, too.”
“Girl say that?”
“Nope.”
“Wouldn’t she rat out the guy that killed her mother?” Cox said.
“She didn’t like her mother,” Jesse said.
These were small-town guys, most of them not very old, Jesse knew, most of them very conventional. The idea that you wouldn’t like your mother was hard for them. No one said anything.
“She doesn’t like her father, either,” Jesse said. “That’s why she ran away when she found out Esteban was going to take her down there.”
“She come here?” Peter Perkins said.
“Crow brought her in,” Jesse said.
“Crow?” Cox said. “What is it with Crow?”
Jesse shook his head.
“What about this guy in Miami?” Paul Murphy said. “He a bad guy?”
“Big player in the South Florida rackets,” Jesse said.
“So who’s the dead guy?” Murphy said.
“Now, it’s all theory,” Jesse said. “I figure that Francisco sent him up to kill Crow, and bring the girl home.”
“You think he came alone?”
“No one would send one guy after Crow,” Jesse said. “Besides, there’s no car. How did he get there?”
“You think Crow shot him?”
“Probably,” Jesse said.
“And the other guys split,” Murphy said.
“Yep.”
“If Crow’s as good as everybody thinks he is,” Murphy said, “how come he didn’t get more than one?”
Jesse was quiet for a moment, thinking about Crow.
Then he said, “Maybe he didn’t want to.”
“That’s crazy,” Peter Perkins said.
“Crow’s not like other people,” Jesse said. “Suit, you go down to my house and stay with Molly and the kid. I’ll relieve you later. Everyone else, shotguns in every car, cleaned, loaded, no plastic daisies in the barrel. Extra ammo in every car, shotgun and handgun. Vests with you at all times.”
“Jesus, Jesse,” Suit said. “It sounds like you’re expecting a war.”
“Always possible,” Jesse said.