The Bitterest Pill

Sixty-four

Ambrose North strolled into the stationhouse as if he owned the place. Ambrose North was the kind of man who would stroll into the White House or St. Peter’s and act the same way. Annette North looked slightly embarrassed and not a little bit wary. Petra North appeared about ready to jump out of her own skin. Jesse didn’t recognize the attorney who accompanied them, but was certain he was a high-priced Boston criminal lawyer bound to underestimate Jesse.

“This is William Clark,” Ambrose North said, pointing at the attorney. “He is our daughter’s legal counsel.”

Jesse nodded. “Counselor.”

They shook hands, but it was perfunctory. Clark was conservatively dressed in a dark blue suit. He was a small, tidy man with a receding hairline and a serious demeanor.

“Chief Stone,” Clark said, “will you please explain to me why my client has been summoned?”

“Officer Crane went to the North household to have a casual conversation with your client about the opioid issues at our local high school. As is their right, Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose refused to give the officer access to their daughter. We have therefore requested a more formal interview. Your client is not under arrest, nor do we anticipate arresting or charging her, but we do have credible information that she has knowledge of a drug ring operating at the high school. The interview will be digitally and audio recorded.”

“May her parents join us in the interview room?”

“One parent, yes,” Jesse said.

Petra looked more and more nervous as her parents huddled with Clark. Jesse heard the lawyer advising the parents to leave it to him and not to come into the interview room. It was sound advice. It was Jesse’s experience that parents, even ones with law degrees, could not help but react emotionally when their child was involved or when questions touched a nerve. But, as Jesse had anticipated, Ambrose North insisted on accompanying Clark and Petra during the interview.

“Let us proceed, Chief Stone,” said Clark, gesturing for Jesse to lead the way.

Mehdi, Arakel, Stojan, and Georgi sat in the back room of a local Italian restaurant. The two thugs had stuffed their faces, seemingly without any sense of what they were there to discuss. Once their coffees had been served, Mehdi gave the waitress an extra twenty-dollar bill on top of the tip and asked her not to reenter the room for at least another fifteen minutes. She was happy to oblige.

Mehdi began when the waitress slid the door shut behind her. “Gentlemen, we have a serious problem.”

Stojan said, “Not to worry. We will be taking care from the girl and the teacher. We will enjoy, no, Georgi?”

Georgi smiled a gap-toothed smile and nodded. “Enjoy very much, yes.”

“At the moment, the girl and the teacher are mosquitoes on the ass of two elephants. First we must concern ourselves with the elephants. The mosquitoes can wait. Arakel, explain to them.”

“Today, the police chief from Paradise, this Jesse Stone, came to the block of the clinic and exposed our police protection to scrutiny. He visited the old doctor’s home and he came to the pawnshop with—”

Stojan interrupted. “We have already made move to the other location with clinic and Laghari says nothing. The old doctor is saying nothing.”

Mehdi exploded. He slammed his fist onto the table, rattling the silverware and spilling his coffee on the tablecloth. “Shut up, you stupid gargoyle, and listen. Do not talk. Do not think. Listen!”

Stojan glared at him but kept his mouth shut.

Arakel went on. “Stone showed up at the pawn shop with Vinnie Morris at his side.”

That got the thugs’ attention. Like everyone else in the Boston area, they knew of Vinnie Morris and were aware of his reputation.

Mehdi said, “I see now that Arakel has gotten your attention.”

“This cop is being paid by Morris?” asked Stojan.

“I do not think so. I hear they are... friends.” Arakel turned his palms up. “They go back to a relationship with the late Gino Fish. At the pawn shop Morris tells Jerry the pawn man that he is aware he is doing business with us. Jerry is frightened.”

Stojan had had it. “Enough talk. Who are we to kill? Morris?”

“Not Morris,” Mehdi said. “We are not yet powerful enough to win a war we start. Not only would Morris’s people come at us, but the other families and gangs would worry they would be next. Morris, for now, is untouchable. We will deal with Jerry, along with the girl and the teacher. First—”

“The cop,” Georgi said. “We kill the policeman.”

Mehdi nodded. “With him gone, it will buy us the time to do the rest of what must be done. But it has to be done neatly and soon, not like the boy. An accident is best. Do you understand?”

Jesse sat across the table from Petra. He’d done all the preliminaries: given her a can of soda, reassured her, and explained about the camera and the recorder.

In conclusion, Jesse said, “You have to give me verbal answers, Petra. Nodding or shaking your head doesn’t count, okay?”

Naturally, she nodded yes. Everyone in the room, even Petra, laughed at that. Jesse had set her up for that in order to try to put her at ease. It did, for about five seconds. Then the near panic set back in. Jesse switched the equipment on, introduced himself, the others in the room, and stated the purpose of the interview. The first few questions were easy ones: What is your full name? What is your date of birth? Where do you attend school? Like that.

“Petra, are you aware of drug dealing, specifically Vicodin, Oxycontin, and heroin, at Paradise High School?”

“No.”

“Have you ever used or been addicted to any of the drugs I just mentioned?”

“No.”

Jesse reached under the table and produced an evidence bag. “Did you steal and barter your father’s Rolex Submariner, now contained in the evidence bag, for drugs?”

The girl looked ready to crack, but her father lost it, screaming at Jesse and threatening to end the session. Jesse ignored North’s threats. Clark, noticing the panic in the girl, seemed almost relieved by North’s outburst. He turned and advised North to calm down, but only after the girl had collected herself.

“Petra, do you need me to repeat—”

“No,” she said, calmly. “The answer is also no to your question.”

She was asked if she knew about locker 113. Asked about Chris Grimm. Asked if she knew anyone else in the school doing drugs. Asked about Heather Mackey. The answer was always no. Although Jesse had been a shortstop and not a pitcher, he was preparing to throw the girl a curveball.

“Okay, Petra, we’re almost done. One more question. Are you aware of the involvement of a female teacher at the high school connected to Chris Grimm and—”

Both father and lawyer saw the change in the girl’s body language and the horrified look on her face.

“My client won’t be answering that,” Clark said, standing as he did and pulling Petra up by the arm. “This interview is at an end. My client has given you your answers, Chief Stone. She has, as the recordings will show, denied having any connection to or knowledge of the drugs and how they are distributed. Therefore, the answer to your last question is obvious.”

Jesse did not object. It was answer enough. “Thank you for coming in, Petra. You can go.” But as they were leaving, Jesse held the lawyer back. “You realize your client didn’t give a single truthful answer.”

“Do I?”

“Remember this, Counselor. Today was a free-pass day. That’s two chances I’ve given her to tell me what she knows. I like the girl and want her to have a happy life, but if another kid ODs and I find your client lied here tonight, trust me when I tell you you will be earning every cent of your hourly fee.”

“Threats?”

Jesse stared hard at the lawyer. “I don’t make threats, Mr. Clark. Have a good night.”