The Bitterest Pill

Seventy-seven

Maryglenn took the cuffs being clicked about her wrists by Molly without incident. They had escorted her outside and had moved the cruiser to a side entrance, out of sight of the students, before they cuffed her. There had been no protestations of innocence or of a setup, though she and Jesse knew that both of those things were true. Well, he was sure that Maryglenn had been set up. He was less certain of her innocence as a state of being. No one hiding their past is innocent, but of her innocence concerning the drugs, Jesse was sure. Jesse’s certainty, however, would not stand up in court, not against what they had found in a box at the back of the art supply closet.

There they had found a vial containing both Oxycontin and Vicodin, three packets of powder that would prove to be heroin cut with fentanyl, and, most damning of all, a vial containing a powdery substance that, when analyzed, would prove identical to the powder found beside Petra North. The setup had been simultaneously amateurish and very effective.

“We won’t find your fingerprints on any of it, will we?” Jesse said through the metal screen that separated the front of the cruiser from the rear.

“Unlikely, unless the person who did this found a way to transfer prints.”

Molly glared at Jesse.

“Relax, Molly. She’s been Mirandized.” He turned back to Maryglenn. “Any ideas about who? Spot any other teachers in the art room nosing around?”

“No, but we don’t keep the classrooms locked and lots of people have access to the art supplies.”

“Anybody with a grudge?”

“Apparently.”

Neither Maryglenn nor Jesse could help themselves from laughing.

Again, Molly glared at Jesse.

Jesse’s cell buzzed. Abe Rosen’s name flashed on the screen. Before he picked up, Jesse asked the women in the car to be quiet. When they both nodded, Jesse put the call on speaker.

“Abe.”

“Stone.”

“Got anything for me?”

“I’ve gotten warned off this woman’s file by upper management. The minute I started looking, it set off all kinds of warnings.”

“Witness Protection?”

“No. I have contacts at the Marshals Service and we can usually gain access to the files of those in the program because it’s law enforcement. We often need to access those people for trial prep and debriefing. At the very least, I can find out if they are in the program or not and why. They’ve never heard of your subject and they weren’t bullshitting me.”

“What, then?”

“Best guess?”

Jesse said, “If that’s all you’ve got.”

“CIA, military intel, or State Department intel. I did some time in counterintelligence, so I’m familiar with this sort of thing. It’s not detailed enough to be a cover story for infiltration. There are too many holes in it. Besides, who is she going to infiltrate up in Paradise, the Portuguese Fisherman’s Association?”

“What is it, then?”

“Again, this is an educated guess. I think it’s an exit cover for someone to leave an agency. A story that would pass muster if the scrutiny weren’t too intense.”

“They do this for everyone?”

“Not hardly,” Abe said.

“Thanks, Abe.”

“Stone.”

“What?”

“Don’t call again.”

Jesse hung up, faced the metal grate, and said, “Well?”

Maryglenn sat back, refusing to speak for the remainder of the ride into the station. She didn’t speak when she was booked or when Jesse attempted to interview her, didn’t ask for a phone call or a lawyer. So they put her in a cell and left her there.

The only people at Chris Grimm’s burial were his mother, Jesse, Molly, and Rich Amitrano. Jesse looked at Rich and remembered how teenage crushes persisted and that sometimes not even death could interfere. Kathy Walters’s husband, Joe, was nowhere to be seen. The sun was out, the wind blowing so strong the priest could not keep his place in the Bible. He recited the remainder of Psalm Twenty-three from memory. Molly mouthed the words with him. Jesse kept his eye out for anyone who didn’t belong. But they were alone except for the groundskeepers and the men hanging back to cover Chris Grimm’s coffin in dirt.

When it was done, Jesse approached Kathy Walters. She wasn’t crying. Hadn’t cried through the service, and she didn’t look about to break down. She looked resigned.

“I failed him. I was never no good, and my nonsense helped plant him there.”

Jesse could see she was in no mood to be consoled or argued with. “Where’s Joe?”

She snorted. “I moved out. If I want to atone for the wrong I done my boy, I can’t stay with that man. Thank you and your lady officer there for coming. That was a kindness I didn’t expect.”

“Good luck.”

As they walked away from the grave, Jesse noticed Rich Amitrano trailing behind them.

“Molly, I’ll meet you at the car in a minute.”

Molly went on, but Jesse stood his ground and waited for the boy to catch up.

“I felt like I should come because I knew no one else would,” Rich said. “What he did was wrong, but you know how I felt about him.”

“It was a good thing to do.”

“Chief — Jesse — this may sound stupid, but I’ve been thinking.”

“About what?”

“I think I’d like to be a policeman.” He laughed a mocking laugh. “Stupid, right?”

“Why is it stupid?”

“You know, because I’m... You know, I’m gay.”

“We are what we are, kid.” Jesse tapped Rich on the temple and on the chest. “The only thing I care about is who you are in there and in there and whether or not you can do the job. The rest doesn’t matter to me.”

“You mean it?”

“Absolutely. When you graduate, come talk to me and we’ll see about it.”

The kid turned and headed to his car. Jesse did the same.