“Can’t lie,” Jesse said. “Few do.”
Fourteen
From time to time Jesse would see Nicholas Farrell going up and down Main Street in his motorized wheelchair. Or driving around town in his wheelchair-adapted minivan. He’d even taken Jesse for a spin in the van one time, Jesse having to caution him not to get a speeding ticket with the chief of police inside his vehicle.
Nicholas looked like a long-haired movie star, had weightlifter’s forearms, covered in tattoos that had distressed his grandfather to no end. For the past couple years he had been seriously talking about trying to qualify for the Paralympics in wheelchair tennis, because he was that good a tennis player. It was clear to Jesse in all ways that after the accident, the kid had decided to live a life instead of a concession. He was engaged to a local woman, Kelly Loughlin, whom he’d met working at More Chocolate.
He appeared to have put on another ten pounds of muscle weight since the last time he and Jesse had been in the same room together. All in all, Jesse thought he was built like The Rock.
“You know I would have been happy to come to you,” Jesse said to him now in his office.
“I was happy to come here,” Nicholas said. “I had to get out of the building. People are feeling sorry for me all over again.”
“Can’t have that,” Jesse said.
“Been there, done that,” Nicholas said.
Jesse had asked if he wanted coffee. It was like a default position for him when he had a visitor, unless it was a perp or suspect sitting across the desk from him. Nicholas said he’d brought his own, in one of those Yeti thermoses, in a cupholder on one of the arms of his chair.
He drank out of it, and grinned.
“Still hot,” he said. “Does the same with cold.”
“How do it know?” Jesse said.
They were both just killing a little time before getting around to the subject of his grandfather, and who might have killed him.
“I’m sure he mentioned to you how upset he was about those scam calls,” Jesse said.
“His hair was on fire about it,” Nicholas said. “He was still talking about it the last time I saw him.” He swallowed hard. “He said he was going to find out who was behind that call if it was the last thing he did.”
“I told him it was always a bad idea to take the law into his own hands,” Jesse said, “even if he was still technically the law.”
“Was,” Nicholas said. “Past tense, goddamn it.”
They sat, Nicholas’s hands on the arms of the chair. Jesse noticed a wedding ring.
“Wait,” he said, pointing at the ring. “You and Kelly are already married.”
Nicholas’s smile was sheepish.
“I usually just wear it around the house when nobody else is around,” he said. “Like I’m road-testing it.”
“How’s it feel?” Jesse said.
“Freaking awesome,” the kid said.
“Back to your grandfather,” Jesse said.
“Do we have to?”
“When was the last time you spoke with him?”
“Early last night,” Nicholas said. “Kelly and her friends were having a girls’ night out. I offered to pick us up a couple of those flatbread pizzas from the Gull he loves... loved. He said he had to meet somebody and he’d call me later if it wasn’t too late.”
“He say who the somebody might be?” Jesse said.
“I asked,” Nicholas said. “He said he’d tell me later. I told him he was sounding mysterious. He told me he didn’t solve mysteries anymore, he left that to the cops on Law & Order. Especially that actress he liked on SVU.”
“Mariska Hargitay.”
“Sometimes called her Captain Benson, like she was a real person,” Nicholas said, grinning. “Used to say she could be his superior officer anytime.”
Jesse said, “Did he ever mention whether the nuisance call came on his landline or his cell?”
“Never asked.”
“Whoever did this to him took his cell along with his wallet,” Jesse said.
“But I thought I read somewhere that if you know the number, you can go into his records and track his calls,” Nicholas said.
“We can,” Jesse said. “But the bastards behind these calls do something called spoofing, so the call looks like it’s coming from a legit number, sometimes a local one. Those they call neighbor spoofing.”
“There must be a way to track them back to the source,” Nicholas said.
Jesse said, “You just keep going deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole, all the way to hell.”
Another silence between them. He saw Nicholas look down at his watch.
“Might he have said anything else on the phone that might help me out here?” Jesse said.
“We didn’t talk all that long,” Nicholas said. “I just finally told him that maybe I’d see him later.”
He swallowed again.
“And that I loved him,” he said.
“So did I,” Jesse said.
“Promise me that you’re going to find out who did this to my Gramps,” Nicholas said.
“I promise,” Jesse said.
“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” Nicholas said.
“Let me ask you a question,” Jesse said. “Anything I could say to make you feel better today?”
“No.”
“Then get out of here,” Jesse said.
“Wheels up,” the kid said as he spun the chair around.
Fifteen
Molly and Suit sat with Ainsley Walsh in the living room of the home she shared with her parents on Stiles Island. Their office was four blocks away, closer to the bridge. The house they were in was the biggest of a gated community, one of a handful of gated communities on the island, called The Dunes, even though Molly knew that with beach erosion the way it was these days they might end up calling it The Former Dunes before much longer.
For now, she thought, personalized medicine was being very, very good to the Walshes.
Suit had asked if he could come along, now that Molly’s interview with Ainsley had been pushed back to today, the students of Paradise High having been given the day off in Jack Carlisle’s memory. Before they’d left the station Jesse had signed off on Suit accompanying Molly on the condition that he would behave himself.
“I’m not the high school kid here,” Suit said. “You don’t have to treat me like one.”
“Prove it,” Jesse had said.
“It’s not like I never saw you lose your shit on the job,” Suit said.
“Perk of being chief,” Jesse said.
The girl looked enough like Molly’s daughters to be one of them. Dark hair worn long. Great skin. Flawless skin, truth be told. Bright blue nails looking as if they’d been professionally done in the past couple days. Her shirt was blue with white stripes, the sleeves rolled up. Distressed jeans. Golden Goose sneakers looking distressed, too, which was apparently part of their charm.
If she isn’t the prettiest girl in school, Molly decided, Ainsley had to be in the conversation. She and Jack must have gone through Paradise High looking like the perennial king and queen of the prom.
“I don’t want to make this more difficult for you than it already is,” Molly said.
Ainsley was at a corner of the couch, feet tucked underneath her, sneakers still very much on. The mom in Molly resisted the urge to tell her no shoes on the furniture.
“No need for you to stress,” she said to them. “I’m pretty much all cried out.”
“I know how you feel,” Suit said.
Molly said, “The vigil last night was lovely. You all did a wonderful job putting it together.”