He followed Lawton into a dark classroom. She flicked on the lights and sat on the edge of the teacher’s desk. Jesse stood.
“What can I do for you, Jesse?”
“Tell me about Heather.”
“She was a great kid. Enthusiastic, dedicated, a good teammate...”
Jesse gave Brandy a hard stare. He was tired of making no progress. “She’s dead, Brandy. She ODed. You don’t start with drugs the way she died. You move up to it. So if you want this not to happen to some other kid in the school, tell me what’s really been going on with Heather.”
Lawton’s face turned down. “It wasn’t like she became a different person, Jesse, but she hadn’t been as into it as she used to be. She missed a few practices, made some slip-ups in the routines, and, frankly, was in danger of losing her spot.”
“Did you talk to her about it?”
“Of course. She seemed to understand and promised to do better, but she was also distracted. Look, Jesse, I was a seventeen-year-old girl once, too. Things can get confusing when you start growing into your body and you notice boys, and you’re thinking about college, and your parents get on your nerves.”
“Were her parents getting on her nerves?”
“Something was, but she didn’t want to talk about it. I was her coach, not her confessor.”
“Relax, Brandy, I’m not accusing you of anything. This is helpful. Can you remember when Heather’s attitude changed?”
Lawton didn’t answer immediately. “I guess it was a gradual thing. I didn’t notice anything different until late last spring. I thought that she’d straighten out after the summer.”
“Were there any incidents with Heather last year? Something that might have signaled a change?”
She shrugged. “The only thing I can remember with Heather was an injury. She hurt her back during a routine at the Holiday Show in December. She slipped going into a jump and missed the landing, but she finished the routine. I got a note from her doctor the following week, saying that Heather would be out of action for at least a month. By March, she was back at it.” Brandy looked at her watch. “Sorry, Jesse, I’ve got to move. I still have classes.”
“Just one more thing. Did you ever see Heather with Chris G.?”
Unlike Principal Wester, Brandy Lawton made a decidedly un-neutral face at the mention of that name.
“I’d see him with Heather after practice occasionally.”
“You didn’t like him?”
“I didn’t know him, but he looked like one of those kids who’d come to school with an AR-15 one day.”
“Did you talk to anyone about that?”
She laughed a laugh that had nothing to do with joy. “Half the boys in school look that way.”
“But what was it about him in particular?”
“I guess I just didn’t like him with Heather.”
Old story, Jesse thought, good girls and bad boys. “Thanks, Brandy.”
Jesse watched Lawton leave. He stayed behind to consider what Brandy had said. On the surface, she hadn’t said a lot, but Jesse knew by instinct alone she had given him his first real opening.
Seventeen
Jesse Stone had been to funerals, burials, and memorials of every description, but he had never hardened to them. Even at the funerals of vicious gangbangers, he had an open heart for their families. Regardless, he had to remain stoic to do his job. More often than not, he would hang back, off to one side or another, far away from the altar or the podium. He was there to observe, to see if anyone in attendance showed his hand. At Heather’s funeral, he wasn’t looking for suspects. This still wasn’t a murder case and it probably wasn’t ever going to be one, though he was keeping an eye out for Chris Grimm.
The service was held at the same church Suit and Elena had been married in, and Ross Weber, the man who’d married them, conducted the service. It was strange, Jesse thought, that grief and sorrow almost had a particular smell. The sweet notes in the air came from the huge number of floral arrangements arrayed on either side of the cherrywood coffin. There were roses — red, pink, yellow, and white — hundreds of them. There was the herbal and choking alcohol infusion from perfumes and colognes. It took the young years to figure out the right amount of the stuff to wear. The old had lost their senses of smell and wore too much to cover the odor of creeping decay. And there was the stink of stress sweat. None of the other odors could ever quite take the edge off that smell.
The church was full. Heather had been an only child, but both sets of grandparents were in attendance. There were lots of aunts, uncles, cousins, and family friends. Blank-faced, all. Jesse recognized many of the teachers he’d spoken with and some that he had not. Principal Wester and Freda were there, as were Maryglenn and Brandy Lawton. Three kids in the third pew from the front — two girls and a boy — were distraught, sobbing, rocking, clutching and clinging to one another. Jesse guessed those were Heather’s closest friends: Megan, Darby, and Rich. He would catch them later, at the cemetery. That’s when they would be most vulnerable to his questions.
There was no sign of Chris G. inside the church, and Jesse hadn’t seen him outside, either. Just in case, he’d stationed Suit in plainclothes in his pickup truck out front. Jesse had already stopped by the Grimms’ house. No one was home. At least, no one had answered the door. He’d also left a message on the phone machine. He hoped he wasn’t chasing his own tail around with this kid. His cop instincts were usually spot-on, but he wasn’t infallible. Jesse knew that believing you were was the biggest mistake of all.
There were about half as many people and twice as many tears at the graveside. When that casket gets lowered into the dirt, there’s no more pretending that it just isn’t real or that it’s all some kind of crazy, sick joke. It’s as real as it’s ever going to get. One of Heather’s grandmothers fainted, and Selectman Mackey fell to his knees as the first shovel of dirt rang against the cherrywood.
Jesse stayed far back, waiting for the crowd to break up. He kept a careful watch on Megan, Darby, and Rich as they walked away from their friend’s grave. As they approached a beat-up Jeep Cherokee, Jesse came over to them.
“I’m Jesse Stone, and I was wondering if I could talk to you.”
They looked at him with a mixture of hurt and confusion.
“You’re the police chief, right?” Rich said, pointing at Jesse’s PPD baseball cap.
He was a thin, handsome kid with fine, delicate features.
“Uh-huh. And you’re Rich. Which one of you girls is Megan?”
A very slight girl with long brown hair and a face reminiscent of Bette Davis said, “I’m Megan.”
Jesse turned to the other girl. “That would make you Darby.”
Darby was a striking girl, about five-six, with long red hair, tortoiseshell glasses, and a nose ring.
“That’s right,” she said. “I’m Darby.”
Jesse didn’t like doing it, but he didn’t waste time on preliminaries or small talk. They were off balance and raw with emotion. That’s what he needed.
“How long had Heather been using?”
They didn’t answer. He didn’t expect them to.
“She’s dead,” he said, pointing behind them at Heather’s grave. “I don’t want to hurt her reputation and I don’t want to get anyone in trouble, but I also don’t want to be at another funeral.”
“She wasn’t using,” Rich said.
“C’mon, kid. She didn’t die of old age.”
Rich shook his head furiously. “That’s not what I meant. It wasn’t that she did it for fun. She hated it, but—”
Megan, grabbed Rich’s arm. “Shut up, Richie.”
“No. I have to say this. She would want us to.”