“I got the mail,” Cole said, reaching over and handing the pile to Jesse.
Jesse shuffled through the mail. It was the usual stuff: bills, ads, flyers. There was something else, an open envelope addressed not to Jesse but to Cole Slayton. Jesse’s heart thumped harder when he saw the return addressee was the Massachusetts State Police.
“There’s something here for you,” Jesse said, voice steady, holding the open envelope out to Cole.
“No, why don’t you read it.”
He had a notion of what it would be, but when he actually read the letter stating that Cole Slayton had passed all requirements and had been accepted into the next class of trainees at the State Police Academy in New Braintree, Jesse was simultaneously filled with pride and worry. Pride was the stronger of the two emotions.
The next thing he knew, Jesse was hugging Cole, pushing him back, shaking his hand, and hugging him again.
“Easy, Dad, easy,” Cole said.
“‘Dad’? You sure you want to call me that?”
“For the time being. I reserve the right to change my mind.”
“It’s times like these I wish I still drank.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You’d be surprised,” Jesse said. “The desire comes and goes, but I don’t think it ever truly just goes. Anyway, we should go celebrate. Come on, we’ll go to the Gull or the Lobster Claw.”
Cole waved for Jesse to calm down. “We can celebrate soon. I may even let you throw me a party before I go in next month.”
“Why all the secrecy?”
“I didn’t want you to try to talk me out of it. I’ve seen up close how dangerous this profession can be, and though I know deep down you love what you do, it’s taken a toll.”
“Can’t deny that.”
“And I didn’t want you to think I was doing this to prove myself to you,” Cole said.
“You’re sure this is what you want?”
“It is.”
“Then do it the best you can.”
Cole asked, “So you’re okay with this?”
“Truth?”
“Yeah.”
“I would have rather you wanted to play shortstop for the Dodgers, but, yes, I’m good with your decision.”
“I hate baseball, especially the Dodgers.”
“So you’ve said. C’mon, get dressed. I’m taking you for a drink, whether you want one or not. I’m in the mood for a tall club soda on the rocks with a twist.”
Cole hesitated but realized he wasn’t going to win this one. He went into his bedroom to throw on some clothes.
Twenty minutes later they were seated at the bar at the Lobster Claw, a beer in front of Cole and that tall glass of club soda in front of Jesse. Jesse toasted his son. Afterward, Cole shared some things with Jesse that he’d never spoken about with him.
“I’ve lived in Massachusetts for over a year now,” Cole said. “It took me a long time to work up the nerve to confront you. I think that if I hadn’t lost my job in Boston and wasn’t nearly broke, I may never have come to Paradise. I was mad at you, mad at Mom for dying, mad at the world.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You say ‘uh-huh’ a lot.”
“Uh-huh.” But Jesse couldn’t keep a straight face. “I don’t want to get in your way, but if you ever need any advice about being a cop...”
“Advice like what?”
Jesse debated with himself about how to answer that question. In the end, Jesse shook his head. “No, Cole, you’ll figure this stuff out for yourself. When you have trouble doing that, come to me.”
“Okay.”
“So who introduced you to Lundquist?” Jesse asked.
“Captain Healy. Both Captain Healy and Brian were great. They both think a lot of you.”
“This isn’t about me tonight. This is about you. Congratulations.”
After that, they sat in silence, finishing their drinks. But unlike the silences between them over the last couple months, silences that were often awkward and strained, this one was comfortable.
“C’mon, Statie,” Jesse said finally, clapping his son on the shoulder, “let’s go home.”
Thirty-five
Jesse didn’t usually make it a point to attend arraignments, but he made sure to be at the one for Joe Walters. He had particularly strong views about men who abused women. It had gotten him into occasional trouble in L.A., trouble he was glad to bear. During his very first case in Paradise, he’d had to confront a musclehead who beat on his wife. He’d dealt with that guy much the same way he’d dealt with Joe Walters, with a swift kick and a warning. Sometimes the warnings stuck. Sometimes not, but abusers had to know there would be a price to be paid.
Jesse knew something was wrong the minute he stepped inside the courtroom and saw Kathy Walters seated in the front row behind the defense table. That wasn’t a good sign. He knew that those first twenty-four hours after the cops interceded were crucial. That it gave the wife a chance to walk away, to get to a shelter or to a relative’s house. Unfortunately, things often went the other way. The abused party, full of fear and regret, tried to make it up to the abuser. But he was sure it had gone ass-end-up when they led Joe Walters into the courtroom and he stared back at Jesse, a chilling sneer on his face. He mouthed the words Fuck you.
Seeing Joe Walters looking into the gallery, Dan Malmon, the new town DA, turned and saw Jesse. He shook his head. That was never an encouraging sign. And if Jesse needed any further proof of how things were going off the rails, the reading of the charges against Walters took care of that. Driving While Intoxicated was the only charge against him.
After the charge was read and before the judge could ask for Walters’s plea, Malmon stepped forward.
“Your Honor, if it please the court?”
“Proceed, Mr. District Attorney.”
“Thank you. Mr. Walters has agreed to plead guilty to the one count of Driving While Intoxicated. In exchange for this plea, the people have agreed to the following. Mr. Walters will pay a fine of two thousand dollars, will do fifty hours of community service, and agrees to undergo ten sessions with a town-appointed alcohol counselor.”
The judge didn’t seem any more pleased with the bargain than Jesse was.
“Mr. District Attorney,” said the judge, “I note that the defendant has a prior criminal record and that this deal does not include a suspension of his driver’s license.”
“That is correct, Your Honor. Mr. Walters’s past criminal behavior occurred over a decade ago and his business requires him to drive. My office has made Mr. Walters well aware of the consequences if he should in any way deviate from the letter or spirit of the agreement.”
“Very well.” The judge turned to Joe Walters. “Mr. Walters, do you understand the terms of this sentence and will you abide by them?”
“He will, Your Honor,” said Walters’s public defender, Ruth Jordan.
That didn’t please the judge. “I’m asking Mr. Walters directly.”
Walters said, “Yes, sir. I do and I will.”
“You are free to go.” The judge banged his gavel and that was that.
Jesse walked up to the DA, failing to hide his anger.
“What the hell was that about? What happened to the gun charge and assaulting an officer?”
“Let’s take this to my office, Chief,” Malmon said, nodding to the door.
Inside Malmon’s office, he offered Jesse coffee.
“I don’t want coffee. I want an explanation. We caught an ex-con with an unlicensed nine-millimeter in his bedroom. He assaulted me and it’s pretty clear he’s an abusive spouse. Now you explain to me how he’s not spending five seconds in jail even though his blood alcohol level was one-point-six.”