“Because the wife claimed the gun was hers, Jesse, and—”
“She claimed I was the one who precipitated the assault with her husband.”
The DA was perplexed. “How could you know that? Are you a mind reader?”
“Old story. Kathy Walters got scared and his lawyer got to her. The trade-off is that Walters won’t sue Paradise or me if you dropped the assault charges and let the wife walk away from the gun charge.”
DA Malmon shook his head. “That’s exactly how it went. His lawyer knew I wasn’t going to let the wife do time for his having the gun illegally. At least I got them to surrender the weapon without a fight.” Malmon handed Jesse a piece of paper. “That’s a legally binding document that turns possession of the weapon over to the PPD. The gun is yours.”
“This isn’t going to end well,” Jesse said.
“Sorry, Chief Stone, but without her testimony and with her claiming ownership of the weapon, this was the best I could do.”
“I understand, but it still stinks.”
“No argument from me.”
They shook hands, neither of them smiling.
Jesse left the DA’s office and began walking back to his SUV. Before he got twenty feet, his cell buzzed in his pocket. It was from the PPD.
“What’s up, Molly?”
“I’ve been calling the numbers we got from the paper and business cards Peter collected in Chris Grimm’s room.”
“Anything?”
“Most go unanswered and to a generic voicemail message, but I got one hit.”
“You did?”
“A Mr. Arakel Sarkassian. His cell number was on a business card for an Oriental rug business in Boston. The business number was disconnected, but he picked up when I called his cell. What would Chris Grimm have to do with an Oriental rug business?”
Jesse wasn’t as surprised as Molly. “The kid had all sorts of stolen goods in his room. Maybe one of his customers stole a rug to barter for drugs. I’m no expert, but I know those rugs can be worth a lot of money.”
“I don’t know, Jesse. That makes sense, but Mr. Sarkassian was awfully nervous about the call.”
“Cops make people nervous. Worries me when they don’t. I’ll call him back when I get in to the station.”
“Something else.”
“What?”
“There was a pawn receipt and chit from a shop in Boston as well.”
“Boston? I think I need to take a trip to Boston. See you in a few minutes.”
“How’d the Walters arraignment go?”
“It didn’t.” Jesse hung up before Molly could ask him to explain.
Thirty-six
Before heading to Boston, Jesse stopped at the high school. As he was now pretty certain Chris Grimm had been dealing drugs, he wanted to alert Principal Wester and to drop in on Maryglenn. No one except a victim is happy to see the cops, so Jesse wasn’t offended by Freda’s expression when he stepped into the office.
“Morning, Jesse,” Freda said. “Hope this isn’t terrible news.”
“It’s nothing tragic, but I do need a few minutes of Virginia’s time.”
Freda called in to the office to announce Jesse’s presence.
“Go on in, Jesse. She’s waiting for you.”
Principal Wester stood back to the door, facing out the window, much the way Jesse looked out at Stiles Island. Except Principal Wester was peering down at the activity on the athletic field.
“I try not to think about it,” she said, back still to her visitor.
“About what, Virginia?”
“All the responsibility that comes with my job. Come, stand by me.”
Jesse did.
“Look down there, Jesse. Every one of those kids out there has his or her own story. His or her own pain. They have their own small victories and crushing defeats. They have to deal with it minus the benefit of perspective. Everything to them seems so large. It’s all so overblown. And for seven or eight hours a day for almost two hundred days a year, I’m responsible for all of them.”
“Heather’s death has got you in a philosophical frame of mind.”
She nodded. “It has. Why is it we only consider these things when tragedy strikes? I ask you, Jesse, because you, too, bear the same kinds of responsibilities. I’m sure after that horrible business with the white supremacists, you must have thought about what might have happened. It must have given you pause.”
“For about five minutes.” He smiled. “I just try to do what’s right, Virginia, and leave the bigger questions to someone else. I’ve never been very good at figuring out the larger meaning of things, because I’m not sure there is one. I’ve dealt with too much pain and death to worry about it all now.”
“How do you know what’s right?” she asked, turning to look at his profile.
“I think once we’re their age,” he said, pointing out the window, “we already know what’s right, and when we’re not sure about what’s right, we have a good idea of what’s wrong.”
Principal Wester was quiet for a few seconds and then asked Jesse why he’d needed to see her.
He explained about Chris Grimm being missing and about what they had found in his room. He avoided discussing what he thought the odds were of the kid still drawing breath.
“What do you think it adds up to, Jesse?”
“I believe Chris was dealing drugs and was probably the person who supplied Heather with the fentanyl-laced heroin that was the cause of her death.”
Wester looked back out the window, that faraway stare returning to her eyes. “But if he’s run, why tell me?”
“Because if he’s run, someone will replace him. Someone probably already has. You know how to handle these kids and your faculty. I think you should put the word out to your teachers, guidance counselors, and the school psychologist. Let them know if any students want to talk to me about Chris, I’m available. I’m not looking to get anyone into trouble.”
“Understood. Thank you, Jesse.”
Five minutes later, Jesse was looking through the window of the art room door, waiting for a pause in Maryglenn’s lesson. When she stopped and the students began working on their projects, Jesse knocked and stuck his head into the room. A smile flashed across her face before she could stifle it. She was afraid that any student paying attention would know just how she felt about Jesse Stone.
“I was wondering if I might have a few minutes of your time?” he asked, and retreated into the hall.
She followed him out.
“This is a pleasant surprise.” She wasn’t trying to stifle her smile now. “What I’d really like to do is kiss you, but I think we’ll have to table that idea for now. What are you doing for dinner?”
“I’m driving down to Boston right after I leave here. Tomorrow night?”
“Sure. Why are you here, anyway?”
He smiled. “Seeing you isn’t good enough reason?”
“For me, yes. But really, Jesse.”
“I had to talk to Virginia Wester about Chris Grimm.”
“Anything you can share?”
“I think you’ll have an idea by the end of the day.”
“Okay.”
He brushed his fingers across her cheek. “I’ll come get you tomorrow night. You pick the place. Remember, you’re paying.”
“I was hoping you’d forget that.”
“Unlikely.”
“Okay, let me get back in there. They’re probably already talking about us.”
“Let them.”
“They’re teenagers, Jesse. I don’t have a choice.”
“Seven o’clock all right for tomorrow?”
“Perfect. Good luck in Boston with whatever.”
“Thanks.”
Before he could move, she kissed him quickly on the lips and smiled. “Let them talk.”
Thirty-seven
He had five places to visit while in Boston. Only four of the visits were scheduled. His first stop was the unscheduled one. Precious Pawn and Loan was on Washington Street in the South End. Precious Pawn bore almost no resemblance to the old three-balls-above-the-door dumps he’d been familiar with in L.A. The ones on skid row, in East L.A., and in Compton. The ones that sucked the blood out of the poor and the desperate. But Jesse knew the days of those dives were over. He bet if he went back to L.A. now, the pawnshops in those places would look as cleaned-up and neat as Precious Pawn did. These days, pawnshops looked almost like respectable jewelry stores. Hell, there were even TV shows about pawnshops. Jesse knew the truth. Many pawnbrokers worked both sides of the street, as fences and as snitches for the cops. And if he wasn’t already sure about the relationships among brokers, bad guys, and cops, Jesse’s AA sponsor, Bill, knew the deal. He had once been a fence in Boston and had done time for it.