She shook her head.
Jesse handed her his card. “Captain Lundquist will take you. He’ll explain everything on the way. If you need anything from me, all of my numbers are there.”
She took the card, robotically, as if her arm was not a part of her. “Give me a minute, Captain.”
Kathy Walters zombie-walked down the hall and up the stairs.
Lundquist stared at Jesse and said, “Never gets easier, does it, Jesse?”
Jesse nodded. “Hasn’t yet. Doubt it ever will.”
Fifty-four
At the stationhouse, Jesse was pounding the ball really hard into his new mitt. Molly could distinguish between his doing it out of habit or his doing it as meditation. When it was loud enough for her to hear through his office door and over any ambient noise in the station, it was meditation. Some men prayed the rosary, some chanted. Jesse pounded the ball. And as was his habit, he would do it while fixing his gaze on Stiles Island. It cleared his mind of clutter and helped him think straight. This routine used to be even more crucial to him when there was an office bottle in his desk drawer and his mind was clouded by alcohol.
Molly stuck her head into the office. “Jesse, sorry, but Lundquist’s on line one.”
He didn’t turn to face her. “Thanks.”
Jesse put the ball in the glove’s pocket and placed them both on his desk. He gave an unhappy look at the glove. He wondered if he would ever get used to it.
“Brian,” Jesse said, picking up.
“It’s him, Chris Grimm. The mother positively IDed him.”
“And how did that go?”
“About how you would expect. The kid was tough to look at with the dirt washed off him. The damage was more obvious. The mother went to pieces.”
“She home?”
“She is. You should maybe have your sector car stop by, maybe keep an eye on her.”
“Good idea. Anything else?” Jesse asked.
“One thing. Might mean something. Might not. We found a McDonald’s burger wrapper stuffed into one of his jean pockets.”
“Receipt?”
Lundquist said, “No such luck. No receipt.”
“It’s a place to start, anyway. I know it’s your case, but I’ll have my cops check with the local McDonald’s to see if we can view their in-house security footage.”
“I appreciate the help, Jesse. We’ll do the same with every McDonald’s between your town limits and Helton. They fed the kid, then tortured him to death. Real sports.”
“I can see it. The kid’s running scared and his handler wants to keep him calm so they can get him out of town to a place they can deal with him.”
“They dealt with him, all right.” The building anger was evident in Lundquist’s voice. “When I was there with the mother, the ME pulled me off to one side. Said the kid was even worse off than he imagined. They did everything except what you had asked him about. This was just from visual inspection after getting the kid’s clothes off and washing him up. I know the kid was a dealer, but these guys are some coldhearted motherfu — bastards, Jesse. I’m going to enjoy putting them away.”
“The drug case is still mine, so I better get over to the high school to let the principal know.”
“I’ll be in touch.” Lundquist rang off.
On his way out of the station, Jesse stopped to talk to Molly.
“The body was positively IDed. Who’s in the Walterses’ patrol sector?”
“Robbie.”
“Have him stop over there to check on them, to see if we can help with the arrangements. Also, have someone go over to the McDonald’s and see if we can’t get parking-lot and in-store footage for the day of Heather Mackey’s funeral. If we get it, check for that white van in the parking lot and drive-thru. In the store, look for the kid. You don’t have to waste time going through the whole day. Only from—”
She interrupted him. “The time stamp on the footage from Kennedy Park forward. You know, I’ve done this once or twice before, Sherlock.”
“Sorry. So what about these doctors?”
Molly shoved a pile of papers across the desk. She pointed at names she had in red in several places.
“These two doctors’ names just kept coming up: Rajiv Laghari and Myron Wexler. Both of them have offices in Roxbury. Not many of the families of the deceased wanted to talk, but a few did. No one had very nice things to say. As far as I could tell from the people at the medical board, there are current ongoing state medical board investigations of both men, but they don’t exactly give out information over the phone and they won’t comment directly on ongoing investigations.”
“I’ll probably head down there tomorrow.”
“You going to visit your buddy Vinnie Morris while you’re in town?” Molly asked, sarcasm heavy in her voice.
Jesse didn’t answer. He knew Molly disapproved of his relationship with the likes of Morris and the late Gino Fish. Jesse thought Molly was a great cop, believed she would have been a star detective in a big-city department if she had chosen that route. But because her beat was Paradise, she never understood how big-city policing often forced a good cop to associate with people on the other side of the law. Jesse knew how it must have looked to Molly. He could only imagine her reaction if she knew the whole truth about what had actually happened between Morris and him in the wake of Diana’s murder.
“I’m going over to the high school to let Virginia Wester know what’s going on. Heather Mackey’s death was an accident, but not Chris Grimm’s.”
Molly noted he had changed subjects, but didn’t push.
“One more thing, Molly. I may need you for a little overtime tonight. It can be after dinner. Are you up for it?”
“What do you need?”
“Steve Parkinson, Petra North, Sara York, Lidell Thomas, Carl Bedell, and Bob Mark.”
Molly’s expression wasn’t a happy one. “We already talked about them.”
“Time to stop talking about them and time to talk to them. Now it’s murder.”
“What do you want?”
“First, everything by the book. Wear civilian clothes, but let them know it’s an official visit. Talk to the kids only in the presence of a parent. Offer the parents the opportunity to call a lawyer, but make it clear that you are there only to gather information and that it will be a casual talk. But if they choose to bring in a lawyer, make certain they understand the interview will be held in the station by me and it will be audio- and videotaped.”
“What do you want me to ask?”
“Come on, Sherlock, you’ve done this once or twice. You know what to do.”
Molly thought about arguing, but Jesse was right. She knew exactly what to do.
Fifty-five
The kids were loading onto the buses in front of the school as Jesse drove up. This visit wasn’t meant as showtime for the students, so he parked around the back of the school in the teachers’ lot and went in through the side entrance. On the way up to Principal Wester’s office, he stopped at the art room. He needed to straighten things out with Maryglenn if they were going to salvage whatever it was they had.
Jesse looked through the door glass. Her back was to him. She seemed to be intently studying an array of line drawings taped to the wall. They were all of the same model — a boy dressed in his football team jacket, a pen or pencil dangling out of his mouth, a human skull in his right hand. Some of them were pretty good, but Jesse knew very little about art. He knocked and entered.
Maryglenn smiled in spite of herself.
“Some of them have talent,” she said.
“Talent only gets you so far. Lots of people have lots of talent.”