you see anything. Anthony, start knocking on doors, see if anybody lives around here heard anything, or saw a car come into the school parking lot during the night.”
The cops did as they were told. They were happy to be given direction, happy to do something but stand and look at the battered body.
“Dukie,” Jesse said. “You can
cover her. And pull the ambulance up so it screens her from the school.
Doesn’t do the kids much good to look out at her all morning.”
Behind him in the parking lot, parents had begun to arrive.
Already they had heard of a murder at the junior high school.
Already they were there to see about their children.
Jesse knew he’d have to talk with them. He knew a number of them would want to take their children home. He would like to have kept all the kids here until they had been questioned, but he knew he couldn’t and knew that trying to would accomplish nothing beyond his own aggravation.
Other people were gathering too. Not parents. Just people from the town, who, as the word spread, began to gather silently as close to the scene as they could. He saw Hasty Hathaway moving importantly through the gathering crowd with a plastic rain guard over his snap-brimmed hat. Probably wearing rubbers too, Jesse thought. Jo Jo Genest was there, hatless, in a crinkle finish trench coat.
Jesse’s glance paused on Jo Jo. Jo Jo returned it and smiled.
Jesse’s glance lingered a thoughtful moment and then moved on. He looked for Abby, but didn’t see her. Past the silent crowd Jesse saw the medical examiner’s car arriving, and behind it an unmarked state car. That would be the homicide guy.
Hathaway cleared the crowd and spoke to John DeLong guarding the barriers, and came on past him toward Jesse.
I was right, Jesse thought. He’s wearing rubbers.
jesse sin- l fiB’ce m- nuvbrK se ? capon nam Hey, sippg single-mt otch fm a war gls. Hy had en e e from his bfiefc when he ce in d set it on Jes’s desk. e grin-shaded desk lp was e only lit in e m. Outside e rn continued to mist down,‘t light for a drizzle,’t heavy for a fog. e y’s pness sin to have in-coted e dpness of e shod e snt of water was song even ough ey were a hf le from e hr. Except for e voices d e cional cre of a char when one of em shined in it, e silen in e office d ouide had e d of weight at existed only in e middle of e ght in a sml town. Hey w aut Jesse’s size but older, d a little inner. His shoa hr way. He had on a y suit, d a blue oxford’s, d a d d blue sd tie. His black she’s were still lished is late in e day.
“You’re e homicide coder,” Jesse
said.
“Ye.”
Healys eyes had the flat look that Jesse had seen before.
The eyes had seen everything and believed nothing. There was neither compassion nor anger in Healy’s eyes, just a kind of appraising patience that formed no prejudgments and came to conclusions slowly. Occasionally when Jesse had come unexpectedly upon his reflection in a mirror or a darkened window, he had seen that look in his own eyes.
“So how come we draw you?” Jesse said.
Healy shrugged, sipped a small taste of the scotch, held the glass up to the light for a moment, and looked at the color.
“I used to work up here, Essex County DA’s office. I live in Swampscott. So when the squeal came in I thought I’d swing by myself.”
,Chance to get out of the office for a while,“ Jesse said.
Healy nodded.
“Don’t like the office,” he
said. “But I like the Captain’s pay. Somebody told me you used to work homicide.”
“L.A.,” Jesse said.
“Downtown.”
“You know Cronjager out there?”
“Yep.”
“So how’d you end up here?”
“Cronjager fired me. I was drinking on the job. This was the only job I got offered.”
“How you doing now? Tonight excluded.”
“I’m not drinking on the job,”
Jesse said.
“It’s a good start,” Healy said.
“Heard you used to play ball.”
“People do talk. Yeah, I was a shortstop. Dodger organization.
Tore up my shoulder playing at Pueblo.“ Jesse shrugged. ”Sayonara.“
