“To us,” Hathaway said. “To the
people of this town who matter.”
“Like you,” Jesse said.
“Yes. And Lou Burke, and everyone in this town who cares about preserving democracy at the grass mots.” Hath-Je 187 away’s voice seemed to scrape out of his throat.
“So where is Carson now?”
“I have no idea,” Hathaway said.
“Me either.”
Hathaway looked hard at Jesse, but there was nothing on his face, nothing in his voice, except the hint of something seething behind the bow fie and glasses.
“I don’t want to hear that you are opening up to this state policeman in any way,” Hathaway said finally.
“The surest way to bring them down here in droves.”
Jesse said, “is to try and keep them out.”
“You don’t have to keep them out. But you can stonewall them.”
“You haven’t had much dealing with people like Healy,” Jesse said. “I have. He’s
been in this business forty years. He’s taken guns away from hopheads and children away from molesters. He’s seen every mess, heard every lie. He’s been there and seen it done. You can’t stonewall him any more than you can scare him.”
“So we throw the town secrets open to
him?”
“No, but we let him help us catch the guy who killed that girl,” Jesse said.
Hathaway sat silent as a stone on the corner of the desk, shaking his head slowly.
“A damned divorcee,” he said finally,
“out to get laid.”
“Or the mother of two kids,” Jesse said,
“out for the evening. All depends on which troths you tell, I guess.”
Hathaway continued to sit ancr shake his head. Then he rose abruptly and walked stiffly out of Jesse’s office. Jesse watched the empty doorway that Hathaway had gone through for a While, his lips pursed slightly. He realized his jaw was clamped very fight and he opened it and worked it back and forth a little to relax it. He breathed in deeply and let it out slowly, listening to his own exhale, easing the tighmess along his shoulders, relaxing his back.
“And Lou Burke,” Jesse said aloud.
He got up and went to the file cabinet and got out Burke’s personnel file and took it back to his desk and began to thumb through it.
alimony check had been cashed at the Paradise Bank and the address was printed on it. Jesse drove out to Springfield and talked with him at 10:30 a.m. in a coffee shop on Sumner Avenue at an intersection called the X. The restaurant was out of the 1930s. Glass brick, and a jukebox near the kitchen.
“I’m a loser,” Bobby Portugal
said to Jesse. “Tammy · thought she was marrying a winner, but that was just my bullshit. I been a loser since I graduated high school.”
Portugal was medium height and husky. His dark hair was longish and he had a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a Patriots warm-up jacket over a gray tee shirt and jeans.
“We went together in high school. I was a big jock in high school. Running back, point guard. She thought I was a big deal.” .
The waitress brought an order of English muffins for Jesse and a fried-egg sandwich for Portugal.
“Made All-North Shore League, junior and senior year, football and basketball. Got a partial scholarship to B.C.”
Portugal paused whilehe peeled off the top layer of toast and POured ketchup on the fried egg.
“And when you got there,” Jesse said,
“everybody had made all-league and a lot of the leagues were faster than yours.”
“You better believe it,” Portugal said.
He took a bite of his sandwich and put it down while he pulled a paper napkin from the dispenser on the table and wiped ketchup from the corner of his mouth.
“I lasted six weeks,” he said.
“And quit. Went to work for the highway department in town.
Thought I was making a ton. Tammy and I were still going out, and she got pregnant, and…” Portugal shrugged and shook his head. He picked up his sandwich and held it for a moment and put it down. His eyes filled and he turned his head away from Jesse.
“Take your time,” Jesse said.
