“What happened to it?”
“Don’t know,” Healy said. “Don’t know if they hid it, or spent it, or lost it. What I know is what the accountant told me. They got a net worth lower than mine.”
“Low,” Jesse said.
Healy nodded.
“How you doing with your crime wave,” Healy said.
“Badly.”
“Any other help you want from the Massachusetts State Police?”
“I’m doing so badly,” Jesse said, “I don’t even know what help to ask for.”
“Your man Crow involved in any of this?” Healy said.
“When did he become my man?” Jesse said.
“He’s not mine,” Healy said.
“Lucky you,” Jesse said. “Sure he’s involved. But I can’t prove it…yet.”
“Where do the Fiedlers come in?” Healy said.
“I don’t know,” Jesse said.
“But you wanted to know their finances,” Healy said.
“Mrs. Fiedler seems so committed to stalling that school project,” Jesse said. “I kind of wondered why.”
“And her finances tell you?”
“Her maiden name was Crowne,” Jesse said. “The property belonged to her father. He left it to charity, but if the charity doesn’t use it, it goes to her.”
“And it’s worth a lot of money,” Healy said.
“Ten million,” Jesse said.
Healy nodded.
“If you got fifty million, another ten is nice but not crucial,” Healy said. “However, if you’re down to your last three hundred thousand…”
“And you have two mortgages on your house,” Jesse said, “ten million could save your ass.”
“Nice to know it’s not simple bigotry,” Healy said.
58.
The man was wearing very good clothes when he walked into Jesse’s office. White suit, black-and-white striped shirt, white tie. Everything fit him exactly. His black shoes gleamed with polish. He had a neat goatee and, disconcertingly amid all the grooming, a lot of long, black hair.
“My name is Louis Francisco,” he said.
“Jesse Stone.”
“I’m looking for my daughter.”
Jesse nodded.
