“I didn’t say it was a him.”
“Don’t be obstinate, Jesse.”
“I trust my source and there was no doubt in Rudy Walsh’s mind. He didn’t hesitate for a second. Went right to both of them.”
Nita Thompson put down the phone and stepped between the nearly warring parties, finding herself in the unlikely position of peacemaker.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “This is a good day all around. A win for the mayor and for the Paradise PD.”
Jesse said, “When we bring them in, it’ll be a win.”
The mayor pointed at Jesse. “And he can’t say he’s a hundred percent sure these are the perpetrators.”
That displeased Thompson.
“Look, Stone, the mayor is going to put herself on the line here. So you better be damned sure about your facts.”
Jesse had reached his politics-tolerance threshold. He had been through this same two-step in L.A. with a few high-profile homicide cases. Ones where there was a lot of public pressure to solve the cases and/or a load of political capital to be gained. The pols and the commissioners were always hot to parade any piece of good news in front of the media but never wanted to risk blowback if the details turned out to be less than rock-solid. He’d been through it on an almost yearly basis here in Paradise. If it wasn’t the mayor, it was a selectman who wanted to reap all the benefit while letting Jesse take all the risk. His job had been threatened so many times, he’d lost count. He stared directly into Nita Thompson’s eyes.
“No, Nita, you look. You want the mayor to take a lap of honor before we even have these guys in custody and have a chance to question them, that’s on you.”
Thompson withered under Jesse’s gaze, her upper lip twitching slightly. She didn’t like it, but she knew he was right. The mayor screwed up her face, opened her mouth to say something. Nita Thompson stopped her by speaking first.
“What do you suggest, Chief?”
“Let the mayor make a brief statement. Something about her commitment to keeping Paradise safe for its citizens, but noncommittal in terms of the suspects. Then let her turn the announcement about the potential suspects over to Lundquist and me. She gets face time on camera, but it’s the staties and the Paradise PD who’ll take the lumps if I’m wrong.”
Nita Thompson fiddled with her fingers and her lips as she listened. “I’ll never underestimate you again, Chief,” she said. “You’re better at this game than I imagined.”
Jesse shook his head in disdain.
“What’s that about, Jesse?” the mayor wanted to know. “Nita just gave you a compliment. The polite thing to do is to say ‘Thank you.’”
“Game? Polite thing to do? This is where people like you, Miss Thompson, and I part ways. You see this as a game, as a lever to boost your career or a club to beat mine down. I played a game for a living for a long time. I know what a game is and I know what police work is. I never get them confused. When you decide how you want the press conference to go, call me.”
He turned and headed out of the mayor’s office, making sure not to slam the door shut behind him.
36
There was a lot more media in the room than Jesse would have believed for an announcement that just as easily could have been put out in a succinct press release, but he realized this was how it was going to be until the mayor ran for whatever office was the next rung on the ambition ladder. The one thing that gave him hope was the clause in the Paradise charter prohibiting a current officeholder in town to run for county, state, or national office without first resigning from their position in Paradise. Not that Jesse thought he’d click his heels on the day Walker resigned and left town with Nita Thompson. Politicians came and went, but one was much like the other. When the crime rate was low, they took the credit. When it ticked up or particularly when there was violence, they came looking for a scapegoat. Chief Scapegoat was Jesse Stone’s unofficial title.
Mayor Walker raised her hands to shush the crowd. She stood in front of the microphone-laden lectern, Jesse and Lundquist behind her left shoulder. Nita Thompson lurked off to her right.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I’m going to make a very brief statement,” she said, “after which I am going to turn the lectern over to Paradise chief of police Jesse Stone and Brian Lundquist from the state police. They will answer all of your questions.”
As the mayor spoke of keeping Paradise safe for its citizens and visitors, Jesse noticed Nita Thompson studying the crowd, checking out members of the press, taking a head count of who had shown up and who hadn’t. He also imagined she was trying to figure out which members of the press were ready to pounce. Jesse understood that the calculus of digital media and modern politics meant there were no longer any unimportant public appearances. The least noteworthy elected official in the smallest town in the most remote reaches of the nation might turn up in a viral video on YouTube if he or she made a big enough ass of themselves. These days, even the local dog catcher had to seem presidential on-air. It was also why Jesse was happy he didn’t have to run for office and why Nita Thompson had advised the mayor to take Jesse’s advice and let the cops take all the risks. That was a cop’s job, wasn’t it, to take the risks?
Thompson looked over at Jesse and nodded. Jesse nodded back. It was a familiar if unexpected show of mutual respect. It was what happened on the baseball field when you faced a player you hated but admired for his skill and competitiveness. It had been a long time between those kinds of grudging looks for Jesse. And Jesse wasn’t big on doffing his cap to murderers and thieves. He knew that most career criminals were losers, lazy men and women who lacked impulse control and who sometimes got lucky. Criminal masterminds were for TV and books. The movies, too, probably, but Jesse enjoyed only Westerns.
He had come across very few exceptions to the lazy-loser profile. There was Crow, of course, Jesse’s dark opposite number: cool, self-contained, supremely competent, and irresistible to women. He grinned, thinking of Crow. It didn’t last, as Jesse thought of the other exception he’d encountered in Paradise. That exception had murdered Diana. The sting of that encounter would stay with Jesse for the rest of his life. In fact, he was so distracted by reliving that awful moment that he didn’t hear the mayor call his name. It was only when he noticed Nita Thompson nodding furiously at him and he felt Lundquist tap him on the shoulder that he came back to the present. But even as he came most of the way back into the moment, all he wanted was a drink. No, not a drink. Lots of drinks.
Jesse had been able to hold the memories at bay for the last few days, distracted by the case, by the mayor’s machinations, and by whatever was going on between him and Tamara. But now it was back, all of it, the scene playing over in his head even as he stepped up to the microphone. He had fooled himself that he could hold the memories at arm’s length and that as long as he could, he could control his drinking. As he started to speak, he thought he could hear Dix laughing at him.
When the press conference was over, after Jesse had identified the two suspects and Lundquist had said his part, after they had answered all the questions — mostly the same three questions asked in different ways: How do you know these are the two men? How close are you to arresting them? Are they dangerous? — and the press had left town hall to go file their stories, Jesse took off. But of all people, it was Nita Thompson who tracked him down before he could get into his Explorer.
“Are you all right?” she asked with what sounded like real concern in her voice.
He lied. “Uh-huh. Why?”
“Because for the first time since I’ve met you, you seemed shaken up there. In my few months here with the mayor, I’ve studied you, Jesse Stone.”