Robert B. Parker's Debt to Pay by Reed Farrel Coleman Page A

had already managed to make his attire look well lived-in. The worry over his wife was evident in his eyes. Molly was concerned. You could read it on her face like a bold headline. Suit was Suit. He would take things as they came and deal with them then. Jesse took the bottle of Tullamore Dew out of his drawer and waved it at Healy. Healy nodded his approval.
    â€œMolly? Suit?” Jesse asked.
    Molly nodded, too. Suit looked at Molly like she’d sprouted a second head. For Molly to drink on duty, things had to be seriously wrong.
    â€œYou better have one, too, Suit,” Jesse said, pouring three shots into the red plastic cups.
    â€œWhat’s going on, Jesse?” Suit asked, taking the cup off the chief’s desk.
    Jesse said, “I’ll get to that in a second, Suit. First I need to talk to Captain Healy, but you two should stay.”
    â€œYou got my attention,” Healy said, sipping at the fine Irish whiskey.
    Jesse stood, turned his back to the others in the room, and stared out his window at Stiles Island beyond.
    â€œHealy, what if I told you that I’m sure Gino Fish didn’t kill hisreceptionist and that he only killed himself to save himself from an even more painful death?”
    The captain laughed a strange, strangled kind of a laugh, but stopped when he noticed no one else was laughing with him. “I’d say you should start drinking again, because being sober isn’t doing a damned thing to make you more clearheaded.”
    â€œAnd what if I could tell you who killed the old woman, the cabbie, and the dog in Salem?”
    Healy didn’t laugh this time. “Yeah, who?”
    Jesse didn’t answer, not directly, this time turning to look at his old friend. “And what if I told you that the same person was responsible for both crimes and for all the tires getting shot out in Paradise over the last few weeks?”
    â€œI’d say I’m getting tired of you asking me questions and that I’m ready to hear your answer.”
    â€œFair enough,” Jesse said. Then he turned to Molly. “Go to the evidence locker and get out any two of the bullets recovered from the car tires.”
    Molly did as she was asked.
    â€œWhat’s going on, Jesse?” Healy asked the same question both Molly and Suit had asked before him.
    Jesse didn’t answer, choosing to wait until Molly returned. When she did, she handed two plastic evidence bags to Jesse, who in turn put them in front of Healy.
    â€œYou have your ballistics guys run those with the bullets the ME pulled out of the Salem vics and they’ll match.”
    Healy held the bags up to the light. “Yeah, they look like .22s, but even in Massachusetts, there are a lot of .22 handguns floating around.”
    â€œSame gun,” Jesse said. “Same ammo. I’d bet on it.”
    â€œOkay, so let’s say what you claim checks out. Then what? I still need a name. Do you have a name for me?”
    â€œSort of.”
    Healy banged his empty cup on Jesse’s desk. “‘Sort of’?”
    â€œSort of.”
    â€œAre you going to share with the class, Jesse, or do you expect me to guess? You know I got a lot going on in my life right now and I don’t have a lot of patience for this stuff.”
    â€œHere’s my problem, Healy,” he said, pouring a second shot into the captain’s cup. “If I tell you the name, I need you to sit on the information. Lives depend on it. Probably the lives of the people in this room and their families.”
    Healy didn’t flinch. “I can do that for a few days, sure. Wouldn’t be the first time I sat on things.”
    Jesse shook his head slowly. “Not a couple of days, Healy. A month, maybe a little more.”
    Healy looked sick, as if the whiskey had turned to battery acid in his belly. “I can’t do—”
    Jesse took the brown envelope back out of his desk and pushed it over to