Night Passage (A Jesse Stone Novel)

a chair when one of them shifted in it, the silence in the office and outside had the kind of weight that existed only in the middle of the night in a small town. Healy was about Jesse’s size but older, and a little thinner. His short hair was gray. He had on a gray suit, and a blue oxford shirt, and a red and blue striped tie. His black shoes were still polished this late in the day.
    “You’re the homicide commander,” Jesse said.
    “Yeah.”
    Healy’s 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.”
    “I was a pitcher,” Healy said. “Phillies signed me.”
    “And?”
    “And the war came and I went. When I came home there was the wife, the kids. I went on the cops.”
    “Miss it?” Jesse said.
    “Every day,” Healy said.
    Jesse nodded. They were both silent for a moment. Healy took another small sip of scotch.
    “So what have we got,” he said.
    “Got her I.D.’d,” Jesse said. “Name’s Tammy Portugal. Twenty-eight years old, divorced, two kids. Lived on the pond, other end of town. Left the kids with her mother yesterday afternoon, her alimony check always arrived on this date and the mother always took the kids, give her daughter a break, let her spend some of the alimony. Tammy was supposed to pick the kids up at noon today.” Jesse glanced at his watch without really seeing it. “Yesterday. When she didn’t show, the mother called us.”
    “Where’s the husband?” Healy said.
    “Don’t know. Mother says he took off two years ago, right after the divorce. Says he always sends his alimony on time. But she doesn’t know where he is.”
    “And the alimony check came today?”
    “Yesterday.” Again Jesse did the automatic glance at his watch. “Day before, actually.”
    “So she must have cashed it before she went out,” Healy said.
    “Yeah, and we could trace it. We’ll check on that in the morning. We didn’t get all of this until the bank closed. Even if she cashed it someplace else,” Jesse said, “it will probably clear through the Paradise Bank, and the president is one of our selectmen.”
    “So he’ll be cooperative.”
    “Probably,” Jesse said.
    Healy looked at him and waited. Jesse didn’t add to the “probably.” Healy let it slide. Jesse saw him let it slide, and also saw him file it away. Stone has some reservations about the bank president.
    “You got her movements established, prior to death?” Healy said.
    “Not yet. Thought the M.E. might help us on that.”
    “He might,” Healy said. “She had drunk a fair amount of alcohol.”
    “I figured. And, single kid, twenty-eight, night out, she probably went to a place where she could meet guys.”
    “Narrows it down,” Healy said.
    “Well, maybe it does,” Jesse said. “I’m guessing she didn’t go clubbing in Boston. Not many people from this town go into Boston.”
    “Christ no,” Healy said. “Must be fifteen miles away.”
    “This is an insular town,” Jesse said. “She went clubbing, I figure she went around here.”
    “Including Route One?”
    “Yeah.”
    “So you only got about five hundred clubs to check.”
    “We’re