Night Passage (A Jesse Stone Novel)

probably some I missed. But seventeen seems like a pretty solid low guess.”
    “Any of them Horsemen?” Jesse said.
    “No.”
    “Surprise.”
    “Another thing,” Simpson said. “Looking at the list, at least five people on it are Jews.”
    “Because the names sound Jewish?” Jesse said. “Or because you know it for a fact?”
    “That’s why I said ‘at least.’ I know the five Jewish people.”
    “You got any idea how many Jewish-sounding names are on the membership list for Freedom’s Horsemen?” Jesse said.
    “Well, I never really thought about it,” Simpson said.
    “I have. I went through it a couple times. Want to guess?”
    “None,” Simpson said.
    “Surprise.”
    Simpson sat back in his chair, holding his little blue notebook in his thick square hand, his forefinger keeping the place.
    “Shit,” he said.
    “Yeah,” Jesse said.
    “I hate that,” Simpson said. “I hate thinking stuff like this about my hometown.”
    “You don’t have to think it about the town,” Jesse said. “But you may have to think it about the Horsemen.”
    Simpson sat frowning. It looked odd. His big pink-cheeked baby face wasn’t supposed to frown.
    “What about us, Jesse? We don’t have a Jewish cop.”
    “No blacks either,” Jesse said.
    “I know, but, hell, I don’t think there’s any black people in town.”
    “That would weed out a lot of applicants,” Jesse said.
    “But there’s plenty of Jewish people in town. Christ, there were tons of them in school with me.”
    “Who hired the force?” Jesse said.
    “I don’t know. Tom hired me. Selectmen approved.”
    “Which means Hathaway,” Jesse said. “The other two go along with what Hasty decides.”
    “I guess so.”
    “I checked,” Jesse said. “Tom hired everybody, with Selectmen approving, except Lou Burke. Lou was here before Carson came. Know any Jews who wanted to be cops?”
    “Oh hell, Jesse, I don’t know. I mean I never thought much about it. I never even noticed there were no Jews on the force until we started talking.”
    “So what do you think?” Jesse said.
    “About what?”
    “About all of this. No permits for people who aren’t Horsemen. No permits for Jews. No Jews in the Horsemen. No blacks. No Jews.”
    “Oh hell, Jesse, I ain’t a thinker. Jesus! I come on the cops because it was a nice job for a guy with no college. You know? Some prestige, some benefits. People pay attention to you. I can’t figure out shit about Jews and gun permits and the damned Horsemen.”
    Jesse grinned.
    “Don’t kid me, Suit. You came on the cops because you were born to be a crime buster. Think about some things: Who runs the town?”
    “Selectmen.”
    “All of them?”
    “Well, no. Mr. Hathaway, really.”
    “Yes,” Jesse said. “And who runs Freedom’s Horsemen?”
    “Hathaway.”
    “Right again. And, what is the connection between Freedom’s Horsemen and the Paradise Police Department?”
    Simpson sat back frowning, like a slow earnest kid trying to get the right answer. Then suddenly his face cleared and he sat up.
    “Lou,” he said.
    Jesse nodded slowly.
    “And does it appear the Freedom’s Horsemen are influencing policy in the Paradise Police Department?”
    “Not since you came, Jesse.”
    “Before me?”
    “Yes.”
    They were quiet. Through the office window Jesse watched the yellow school buses pulling out of the town lot.
    “What’s this all mean, Jesse?”
    Jesse kept looking at the school buses as they pulled out onto Main Street and peeled off in different directions. Then he swiveled his chair around so he could look at Simpson directly.
    “Suit,” he said. “I don’t know what it means exactly. But one thing I think it means is that we better not talk about this with anybody but you and me.”
    “Not even the other cops?”
    “No.”
    “Jesse, I known some of these guys all my life.”
    “Just you and me, Suit.”
    Simpson nodded.
    “Capeesh?” Jesse said.
    “Capeesh.”
    Jesse nodded approvingly. Suitcase didn’t know, and didn’t need to know, yet, about Tom Carson’s murder. He didn’t need to know about Jo Jo’s silent taunt at the Harvest Fair.
    “I don’t like all this,” Simpson said. “All this stuff that isn’t what it’s supposed to be.”
    “I don’t either, Suit, but I guess we’re stuck with it. What do you know about Cissy Hathaway?”
    The pink in Simpson’s cheeks deepened and spread over his whole face.
    “What do you mean?” he said.
    “She