Night Passage (A Jesse Stone Novel)

truck.

67
     
    Jesse stood with Abby Taylor on Indian Hill, looking over the railing down at the rocks where they had found Lou Burke.
    “Right here?” Abby said.
    “Yes.”
    “How could he do it?” Abby said. “I mean, maybe I could put a bullet through my brain, or take too many sleeping pills, or whatever if I were really depressed. But to climb over this fence and jump off the cliff …” She shuddered.
    “Maybe he didn’t,” Jesse said.
    “Didn’t jump?”
    “Maybe.”
    Abby stepped back from him and stood with her hands pushed into the pockets of her long blue coat.
    “Jesse,” she said and stopped.
    He waited.
    “Jesse, a lot of people think you’ve gone off the deep end here. You see conspiracy everywhere. Yet you don’t talk to anyone about it. People are wondering about you.”
    “And you?” Jesse said.
    She took another step away from him. Jesse knew she was unaware of it.
    “I don’t know. I mean, we’ve been so intimate, and yet, you don’t trust me. You don’t trust anyone. That’s not healthy, Jesse.”
    Jesse leaned his forearms on the railing and looked at the gray water. It was like the last night in L.A., except he wasn’t drunk. L.A. seemed much longer than six months ago.
    “I’m not going to explain myself, Abby. I’ve done this kind of work most of my adult life. I’m doing it the best way I know how.”
    “A lot of people blame you for Lou’s death.”
    “Because I suspended him?”
    “Yes. The thinking is that if you had anything on him, arrest him for it, otherwise leave him alone. People in town liked Lou. He grew up here. He’s part of the militia.”
    “And that’s a good thing?”
    “The militia, oh for God’s sake, Jesse. They’re like the Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company. They march in the Fourth of July parade, for God’s sake. Sure I think they’re silly, and so do you. But they aren’t some criminal enterprise.”
    “I hadn’t heard you defend them so strongly,” Jesse said.
    He was still staring at the choppy gray water below him. Above them a splatter of herring gulls soared and stooped. The sound of them was as constant as the movement of the sea. Abby seemed cold, she thrust her hands deeper into her pockets, hunched her shoulders so that the high collar of her coat was a little higher.
    “Jesse, I live here and I work here. I am with a good law firm, I have a chance to be a partner.”
    Jesse nodded silently.
    “What are you nodding about?” she said.
    “I’m agreeing that it is not going to be good for your career if you stick by me.”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “Yes,” Jesse said. “You did. You just didn’t use those words.”
    It was an overcast day, and raw. There was a spatter of rain with snow mixed. The snow didn’t last on the blacktop of the parking lot, or the rocks. But it had a short life on the grassy parts of Indian Hill, and a small residue had collected around the base of the windshield of Jesse’s car. Abby stood drawn in upon herself. She shook her head slowly.
    “This isn’t happening right,” Abby said.
    “No,” Jesse said.
    “I … have had a very nice time with you, Jesse.”
    “Yes,” Jesse said. “It’s been nice.”
    “People think you should resign.”
    Jesse nodded.
    “Want a ride back to your office?” Jesse said.
    “No,” Abby said. “I’ll walk back. I need the time alone.” She smiled without pleasure. “Clear my head.”
    “Sure thing,” Jesse said.
    He was still leaning on the rail.
    “Jesse,” she said. “Turn around.”
    He did. She stepped to him and put her arms around him and pressed her face against his chest.
    “I’m sorry, Jesse.”
    He patted her gently on the back.
    “It’s okay, Abby,” he said.
    Then he let her go and she walked away down the hill toward town, the spit of snow glistening momentarily in her hair. Then she was out of sight and he turned back and looked at the gray water and listened to the gray gulls and thought about the other ocean and the night he left it. He smiled after a while.
    “Here’s looking at you, Jenn,” he said out loud.
    His voice was small and nearly soundless mixed with the wind and the ocean sound and the noise of the gulls.

68
     
    Hasty didn’t like driving in city traffic. But he had to see Gino Fish, so the big Mercedes was wedged into the northbound commuter traffic on the Southeast Expressway. Hasty was nearly in tears.
    “You dumb bastard,” he said to Jo Jo.
    “What the hell are you