Death In Paradise (2 page)

"Yeah," Jesse said. "She's only wearing one shoe."

Simpson didn't look. He didn't care about how many shoes she had.

"You seen a lot of floaters?"

"When I worked in L.A., there was a lot of ocean-front," Jesse said. He was squatting on his heels beside the corpse, studying it. He reached over and turned the head a little and studied it some more.

Simpson was trying to look at the body obliquely, so it would only be an impression. He was a big kid, with red cheeks and some baby fat still left. But he wanted to be a cop. He wanted to be like Jesse. And he was trying to force himself to look, the way Jesse did, at the water-ridden thing on the ground.

Behind them, Peter Perkins had strung crime-scene tape, and behind it the Boys of Evening stood silently, looking at the scene, but not the body. There was no talk. As they stood, the town ambulance pulled into the parking lot with its lights flashing, but no siren.

Through his open window the driver shouted to Jesse.

"Whaddya need?"

"Body bag."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

The two EMTs got out of the ambulance without shutting off the flashing lights. They got the litter from the back and lay a body bag on it and wheeled it over. Neither of them liked looking at the corpse.

"Drowned?"

"I don't think so," Jesse said.

He moved her sodden hair and pointed with a pencil. "Bullet went in here, I think," Jesse said.

"A bullet?"

"Yep, went out the other side. No need to look. Let's roll her in the bag."

Still trying to look without seeing, Simpson said, "You thinking she was murdered, Jesse?"

"I'm thinking she was shot in the head behind her right ear and the bullet exited high on the left side of her head and blew a pretty sizable piece of her skull off when it did."

"Maybe she shot herself," Simpson said.

"And jumped into the lake after," Jesse said.

"So you're saying she was murdered and her body dumped?"

"It's a working theory," Jesse said.

 

 

Jesse sat in his office with his feet on the desk and talked with the State Police Homicide boss, a captain named Healy.

"The homicide commander personally?" Jesse said.

Healy smiled.

"I told you," he said, "I live in the neighborhood."

"You got the pathology report?"

Healy tossed a big manila envelope on Jesse's desk.

"One shot, behind the right ear, close range. Entrance wound suggests a .38. Slug exited high on the other side, tore out some of her skull. They think they got powder traces. They can't find any on her hands. But the body's deteriorated to the point where they aren't certain. The millimeters and tissue analysis and all, it's in there."

"Water in her lungs?"

"No," Healy said. "She was dead when she went in the water."

"Could she have shot herself?" Jesse said. "I mean, was it physically possible given the path of the slug?"

"Yeah, she could have. And the amount of time she was in there could have destroyed the traces on her hands."

"Drag marks on her?"

Healy shook his head.

"Body's too far gone."

"So she could have waded out into the lake someplace and shot herself and floated around until we found her. It's a big lake."

"Gun?" Healy said.

"We got a couple guys from the fire department down there in wet suits," Jesse said. "Water's dirty. Hard to see."

"Even if you find the gun in there," Healy said, "why did she want to do it that way?"

"Didn't want anyone to know?"

"Suicides always want people to know," Healy said. "That's part of what it's about."

"True."

"You find the gun it'll be because the perp threw it in there after her. You know who she is?"

"No. Could they get any prints?"

Healy shook his head.

"Dental?"

"ME charted her teeth," Healy said.

"So all we have to do is locate a dental chart that matches."

"In which case you'll know who she is anyway."

"Missing persons?"

"You know how many kids run away every week?" Healy said.

"Any from Paradise?"

"None reported," Healy said.

"She could have run away from anywhere and ended up here," Jesse said.

"She could."

"You matching the dental charts against the runaways?"

"Sure," Healy said. "I got a guy on it."

"One?"

"You know how things work," Healy said.

"Slowly," Jesse said.

"See," Healy said. "I knew you'd know."

"How old was she?"

"Maybe fourteen."

They were both quiet. The victim's age hung in the room like smoke.

"We'll get on it," Healy said after a while. "You come up with anything, let us know."

"Or vice versa," Jesse said.

 

 

Anthony DeAngelo came into Jesse's office leading a male Dalmatian on an improvised leash. The dog was panting, and restless on the leash.

"Got a date?" Jesse said.

"It's a him," DeAngelo said.

"So?"

"I found him up on the pike running around, you know, like they do when they're lost?"

"Near the donut shop?"

DeAngelo grinned. "Yeah, how'd you know?"

"I'm an experienced law officer," Jesse said. "Molly got any lost dogs?"

"I checked when I came in the station. She says she got two. One's a poodle. One's a Lab."

Jesse nodded.

"No tags?"

"No collar," DeAngelo said.

"How'd you get him in the car?" Jesse said.

"Donut."

"Of course," Jesse said. "Where'd you get the nice leash?"

"Lady at the donut shop gave me some twine."

"You call the dog officer?" Jesse said.

"Valenti? He's working. Don't usually get home till six."

"Part-time help," Jesse said. "Inexpensive and worth it."

He looked at the dog. Still panting, the dog looked disoriented. He was wagging his tail aimlessly. His ears were flat and his body was a little hunched.

"Okay," Jesse said, "put him in one of the cells."

"Ain't it illegal in this town to domicile dogs and humans in the same space?" DeAngelo said.

"Of course it is," Jesse said. He looked at DeAngelo without speaking.

"Okay," DeAngelo said. "You care which cell?"

"Your choice," Jesse said. "And give him some water."

DeAngelo nodded and led the dog away. Jesse went to the office door and stuck his head out and yelled for Molly Crane.

"Call around to some vets," he said. "Describe the dog, see if they know anything about this one."

"What kind of dog is it?" Molly said.

"Dalmatian. They're not all that common."

"Male or female?"

"Male," Jesse said. "For crissake, you're a cop. You're supposed to be observant."

"I'm an Irish Catholic girl," Molly said. "I don't look at penises."

"Not even human?"

From the cell block in the back, they could hear the dog begin to howl.

"Especially not human."

"Always in the dark," Jesse said.

Molly grinned at him. "Always. With my eyes tight shut, thinking of Saint Patrick."

"It's good to be aware of your heritage," Jesse said. "Tell Suit I want to talk to him."

The dog's howling was now steady.

Molly smiled at him. "Dog's lonely," she said.

"Ain't we all," Jesse said.

"Not the way I hear it," Molly said and went out.

Jesse watched her as she went. She was small and in shape. The blue uniform fit her well. The service pistol looked too large. He knew she was sensual: the way her eyes were. The way she stood. The way she walked. He knew. And she knew he knew.

"There's a dog in cell number one," Simpson said when he came in.

"Got him for soliciting," Jesse said.

Simpson hesitated. Jesse said everything in the same sort of serious way, and Simpson was often uncertain if Jesse was kidding. But you couldn't arrest a dog. He laughed.

"He got a lawyer?" Simpson said.

The dog howled.

"I think he'll cop a plea," Jesse said.

"Yeah," Simpson said. "He's already starting to sing."

"You want to make some overtime?" Jesse said.

"Sure."

"Go out to the lake where we found the girl, and walk the perimeter. Take Eddie Cox with you. See what you can find."

"We looking for anything special?"

"A clue would be good."

"Such as?"

"Anything that looks like a clue," Jesse said. "Anything that doesn't belong. That's out of place. That might have once belonged to a teenaged girl. Or a murderer. Or Lillian Gish, for that matter. Whatever you see."

"Who's Lillian Whatsis?"

"Forget Lillian," Jesse said. "Go look."

"It's a big lake," Simpson said.

"Take your time. When in doubt, assume it's a clue."

"I'll call Eddie," Simpson said.

He stood, hitched his gunbelt a little, and walked from the room. A man on a mission. When he was alone, Jesse sat for a moment listening to the dog howl. Then he got up and found a roll of crime scene tape and cut off a length and went down to the cell block. The dog stopped howling the minute he saw Jesse. His tail wagged hesitantly. Jesse opened the door and went in.

"We can improve your accommodations," Jesse said to the dog. "You can stay with the chief of police himself."

He looped the length of plastic tape around the dog's neck and led the dog back down the corridor to his office.

 

 

The dog was sleeping behind Jesse's desk.

When Jenn came into Jesse's office at twenty minutes past five, the dog raised his head and growled at her. Jenn stopped short.

"I know you've gone out with some dogs since we broke up," Jenn said, "but right in the office?"

"His name's Deputy," Jesse said.

"His?"

"We're just friends," Jesse said.

"Well, can you leave your friend long enough to go to dinner with me?"

"I feel like I ought to bring him," Jesse said.

"For God's sake," Jenn said. "Don't you have a dog officer in this town?"

"Yeah. Bob Valenti. Part-time guy."

"Well, call him up, have him take the dog to the kennel or the pound or whatever you call it."

"He howls when I leave him," Jesse said.

Jenn squatted in front of the dog. Given how tight Jenn wore her pants, Jesse thought it was no small thing. But she did it easily, though it made her pants pull tighter over the curve of her butt.

"Does he bite?"

"I don't know," Jesse said. "He's only been here a couple of hours."

Jenn put her hand out.
Women
, Jesse thought,
squat much more gracefully than men
.

"Clench your fist," Jesse said. "It makes it harder for him to bite your hand."

"Jesus," Jenn said and jerked her hand back.

The dog kept his head up, looking at her. She made a fist and put it toward the dog's nose very carefully. The dog sniffed at her fist carefully, and thumped the floor with his tail a couple of times.

"I think he likes me," Jenn said.

"Probably," Jesse said.

"If we take him with us, won't he howl when we leave him in the car?"

"We could eat in the car," Jesse said.

Jenn stared at him.

Finally she said, "Jesse, haven't you killed several people?"

Jesse nodded.

"And yet you can't leave a stray dog to have dinner with your ex-wife who, I guess, still loves you, and whom I believe you still love, for fear that the dog will be unhappy?"

Jesse nodded.

"What would we eat in the car?" Jenn said.

"Pizza?"

"Split three ways?" Jenn said.

"I guess."

"And maybe a six-pack?"

"Sure," Jesse said.

"Glad I dressed up," Jenn said.

Jesse stood. The dog stood as soon as Jesse did.

"We're glad, too," Jesse said.

In Jesse's car, the dog sat in the backseat. And in the parking lot of Paradise Pizza, the dog rested his head on the back of Jenn's seat while Jesse and Jenn ate a pizza with green peppers and mushrooms and drank beer from the can.

"Can I give him my pizza crust?" Jenn said.

"I think he likes those," Jesse said.

Jenn offered a crust to the dog. He ate it and swallowed and waited. Jesse opened a second can of beer.
This is the last one. For God's sake don't get drunk in front of her
.

"How are you?" Jesse said.

"I'm fine, Jesse."

"I watch you do the weather almost every night."

"Good."

"Do you actually know what a low-pressure system is?" Jesse said.

Jenn smiled. She gave the dog another crust.

"No, but I'm getting very good at pretending I'm pointing at a real weather map."

"Behind the scenes," Jesse said, "show biz just isn't pretty."

"No."

"You still dating the anchorman?"

Jenn smiled. "No. I hate to date people cuter than I am."

Jesse sipped a little beer.
Easy
, he thought.
Easy does it
. He spoke as casually as he could.

"So who you dating these days?"

"You, for one," Jenn said.

"And?"

"Others," Jenn said.

"Like who?"

"Like guys," Jenn said. "Why do you need to ask? What's the point?"

"I don't know."

"It's just the kind of question that pushes me away," Jenn said.

He thought of saying that it was, probably, however distorted, a form of love. But he didn't. It would only make them argue.

"It's the kind of possessive question that drove me away in the first place," Jenn said.

"When we were married it was probably more appropriate," Jesse said.

Jenn was silent. Then he could see a little of the tension go out of her shoulders.

"Yes," she said. "It probably was."

His beer was gone. Jesse didn't even recall drinking it. He felt swollen with sadness and desire. He opened a third can. Jenn patted his right thigh.

"We're still here," Jenn said.