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

forward and kissing him on the cheek, “you owe me a favor.”
    â€œI’m sure you’ll remind me if I do forget.”
    She laughed, shook her head at him, and turned to leave. She stopped at the door and called back to him, “Diana’s lucky to have you, you know?”
    â€œYou got a funny definition of luck, Doc.”

NINETEEN
    J esse was just dialing the Boston detective in charge of Gino Fish’s case when he gave a cursory glance at the ballistics report Molly had left on his desk. He didn’t pay it much attention, as he was more focused on what he was going to say if the detective picked up the phone. Cops, especially detectives, can be very territorial, and Jesse was about to intrude on turf that was most definitely not his. Not only was he about to step on the Boston PD’s turf, he was probably going to ruffle some feathers. It wasn’t difficult to anticipate the chilly response he was bound to get after mentioning the discrepancies Tamara Elkin had noted.
    It was one thing to point out differences between conclusions drawn by different MEs. Cops accepted that stuff like that happened. It was something else to question how detectives were handling their cases. That was the stuff feuds were made of and no department as close to Boston as Paradise could afford getting frozen out by the BPD. The Boston Police Department had resources a small-town department couldn’t touch. If he pissed the wrong people off, Jesse’s contacts at the BPD would dry up. And with Healyputting in his papers, the state police might not be as helpful, either. Jesse’s title or his past in Robbery-Homicide in the LAPD wouldn’t matter. He was taking a calculated risk, but given the marker Gino or Vinnie could have called in on him, Jesse felt it was a risk he was duty-bound to take. Honor and keeping one’s word might not be fashionable in today’s world, but they still meant a lot to Jesse Stone.
    Jesse went utterly still for a second even as he heard a voice in his ear. He slammed the phone back down in its cradle.
    â€œMolly!” He screamed, loudly enough to be heard on the street, never mind beyond the walls of his office.
    â€œWhat is it, Jesse?” she asked, poking her head into his office. “Is everything all right?”
    â€œHave all the reports on the tire shootings been logged in to the system yet?”
    â€œJust the preliminaries, but I was going to get to that later to—”
    Jesse shook his head violently. “Never mind that. Get all the files and bring them in here. Now!”
    â€œWhat is it, Jesse?”
    â€œNow.”
    Molly didn’t hesitate. When Jesse issued orders to her this way, which was infrequently, she knew something was up. Something big. She came back into his office without knocking and placed the folders in a neat stack on his desk.
    â€œHere they are, Jesse. What is it? What’s going on?”
    â€œSit,” he said. “Take half the files. Tell me the make and model of car in each incident.”
    â€œI don’t have to sit for that and I don’t have to open the files.”
    Jesse looked up at her, the corners of his mouth turned down. The sickly feeling he got in his belly when he first noticed the caliber of bullet used in the last incident was now full-blown.
    â€œAll Honda Civics more than five years old,” he said, not an ounce of joy in his voice.
    Molly glared at him. “For goodness’ sakes, Jesse, if you already knew that, why all the shouting and—”
    He raised his palms to her. “I’m sorry, Molly. Do me a favor and get Healy on the phone for me. I’ve got to think.”
    â€œDon’t worry about raising your voice at me. Not the first time and I’ll live, but what is it?”
    Jesse pulled open his desk’s right-hand drawer. He searched through some papers piled up inside and came out with a brown envelope. He handed it to Molly.