Killing the Blues - Michael Brandman [40]
Finally, he was admitted to the inner sanctum of Dr. Mary Ann Kennerly, a bustling African American woman widely regarded as the best veterinarian in Paradise.
“This is a first,” Dr. Kennerly said. “The chief of police in my office. And from the looks of it, accompanied by a cat.”
“It adopted me,” Jesse said.
“A lot of that going around,” Dr. Kennerly said. “Put it on the examining table, Jesse. Let’s have a look.”
Jesse opened the top of the carrying case, and the cat gingerly stuck out its head. It looked around, then ducked back in.
“Come on, little one,” Dr. Kennerly said. “Nothing bad’s gonna happen.”
She lifted the cat from the case. She put it on her examining table. She placed her hands on it.
“Young,” Dr. Kennerly said. “No more than four or five months. Female.”
“Female,” Jesse said. “You’re sure?”
“You got something against females?”
“No. No. I had come to think of it as a male.”
“Think again. Also think about having her spayed.”
“Spayed.”
“Are you gonna repeat everything I say?”
“Spayed,” Jesse said. “As in neutered?”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t know how I feel about neutering an animal.”
“How you feel about it?”
“Shouldn’t animals have the same reproductive rights as humans?”
“Absolutely not,” Dr. Kennerly said.
“Because?”
“Because the last thing you need are semiannual litters. Too many of these critters are already being euthanized. We don’t need to add to that number.”
“Well, when you put it that way.”
“I perform surgeries on Wednesdays. Make an appointment.”
Dr. Kennerly continued her examination.
“Forgive me for asking,” she said, “but what’s being done about the dog killings?”
“Everything that can be.”
“Any progress?”
“Between you and me, Mary Ann, none that I can cite.”
“How strange it is.”
“Tell me about it.”
“If anyone can put a stop to it, it’s most assuredly you, Jesse.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I can’t help but believe that we’re gonna catch a break. People are aware of what’s going on. Killer is bound to trip up. Sooner rather than later, I’m hoping.”
“The good news is this little girl appears to be in excellent condition,” the doctor said. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. I’ll give her a few shots, and when you can, bring her in for the surgery.”
“Little girl,” Jesse said. “And here I was preparing to take him hunting and fishing with me.”
“After the surgery you’ll have less trouble keeping the boys away.”
“Every father’s dream,” Jesse said.
Jesse took the cat home, then headed for the office. His cell phone rang.
“Jesse,” he said.
“Have you seen the Boston papers,” Healy said.
“I live in Paradise,” Jesse said.
“I always wondered why you were so ill-informed.”
“What am I missing?”
“ ‘Mobster Murdered.’ Headline story in both papers,” Healy said.
“Which mobster?”
“Ask that question with a straight face.”
“What do the papers think?”
“They concur.”
“On what?”
“They agree that Mr. Lombardo was the victim of Mob violence.”
“How awful.”
“You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you,” Healy asked.
“About what?”
Healy didn’t say anything.
“Did the Sox win,” Jesse said.
“I didn’t get that far.”
“Speaking of the ill-informed,” Jesse said.
43
Assistant District Attorney Martin Reagan relaxed in his chair and smiled at his visitor.
“It’s so rare that we get to see an actual police chief,” Reagan said. “To what do we owe the honor?”
“I wanted to bask in the glow of your greatness,” Jesse said.
“Bask all you want,” Reagan said. “Just don’t touch anything. What brings you to the hallowed halls of justice?”
“An incident that took place at the junior high school. Fourteen-year-old girl took Eleanor Nelson hostage. Held her at gunpoint. On the surface, it would appear as if the girl acted criminally. When you look deeper, however, turns out she was the victim of continued abuse by a gang of other girls. When she reached out to Mrs. Nelson, she was backhandedly dismissed. Kid thought about killing herself. Nearly a repeat of the situation in South Hadley. Kid killed herself because no one stood up for her.”
“And you’re going to