“Swallow it, will you. You’re making me nauseous.”
“You’re the one wandered in here uninvited. It’s my office, and I’ll eat what I choose in it.”
“Why are you doing it?”
“Doing what?”
“Wasting your time with that awful child.”
“You mean Courtney?”
“Yes.”
“I think she’s gotten a bum steer.”
Molly didn’t say anything.
“Her parents,” he said.
“What about them?”
“They’re the cause.”
“So you see her as a victim.”
“I do.”
“Which appeals to your hyperactive sense of responsibility?”
“I think I can help her.”
“Point made.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe she’s incorrigible. But just maybe she’s not.”
Molly didn’t say anything.
“She deserves a chance.”
“A chance at what?”
“At seeing the other side of the coin.”
“Which you’re planning to show her.”
“Yes.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“At least I’ll have tried.”
Molly stared at him.
“Was there something else that you wanted,” he said.
She handed him the messages.
He thumbed through them.
“Dave Muntz called,” he said.
“That’s what the message says.”
Jesse looked at her and then dialed the number.
“This is David,” Muntz said.
“What’s up?”
“Craigslist.”
“What about it?”
“I called Craigslist.”
“And?”
“I asked about all of their real estate listings for this area during the last few months. Turns out that a Boston resident who owns a cabin in South Hamilton had it up for rent.”
“Okay.”
“It caught my attention because it was so close to Paradise, and because it was the only listing for the area. So I figured what the hell, and called the owner.”
“Okay.”
“He told me that he rented the cabin for a month.”
“Okay.”
“It’s rented.”
“Can you help me out a bit more, Dave. What in the fuck are you talking about?”
“According to the owner, the entire transaction was carried out on Craigslist.”
“So?”
“The renter listed his address as Beverly Hills, California. His check was drawn on a Beverly Hills bank. He picked up the keys from a prearranged post office box in Salem.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“The renter lists his name as Buddy Fairbanks.”
“Who’s Buddy Fairbanks?”
“Are you ready for this, Jesse?”
“Come on, Dave.”
“Buddy Fairbanks is the name of the character that Ryan Rooney played in Tomorrow We Love.”
“How do you know?”
“I looked it up.”
“Where’s the cabin?”
Muntz provided Jesse with the information.
“I’ll check it out,” Jesse said.
“I thought you might.”
“This is very good police work, Dave.”
“Thanks, Jesse.”
He hung up the phone and stared at Molly.
“Good news?”
“Maybe.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“Pay a visit to South Hamilton.”
“You’re not going to inform Agent Wellstein?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t like him.”
Molly shrugged.
“Never let it be said that maturity clouded your judgment,” she said.
She returned to her desk.
Jesse picked up the phone and dialed.
“What,” said the voice on the other end of the line.
“Bingo,” Jesse said.
53
Jesse dropped Crow off at a clearing in the woods, a mile or so from Ryan Rooney’s rented cabin.
Crow had never left Paradise. Since moving out of Marisol’s hotel, he had been living in a makeshift lean-to that he had carved into the sand dunes at North Beach. The cool fall weather ensured his privacy, and he had always been more comfortable living amidst nature than among people.
Jesse watched as Crow unloaded a few things from the trunk of his car. The only weapon he carried was his bowie knife.
“That’s it? A knife,” Jesse said.
Crow nodded.
“This guy is armed.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Cell phone?”
“Shirt pocket.”
“You’ll call me,” Jesse said.
Crow nodded.
“How do you say ‘Good luck’ in Apache,” Jesse said.
“Go get ’em, kemosabe.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have asked.”
The two men looked at each other.
“This means a lot to me, Jesse,” Crow said.
“Then try not to fuck it up,” Jesse said.
Crow smiled, then trotted off into the woods.
—
Ryan Rooney heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. The cabin was hidden deep enough in the woods that it was impossible to hear the highway traffic. Someone was definitely headed his way.
He peeked through the curtains at the front window. A police cruiser was inching its way toward the cabin.
As a preventive measure, Ryan had packed a duffel bag in case he had to make a quick getaway.
He grabbed the duffel, opened the kitchen door, and fled into the woods.
—
Jesse got out of the cruiser and approached the cabin. His Colt Commander automatic pistol was in his hand.
He knocked on the door.
There was no response.
“Police,” he said. “Please exit the premises with your hands in the air.”
Nothing happened.
He turned the doorknob. It was locked.
He walked the perimeter of the cabin. When he reached the back door, he tried the handle. It was unlocked. He went inside.
He carefully checked each room. The cabin was empty. He holstered his Colt and looked around, careful not to disturb anything, so that he wouldn’t leave a trail that might capture the attention of a CSI team.
The occupant was gone. He had left in a hurry.
The bed was unmade. There were unwashed dishes in the sink and uneaten food on the counter. A recently washed pair of Jockey shorts hung over the shower curtain rod.
Satisfied, he left the cabin by way of the kitchen. He wiped the doorknob of prints. He did the same with the front door. He returned to his cruiser.
He leaned back in his seat and settled himself for the wait.
He had brought a Thermos of coffee and a couple of sandwiches from Daisy’s. He lowered the cruiser’s windows, allowing the cool fall air in. He listened to the sounds of the forest and he breathed deeply.
Despite himself, he dozed off, awakening with a start by the intrusion of a strange noise.
Two squirrels were sitting on the hood of the cruiser, absorbing the warmth of the slow-cooling engine. They stared at him through the windshield.
He stared back.
Evidently they didn’t perceive him to be a threat.
The three of them stayed that way for a while.
—
The sound of Jesse’s cell phone alarmed the squirrels. They leapt from the hood of the cruiser and disappeared into the woods.
“It’s done,” Crow said.
“How will I find him?”
“The screaming should begin shortly.”
“The screaming?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
�
�Just outside New Haven.”
“New Haven, Connecticut?”
“Yes.”
“That’s more than an hour from here.”
“It is.”
“How could you be in New Haven?”
“It took me five minutes to find him, ten more to prepare him, and then I left.”
“Prepare him,” Jesse said.
“Yes.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“Thanks to the miracle of modern chemistry, he’s sleeping like a baby right now, but he’ll be waking up real soon and real fast.”
“And you can’t tell me where he is?”
“I promise you’ll know within minutes.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“Wanishi,” Crow said.
“Which means?”
“Good wishes to you, my friend,” Crow said, and ended the call.
Jesse stared out at the woods through the windshield.
Then the screaming began.
—
The screams led Jesse to a small clearing. Ryan Rooney was lying spread-eagle on the ground, his hands and feet tied to four posts that were firmly hammered into the hardened earth. He was screaming at the top of his lungs.
He was naked, and his body had been smeared with what appeared to be honey. Red ants swarmed all over him, and angry welts were already visible beneath the honey glaze.
When Rooney spotted Jesse, he screamed, “Help me.”
Jesse knelt down beside him.
“Ryan Rooney,” he said.
“Get them off of me,” Ryan screamed.
“You’re Ryan Rooney?”
“Yes. Yes, for crissakes. I’m Ryan Rooney.”
“I’m charging you with the murder of Marisol Hinton.”
Rooney screamed louder.
“Get me out of this.”
Jesse looked at him for several moments. Then he grabbed his cell phone and punched in a number.
“Paradise police,” Molly said.
“I’ve got him. Call out the reserves.”
After telling her how to find him, he hung up.
Jesse released Rooney from his bindings and got him on his feet. Rooney tried to brush the ants away, but they clung to his skin, bound by the honey. He was still screaming when Jesse read him his rights.
A squad car and an ambulance pulled into the clearing.
The two EMTs used an antiseptic spray on Rooney, who continued his grotesque dance until the last of the ants either dropped off or died.
Then he fell to the ground and began to sob.
Suitcase Simpson, who had been in the lead car with Arthur Angstrom, stood beside Jesse, taking it all in.
“Ryan Rooney?”
“That would be he,” Jesse said.
“Will I be taking him into custody?”
“You will.”
“Should I read him his rights?”
“I already did.”
“While he was screaming?”
“Between screams.”
“How do you suppose this happened,” Suitcase said.
“I wouldn’t know.”
Suitcase looked at him.
“Crow?”
“Beats me.”
“You’re not telling me, right?”
“How could you think such a thing,” Jesse said.
—
Only after Rooney had been sedated, strapped onto a gurney, and lifted into the ambulance did Jesse punch a number into his phone.
Captain Healy answered.
“You can tell your friend that a certain person of interest will arrive at Paradise General in about ten minutes,” Jesse said.
“Say that again.”
“We found Ryan Rooney. He’s on his way to the hospital.”
“Was he wounded?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He was the victim of a vicious ant attack.”
“Ants?”
“Red ones. Lots of them.”
“In Massachusetts?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Infestations of red ants have been part of the ecological systems not only of Massachusetts, but of most of New England and southeast Canada since the early 1900s.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“You could look it up.”
Healy was quiet for a few moments. “Crow, right?”
“Beats me.”
“Red ants?”
“Nasty ones,” Jesse said.
“Had to have been Crow.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Healy sighed. “I’ll inform Wellstein,” he said.
“Excellent idea,” Jesse said.
54
It was all over the evening news. Special Agent Lucas Wellstein stood before the microphones in front of Paradise General Hospital, fielding questions from reporters and newscasters.
He credited the FBI with the arrest and thanked Captain Healy for his assistance. He made no mention of Jesse.
The case took off when cell-phone photos and videos began to appear on TMZ and other websites, showing Ryan Rooney being carried from the ambulance.
Close-up shots revealed a face rendered all but unrecognizable by vivid red welts. He seemed incoherent and appeared to be sobbing.
The coverage went viral, raising questions as to exactly what had happened to him. The press and the public couldn’t get enough of the story. Soon the tabloids were screaming cover-up.
Jesse watched it all on the TV in Frankie Greenberg’s room, enjoying himself immensely. Hank Greenberg watched with him.
Frankie remained unconscious.
When the footage of Ryan arriving at the hospital appeared once again, Jesse smiled.
When he looked over at her, he saw that Frankie’s eyes were open.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey yourself,” she said hoarsely.
She looked around.
“Daddy?”
Hank hurried to her bedside. He held her in his arms. He was unable to control his tears.
“Welcome back, honey,” he said.
55
Jesse pushed past the media barrage outside of the station. Lucas Wellstein was waiting for him in his office.
“I’m getting slammed,” Lucas said.
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“There’s a media backlash stemming from those damned cell-phone pictures. Everyone’s clamoring for information about why Rooney looked the way he did.”
Jesse remained silent.
“Just what went down out there,” Wellstein said.
“You mean what happened to him?”
“Yes.”
“Looks like he passed out and fell on top of an anthill.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Stone.”
“Why, whatever do you mean?”
“You know what I think,” Wellstein said.
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“I think you and that damned Indian set him up.”
“Why would you think that?”
“When did you learn he was out there?”
“I received an anonymous phone call saying that someone was in the woods, screaming his head off. I investigated and found Mr. Rooney. I called for backup, then phoned Captain Healy and asked him to inform you.”
“Bullshit,” Wellstein said.
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“I could have your balls for this.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What makes you so sure of yourself?”
“Your job is to quell the media furor. Exacerbating it would be a bad idea.”
“So you set me up, too.”
“I’m just a small-town cop. Mostly I write parking tickets.”
“You’re so full of shit, Stone.”
“Was there anything else?”
“No.”
Jesse stood.
“I’ll refrain from voicing my
entire opinion, Agent Wellstein, but suffice it to say, I think you’re a disgrace to your service.”
“Like I give a rat’s ass what you think.”
“A wise man once told me that people generally behave in the same manner toward everyone. You might want to consider the trails that you’re blazing, Wellstein. You meet the same people on the way down as you met on the way up, if you get my drift.”
Jesse walked over and opened the door.
“Happy trails, pardner,” he said.
—
Rita Fiore on line two,” Molly said.
Jesse picked up the call.
“Rita?”
“We’ll take it,” she said.
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“We want to interview Goodwin as soon as we can. Once that’s done, we’ll file a motion to set bail. If it’s okay with you, my associate and I would like to head up to Paradise now.”
“Okay.”
Rita didn’t say anything.
After a moment, Jesse said, “Why?”
“Why did we take the case?”
“Yes.”
“Obviously we’ll know more once we’ve had a look at the paperwork and conducted some interviews, but let’s just say that we’re intrigued. We also have interest in the climate issue. We appreciate Mr. Goodwin’s concerns about the worldwide water crisis. Regardless of the outcome, Cone, Oakes looks at this case as a means of further advancing the cause for reconsideration of this issue. We expect that the case will generate a fair amount of media attention.”
“Which is why you decided to take it?”
“Partly. Yes.”
“You lawyers are a strange lot.”
“Tell me about it,” she said.
—
The firm of Cone, Oakes, and Baldwin has agreed to handle your case,” Jesse said to William J. Goodwin.
“Why would they do that,” Goodwin said.
“You’ll have to ask them yourself. Rita Fiore is on her way here now.”
“Will she get us out of jail,” Ida Fearnley said.
“After she has a better handle on each of your stories, I believe she’ll seek bail.”
“What do you mean,” Goodwin said.
“I’m a cop, not a lawyer. But it’s my understanding that after she interviews each of you, she’ll petition the court on your behalf.”
“To get us out of here,” Ida said.
“Yes.”
They were all silent for a while.
“I’ve heard of this Rita Fiore,” Goodwin said. “She’s supposedly quite good.”
“You need someone quite good,” Jesse said.
Fool Me Twice Page 14