Fool Me Twice (6 page)

Jesse fired up his cruiser and followed her. She was driving above the speed limit, oblivious to the fact that she was being followed by a police cruiser. She continued to talk on her phone.

After a while, Jesse hit the siren and lights. He saw Courtney look in her rearview mirror. He beeped the siren a few times, signaling for her to pull over.

When both vehicles were stopped on the shoulder, Jesse got out of his cruiser and walked to the Lexus. Courtney lowered her window as he approached.

“License and registration,” he said.

She stared at him.

“You again,” she said. “What do you want this time?”

“Your license and registration, please. And while you’re at it, hand me your phone, too.”

“Why?”

“It’s illegal in Massachusetts for anyone under the age of eighteen to talk on a handheld device while driving.”

“Everyone knows that’s a stupid law.”

“It’s a law, however, regardless of your personal lack of regard for it.”

“I suppose you’re gonna arrest me again.”

“No. I’m going to cite you for breaking the law. And I’m going to confiscate your phone.”

“Must you?”

Jesse didn’t say anything.

She removed the license from her wallet and handed it to him.

“Registration,” Jesse said.

“It’s in here somewhere. Do I really have to find it?”

“You do if you don’t want to spend the next several hours in jail.”

She glared at him, then started searching for the registration slip.

“Cell phone,” he said.

“What?”

“Give me your phone.”

“No.”

“Don’t force me to arrest you again.”

She sighed.

She gave him the phone.

“Everyone talks on their cell phones,” she said.

“Didn’t yesterday teach you anything?”

“Like what?”

“Like how driving while distracted can cause accidents and seriously injure people.”

He stepped away from her car and began writing the citation.

She returned her license to her wallet and the registration slip to the glove box.

She muttered the word “shithead” under her breath.

He heard her.

“You talking to me,” Jesse said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

He stepped closer to the car and stared at her. Then he handed her the citation.

“What do I do with this?”

“What it says to do.”

“How about I just give it to my father.”

“You can give it to the tooth fairy, for all I care.”

He smiled at her.

“Have a nice day,” he said.

  14  

R
yan followed Marisol’s black Range Rover as it pulled through the gates into the driveway of her Beverly Hills mansion. He’d been parked down the street, waiting for her, sailing on a crystal meth high.

She had stopped taking his calls, and it had occurred to him that this might be his only opportunity to speak with her.

By the time Marisol saw him approaching, it was too late for her to reach the house or get back into her car.

He grabbed her arm.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You gave me no choice.”

“Let go of me,” she said, trying to wrest herself free.

“I want you to forgive me,” he said, tightening his grip.

“You’re frightening me, Ryan.”

“That’s not my intention.”

“Let go of me.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

He let her go.

She stepped backward, massaging her arm.

“I know things haven’t gone well with us,” he said. “I did things I’m ashamed of. I beg your forgiveness.”

“My forgiveness?”

“Yes.”

“Come off it, Ryan.”

“No, I mean it.”

“What do you really want?”

“I want us to be friends.”

“Friends? How could you even think such a thing?”

She glared at him. He reached over and caressed her face. She cringed.

“I need a favor,” he said.

She didn’t say anything.

“I want to leave California. I want to start fresh. In New York.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I’m broke.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“I know,” he said, growing agitated. “But I’m asking you to help me.”

“Help you how?”

“I need twenty-five thousand dollars. To get me to New York. To get me settled there. To allow me to live while I start over.”

“You want me to give you twenty-five thousand dollars?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t say anything.

“We had some good times, Marisol. We even loved each other. What’s done is done. Just this one favor. Please. I’ll never bother you again.”

She thought about it.

“All right,” she said.

“You’ll give me the money?”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“I don’t keep that kind of cash around.”

“You could write me a check.”

“All right,” she said, after a moment.

She reached into her purse, took out her checkbook, and wrote one for twenty-five thousand dollars. She handed it to him.

He looked at it. He put it in his pocket.

“Please leave now,” she said.

He nodded.

He turned and walked to his car. “Thank you,” he said, looking back to her. But by then she had made it safely into the house.

  15  

J
esse pulled to a stop in front of the Community Services Building, a Federal-style red-brick behemoth, built in the early 1900s as the original Paradise High School. It was now home to several municipal offices, including the Department of Water and Power.

Jesse entered the office of William J. Goodwin, the longtime DWP commissioner. Goodwin had held the position since the mid-1980s, making him the longest-serving public official in Paradise.

He and Jesse had met on a number of official occasions. Goodwin was a tiny man, quiet and unassuming. He dressed immaculately, favoring expensive suits worn with bow ties. He spoke in a high-pitched tenor that often made him the butt of ill-intentioned humor.

Behind the desk in the outer office sat Ida Fearnley, Goodwin’s longtime assistant.

Miss Fearnley was a large woman in middle age, well known for the shortness of her patience and the tartness of her tongue.

“Chief Stone,” she said to Jesse. “What a nice surprise.”

“Miss Fearnley,” he said. “Still guarding the fort, I see.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“And life remains good up here at W and P?”

“It’s pretty much the same as always. How can we help you?”

“I’m sorry to show up unannounced, but I wonder if the commissioner might have a few minutes to spare.”

“He’s in there. Let me go see what he’s up to.”

She left him and entered the commissioner’s office.

Jesse walked the outer office, glancing at the many citations and awards on the office walls. Most reflected appreciation for Mr. Goodwin’s long years of service.

The door to his office opened, and William J. Goodwin appeared.

“Chief Stone,” he said. “An unexpected pleasure. Do come in. Can we get you anything?”

“Thank you, no,” Jesse said.

The two men shook hands, and Goodwin gestured for Jesse to enter ahead of him.

Goodwin’s office looked like the set of a London men’s club in a forties movie. Lots of leather and mahogany.

He ushered Jesse to a pair of glossy brown leather armchairs. They sat. Goodwin’s feet barely touched the floor.

“I’m sorry to be a bother, Mr. Goodwin,” Jesse said, “but I’ve recently had some inquiries regarding your department, and I thought it better to direct them to the source.”

“Me being the source?”

“Exactly.”

“To what inquiries are you referring?”

“Do you know of any recent rate increases regarding water usage?”

“None. We purchase our water directly from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and the rates have been constant for quite some time. I can’t say I agree with the state’s decision to maintain these rate levels, but clearly my opinions count for very little.”

“What are your opinions,” Jesse said.

“It’s my belief that our society has little respect for this most precious of our natural resources. We use it capriciously and wastefully. When you consider the shortage of potable water on our planet and the manner in which we squander our share of it, I find it shameful that it costs so little, the result of which allows us to deplete our supplies as recklessly as we wish.”

Jesse didn’t say anything.

“My beliefs, however, go largely ignored at state,” Goodwin said. “Try as I may to voice them.”

“What would you have them do?”

“I’d have them charge a usage rate that would force restraint. One out of every seven people on the planet doesn’t have access to clean water. Unless things change, we’ll soon be facing a global disaster.”

“Sounds like a problem for the environmentalists.”

“The environmentalists have become so politicized that it’s impossible for them to argue such an issue without the concurrence of lobbyists and power brokers. Electability is all that these morons care about.”

“This is all above my pay grade,” Jesse said. “For what it’s worth, I agree with you. I’m afraid, however, that I’m only here to determine whether or not any rate hikes have occurred in Paradise.”

“Would that that were the case. But, alas, it’s not.”

Jesse stood.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Goodwin. And for sharing your insights.”

“My irrelevant insights,” Goodwin said.

  16  

R
yan drove directly from the mansion to Marisol’s bank. He handed the check to the teller and asked her to cash it. She examined it and said, “I can’t authorize this much cash on my own. I need to speak to my manager.”

He nodded.

She locked the cash drawer and left her station.

Ryan stood waiting at the window for an inordinately long time.

Then the teller returned, accompanied by a severe-looking older man. The man stepped to the window.

“You’re Ryan Rooney,” he said.

“Yes.”

“A stop-payment order has been placed on this check.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that the check is no good.”

“What do you mean it’s no good. I just received it.”

“Be that as it may, I’m unable to cash it.”

Ryan raised his voice. “It is good,” he said. “I just got it. Give me my money.”

Ryan was attracting the attention of other bank customers.

“Please lower your voice,” the man said.

“I want my money,” Ryan said loudly.

The man looked at him. Then he signaled to the bank guard, who was already headed in their direction.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave,” the man said.

“Not until you give me my money,” Ryan said.

“Harold,” the manager said to the guard, “would you please escort Mr. Rooney from the premises.”

Ryan was enraged.

“I’m not leaving until I get my money,” he said.

The guard grabbed Ryan’s arm and twisted it up behind his back, which caused Ryan to cry out in pain. He clamped his other hand on Ryan’s neck and hustled him out of the building. Once outside, he shoved Ryan away.

As he struggled to gain traction, Ryan lost his footing and stumbled. He fell to the pavement, ripping his pants leg as he landed. He leapt back up and made a move toward the guard.

Then he heard the sound of sirens in the distance. He stopped and listened as they drew closer.

He wheeled around and walked quickly to his Prius. He jumped in and swung it out of the parking lot, moments before a police cruiser pulled in.

This isn’t over,
he thought.

  17  

M
olly wandered into Jesse’s office. He was seated behind his desk, staring out the window. He turned around when he heard her come in.

“There’s good news and bad news,” she said.

“Okay,” Jesse said.

“Do you want to know which is which?”

“Have I a choice?”

“The bad news is Carter Hansen wants to see you.”

“And the good news?”

“I’m having an excellent hair day.”

—

I
’ve already had two calls from Portia Cassidy,” Carter Hansen said. “She appears to be out for blood.”

“How so,” Jesse said.

“She thinks you’re terrorizing her daughter.”

They were sitting in Hansen’s office. He had reluctantly provided Jesse with some coffee.

“Courtney Cassidy is an unrepentant, obnoxious adolescent who seems to take a perverse pleasure in breaking the law.”

“What were you doing in front of her house this morning?”

“Sightseeing,” Jesse said.

“I wish I found your attempts at humor amusing. Were you stalking the girl?”

“I was surveilling.”

“Stop being obtuse. What were you doing in front of her house?”

“I suspected that Ms. Cassidy was a chronic abuser of the law, and I was right. She was talking on a cell phone when she drove past me.”

“So what? People drive and talk on cell phones all the time.”

“It’s against the law.”

“Everyone knows it’s a dumb law.”

“But it’s state law nonetheless. You could look it up.”

“So you ticketed her?”

“I did. Her driver’s license can now be revoked for a period of six months. She’s a two-time offender.”

“And you believe that a judge will actually revoke her license?”

“An honest one will.”

“Oh, please,” Hansen said. “I want you to stop harassing her. It’s bad for business.”

“‘Harassing her’?”

“Yes.”

“Are you instructing me to look the other way when a crime is being committed?”

Hansen didn’t say anything.

“This girl has already been the cause of an accident that seriously injured someone, to which she responded in an arrogant and willful manner. I will continue to challenge her until the authorities can no longer afford to ignore her.”

“Don’t,” Hansen said.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t keep challenging her.”