Fool Me Twice js-11
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“I’m impressed,” he said.
“Because I know about the Internet?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m a barrelful of surprises,” Jesse said. “You can’t afford to ignore this stuff. Everyone seems to be tuned in. Maybe the killer was, too.”
“Worth a try, I suppose.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
46
Jesse stopped off at the Town Hall on his way to the station.
He went to see Carter Hansen, who was alone in his office, staring at the ceiling.
“You heard,” Jesse said.
“That poor girl,” Hansen said.
“I’m sorry, Carter. I know how much this meant to you.”
“To all of us.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“How’s the other one? The Greenberg girl?”
“Stabilized.”
“Will she pull through?”
“I hope so.”
“Is it true that the husband is the prime suspect?”
“I’d have to believe so.”
“Not the redskin?”
“The redskin? Jesus, Carter, what century are you living in?”
“He certainly had cause,” Hansen said.
“Try not to bandy about your racism,” Jesse said.
“Whatever,” Hansen said. “I think he did it.”
“You can’t be serious,” Jesse said.
“Dead serious,” Hansen said. “Particularly given the way she spoke to him the other day.”
“He didn’t do it.”
“How can you say that with such assurance?”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“I believe he did it,” Hansen said. “I don’t think that an actor could actually murder someone. Especially not his own wife.”
“You’re certainly entitled to your opinion, Carter, but you’re wrong.”
Jesse stood.
“I guess this wasn’t such a good idea,” he said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I should have learned by now never to underestimate the depths of your buffoonery.”
“The door’s open,” Hansen said.
“I noticed,” Jesse said.
—
You actually called him a buffoon,” Molly said.
“In a manner of speaking,” Jesse said.
They were sitting in Jesse’s office. Jesse was drinking coffee.
“My tolerance factor is definitely diminished,” Jesse said.
“And you’re not afraid to let everyone know it.”
“He’s a moron.”
“He’s the head selectman.”
“Which isn’t a license to practice idiocy.”
“It’s a license to behave as he chooses.”
“That’s a load of crap.”
Molly stood. She sighed.
“Pete Perkins called,” she said.
“Can you get him for me, please?”
“Sore fingers, have we?”
“Don’t start.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
She left his office and after a few moments shouted, “Pete on line one.”
“Thank you.”
“You owe me.”
Jesse picked up the call.
“What’s up,” he said.
“There was a break-in at one of the cottages near the movie location.” Jesse didn’t say anything. “Two doors away from the murder site. Kitchen window was smashed. Looks like someone entered the cottage through it and stayed for a while.”
“Did you call in a CSI team?”
“We did. They just arrived.”
“Let me know what they find.”
“As soon as I know,” Perkins said.
—
Captain Healy on line four,” Molly said.
“I was right,” Healy said, when Jesse picked up.
“Meaning?”
“Lucas Wellstein.”
“He phoned?”
“He not only phoned, he’s on his way to Paradise.”
“Should I go into hiding?”
“You might want to consider it. Oh, and I’m on my way also.”
“Looking for ink, too?”
“Actually, I was hoping for a shot on The View.”
Jesse didn’t say anything. “You’ll want to keep an eye on your temper,” Healy said.
“Why would you say a thing like that?”
“You know why. I’ll be there within the hour.”
Healy ended the call. Jesse sat back in his chair.
He swiveled around and stared out the window.
—
Jesse noticed a black Crown Victoria sedan pull up in front of the station.
Four men climbed out. They wore identical black suits, gray ties, and dark sunglasses. They headed for the entrance.
After a few moments, Molly stuck her head into Jesse’s office.
“Special Agent Lucas Wellstein of the Federal Bureau of Investigation to see you.”
“Tell him I’m not in.”
“Too late.”
“You mean you told him I was here?”
“Proudly.”
“Jesus.”
Lucas Wellstein pushed past Molly and entered the office. He approached Jesse with his hand extended.
“Lucas Wellstein,” he said.
Jesse stood and accepted Wellstein’s hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Chief Stone,” Wellstein said.
“Jesse.”
“Excuse me?”
“The name’s Jesse.”
“Okay. Jesse,” Wellstein said, peering at him more closely.
Wellstein was an old-looking young man with an eminently forgettable moon-shaped face that featured coal-black eyes, which radiated paranoia and suspicion. His furtive glances from behind his horn-rimmed glasses, coupled with his self-conscious awkwardness, put Jesse in mind of Richard Nixon.
“We’re here regarding the Hinton murder case,” Wellstein said.
“And so fast, too.”
“Can you take us to the crime scene?”
“I can.”
Jesse didn’t move.
“Now,” Wellstein said.
“You mean you want to go now?”
“Yes.”
Jesse stood and looked at the door.
“Would you like me to take you there,” he said.
“Yes. I would.”
“Then please feel free to follow.”
Jesse looked at Molly, whose full-faced grin forced him to turn away.
Then it was on to the crime scene.
47
Captain Healy was already at the scene when Jesse and the cavalry arrived.
Lucas Wellstein approached him.
“Captain,” he said to Healy.
“Lucas,” Healy said.
“Where is everybody,” Wellstein said.
“Meaning,” Jesse said.
“The movie people. Where are they?”
“Once they got word that production had been suspended, they packed up and left.”
“Left town?”
“Probably they just went back to their local accommodations.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Sorry to hear what,” Jesse said.
“I had hoped they would remain on the site. So that I might question them.”
“We had no idea you would be coming. We did speak with each member of the cast and crew, and collected contact information for all of them.”
“‘We’?”
“My officers and I.”
Wellstein smiled sardonically.
“I’m sure you did an excellent job,” he said. “I still wish they had stayed. But, hey, that’s water under the bridge now, isn’t it?”
His smile reeked of both personal and professional insincerity.
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“We’ll be taking over from here,” Wellstein said. “Thank you for all t
hat you’ve done.”
“Would you like to see the information we compiled?”
“Not just yet. I’ll get back to you about it.”
Neither Jesse nor Healy said anything.
“Can you show me the crime scene?”
Jesse led him to the spot where Marisol and Frankie had been shot.
“Killing took place right here,” Jesse said. “CSI unit already did their inspection.”
“That’s damned fine police work, Stone,” Wellstein said.
“You should also commend Captain Healy for that. I’m sure he’ll be appreciative.”
Wellstein looked at Jesse.
“Are you being condescending, Chief Stone?”
“Jesse.”
“I don’t take kindly to attitude . . . Jesse.”
“Neither do I.”
The two men stared at each other.
“Do we have a problem,” Wellstein said.
“I would hope not,” Jesse said.
“I would hope not, as well.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“I think I can handle things from here,” Wellstein said.
“I would hope so,” Jesse said.
—
It’s uncanny,” Healy said as he and Jesse wandered away.
“What is,” Jesse said.
“How you manage to piss people off.”
“It’s a gift.”
“Lucas Wellstein isn’t someone you want to be on the wrong side of.”
“Too late now.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“What exactly was it that set you off?”
“I beg your pardon,” Jesse said.
“What about him got your goat?”
“Pretty much everything.”
“What everything?”
“Quit hocking me. You know exactly what I mean.”
Healy smiled.
“He is a bit of a shit,” Healy said.
“And that’s just for openers,” Jesse said.
48
Jesse had arranged to meet Frankie’s father, Henry Greenberg, at the hospital. He was already there when Jesse arrived.
Greenberg was a handsome man who was aging well. Jesse guessed him to be in his late fifties, still fit and youthful in appearance.
“Jesse Stone,” Jesse said as he approached Mr. Greenberg.
“Hank Greenberg.”
“Like the baseball player?”
“Better him than that crook from AIG.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Greenberg.”
“Hank.”
“Hank.”
“I’ve spoken with Dr. Lafferty,” Greenberg said. “He seems optimistic.”
“That’s the feeling I get.”
“Can you tell me what exactly happened?”
Jesse explained that it was primarily a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. That she hadn’t been targeted.
“I’m sure she’d be happy to know that you’re here,” Jesse said.
“Lafferty said they would be moving her into a private room so that I can sit with her.”
“That’s a good sign.”
“I hope so. She’s all I’ve got.”
Jesse gave Greenberg his card and wrote his cell-phone number on it. He promised to stop by again.
“This is very nice of you,” Greenberg said.
“I’m rooting for her,” Jesse said.
—
Did you really think you’d get away with it,” Jesse said.
He was seated on a straight-backed chair in the center aisle of the tombs, between the two rows of three cells each, in front of the one occupied by William J. Goodwin.
“Get away with what,” Goodwin said.
“Well,” Jesse said, “the crime, for starters.”
“We never thought anyone would catch on,” Goodwin said.
“You thought the rate hikes would continue to go unnoticed,” Jesse said.
“Yes,” Goodwin said.
Ida Fearnley was in the cell across from Goodwin’s, sitting on the cot, her head bowed.
Oscar LaBrea sat on a stool in the cell adjacent to Goodwin’s. His nose was heavily bandaged. The skin around his eyes was a deeply bruised blue-black, giving him the look of a demented badger.
The three of them presented a sad tableau.
“It’s not that your ideas don’t have merit,” Jesse said. “You make a compelling argument, and I’d like to believe that if you had gone about doing things legally, you might have been able to get some changes made.”
Goodwin didn’t say anything.
“Abusing the law never serves anyone’s purposes. How could you not have known that?”
Goodwin looked at the floor.
“What will happen to us,” Ida said.
“That’s for the courts to decide. I’ll be presenting your case to the district attorney this afternoon. He’ll take it from there.”
None of them spoke.
Jesse stood.
“For what it’s worth, you have my sympathies. You served the people of this town honorably for many years.”
Jesse stepped over to LaBrea’s cell. He stared in at him. LaBrea shied away.
“Do you really think you could have done it,” Jesse said.
LaBrea didn’t say anything. He was breathing through his mouth.
“You don’t have the cojones,” Jesse said.
LaBrea remained silent.
Jesse turned away from him in disgust.
There was nothing left to say.
—
It was dusk when Jesse opened the door to his house and was greeted by a complaining Mildred Memory. She hadn’t appreciated his absence and let him know it. She followed him into the kitchen, where he put his service belt and pistol on the counter and then fed her.
He poured himself a scotch.
When Mildred had finished eating, Jesse picked her up and sat down in one of the armchairs in the living room.
As a show of gratitude, she proceeded to lick his hand with her sandpaper tongue, then stretched out across his lap and rested her head on his forearm, pinning him to the chair. She purred contentedly.
Jesse sat back and thought about Frankie Greenberg and of the feelings he had developed for her, which he had not yet taken the time to analyze. She had suddenly appeared in his life, and they found themselves together. He liked her. He enjoyed spending time with her.
But he understood how new they were, and how uncertain. And how unlikely it would be for their relationship to continue once the movie was over.
What did that say to him? That he was attracted to dead-end relationships? That commitment continued to elude him by his own choice?
He thought briefly about Jenn and wondered where she was and who she was with. He had successfully rid himself of the burden of his ex-wife, yet at times like this, unsettled times, she still entered his mind.
He considered calling her, but he knew better than to invite her back into his life.
Here he was, once again adrift, his premises uncertain.
He reached around Mildred and poured himself another scotch. But he stopped himself from drinking it. He realized he was on the brink. He put the glass down.
He couldn’t bring himself to dislodge the sleeping cat from his lap, so he leaned back in his chair and struggled to make himself more comfortable.
Then he was asleep.
—
Ryan Rooney couldn’t sleep.
Finally he got out of bed and went to the darkened living room. He replayed the shootings over and over in his mind. He was happy to have administered a proper fate to Marisol. He cherished the look in her eye when she realized that it was him. She got what she deserved.
As for Frankie Greenberg, he was both astonished that he had shot her and remorseful for the deed.
It was a knee-jerk reaction, he kept telling himself. He hadn’t intended to do it. When she starte
d toward him, he shot her in self-defense.
Maybe it was the crystal meth. Perhaps his judgment had been impaired.
To his great surprise, he was consumed by guilt. He couldn’t get it out of his mind.
He would now be forced to change his plans. He had rented the cabin for a month. He would stay there and wait it out. He would make his move when more time had elapsed and surveillance became lax.
He would stay off the highways. He would take the back roads. He would head north to Maine, where he could illegally cross the border into Quebec and disappear into the Canadian wilderness.
He reached for his paraphernalia and his Shabu rock.
He breathed the air of invincibility.
I’ll get through this, he thought.
49
Molly arrived at the station to find Courtney waiting outside.
The two women didn’t speak. They eyed each other warily as Molly unlocked the door and they went inside.
“Would ‘Good morning’ be too much for you,” Molly said.
“Being here wasn’t my idea.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You could’ve just as easily said it yourself.”
“It’s generally good manners for younger people to offer greetings to their elders.”
“Blah, blah, blah,” Courtney said.
“Charming,” Molly said.
Molly showed her the supply closet. The cleaning equipment was inside. She picked up a mop and showed it to Courtney.
“This is a mop,” she said.
Courtney didn’t say anything.
“You ever see one before?”
Courtney snorted.
“I’ll bet you never handled one before,” Molly said.
“Is this what it’s gonna be like being here?”
“Get used to it.”
Molly withdrew a handful of ancient rags and a can of Endust.
“You know how to use this stuff?”
“No. Show me.”
“Figure it out for yourself. Go dust the bookcases and the desktops, and everything else that looks like it might have dust on it. When you’re finished with that, go downstairs and mop the floors. And when that’s done, clean the toilets.”
“The toilets?”
“That’s right.”
“What if I refuse?”
“Then you’ll find yourself standing in front of Judge Weissberg again with the female house of detention looming large in your future.”
“This isn’t fair.”
“You should’ve thought of that before you broke the law.”