They ate in silence for a while.
“Are you watching the playoffs,” Jesse said.
“What playoffs?”
“The baseball playoffs.”
“Ugh.”
“You mean you don’t like baseball?”
“I don’t like sports.”
“What do you like?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what you like?”
After a few moments, Courtney said, “I like to read.”
“Read as in books?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“What do I like to read?”
“Yes.”
“I like Margaret Mead.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“I like Coming of Age in Samoa. I mean, she was real young and she left home and went to live in a wild place and studied all kinds of different people. I think that’s so cool.”
“Which part?”
“All of it. She was awesome.”
They finished their lunches and pushed their plates away.
“Good,” Jesse asked.
“Really good,” Courtney said.
Afterward, they climbed back into the cruiser and headed for the station.
Jesse stopped only once to ticket an illegally parked Mercedes. Then he got back in the cruiser.
“I love to nail a Mercedes,” he said.
“Why?”
“The parking ticket is a great equalizer. Rich or poor, you gotta pay it.”
“My mom says poor people don’t drive Mercedes.”
“Not usually, no.”
“So it’s a rich person who just got the ticket?”
“More than likely, yeah. Rich people hate having to pay tickets.”
She thought about that for a while.
Jesse dropped her off at the station. She got out of the cruiser, then looked back at him through the open window.
“You gonna tell me why?”
“Why we had lunch?”
“Yes.”
“We’re going to be spending some time together over the next few months, and I thought it would benefit us both if we explored our human sides.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, I’m the police chief and you’re a detainee. Technically we’re on opposite sides of the law. But if we get to know each other, we might think of ourselves more as people and less as antagonists.”
Courtney was quiet.
“Understanding each other will make both of us less defensive and more receptive to the other’s ideas and opinions.”
“You’re a funny guy, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told. See you next week.”
She watched as he drove away.
57
Rita Fiore’s silver Lexus convertible was parked in front of the footbridge. Jesse got out of his cruiser and walked over to it. He found Rita sitting inside. She lowered the driver’s-side window.
“Am I intruding,” she said.
“Not at all.”
“You’re certain?”
“Completely.”
“May I come in?”
“Either that or you can stay in the car and we’ll keep talking to each other through the window.”
Rita smiled.
She got out of the Lexus, and together they crossed the bridge.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You won’t like it.”
“How could I not like it,” he asked as he opened the door and ushered her inside.
“Wait,” she said.
Jesse removed his Colt Commander from its holster and placed it on the kitchen counter.
Rita settled herself into one of his two leather chairs. She looked around.
“Nice house.”
Jesse smiled.
Mildred Memory trotted downstairs and began circling Jesse’s legs, her tail twitching in the air. He reached down and rubbed her back.
“Have you any scotch,” Rita said.
“I do.”
“With soda?”
“Coming right up.”
He prepared two drinks and brought her one.
“What won’t I like,” Jesse said as he sat down next to her.
“Rules first.”
“What rules?”
“We’re gonna play a little game called ‘privileged information.’”
“Meaning?”
“We’re going to protect the integrity of the defense counsel.”
“How do we do that?”
“This conversation never happened.”
“That bad?”
“I think so.”
“Okay. It never happened. What’s up?”
“Goodwin canceled our appointment and refused to set up another.”
“Did he offer a reason why?”
“He did not.”
“That’s strange.”
“There’s more. Tony Devlin, my A-list investigator, tells me that the executives at state Water and Power claim not to have heard from William J. Goodwin for several years.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“Tony knows someone there, and he made a routine call in an effort to confirm who it was that rebuffed Goodwin’s appeals for a rate reevaluation. His contact did some sniffing around and then informed Tony there was no record of any recent meetings between their personnel and Goodwin. The contact’s research identified Goodwin as having once been actively engaged in dealings with W and P, but not for a while.”
Jesse sipped his drink.
“And that’s just for openers,” Rita said. “Tony took a drive up here in order to have a look around. He started with Goodwin’s house, which was nothing out of the ordinary. Oscar LaBrea’s residence, on the other hand, was a different story. Our Mr. LaBrea lives in a two-story town house located on Osgood’s Point, which Tony describes as a high-end neighborhood. He probed further and discovered that the town house is appraised for something north of a million dollars.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“Isn’t this guy a meter reader?”
“Maybe he logged a lot of overtime.”
“Don’t kid around, Jesse. He’s living in the lap of luxury.”
“Okay.”
“Normally we would subpoena a suspect’s financial records. In order to get a peek at bank statements, investment accounts, stuff like that. But because Tony is so well connected, he was able to sniff out some information without a subpoena.”
“I won’t like this either, will I?”
“Mr. LaBrea is sitting on more than a million dollars’ worth of top-grade investments. All purchased within the last few years.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“Odd, don’t you think,” Rita said.
“What about Goodwin?”
“Hard to say. He lives modestly in a house he’s owned for more than a decade.”
“And his finances?”
“He’s made a great many contributions to water-starved countries and water-related enterprises. The accountants are going to have a field day sorting them all out. But in contrast to Mr. Goodwin, it appears that Oscar LaBrea was raiding the cookie jar for his personal enrichment. We’re double- and triple-checking it, of course.”
“Yikes,” Jesse said.
“Exactly.”
Jesse was silent for a while.
“What are you going to do,” Rita said.
“I’ll have a look for myself.”
“I don’t like this, Jesse. You’ll want to be careful.”
58
Jesse pulled up in front of Goodwin’s modest Colonial. The small house was partially hidden behind a row of privet hedges and featured an immaculate lawn bordered by crab apple and dogwood trees, Japanese maples, hydrangeas, and a pair of stately American elm trees.
Jesse rang the bell, and after a while he heard William Goodwin’s distinctive voice.
“Who is it,” he said.
“It’s Jesse. Please open the door.”
“Go away.”
“Please let me in.”
“I’ve suffered enough.”