They had also added an Olympic-size swimming pool, two tennis courts, a putting green, and servants’ quarters.
Between the beach and the pool they had constructed a cabana that housed separate dressing-room facilities for men, women, and children. It contained a game room, a TV room, and a card room with a full-size bar.
The estate’s big gates swung open, and a Lexus convertible turned onto Beach Road, heading toward town.
Courtney Cassidy was at the wheel, holding a cell phone to her ear. Which was illegal.
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
Ryan 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
Jesse 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.