It had all seemed to happen so quickly after Roscoe Niles had authenticated the tape. After that, the other hurdles were more easily cleared. In spite of the DA’s objections, he gave his go-ahead to handle things Jesse’s way. It helped that Lundquist had given his support and that Mayor Walker had kept her word, backing Jesse as well. There was little chance she wouldn’t. There was no downside for her. If he succeeded in capturing Curnutt’s killer and recovering the tape, she would take partial credit for his success. If he failed, she had distanced herself enough that the fallout would all blow in Jesse’s direction. Of course, what he hadn’t shared with the mayor or anybody else involved was that he had hedged his bet. He was sticking his neck out a long way, just not quite as far as everyone assumed he was.
After the meeting at the DA’s office, Nita Thompson pulled Jesse aside. “I hope you know what you’re doing. This could blow up in your face.”
“The day I start worrying more about covering my ass than doing the right thing, I’ll quit.”
“If you fail, Jesse, you won’t have to quit. The mayor will do that for you.”
“Uh-huh.”
An entire day had passed since then. The record label had wired the money to a Boston bank and an armored car had carried it up to Paradise. It had taken a while to assemble six million dollars in varied denominations of used, nonconsecutive bills. Funny thing was that none of them, not Jesse or White or Lundquist, had anticipated just how big a pile six million dollars made.
“Good thing you’ve got an SUV, Jesse,” Lundquist said. “That’s not going to fit in anyone’s carry-on bag.”
Jesse had laughed at that but wondered if the blackmailer had bothered to calculate how he’d manage all that money. If not, Jesse thought, it might give him the opportunity he needed to grab the Hangman.
Lundquist and the DA had argued for Jesse to chemically mark the bills in spite of the Hangman’s warnings and demands, but Jesse had rejected the idea.
“We’re going to play this as much his way as we can. We’re not going to mark the bills. We’re not going to put a tracking device with the money. No one is going to follow me in a car.”
These days, everyone walked around with a tracking device on his or her person. The Hangman would know that, and it was pretty much a given that Jesse would have to toss his cell phone somewhere along the route.
The Hangman’s instructions had been simple. After emphasizing that he would burn the tape if any of his instructions weren’t followed or if he sensed a trap was being set, he told Jesse to leave Paradise and travel back roads in a northwesterly direction toward the confluence of the Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Vermont borders. Just south of Lowell he got the call he’d been expecting.
The Hangman directed him to a roadside gas station.
“Go into the men’s room,” the distorted voice said. “Drop your cell phone in the toilet. You’ll find a new phone in a plastic bag in the toilet tank. And, Chief, if you have any tracking devices on you, planted in the money or your vehicle, this would be your chance to ditch them.”
“There aren’t any.”
“Okay, then head back the way you came and keep the new phone close. I’ll be calling you shortly.”
The bathroom was like almost every other gas-station bathroom he’d been in. It stank of human waste and pine disinfectant. The mirror was cracked and duct-taped to the wall. He was glad he had brought gloves with him when he lifted up the top of the toilet and fished out the bagged phone floating inside. As Jesse left the bathroom, new phone in hand, he noticed the surveillance camera mounted on the edge of the building. It was aimed at the pumps, so he doubted it would have captured images of the person who had planted the phone in the toilet tank. But even as he got in his car and headed back toward Paradise, there was something about the camera that stuck in Jesse’s head. It nagged at him until the ringing phone diverted his attention.
“Sorry to do this to you, Chief, but you’re going to have to about-face and follow my directions. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Good. When you get to where you’re going, call the number taped to the back of the phone.”
Jesse did as he was instructed, making a U-turn as soon as passing traffic allowed. And as he passed the gas station he’d pulled out of only a few minutes before, that nagging feeling about the surveillance camera came back to him.
83
It was full-blown night by the time Jesse got to where he was going, a hilly, densely wooded area just over the Vermont border. It wasn’t lost on Jesse that Evan Updike, everyone’s favorite suspect, was from Vermont. He pulled to the side of the road and called the number taped to the back of the cell phone.
“We’re almost there, Chief,” said the Hangman. “Don’t screw it up now. Off to your right you should see an unpaved path that off-roaders use to access the trails up here. It’s steep, but your vehicle should be able to handle it, no problem. Drive up along the path for about three hundred yards and stop where the road divides. When you get there, call me again.” The phone went dead.
Bets hedged or not, Jesse was liking this less and less. It was dark, he was out of state, and the terrain was rugged. He took it slow up the unpaved road, the tires of his Explorer spitting out rocks as it climbed the hill. And just as the Hangman had said, there was a split in the woods where the road veered sharply to the left or continued climbing up the hill.
“Good,” the Hangman said when Jesse called. “Listen carefully, Chief, because once I give you these instructions, you’re going to toss the cell. Understood?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Turn left. There’s a big flat clearing there about a hundred yards ahead of you. Drive to the edge of the clearing. Shut off your headlights. Get out of your vehicle and walk about twenty paces to the lit flashlight on the ground. There’ll be a package there with what you’ve come for. Use the flashlight to inspect it. When you’re satisfied, put the flashlight and the package down, bring the money out of your vehicle, and place it next to the package. When you’re done unloading the money, take the tape, toss the flashlight, turn around, and leave the way you came.”
“How are you going to get the money out of here? You have any idea of how clumsy three duffel bags of money is?”
“You let me worry about that. Concern yourself with this: Vary your behavior in any way from these instructions and there will be consequences. Roll down your window and listen.”
Almost before Jesse’s window was down, there was a burst of automatic weapon fire.
“Do we understand each other, Chief? Let’s both get what we want and get out of here.”
“Understood.”
“Good. Now toss the phone.”
It was incredibly dark when he got out of his Explorer. The flashlight was on the ground where the Hangman said it would be. But for the swath of light the flashlight cut into the blackness, Jesse didn’t think he would be able to make out the palm of his own hand held a foot in front of his face. He picked up the flashlight and the clear plastic package at his feet. Inside the package was a reel of professional recording tape with a shriveled strip of masking tape along one of its wide spokes. On the tape, written in now very faded black marker, were the words THE HANGMAN’S SONNET MASTER. It looked like pictures of the reel he had seen, but he had no idea whether he was holding a piece of history or a piece of fiction in his hand. Five minutes later, he had unloaded the money as instructed and had the tape next to him on the front passenger seat.