Fool Me Twice

43

The sound of Jesse’s cell phone broke the tension in Goodwin’s office. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone.

“What’s up, Molly,” he said.

There was a pause before he responded.

“Send everyone you have. Seal it off. Call Captain Healy. I’m on my way,” he said, and closed the phone.

Jesse looked up at Goodwin and LaBrea without really seeing them.

“There’s been a shooting,” he said, almost to himself.

He looked at LaBrea and, without warning, slapped the Ruger from his hand. He reached into his jacket pocket for his .38-caliber Smith & Wesson backup pistol and trained it on a cringing LaBrea.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s bad manners to point guns at people,” Jesse said, grabbing LaBrea by the neck.

He smashed the heel of the Smith & Wesson into LaBrea’s nose, then let go of him. LaBrea fell heavily to the floor, screaming in pain.

Jesse pocketed LaBrea’s gun, then took his Colt from Goodwin’s desk and returned it to its holster.

LaBrea’s nose was bleeding profusely. Goodwin rushed to his aid.

As Jesse headed for the door, he said to Ida, “Don’t wait too long before calling nine-one-one. You wouldn’t want him to bleed out.”

—

Jesse stopped in front of the cottage on Lakeside Drive and switched off his siren and lights. He got out of the cruiser.

People were milling about in stunned silence. Some were crying. Others were staring aimlessly into space.

Suitcase hurried over to him.

“Marisol took one shot to the head,” he said. “Death was instantaneous. Not pretty.”

“Frankie?”

“She was hit in the chest. Bullet did some damage, but it missed her heart. Medics were noncommittal. Ambulance took her to Paradise General.”

“Any idea as to the identity of the shooter?”

“None. No one saw him.”

“His whereabouts?”

“Ditto.”

“Crow?”

“With the body.”

The night sky was lit up by four giant ten-K movie lamps that threw pools of illumination onto the darkened landscape, creating areas of both light and dark.

Jesse saw Crow sitting next to Marisol’s covered body. He sat dejectedly amid the circles of light and dark, an eerie portrait of sadness and isolation.

When he saw Jesse and Suitcase approaching, Crow looked up at them.

“This is all on me,” he said.

“Tell me how it went down,” Jesse said.

“They were waiting to get off the first shot. Frankie was showing her some script changes. I was hovering as usual. She asked me to get her script. It was in the trailer right over there. Inches away. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so I went to get it for her. I couldn’t have been gone for more than a minute.”

“That’s when it happened?”

“Guy came out of nowhere and shot them both.”

“Any idea who it was?”

“Had to have been the husband.”

Jesse didn’t say anything.

“Had to have been,” Crow said.

Jesse turned to Suitcase.

“Who’s here,” he said.

“Bauer. Perkins.”

“Would you mind finding them and bringing them to me.”

“No problem,” Suitcase said, and hurried off.

“On my watch,” Crow said to Jesse after Suitcase had left. “It was the only time she had been alone since I got here.”

“How bad was Frankie?”

“Bad enough.”

“She gonna make it?”

“She lost a lot of blood. I was able to stanch it somewhat. She was unconscious when the medics got to her.”

“What a mess,” Jesse said.

“He won’t get away with it. I’ll find him.”

“He could be halfway to the moon by now.”

“I’ll find him.”

Jesse saw Peter Perkins and Rich Bauer heading in his direction, followed closely by Suitcase.

Jesse stepped away from Crow and took the three officers aside.

“What can we do, Jesse,” Suitcase said.

“I want you to phone California DMV and find out what vehicle or vehicles are registered to Ryan Rooney. I need license plate and registration numbers. Then put out an APB. He’s likely on the move.”

“Got it, Jesse,” Suitcase said.

“Pete,” Jesse said. “I want you to find phone numbers for Mr. Rooney. Home, cell, everything. Call him. If he answers, bring me the phone. If his machine answers, listen carefully to the greeting, then contact the service provider and find out where the most recent outgoing calls were made from. Get the provider to check his messages and make a note of them. I also want you to contact Marisol Hinton’s cell provider. I want a complete list of all of the incoming and outgoing calls made over the last ten days.”

“I’m on it, Jesse,” Perkins said.

Both officers hurried away.

Jesse looked at Bauer.

“Something I can do, Skipper?”

“Get a photo of Ryan Rooney. Easy enough to find on the Internet. I want you to show it to every motel and hotel in the area. See if any of them have laid eyes on him.”

“Sure thing, Skipper.”

Jesse opened his cell phone and called Molly.

“This is going to escalate,” he said to her. “I want you to put a lid on it. No pronouncements. No publicity. Nada.”

“Copy that.”

“I want a full department meeting at six a.m. tomorrow.”

“Got it.”

After a moment, she said, “I’m sorry about Frankie.”

“Any word from the hospital?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Let me know?”

“The moment I hear anything,” she said, and ended the call.

Jesse stared at the phone for a moment.

Crow walked over to him.

“What are you looking for,” he said.

“Anything that might resemble a clue. Mostly relevant information regarding Ryan Rooney. Did he call her? If so, when? From where? Can his movements be traced to Paradise. That kind of stuff.”

The two men were silent for a while.

“My watch,” Crow said.

“Mine, too.”

“Mostly mine.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. Whoever did it was ten steps ahead of us.”

“It’s got to be Rooney.”

“We don’t know that for certain.”

“I want to go after him.”

“Needle in a haystack.”

“I still want to do it.”

“Because?”

“Vengeance,” Crow said.