Fool Me Twice

53

Jesse dropped Crow off at a clearing in the woods, a mile or so from Ryan Rooney’s rented cabin.

Crow had never left Paradise. Since moving out of Marisol’s hotel, he had been living in a makeshift lean-to that he had carved into the sand dunes at North Beach. The cool fall weather ensured his privacy, and he had always been more comfortable living amidst nature than among people.

Jesse watched as Crow unloaded a few things from the trunk of his car. The only weapon he carried was his bowie knife.

“That’s it? A knife,” Jesse said.

Crow nodded.

“This guy is armed.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Cell phone?”

“Shirt pocket.”

“You’ll call me,” Jesse said.

Crow nodded.

“How do you say ‘Good luck’ in Apache,” Jesse said.

“Go get ’em, kemosabe.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have asked.”

The two men looked at each other.

“This means a lot to me, Jesse,” Crow said.

“Then try not to fuck it up,” Jesse said.

Crow smiled, then trotted off into the woods.

—

Ryan Rooney heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. The cabin was hidden deep enough in the woods that it was impossible to hear the highway traffic. Someone was definitely headed his way.

He peeked through the curtains at the front window. A police cruiser was inching its way toward the cabin.

As a preventive measure, Ryan had packed a duffel bag in case he had to make a quick getaway.

He grabbed the duffel, opened the kitchen door, and fled into the woods.

—

Jesse got out of the cruiser and approached the cabin. His Colt Commander automatic pistol was in his hand.

He knocked on the door.

There was no response.

“Police,” he said. “Please exit the premises with your hands in the air.”

Nothing happened.

He turned the doorknob. It was locked.

He walked the perimeter of the cabin. When he reached the back door, he tried the handle. It was unlocked. He went inside.

He carefully checked each room. The cabin was empty. He holstered his Colt and looked around, careful not to disturb anything, so that he wouldn’t leave a trail that might capture the attention of a CSI team.

The occupant was gone. He had left in a hurry.

The bed was unmade. There were unwashed dishes in the sink and uneaten food on the counter. A recently washed pair of Jockey shorts hung over the shower curtain rod.

Satisfied, he left the cabin by way of the kitchen. He wiped the doorknob of prints. He did the same with the front door. He returned to his cruiser.

He leaned back in his seat and settled himself for the wait.

He had brought a Thermos of coffee and a couple of sandwiches from Daisy’s. He lowered the cruiser’s windows, allowing the cool fall air in. He listened to the sounds of the forest and he breathed deeply.

Despite himself, he dozed off, awakening with a start by the intrusion of a strange noise.

Two squirrels were sitting on the hood of the cruiser, absorbing the warmth of the slow-cooling engine. They stared at him through the windshield.

He stared back.

Evidently they didn’t perceive him to be a threat.

The three of them stayed that way for a while.

—

The sound of Jesse’s cell phone alarmed the squirrels. They leapt from the hood of the cruiser and disappeared into the woods.

“It’s done,” Crow said.

“How will I find him?”

“The screaming should begin shortly.”

“The screaming?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“Just outside New Haven.”

“New Haven, Connecticut?”

“Yes.”

“That’s more than an hour from here.”

“It is.”

“How could you be in New Haven?”

“It took me five minutes to find him, ten more to prepare him, and then I left.”

“Prepare him,” Jesse said.

“Yes.”

Jesse didn’t say anything.

“Thanks to the miracle of modern chemistry, he’s sleeping like a baby right now, but he’ll be waking up real soon and real fast.”

“And you can’t tell me where he is?”

“I promise you’ll know within minutes.”

Jesse didn’t say anything.

“Wanishi,” Crow said.

“Which means?”

“Good wishes to you, my friend,” Crow said, and ended the call.

Jesse stared out at the woods through the windshield.

Then the screaming began.

—

The screams led Jesse to a small clearing. Ryan Rooney was lying spread-eagle on the ground, his hands and feet tied to four posts that were firmly hammered into the hardened earth. He was screaming at the top of his lungs.

He was naked, and his body had been smeared with what appeared to be honey. Red ants swarmed all over him, and angry welts were already visible beneath the honey glaze.

When Rooney spotted Jesse, he screamed, “Help me.”

Jesse knelt down beside him.

“Ryan Rooney,” he said.

“Get them off of me,” Ryan screamed.

“You’re Ryan Rooney?”

“Yes. Yes, for crissakes. I’m Ryan Rooney.”

“I’m charging you with the murder of Marisol Hinton.”

Rooney screamed louder.

“Get me out of this.”

Jesse looked at him for several moments. Then he grabbed his cell phone and punched in a number.

“Paradise police,” Molly said.

“I’ve got him. Call out the reserves.”

After telling her how to find him, he hung up.

Jesse released Rooney from his bindings and got him on his feet. Rooney tried to brush the ants away, but they clung to his skin, bound by the honey. He was still screaming when Jesse read him his rights.

A squad car and an ambulance pulled into the clearing.

The two EMTs used an antiseptic spray on Rooney, who continued his grotesque dance until the last of the ants either dropped off or died.

Then he fell to the ground and began to sob.

Suitcase Simpson, who had been in the lead car with Arthur Angstrom, stood beside Jesse, taking it all in.

“Ryan Rooney?”

“That would be he,” Jesse said.

“Will I be taking him into custody?”

“You will.”

“Should I read him his rights?”

“I already did.”

“While he was screaming?”

“Between screams.”

“How do you suppose this happened,” Suitcase said.

“I wouldn’t know.”

Suitcase looked at him.

“Crow?”

“Beats me.”

“You’re not telling me, right?”

“How could you think such a thing,” Jesse said.

—

Only after Rooney had been sedated, strapped onto a gurney, and lifted into the ambulance did Jesse punch a number into his phone.

Captain Healy answered.

“You can tell your friend that a certain person of interest will arrive at Paradise General in about ten minutes,” Jesse said.

“Say that again.”

“We found Ryan Rooney. He’s on his way to the hospital.”

“Was he wounded?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He was the victim of a vicious ant attack.”

“Ants?”

“Red ones. Lots of them.”

“In Massachusetts?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Infestations of red ants have been part of the ecological systems not only of Massachusetts, but of most of New England and southeast Canada since the early 1900s.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“You could look it up.”

Healy was quiet for a few moments. “Crow, right?”

“Beats me.”

“Red ants?”

“Nasty ones,” Jesse said.

“Had to have been Crow.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Healy sighed. “I’ll inform Wellstein,” he said.

“Excellent idea,” Jesse said.