“Take that attitude if you wish,” Miriam said. “When they hurt someone, then you’ll act?”
“We’ll keep an eye out,” Jesse said.
“Maybe you can put Officer Simpson on the case,” Molly said. “Any assignment he has, he’s on top of it.”
Miriam Fiedler turned her head involuntarily to stare at Molly. Jesse saw it. He glanced at Molly. She was smiling sweetly at Miriam Fiedler. Jesse decided to look into the remark later.
“I am not empowered by law to run someone out of town,” Jesse said. “I wish I were. But we’ll be on the lookout.”
“Those children,” Miriam said. “They are the camel’s nose under the tent.”
“And it’s a slippery slope from there, I imagine,” Jesse said.
“Perhaps I should take my story to the media,” Miriam said.
“Perhaps you already have,” Jesse said.
“I beg your pardon?”
Jesse waved his hand.
“Well, whether I have or not,” Miriam said, “I certainly shall. And I expect a more sympathetic hearing than I get from you.”
“They are permitted to deal in allegation and innuendo,” Jesse said. “I am not.”
“I know what I saw,” Miriam said.
“We both do,” Jesse said. “Molly, could you show Ms. Fiedler out, please.”
20.
Crow sat in his rental car parked on a curb in the old town section of Paradise, where the houses crowded against the sidewalk. He had circled the block for more than an hour before a spot had opened up within view of the narrow old house on Sewall Street where Mrs. Franklin lived with her daughter. He sipped some coffee from a big paper cup. He wasn’t impatient. He had all the time necessary. No hurry. Crow couldn’t really remember ever being in a hurry.
A little after two in the afternoon, a big woman with a lot of coal-black hair came out of the house and started up the street. Her hair was a black that no Caucasian woman could achieve without chemical help. She probably wasn’t quite as heavy as she looked, but her breasts were so ponderous that they enlarged her. She wore large harlequin sunglasses.
Crow took a photograph from his inside pocket and looked at it and then at the woman. Could be. She passed the car barely three feet from Crow. Up close, her face was puffy and reddish. She wore too much makeup, badly applied. She would be older now, and, of course, the picture was a glamour shot, designed to make her look as good as she could. She was blonde in the picture. But that was easily changed. Probably her.
Crow made no move to follow her. He simply sat. In about twenty minutes she came back carrying a paper bag. As she passed the car, Crow could see that the bag contained two six-packs of beer. She went back into her house and closed the door behind her. Crow sat. At about 3:50 the front door opened again and a girl came out. She, too, had very black hair. But hers had a candy-apple-red stripe in it. She used black lipstick and a lot of black makeup around her eyes. She had on a mesh tank top and cutoff denim shorts and black cowboy boots with a red dragon worked into the leather.
Crow took out another picture and looked at it. It was a school picture taken several years ago. Again, the hair color had changed. The makeup was different. She was older. But it was probably Amber Francisco, aka Alice Franklin. She passed Crow heading in the same direction as her mother had, toward Paradise Square. After she passed, he watched her in the rearview mirror. At the top of Sewall Street she met three kids on the corner. They were three of the
