“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.
The door to his office opened, and William J. Goodwin appeared.
“Chief Stone,” he said. “An unexpected pleasure. Do come in. Can we get you anything?”
“Thank you, no,” Jesse said.
The two men shook hands, and Goodwin gestured for Jesse to enter ahead of him.
Goodwin’s office looked like the set of a London men’s club in a forties movie. Lots of leather and mahogany.
He ushered Jesse to a pair of glossy brown leather armchairs. They sat. Goodwin’s feet barely touched the floor.
“I’m sorry to be a bother, Mr. Goodwin,” Jesse said, “but I’ve recently had some inquiries regarding your department, and I thought it better to direct them to the source.”
“Me being the source?”
“Exactly.”
“To what inquiries are you referring?”
“Do you know of any recent rate increases regarding water usage?”
“None. We purchase our water directly from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and the rates have been constant for quite some time. I can’t say I agree with the state’s decision to maintain these rate levels, but clearly my opinions count for very little.”
“What are your opinions,” Jesse said.
“It’s my belief that our society has little respect for this most precious of our natural resources. We use it capriciously and wastefully. When you consider the shortage of potable water on our planet and the manner in which we squander our share of it, I find it shameful that it costs so little, the result of which allows us to deplete our supplies as recklessly as we wish.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“My beliefs, however, go largely ignored at state,” Goodwin said. “Try as I may to voice them.”
“What would you have them do?”
“I’d have them charge a usage rate that would force restraint. One out of every seven people on the planet doesn’t have access to clean water. Unless things change, we’ll soon be facing a global disaster.”
“Sounds like a problem for the environmentalists.”
“The environmentalists have become so politicized that it’s impossible for them to argue such an issue without the concurrence of lobbyists and power brokers. Electability is all that these morons care about.”
“This is all above my pay grade,” Jesse said. “For what it’s worth, I agree with you. I’m afraid, however, that I’m only here to determine whether or not any rate hikes have occurred in Paradise.”
“Would that that were the case. But, alas, it’s not.”
Jesse stood.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Goodwin. And for sharing your insights.”
“My irrelevant insights,” Goodwin said.
16
Ryan drove directly from the mansion to Marisol’s bank. He handed the check to the teller and asked her to cash it. She examined it and said, “I can’t authorize this much cash on my own. I need to speak to my manager.”
He nodded.
She locked the cash drawer and left her station.
Ryan stood waiting at the window for an inordinately long time.
Then the teller returned, accompanied by a severe-looking older man. The man stepped to the window.
“You’re Ryan Rooney,” he said.
“Yes.”
“A stop-payment order has been placed on this check.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that the check is no good.”
“What do you mean it’s no good. I just received it.”
“Be that as it may, I’m unable to cash it.”
Ryan raised his voice. “It is good,” he said. “I just got it. Give me my money.”
Ryan was attracting the attention of other bank customers.
“Please lower your voice,” the man said.
“I want my money,” Ryan said loudly.
The man looked at him. Then he signaled to the bank guard, who was already headed in their direction.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave,” the man said.
“Not until you give me my money,” Ryan said.
“Harold,” the manager said to the guard, “would you please escort Mr. Rooney from the premises.”
Ryan was enraged.
“I’m not leaving until I get my money,” he said.
The guard grabbed Ryan’s arm and twisted it up behind his back, which caused Ryan to cry out in pain. He
