“I think she’s gotten a bum steer.”
Molly didn’t say anything.
“Her parents,” he said.
“What about them?”
“They’re the cause.”
“So you see her as a victim.”
“I do.”
“Which appeals to your hyperactive sense of responsibility?”
“I think I can help her.”
“Point made.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe she’s incorrigible. But just maybe she’s not.”
Molly didn’t say anything.
“She deserves a chance.”
“A chance at what?”
“At seeing the other side of the coin.”
“Which you’re planning to show her.”
“Yes.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“At least I’ll have tried.”
Molly stared at him.
“Was there something else that you wanted,” he said.
She handed him the messages.
He thumbed through them.
“Dave Muntz called,” he said.
“That’s what the message says.”
Jesse looked at her and then dialed the number.
“This is David,” Muntz said.
“What’s up?”
“Craigslist.”
“What about it?”
“I called Craigslist.”
“And?”
“I asked about all of their real estate listings for this area during the last few months. Turns out that a Boston resident who owns a cabin in South Hamilton had it up for rent.”
“Okay.”
“It caught my attention because it was so close to Paradise, and because it was the only listing for the area. So I figured what the hell, and called the owner.”
“Okay.”
“He told me that he rented the cabin for a month.”
“Okay.”
“It’s rented.”
“Can you help me out a bit more, Dave. What in the fuck are you talking about?”
“According to the owner, the entire transaction was carried out on Craigslist.”
“So?”
“The renter listed his address as Beverly Hills, California. His check was drawn on a Beverly Hills bank. He picked up the keys from a prearranged post office box in Salem.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“The renter lists his name as Buddy Fairbanks.”
“Who’s Buddy Fairbanks?”
“Are you ready for this, Jesse?”
“Come on, Dave.”
“Buddy Fairbanks is the name of the character that Ryan Rooney played in
“How do you know?”
“I looked it up.”
“Where’s the cabin?”
Muntz provided Jesse with the information.
“I’ll check it out,” Jesse said.
“I thought you might.”
“This is very good police work, Dave.”
“Thanks, Jesse.”
He hung up the phone and stared at Molly.
“Good news?”
“Maybe.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“Pay a visit to South Hamilton.”
“You’re not going to inform Agent Wellstein?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t like him.”
Molly shrugged.
“Never let it be said that maturity clouded your judgment,” she said.
She returned to her desk.
Jesse picked up the phone and dialed.
“What,” said the voice on the other end of the line.
“Bingo,” Jesse said.
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.
