“All right,” Hasty said. “Kill Lou Burke, and hide the body. Make it look like he took off.”

“There’s a little matter of price,” Jo Jo said.

“Thirty pieces of silver.”

“What the hell is that?” Jo Jo said.

Hasty shook his head.

“Same as Tammy,” Hasty said.

“No, Lou’s a cop, and I got to hide the body. I want double Tammy.”

Hasty felt very tired.

“Okay,” he said. “It’s a deal.”

“Up front,” Jo Jo said.

“Of course,” Hasty said. “Just do it quickly.”

“What would you do without me, Hasty?” Jo Jo said.

The weariness Hasty felt was nearly overwhelming. He had trouble concentrating on the road. He didn’t respond to Jo Jo and they drove in silence the rest of the way.

Chapter 64

When Jesse answered the phone there was a pause and then he heard Jenn’s voice.

“Jesse?”

He felt a small tug in the center of himself. He had always felt it when he heard her voice or saw her. Goddamn it.

“Hello, Jenn.”

“I was in the middle of a swallow,” Jenn said, “when you answered. How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you having a drink?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“First one.”

“It’s later there, right?”

“Yes.”

“Are you really all right, Jesse?”

“So far.”

“Are you still scared?”

“Sort of.”

“Say more about that, Jesse. Can you get any help?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, have you caught the one who killed the girl?”

“I know who he is. I can’t prove it yet.”

“Is he what scares you?”

“No, it’s more . . . well. The guy I replaced, guy named Carson, got blown up by a bomb out in Wyoming. Wyoming cops have evidence of a militia movement involvement back east. One of my cops, guy that was acting chief before me, that interviewed me for this job, guy named Lou Burke, flew to Denver just before Carson got blown up. Burke was a demolition specialist in the Navy. He’s a member of the local militia movement which calls itself Freedom’s Horsemen.”

“You think he did it?”

“I’ll bet,” Jesse said.

“Have you arrested him?”

“Not yet. I suspended him.”

“Why not arrest him, turn it over to the Wyoming police?”

“I’m not sure they can make the case yet, but even if they can, I want more,” Jesse said. “The chief selectman in town, the guy that hired me, is also the commander of Freedom’s Horsemen.”

“You think he’s involved?”

“He’s a married man. He’s having trouble with his wife. And he was having an affair with the girl that was murdered.”

Again there was silence while Jenn drank some wine. Jesse’s drink sat untouched on the kitchen counter.

“But you know who killed her,” Jenn said.

“Yeah, but now I’m not so sure I know why.”

“You said last time it was about you.”

“Yeah, and maybe it is, but now maybe it was about more than me.”

“So why don’t you confront, or arrest, or call in the FBI or whatever.”

“I don’t know exactly if any of what I suspect is true. I don’t know who I can trust. Maybe I can’t trust anybody.”

“Even your own policemen?”

“Even. I’m alone here, Jenn.”

“I could come.”

Jesse was silent. He felt suddenly overwhelmed by the desire for her to be there.

“Jenn . . . I can’t . . .”

“I know, Jesse. I know.”

Jesse was silent, struggling not to fail. “I can’t have that, Jenn. At least not yet.”

“I know.”

“I want it more than I can tell you, but I can’t let that happen to me again. First I have to do this. Then we can see about us.”

“It’s awful to be alone, Jesse.”

“If you can’t be alone,” Jesse said, “you can’t be with someone. I can’t have you here because I’m scared. You can’t come here because you’re scared for me. You understand?”

“Yes.”

They were quiet. Jesse picked up his drink and took a sip. He had switched his scotch from on-the-rocks to with-soda.

“You seeing anybody?” Jesse said.

“No. You?”

“I’m still dating that woman, but it’s not going anywhere.”

“Because you don’t trust her?”

“I guess.”

“Can’t have a relationship with someone you don’t trust,” Jenn said.

“I know.”

“It must be very hard, Jesse, to be alone in trouble where there’s no one to trust.”

Jesse drank more scotch and soda.

“Yes,” he said.

“Stranger in a strange land,” she said.

“I want to get them all,” Jesse said slowly. “Everybody. I want the town cleaned up. I want to know when I see somebody that they’re not a murderer or an anarchist, or whatever, you know? I want the pleasant little town I thought I was getting when I came here.”

“Maybe that’s more than you can have,” Jenn said.

“I want to find out.”

“Get some help, Jesse.”

“I can’t,” Jesse said. “I need to do this alone.”

“Are you proving something to me, Jesse?”

“No.”

“To yourself, then.”

“I guess so.”

“I know you, Jesse,” Jenn said across the continent, “I know how tough you are. I know how smart you are. If you need to do this, you’ll do it. You won’t lose this, Jesse.”

“I don’t know, Jenn, I mean thank you for what you said, but it’s like wrestling with smoke in the dark.”

They were quiet again at each end of the wire.

“You seem a little different, Jenn,” Jesse said after a time.

“You think so?”

“Yeah. You getting any help?”

“Yes.”

“Shrink?”

“Yes.”

“A real one, not some guy does full body rolfing?”

“No. It’s a woman. She might be tougher than you, Jesse.”

“Nobody’s that tough,” Jesse said and heard her laugh and felt excited as he always had when he made her laugh.

“Yes,” Jenn said, “that’s the Jesse I know.”

“It helps to talk with you, Jenn.”

“Good.”

Again they were quiet.

“I guess I better hang up,” Jesse said.

“Okay,” Jenn said. “Be very careful.”

“Yes.”

“I’m here, Jesse.”

“I know. It helps, Jenn.”

They hung up and Jesse stared a long time at his half-empty glass with the excitement pulsating in the pit of his stomach. He stood finally and picked it up and emptied it into the sink. Then he went into the bedroom and opened his bureau drawer and took out a picture of Jenn and set it upright on the top of the bureau.

Chapter 65

There were two Paradise cruisers and the fire department rescue van parked in a semicircle on Indian Hill. Lou Burke’s car, a six-year-old Buick sedan, was parked, doors open, against the safety barrier at the verge of the rust-colored granite cliffs which dropped two hundred feet straight down to the surf. The car’s ignition was on, the gas tank was empty, and the battery was dead. Jesse popped the hood and put his hand on the engine block. It was cold. He walked to the barrier and looked down to where the dark shape tossed and wallowed in surf, caught among the rocks.

“Do we know if it’s Lou?” Jesse said.

“Not yet,” Peter Perkins said. “No way down the cliffs from here. Suitcase is coming around with the police boat and a couple of divers, but it’ll take him a while.”

Jesse nodded and walked back to the Buick. On the steering wheel, attached with a piece of gray duct tape, was a typewritten note:

Jesse,

I can’t stand it anymore, suspected of murder, suspended.

It’s on you, Jesse.

Lou Burke

“Bag the note,” Jesse said.

Peter Perkins picked up the note by one corner and put it carefully into a transparent plastic envelope.

“You think Lou killed himself, Jesse?” Perkins said.

“Don’t know,” Jesse said.

“There’s Suitcase,” Perkins said.

The police boat from the town wharf nosed around the ragged jut which marked the end of the harbor, and pushed through the hard morning chop toward the base of the cliff. Jesse could see Suitcase Simpson and two men in wet suits. The light was pale in the early morning and the late-fall sun gave a weak yellow light, and no warmth. The wind off the ocean was strong and cold.