Sheltered by a cypress, Cavanaugh sat at the northeast rim of Carmel's beach, close to where the shore rose to the grass of the Pebble Beach links. He was far enough inland that he blended with the trees and shrubs behind him. The air was balmy, the afternoon sun reflecting so brightly off the water that he had to wear sunglasses.
"All roads lead to Rome?" Jamie asked.
"And everybody in the area ends up going to Carmel's famous beach. As much as the golf courses and 17-Mile Drive, this is the big attraction." Cavanaugh studied the long crescent of white sand. Hundreds of people were on it, reading in beach chairs, splashing in the surf, strolling, jogging, or tossing Fris-bees to dogs. "I can't imagine that Prescott would live in the area and not come down here. At first, he'd be apprehensive about showing himself. He'd probably stay close to wherever he's living. But eventually he'd begin to loosen up. He might even come down here for exercise. Hell, for all I know, he got himself a dog."
"The FBI could check everybody who recently bought property around here," Jamie said.
Cavanaugh continued watching the people on the beach.
"It's just a thought," Jamie said.
"I keep seeing Roberto with his head beaten in… Duncan with his face full of bullet holes… Karen literally scared to death in her wheelchair."
"The government might not be as lenient with Prescott as you think."
Instead of responding, Cavanaugh glanced down at a map of the shops in town. "The big bookstore is in the Carmel Mall. We could keep a watch on the place. Since Prescott likes books, there's a good chance he'd eventually show up there."
"Unless he buys books off the Internet."
"There's nothing like a real bookstore, though."
"In that case, he might decide to make the short drive north to Monterey," Jamie said.
Cavanaugh gave her a look.
"Just trying to investigate alternatives," she said.
"Which brings us back to sitting here on the beach and watching for him."
"Fine with me. I'll get a beach chair and a book. I can use the rest," Jamie said.
"After dark, we'll stake out the best restaurants and see if he shows up."
"I was sort of hoping we could eat in those restaurants, not watch them."
"Given how little he's probably eating these days, he'll want the small portions he allows himself to be exquisite. Only the top two or three restaurants in town will be acceptable to him."
"Unless he eats at home."
Cavanaugh gave her another look.
A jogger sprinted to their end of the beach, turned, and ran back in the opposite direction.
"Weight loss," Jamie said.
"You thought of something?"
"I'm going to hate myself for being honest. It'll take more than dieting for Prescott to lose weight fast. He'll need exercise. Hours and hours of it."