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High Profile

Robert B. Parker

“Yes,” Levy said. “They talked of buying a home together.”

“Where?” Jesse said.

“In Paradise,” Levy said. “Unless they were being metaphorical.”

“What about his current wife?”

“It is my impression he had given her no thought. He was entirely consumed with this relationship.”

“Ain’t love grand,” Jesse said.

Levy smiled. The two men sat quietly for a moment.

“What do you think about love, Doctor?” Jesse said.

“I remain agnostic about love,” Levy said. “But there is clearly a connection between... there clearly was a connection between them that seemed to have been lacking in other instances.”

“What made her special?”

“I don’t know,” Levy said.

“Did he have an explanation?”

“He simply said that he loved her, and had never loved anyone else.”

“You talk with her?”

“Yes.”

“She deserve it?” Jesse said.

“I don’t know that deserve is an issue in these kinds of situations,” Levy said. “She seemed to reciprocate.”

“So it wasn’t because she was, for lack of a better word, better than all the others?”

Levy looked at Jesse for a moment.

“No, often in these matters, flaws are the appeal.”

“How about in this case?”

“I don’t know,” Levy said.

“But if you weren’t agnostic about it, you could probably say that we love who we love whether we should or not, even though there are more suitable people to love.”

“Are we still talking about Mr. Weeks?” Levy said.

Jesse was silent for a moment. He could feel his heartbeat; he was aware of his own breathing. Then he smiled at Levy.

“No,” Jesse said. “We’re not.”

It was a little after noon. Jesse and Suit were having sandwiches and coffee at Daisy’s Restaurant. Daisy herself was being interviewed by a woman in front of a television camera.

“Still news?” Jesse said to the waitress.

“Now it’s follow-up,” the waitress said. “You know, how has the discovery of a body in your Dumpster affected your business and your life.”

“I thought Daisy hated the press,” Suit said.

“I guess she don’t,” the waitress said. “We got rhubarb pie for dessert. You want me to save you some.”

“Please,” Jesse said.

“The poor bastard,” Suit said.

“Weeks?”

“Yeah, he finally finds the girl of his dreams and she’s finally pregnant and somebody comes along and dumps them both.”

Jesse nodded.

“Might be a connection,” Jesse said.

“Maybe the wife?” Suit said. “Jealous?”

“Maybe,” Jesse said.

They ate for a moment in silence, watching Daisy talk to the reporter on camera.

“You know the one thing is bothering me?” Jesse said.

“Just one?” Suit said.

“One of many,” Jesse said. “They, together, had an appointment with Dr. Levy two weeks before they were killed. And they didn’t show up.”

“No cancellation?”

“No. Just never appeared. Levy’s office called them and no one answered.”

“Where’d they call?” Suit said.

“Hotel,” Jesse said.

“Here? In Boston?”

“Yeah, the Langham.”

“Except for the time,” Suit said, “you’d think that was because they were dead.”

“You would,” Jesse said.

“Except the ME says it was only a few days before we found them,” Suit said.

“Depending on the body’s environment,” Jesse said.

“You mean somebody maybe tried to fool us?”

“I don’t mean anything, Suit. I’m grabbing at every straw that floats past. I want to know how long they were at the Langham. I want to know when they were last seen.”

“Didn’t Lutz say he’d seen them last walking up Franklin Street,” Suit said.

“He said the doorman had seen them walking up Franklin Street,” Jesse said. “And, you know, he never exactly said when that was.”

“I could ask him,” Suit said.

“Let’s just keep track of him for now,” Jesse said, “while I give it all some thought.”

“We could have some pie,” Suit said, “while you were doing that.”

“I’ll need the energy,” Jesse said.

Jesse sat on the edge of Marcy Campbell’s desk while she ran through her files.

“It is a booming real-estate market,” Marcy said. “I have sold more houses already this year than I sold all of last.”

She picked up a sheet of paper, glanced at it, put it back in the folder.

“I keep track of everything bought and sold in the last twelve months,” she said.

“Sold by you?” Jesse said.

“Sold by anyone,” Marcy said. “I like to keep track.”