High Profile

“I like it better that they were shot somewhere else and moved there after they died,” Jesse said.

“And the blood traces were just a little postmortem seepage.”

“Yes.”

Again the two men were quiet.

Then Healy said, “Yeah. Me too. Which means that whoever did them knew about the house.”

“Which they bought under her maiden name to keep it a secret.”

“Which makes Lutz look pretty good for it,” Healy said.

“It does,” Jesse said. “On the other hand, a lot of money changed hands.”

“So maybe his lawyer knew,” Healy said.

“Or his manager,” Jesse said.

“Or one of the wives.”

“Swell,” Jesse said. “We’ve got all the suspects we had before.”

“We?” Healy said. “Whaddya mean, ‘we’? I’m just stopping by on my way from work.”

Jesse nodded.

“Thank you for your support,” he said.

1 7 0

38

They were drinking white wine by the window, at the table in Sunny’s kitchen, in the little bay, when Spike came into the loft with the stalker. From under the table Rosie gave her ferocious gurgling bark. Jenn took in a sudden breath and froze. The stalker was a middle-sized well-dressed man in his middle thirties with a neat beard. He face was rigid, and very pale.

“Timothy Patrick Lloyd,” Spike said, “according to his driver’s license. Lives in the Prudential Center. His business cards say he’s the CEO of Spot-on Marketing. He’s got six twenties in his wallet.”

R O B E R T B . P A R K E R

“You’ve met Spike,” Sunny said. “I’m Sunny Randall, and, I assume, you know this young woman.”

Lloyd’s eyes were busy. He looked at Sunny, shifted to Jenn, looked quickly away, scanned the loft. Rosie came out from under the table and sniffed at his pant leg. He looked down at her and away. Jenn continued to stare at him.

“He doesn’t have a weapon,” Spike said, and closed the door and leaned on it.

Sunny said, “So tell us your story, Mr. Lloyd.”

“I’m here against my will,” Lloyd said.

His voice was thin and tight. Sunny nodded at the phone on the kitchen counter.

“Feel free to call the police,” Sunny said. “Nine-one-one would work.”

Lloyd’s eyes shifted to the phone and back.

“I just want to leave,” he said.

“You do know Ms. Stone,” Sunny said.

He didn’t look at Jenn.

“She’s on Channel Three,” he said.

“And Jenn, you know Mr. Lloyd,” Sunny said.

“No,” Jenn said.

“But you recognize him.”

“No.”

“He’s been following you around,” Sunny said, “since I met you.”

“I don’t think it’s him,” Jenn said.

“It is,” Sunny said.

1 7 2

H I G H P R O F I L E

Sunny looked at Spike.

“It is,” Spike said.

“I’ve never followed anyone,” Lloyd said.

“I don’t know him,” Jenn said.

“Did he rape you?” Sunny said.

“Rape?” Lloyd said. “Rape. Jesus Christ, I never raped anybody.”

“No,” Jenn said. “He didn’t.”

“He didn’t rape you.”

“No.”

“What the hell is this?” Lloyd said.

“I could probably convince him to tell us his side of things,” Spike said.

“What are you going to do?” Lloyd said.

“Vee have our vays,” Spike said.

Sunny saw Lloyd’s fists clenched at his sides. A touching moment of bravado, Sunny thought. Sunny had seen Spike in action. Lloyd had no chance. Sunny shook her head.

“He didn’t rape you,” Sunny said to Jenn.

“No,” Jenn said.

She had looked at no one since Spike brought Lloyd in.

“Did anyone rape you?” Sunny said.

“Of course someone raped me,” Jenn said.

“And someone is stalking you,” Sunny said.

“Yes. Don’t you believe me?”

Sunny looked at Spike. He shrugged and stepped away from the door.

1 7 3

R O B E R T B . P A R K E R

“You’re free to go, Mr. Lloyd,” Sunny said.

Lloyd started to speak, looked at Spike, and said nothing. Spike opened the door, and Lloyd went out. Sunny looked down at Rosie, who was sitting by the kitchen counter, looking hopefully upward. Spike closed the door after Lloyd. He went to the counter and opened a cookie jar and gave a dog biscuit to Rosie.

“Well, don’t you?” Jenn said. “Don’t you believe me?”

Rosie chewed up her dog biscuit. Sunny reached down to pat her. Then she looked up at Jenn.

“The question’s too hard for me, at the moment,” Sunny said.

1 7 4

39

Jesse talked with Conrad Lutz in the coffee shop of the Langham Hotel.

“You’re still around.”

“Yeah,” Lutz said. “The family wanted me to sort of stay around until there was some sort of closure on the case.”

“They paying the tab?” Jesse said.

“They are,” Lutz said.

“At the Langham.”

“Well, I’m already here,” Lutz said. “You know?”

“Nice duty,” Jesse said.

“Sure.”

R O B E R T B . P A R K E R

Lutz stirred some sugar into his coffee.

“You didn’t mention a prior connection to Weeks,” Jesse said.

“How prior?” Lutz said.

“You busted him for public indecency in White Marsh, Maryland, in 1987.”

Lutz nodded slowly.

“Not bad,” he said.

“Why didn’t you mention it?” Jesse said.

“I was supposed to be his bodyguard. I wasn’t supposed to be going around telling tales on the poor bastard.”

Jesse nodded.

“Tell me about it,” he said.