“That’s pathetic,” he said.
“I know,” Jesse said. “But we got some nice photos.”
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Their third morning on Perry Street, Lutz didn’t show up. At noon Jesse said to Suit, “See if he’s still at the hotel.”
Suit spoke on his cell phone for ten minutes before he broke the connection.
“Checked out this morning,” Suit said. “Arranged with the concierge for a limo to the Delta Shuttle at LaGuardia.”
“So he’s going to Boston or Washington,” Jesse said.
“That’s what the concierge told me,” Suit said. “He said it only flies those two places.”
Jesse smiled.
H I G H P R O F I L E
“Call Molly on that thing,” he said. “Tell her to see if he’s registered at the Langham again. If he isn’t, have her check other hotels.”
Suit made the call.
When he was through he said to Jesse, “What exactly is a concierge?”
“They are to hotel guests as you are to me, Suit.”
“Invaluable?”
“Something like that. Molly going to call us back?”
“Yes.”
“You got call waiting on that thing?”
“Sure.”
“While you’re waiting for Molly, call Healy, and when you get him, gimme the phone.”
“Can I tell him I’m your concierge?” Suit said.
“Just call him,” Jesse said and rattled off the number. “I am going to need a New York City cop to help with the jurisdiction issue.”
“And you figure Healy can help?”
“Better than wandering into the local precinct and explaining that I’m the chief of police in Paradise, Massachusetts,” Jesse said.
“You don’t think that would impress them?”
“It should,” Jesse said. “But sometimes it doesn’t.”
Suit dialed Healy, and when Healy came on he said, “Hold for Chief Stone,” and handed Jesse the phone.
“Hold for Chief Stone?” Healy said.
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“That’s Suitcase Simpson,” Jesse said. “He amuses hell out of himself.”
“Me too,” Healy said. “Whaddya need?”
Jesse told him.
“Yeah,” Healy said. “I’ll make a couple calls.”
Jesse handed the phone back to Suit, who broke the connection and put the phone away. The Welsh corgi went by again, walking two guys this time. Lorrie stayed in her condo.
“What do you think she’s doing in there?” Suit said.
“When she’s not bopping Lutz or Hendricks.”
“Looking at the view,” Jesse said.
At three fifteen Molly called to report that Lutz had in fact returned to the Langham, where he was registered for the rest of the month.
“He was registered for the rest of the month here,” Suit said.
“You check into a hotel, they usually ask when you’re departing,” Jesse said. “You don’t know, you just give them some date down the line.”
“What happens if you check out early?”
Jesse smiled again.
“They aren’t allowed to hold you captive,” he said. 2 4 0
54
Healy didn’t know Rosa Sanchez, but he knew someone who knew her bureau commander, and her bureau commander put him in touch with the Sixth Precinct commander, who assigned her to Jesse. Rosa was a detective second grade, not very tall, quite slim, with black hair and olive skin and the lyrical hint of Hispania lurking behind her perfect English. They met her at the Sixth Precinct station house.
“According to the precinct commander,” she said as they walked out on West 10th Street, “I’m yours, as long as you need me . . . in a professional sense.”
“You the newest detective?” Jesse said.
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“Yes.”
“So you catch all the stuff like this,” Jesse said.
“I do,” she said. “You ever on the job in a big city?”
“L.A.,” Jesse said. “Robbery Homicide.”
“Hotshot?”
“You bet,” Jesse said.
“You think Bratton can make a difference out there?”
“He made a difference here,” Jesse said.
“Good point,” she said. “What’s our plan?”
“We’re going to visit a woman at her condo on Perry Street.”
“Not one of the big new ones?” Rosa said.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, good,” she said. “I been dying to see what they’re like inside.”
“While we’re in there, we’ll conduct an interview, which Officer Simpson will covertly record.”
“Is that a tape recorder that he’s got in his purse,” Rosa said.
“It’s a shoulder bag,” Suit said. “I bought it for the occasion.”
“Sure,” she said. “You won’t be able to use the tape in court.”
“Don’t plan to,” Jesse said. “I plan to see what she says, and then interview a guy in Boston and see what he says, and then, maybe, if what they say doesn’t match . . .”
“You’ll play each other’s tapes for them.”
Jesse nodded.
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“You ready, Suit?”
“Yeah. I tested everything in the hotel room. I’ll start it before we go in. Leave the bag unzipped. Tape’ll run for ninety minutes.”
“What’s your first name?” Rosa said to Suit.
“Suit, short for Suitcase,” he said. “I mean, that’s not my real name. My real name is Luther, but there was a ballplayer named Suitcase Simpson . . .”
Rosa nodded.
“And it’s a lot better than being Luther,” she said.
“Well,” Suit said, “maybe a little better.”
Rosa was wearing black boots with a medium heel, black pants, a white shirt, and a yellow blazer. When they got to the front door of Lorrie Weeks’s building, she reached into the pocket of her blazer and took out her badge. As they walked past the doorman, Jesse noticed that she shifted slightly into a cop swagger. He smiled to himself. He wondered if he did that. Because she was pretty and small, it was probably more noticeable.
At the reception desk, Jesse said, “Lorrie Weeks?”
The woman at the desk said, “Who may I say is calling?”
Rosa held up her badge.
“Detective Sanchez,” Rosa said firmly, “New York City police.”
The reception woman made the call and then took them up to Lorrie Weeks’s apartment. In the elevator, Suit put his hand inside his shoulder bag and turned on the tape recorder. Lorrie’s place was one of only two on the floor. She looked 2 4 3
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worried when she opened the door. But people often do, Jesse thought, when the cops come calling.
“Oh,” she said when she saw Jesse. “It’s you. What is it?”
“We need to talk,” Jesse said. “You remember Officer Simpson. This is Detective Sanchez. Since we’re in New York, she’ll be the law in the room.”
Lorrie stepped away from the door. The reception lady looked like she wanted to know more, realized no one was going to tell her more, and walked discreetly away back to the elevator. Jesse went into a vast living room with huge picture windows.
“What is it?” Lorrie said. “Is it anything bad?”
“No,” Jesse said. “We just have some new information, and we wanted to see if you could help us interpret it.”
“I’ll be glad to try,” she said.
“Good,” Jesse said.
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Rosa Sanchez stood in front of the big window wall and looked at the view. Suit sat in a green-and-gold brocade chair with his notebook, and Jesse sat at one end of a big green leather couch with Lorrie at the other. She was wearing a short summer dress, white with big red flowers on it, and when she crossed her legs she showed a lot of thigh.
Good thigh.
“Your maiden name was Lorrie Pilarcik,” Jesse said.