“Whaddya think,” he said.
He spoke to both of them, but he looked at Jesse.
“Well, there was money still in her
purse,” Perkins said. “She
was still wearing her rings and necklace.”
“Unless it was a random shooting,” Jesse said, “the killer, or
killers, had to follow her here. Even if they knew she was coming here to shop, they’d have no way to know where she’d
park.”
“Which means they drove,” Simpson said.
Jesse nodded.
“And if they drove, they’d park near where she parked and sit in
the car and wait for her to come out,” Jesse said.
“Peter, you and
Suit and Anthony get the license numbers of any cars that could see her car from where they were parked.”
“You think the killer could still be here?” Simpson
said.
“Don’t know,” Jesse said.
“Let’s see.”
He jabbed his forefinger toward the parked cars.
“You bet,” Perkins said.
Jesse went to his car and called Molly on the radio.
“Got a woman shot to death at the mall,”
he said. “Driver’s
license says she’s Barbara Carey, Sixteen Rose Ave. See if she’s
got a next of kin.”
“If there is, do I notify?” Molly said.
“I’ll do that,” Jesse said.
“No,” Molly said. “I can do
it.”
“Okay,” Jesse said. “Let me
know.”
Among the few people still watching, a husband and wife held hands and whispered together.
“Who’s that talking on the
radio?” she said.
“Chief of police, I think.”
“He’s cute,” she said.
“I didn’t notice,” he said.
“What are the other cops doing,” she said.
“Taking down license plates.”
“My God,” she said.
“They’ll find our names.”
“So,” he said.
“They’ll find a hundred other names
too.”
“Do you think they’ll question
us?”
“It’s a small-town force,” he
said. “I doubt they’ve got the
manpower.”
“Be kind of exciting if they did,” she said.
“Yes.”
“What would we say.”
“We’d say we came here to pick up some groceries,” he said.
“Which we did.”
“I thought I might have an orgasm right there,” she said,
“standing beside her putting grapes in a bag.”
He smiled and squeezed her hand.
“Up close and personal,” he said softly.
16
“For Christ’s
sake,” Marcy said. “You can’t have
someone to dinner and just plonk three cartons of Chinese food on the table.”
“Of course you can’t,” Jesse
said. “I just wanted to see if you
knew that.”
“Yeah, right,” Marcy said.
She was looking through his kitchen cabinets.
“You can make us a cocktail,” she said.
“While I set the
table.”
Without asking, Jesse made each of them a tall scotch and soda.
Holding two wineglasses, Marcy said, “What wine goes with
Chinese food?”
“Probably a muscular cabernet,” Jesse said.
“Do you have any?”
“No.”
“What have you got?”
“Black Label scotch, Absolut vodka, Budweiser beer.”
Marcy nodded and put the wineglasses away. She put the cartons of food in a low oven and brought her drink over to the couch.
“How’s it going with Jenn?” she
said.
Jesse shrugged.
“That well?” Marcy said.
“She came over the other night and cooked me dinner,” Jesse
said.
“Good dinner?”
“Fancy,” Jesse said.
“She’s taking cooking
classes.”
“Was the evening all right?”
“Sure,” Jesse said.
Marcy was quiet, holding her glass in both hands, sipping.
“This works out very well for her,” Marcy said
finally.
“What?”
“This arrangement. She has you when she wants you.
If she gets
in trouble you’re there. If she needs sympathy or support or understanding you’re there. If she wants to see somebody else,
she’s free to.”
“That’s probably true,” Jesse
said.
“What do you get?” Marcy said.
Jesse went to the kitchen counter and made himself another drink. He brought it back and stood and looked out his picture window at the harbor.
“I’m in this for the long haul,
Marce.”
“Which means?”
“Which means, I love her, and I’ll stick until she proves to me
that there’s no way to fix things.”
“And she hasn’t?”
“No.”
“Does she say she loves you?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to make you mad, but have you thought she might
just be manipulating you?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And she’s not,” Jesse said.
Marcy sipped minimally at her scotch.
“Have you seen that shrink lately?”
“Dix? I see him.”
“Do you talk about this?”
“Some.”
“Am I getting too nosy?” Marcy said.
“Yes.”
Marcy took a big swallow of her drink.
“I heard about another murder in town,”
she said. “Up at the
mall.”
Jesse nodded.
“Any luck with it?”
Jesse shook his head.
“How about the other one, the man on the beach?”
“Nope.”
“Well,” Marcy said,
“it’s a long season.”
“Yes.”
They were quiet for a bit. It was full evening, and past where Jesse stood by the window, across the dark harbor, they could see the lights of Paradise Neck and Stiles Island. There was no traffic in the harbor.
“Talk to me a little about rape,” Jesse said.
“Rape?”
“Yes.”
“It’s never really been necessary in my case.”
Jesse smiled.
“Molly’s working on a rape case. She says it’s every woman’s
fear.”
“Well …” Marcy paused. Her
drink was empty. She held it
out and Jesse went to mix her another, and made himself one too.
“I would guess that most women are not unaware of the
possibility.”
Jesse nodded.
“What’s the worst thing about
it?” Jesse said. “When you think
about it.”
“It’s not that I wake up every day
worrying about
rapists.”
“I know,” Jesse said. “But if
you think about it, what would be
the worst part.”
Marcy put her feet up on the couch and shifted so she could look
more comfortably across the harbor. She drank some scotch, and swallowed and let her breath out audibly.
“If he’s not hurting you
physically,” Marcy said, “I suppose
it’s being degraded to a thing.”
“Tell me about that,” Jesse said.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“You’re not some kind of a pervert, are you?”
“I don’t think so,” Jesse said.
“Tell me about being a
thing.”
“Well, you know, it’s a woman being used against her will for a
purpose in which she has no part. Hell, the guy’s using her to jerk
off.”
“Or something,” Jesse said.
“Literally or figuratively,” Marcy said,
“you’re a
thing.”
“It’s not about you,” Jesse said.
“No,” Marcy said. “It is
entirely about the rapist and you don’t matter.”
Jesse nodded slowly. He walked from the window and sat on the couch beside Marcy. They were quiet. Marcy leaned her head against Jesse’s shoulder. He patted her thigh.
“This isn’t just about the
rape,” Marcy said after a while. “Is it.”
“No.”
“It’s also about Jenn,” Marcy