“Would it have been apparent that she thought so six months ago?” Jesse said.
“What are you getting at?” Nolan said.
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Jesse smiled and shrugged.
“I’m just floundering,” Jesse said. “You know, small-town cop in over my head.”
“I’m sure you’re doing your best,” Gates said.
Jesse looked grateful.
“So did Lorrie and Alan get along okay?”
“Yes,” Nolan said. “Of course.”
“How well?” Jesse said.
Nolan looked away.
Gates said, “Are you implying something?”
“To imply something,” Jesse said, “you have to know something. I’m just trying to learn.”
“I doubt that either Tom or I could speak to their private lives,” Gates said.
“And the question of how well did they get along,” Jesse said, “is about their private lives?”
“I didn’t say that,” Gates said.
“How about Lorrie and Walton?” Jesse said.
Nolan looked at Gates again. Gates was silent.
Then he said, “You’re a pretty good small-town cop.”
Jesse smiled.
“Well,” he said. “I am the chief.”
Gates nodded.
“How were Mr. and Mrs. Weeks getting on?” Jesse said.
“May we be off the record here?”
“No,” Jesse said. “I won’t talk about anything to the press. But if I have evidence, I will share it with the DA.”
“But no press.”
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“Not from me,” Jesse said.
Gates nodded again. Jesse waited.
“Walton asked me to refer him to a divorce lawyer,” Gates said.
“He did?” Nolan said.
No one paid him any attention.
“When?” Jesse said.
“Three months ago.”
“And did you?”
“Yes,” Gates said.
“Who?”
“I believe that would be covered by privilege,” Gates said.
“No doubt,” Jesse said. “Of course, the client is murdered and I’m trying to find who did it.”
Gates nodded. “That would be a consideration,” he said. Jesse waited.
“Esther Bergman,” Gates said.
“She here in the city?”
“Yes. Hoffman, Dalton, and Berks,” Gates said. “Downtown.”
“Did he consult her?” Jesse said.
“I don’t know.”
“Was Mrs. Weeks aware?”
“I don’t know.”
The three men were quiet for a time in Nolan’s penthouse office.
“What effect would a divorce have had on the enterprise?”
Jesse said finally.
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Nolan looked at Gates. Gates nodded.
“None, would be my guess,” Nolan said. “Walton was a name brand. He’d been divorced before. I don’t think it would have had any effect.”
“And on the former Mrs. Weeks?” Jesse said.
“Lorrie?” Nolan said. “I suppose that would have depended on the settlement.”
“But she would be unlikely to remain an heir.”
“Unlikely,” Gates said.
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43
Jenn’s apartment was clean, but it wasn’t neat. Clothes were scattered about. The dirty dishes and scattered crumbs of a small and hurried breakfast were in the kitchen. There was a chaos of makeup in the bathroom and a wet towel wadded on the floor near the shower. Sunny smiled. Running late this morning.
In the bedroom, on the bureau, was a big picture of Jesse. He was hatless and the sun was full on his face. Sunny looked at the picture for a time. Then she went back to the living room and sat at the little painted writing table with French legs that Jenn appeared to use as a desk. There was a phone
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on the desk and a laptop computer, open, the screen lit. Sunny opened the address book at the bottom of the screen. There were a lot of addresses. Jesse’s e-mail address was there. And so was tpat@cybercop.com, which when she clicked on it proved to be Timothy Patrick Lloyd.
That was easy.
The smell of Jenn’s perfume was strong in the apartment. The place was expensive and, Sunny thought, a little overdecorated.
Well, I’m here. I might as well learn what I can. She opened the drawer in the writing table. It was like most people’s desk drawers. Pens, paper clips, papers that weren’t necessary but couldn’t be thrown away yet, a ruler, a box of notepaper, some scissors, a roll of stamps. In the small second drawer was a checkbook and some bills. Systematically, Sunny went through the apartment. In a drawer in the buffet in the dining area, she found a photo album/
scrapbook. There were pictures of Jenn and Jesse at their wedding. There were several different pictures of Jenn with several different men, one of whom was a recognizable actor. There was a picture of Jesse, very young, in a baseball uniform. And a clipping from the newspaper about Jesse’s part in the capturing of two serial killers in Paradise several years ago. There were pictures of Jenn on air, and publicity head shots of her. There were also two pictures of Jenn, in a bikini, with Timothy Patrick Lloyd, on a beach somewhere. Sunny took the two pictures and put them in her purse. She went through the rest of the album. There were no family 1 9 7
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pictures in the album. No one who appeared to be a parent. No pictures of Jenn as a child. Sunny put the album back. In Jenn’s bedroom closet was nightwear from Victoria’s Secret. The lingerie in her dresser drawer had been selected for appearance far more than comfort. Sunny smiled to herself. The medicine cabinet had a partly used package of birthcontrol patches. The makeup was expensive and showed thought. The perfume was very good. The hair products were mostly what Sunny used. The hot-roller device was the same one Sunny had.
She’s not that different. Looks good. Wants to look better. Nothing remarkable, except she’s a liar.
Sunny stood for a few moments in the silent living room and looked around. The apartment was new and stylish, and clean and careless and ordinary and still. Sunny spoke aloud, her voice much too real in the empty space.
“God, I’m glad I have Rosie,” her voice said.
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44
Walton Weeks Enterprises had offices in a building near Penn Station. There were several secretaries in a big front space, Walton’s imposing office, now bearing silent witness in the corner, and a somewhat smaller but still substantial office beside it where Jesse sat with Alan Hendricks.
“You nervous?” Jesse said.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re about to become Walton Weeks,” Jesse said.
“Does that make you nervous.”
“Well,” Hendricks said. “They are certainly big shoes to fill.”
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“Of course, you’ve walked some distance in them already,”
Jesse said.
Hendricks’s face looked stiff to Jesse.
“Meaning?” Hendricks said.
“Well, you have done a lot of Walton’s research and writing,” Jesse said. “Have you not?”
“Well, of course, I’ve been with him for some years.”
“And you’re prepared to proceed, alone,” Jesse said.
“If Mrs. Weeks wants me to.”
“Does she?”
“She has suggested as much,” Hendricks said.
He looked humble.
“And you get along,” Jesse said.
“She’s a very fine woman,” Alan said. “I hope I don’t disappoint her.”
“Have you ever?”
“I don’t think so.”
Jesse smiled and didn’t say anything.
“What are you implying,” Hendricks said.
Jesse shrugged.