9
JESSE SAT with Suitcase Simpson in Jesse’s unmarked car parked on an affluent street on the west shore of Paradise, where, on very clear days, from the second floor of certain homes, one could look north and see Cape Ann.
“Three doors up on the right,” Jesse said. “Big garrison colonial with the fieldstone front.”
“Yeah?” Suit said.
“That’s the Clark house.”
“Okay,” Suit said.
“My information is that at regular intervals they gather a number of couples together in that house and swap wives.”
“Here?” Suit said. “In Paradise?”
“Incredible, ain’t it,” Jesse said.
“Unthinkable,” Suit said.
“I have it on good authority,” Jesse said.
“And you want me to go undercover,” Suit said.
“Be more convincing if you had a wife,” Jesse said.
“Well, maybe Molly—”
“Stop it,” Jesse said.
Suit grinned. “So what do we care that they’re banging their brains out in there?” he said.
“Ain’t illegal, is it?”
“Not that I know,” Jesse said.
“So?”
“You know the Clarks?” Jesse said.
“I don’t know, what’re the first names?”
“He’s Chase. She’s Kimberly.”
“Kimberly Magruder?”
“Yes.”
“I went to school with her younger sister, Tammy,” Suit said. “Tammy was pretty hot.”
“And you know that how?” Jesse said.
Suit grinned again. “Hey,” he said. “I was a football hero in high school, remember?”
“I remember you telling me,” Jesse said.
“I cut a pretty wide swath in my letter sweater,” Suit said.
“I’ll bet you did,” Jesse said. “You know Kimberly?”
“Just to say hi.”
“Know anything about her?”
“I know she still looks pretty good,” Suit said.
“Still? For crissakes, Suit,” Jesse said. “She’s not even forty yet.”
“I’d give her a shot,” Suit said.
Jesse nodded.
“Wear your football jersey,” Jesse said. “How about the husband?”
“He played, but before I did,” Suit said. “I think he’s some kind of big-deal advertising guy in Boston now.”
“I want you to find out everything you can about him, and about her, and about their social life.”
“You mean the wife-swapping?” Suit said.
“They probably call it the swinging lifestyle,” Jesse said.
“Course they do,” Suit said. “But why do we care?”
“Their daughter came to me about it.”
“Jesus, the daughter?” Suit said. “How old is she?”
“Thirteen,” Jesse said, “I would guess.”
“And she knows?”
“She knows,” Jesse said. “And so does her eight-year-old brother.”
Suit was quiet, looking down the street at the handsome house behind its smooth green lawn.
“Okay,” he said. “It’s awful, but what can we do about it.”
“Not much,” Jesse said. “Maybe something with children’s services, but I kind of promised the daughter I wouldn’t tell.”
“You told me?”
“You don’t count,” Jesse said.
Suit grinned again.
“That ain’t what Tammy Magruder used to say.”
“For the moment,” Jesse said, “we learn as much as we can. I mean, it’s possible, you know, that the kid made it up.”
“Thirteen?”
Jesse looked at him.
Suit nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “I withdraw the question.”
10
“OH, JESSE,” Jenn said on the phone. “I’m so excited. I’ve got an offer in New York.”
“New York,” Jesse said.
“A new show called Early On ,” Jenn said. “I’d do weather, and some lifestyle stories.”
“You gonna take it?”
“Oh, I have to. I mean, it’s a huge jump up for me,” Jenn said. “The show is syndicated, and looks like it’ll go national in a while.”
“So when do you leave?”
“I start on air next Monday,” Jenn said.
“You got a place to live?”
“Well, I’ll stay with a friend,” Jenn said. “Until I find a place.”
“Friend?”
“A guy friend.”
“Anyone I know,” Jesse said.
“I don’t think so. He used to be up here, at Channel Three, and now he’s producing Early On .”
“That how you got the job?”
“Well, they were looking for somebody, and Rick thought of me.”
“I’ll bet he did,” Jesse said.
“Oh, Jesse,” Jenn said. “You’re not going to go all jealous on me, are you?”
“Not me,” Jesse said.
“I mean, you know, you left me,” Jenn said, “when we first broke up.”
“I did,” Jesse said.
“I’ll stay in touch,” she said. “I promise.”
“Okay,” Jesse said.
“I will. I’ll call you. We can e-mail. I don’t want to lose touch with you, Jesse.”
“I’ll be standing by,” Jesse said.
“You can call me on my cell,” Jenn said. “If you need to.”
“Sure,” Jesse said.
“Well, I gotta get organized. Monday is coming quick.”
“Yep.”
“Wish me luck, Jesse?”
“Always,” Jesse said.
They hung up. Jesse sat back a little in his chair and stared at nothing in the empty room.
They weren’t married anymore. She had a right to go where she wanted and to fuck who she wanted. His throat felt tight, and it was difficult to swallow. He stood and made himself a drink.
Tall glass. Lot of ice. Couple of ounces of scotch. Fill with soda. He stood for a moment, stirring the drink with his forefinger. Behind the bar was a big picture of Ozzie Smith. Ozzie was in midair, parallel with the ground, stretched out as far as he could stretch, catching a line drive. Jesse nodded at the picture.
“Wizard,” he said.
His voice sounded intrusive in the silent room. He took a drink of scotch.
“Best that ever played,” Jesse said.
He drank some more scotch. He looked at the big bottle of scotch on the bar—1.75 liters.
It was nearly full.
“I wouldn’t have been that good,” Jesse said. “But I’d have made the show. If I didn’t get hurt, I’d have made the show.”
He turned, carrying his glass, and walked across the living room. He stood and looked out the French doors at the harbor and began to drink his scotch.
11
IT WAS becoming harder for the Night Hawk to wait for Wednesday night. He hadn’t actually seen nakedness yet, but he’d seen women moving about in their bedrooms, unaware of being watched. If he kept his pace, sooner or later, he would see. Tonight he was in position to watch Lindsey Monahan through her bedroom window. There was a field behind her house, which you could reach by walking down the railroad tracks behind it. He lay flat in a low part of the field, behind a small outcropping of rock, with his binoculars. The light was on in her bedroom. But the room was empty. The Night Hawk was patient. Bagging the quarry was only the end part of a process. Like any hunt, the process was part of the pleasure. After an hour or so, Lindsey came into her bedroom. She took off her blouse, and her slacks. Her undergarments were red and frilly. Lindsey is hotter than she seems, the Night Hawk thought. She went into the bathroom and stayed there, out of sight for maybe ten minutes. When she came out of the bathroom she had a towel wrapped like a turban around her head, and was wearing a white terry-cloth robe that looked too big for her. All spanking clean, the Night Hawk said to himself. She came to the bed and sat, facing the window. The robe fell away a little over her knees, as the Night Hawk focused through his binoculars. He could feel his heart beat. She leaned sideways and turned off the light. Damn . The Night Hawk lay in position for a time, his binoculars ready. But the light didn’t go on again. When he was sure it wouldn’t, the Night Hawk stood and checked his watch, and walked back to the railroad tracks. She sleeps naked, he thought. He looked at his watch. Late. Too late to go to one of his other spots. He’d spent all evening on Lindsey and gotten to see her in her fancy underwear. That was something . . . but it wasn’t enough.