High Profile

12

Jesse was eating a ham-and-cheese sandwich on light rye when Molly came in.

“Lutz is here,” Molly said.

Jesse took a bite of the half-sour pickle that Daisy Dyke always sent with her sandwiches.

“And your wife is on the phone.”

Jesse chewed the bite of pickle and swallowed.

“Ex-wife,” he said.

“So you say.”

Jesse took in some air and let it out slowly.

“Hold Lutz for a few minutes,” Jesse said. “I’ll talk to Jenn.”

Molly nodded. Jesse put his hand on the phone. Molly didn’t leave. Jesse looked at her with his hand on the phone. Molly shook her head and left the office. Jesse picked up the phone.

“Hi,” he said.

“I’m in your apartment,” Jenn said. “You have to come right now.”

Jesse nodded as if she could see him.

“Sort of a busy time right now, Jenn.”

“A man raped me,” she said.

Jesse felt it across his upper back and shoulders. His trapezius muscles bunched involuntarily.

“You need a doctor?” Jesse said.

“I need you.”

“I’ll be right there,” Jesse said.

He stood, and took his gun from the desk and put it on his belt. Then he walked out through the station. Molly was at the front desk. A big man with a thick mustache and a shaved head sat waiting. Jesse assumed it was Lutz.

“Ask Mr. Lutz to wait,” Jesse said to Molly.

She stared at him. He kept going out the front door of the station. It seemed to him that he moved inside some sort of soundless space that enveloped him as he drove.

Jesse’s front door was locked. When he unlocked it, he discovered that the security chain was in place.

“It’s me, Jenn,” Jesse said through the small opening.

“Okay,” Jenn said.

Her voice was small. She closed the door and slid the chain loose and opened it again. Jesse stepped in. Jenn backed away from him. She looked fine. Her makeup was in place. Her hair was smooth. She wore jeans that fit well and a white shirt open at the neck. He didn’t beat her up. As he closed the door and turned toward her, she seemed to move farther from him. He went to the bar and sat on a stool in front of his big picture of Ozzie Smith.

“Tell me about it,” he said.

She shook her head. She walked slowly to the window and looked out and then walked back toward the kitchen. She stopped near the kitchen door.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jenn said.

Jesse nodded. She walked to the hall leading to the bedroom and looked down it and turned and walked back to the kitchen door.

“Report it to the cops?” Jesse said.

She shook her head.

“I just finally got moved from weather girl to investigative reporter. It would ruin my credibility. You know what the press is like.”

“I do,” Jesse said.

“You know the guy?”

“No.”

“When did it happen?” Jesse said.

“Sunday night.”

“That’s four days ago.”

“Yes,” Jenn said.

She walked to the front door and looked out through the sidelights. Jesse waited. After a time, Jenn turned back toward him.

“He’s stalking me.”

Again Jesse felt it across his shoulders. He was aware, against his hip, of the mild weight of his holstered gun.

“Is he here?” Jesse said.

Jenn seemed to jump a little.

“Here?”

“Did he follow you here?” Jesse said.

“No. I saw him outside my apartment this morning, so went out through the back cellar door and down the alley. I took a cab here.”

“How long has he stalked you.”

“I saw him near the station when I went in, the day after it happened. Yesterday, he was hanging around a shoot I was on in Natick... What would you have done if he were here.”

Jesse was quiet.

“I want to know,” Jenn said.

“I would have seen to it,” Jesse said, “that he never hurt you again.”

Jenn nodded and folded her arms and leaned her back against the door.

“Would you kill him?”

“If I had to,” Jesse said.

“I’d kill him,” Jenn said. “I will kill him if I get a chance.”

Jesse nodded.

“I need you to get me a gun.”

Jesse nodded.

“And show me how to use it.”

“I can do that,” Jesse said.

“You know what the bastard was like?” Jenn said.

Jesse shook his head.

“He came into my apartment right behind me,” Jenn said. “He had a gun. He stood there in my living room and pointed the gun at me and made me undress.”

Jesse was very still.

“For crissake, stand there and undress,” Jenn said. “Take off all my clothes, squirm out of my pantyhose, in front of a total fucking stranger.”

Jesse waited. Jenn was barely talking to him.

“And then I’m standing there completely undressed, nothing on, and the fucking sonovabitch couldn’t get it up.”

Jesse nodded.

“I had to stand there naked and watch him fondle himself until he was hard enough.”

Jenn’s breathing was heavy now, and short. Jesse listened to the interior sound his own breath made going in and out. He was breathing harshly, too.

“Then he made me lie on the floor and he did it. On the floor. He jammed it in and pushed hard and called me names and told me I liked it rough.”

Jesse nodded.

“It hurt,” Jenn said.

“Did you see a doctor?”

“No.”

“I can take you,” Jesse said.

“No.”

“How can I make it better?”

“Find him and kill him.”

Jesse nodded. Jenn stood and tried to control her breathing.

“I’ll find him,” Jesse said.

“And kill him?”

“Can you work with a sketch artist?” Jesse said.

Jenn shrugged.

“Could you pick him out of a mug book?” Jesse said.

Jenn shrugged again.

“I have to stay with you,” Jenn said. “You have to protect me.”

Jesse nodded.

“I’ll protect you,” he said.

“All the time.”

“There’ll be someone with you,” Jesse said, “all the time.”

“You?”

“Me or somebody good.”

“I want you,” Jenn said.

“We’ll figure something out,” Jesse said. “We’ll make it work.”