High Profile

29

“You’re back,” Jesse said when Suitcase Simpson came into his office.

“Been eating a lot of crab cakes,” Suit said.

“They do that in Baltimore. Drink a little National Bo with the crab cakes?”

“Only while off duty,” Suit said.

He saluted with three fingers, like a Boy Scout. Jesse thought Suit seemed very pleased with himself.

“Do anything else?” Jesse said.

“I found Bonnie Faison,” Suit said.

“Really?” Jesse said.

“Yep. Wasn’t easy. But for a man with my crime detection instincts...”

“Was she still at the last address they had for her?” Jesse said.

“Yep. That Baltimore County cop went over with me.”

“Sergeant Franks,” Jesse said.

“Yeah, him,” Suit said. “She’s at the same place. She’s almost forty, got two kids and no husband, lives with her mother.”

“Sounds great,” Jesse said.

“Yeah. I don’t think anyone’s happy about it,” Suit said. “But there they are. Three-bedroom ranch, yard about the size of a pool table. Some sort of inbred dog looks like a hyena.”

“She remember the incident?”

“After a while,” Suit said. “She didn’t want to talk about it, but Franks sort of convinced her she had to or else.”

Jesse nodded.

“Tell you one thing,” Suit said. “I hope she looked better when Weeks was poking her.”

Jesse nodded again.

“Man, she’s so fat, I don’t think you’d know if you were in,” Suit said.

“Maybe she was better at nineteen,” Jesse said.

“I hope so.”

“How’d she meet Weeks?” Jesse said.

“She was hanging out at the mall, and picked him up after a book signing.”

“She the aggressor?” Jesse said.

“Sounds that way. Her mother said she just wanted to fuck a celebrity.”

“Maternal pride,” Jesse said.

“Her mother says she woulda fucked anybody she saw on television, before she got too fat.”

“You’re quoting,” Jesse said.

“Uh-huh,” Suit said. “Mother’s skinny as a lizard. Smoked about two packs of cigarettes while we were there.”

“Bonnie ever see Weeks again?”

“No. He gave her his phone number, but when she called it she found out it was some restaurant in Baltimore.”

“So she never saw him again.”

“Nope,” Suit said, “but they’ll always have the White Marsh Mall.”

He went to the coffeemaker on top of Jesse’s file cabinet and poured some coffee, added sugar and nondairy creamer, and took a sip.

“How old were the kids,” Jesse said.

“Little kids, you know, eight, ten years old, maybe. I don’t know much about kids.”

Suit drank some coffee.

“Anything else?” Jesse said.

“Well, yeah, a little something,” Suit said.

Jesse waited. Suit drank another swallow of coffee.

“On the ride back to the station,” Suit said, “Franks and I were, you know, talking, and I asked him what happened to the arresting officer, you know, the guy busted Weeks. And Franks says he was around for a while, made detective, and then quit. Went into private security. So I say, for nothing, what was his name?”

“Lutz,” Jesse said.

“You knew?”

Jesse smiled.

“No,” Jesse said, “but the way you were ready to wet yourself telling me, who else was it going to be? Rumpelstiltskin?”

“Man, you know how to ruin stuff,” Suit said.

“So you followed up,” Jesse said. “And it’s our Lutz.”

“Yes. Conrad Lutz,” Suit said. “Be some kind of coincidence if it was a different Conrad Lutz.”

“If it came to that, we could fingerprint him,” Jesse said. “He’d be on file.”

“So whaddya make of that, Jesse?”

“Good police work by you, sloppy by me,” Jesse said. “I should have asked when I called them.”

“Does this mean a salary increase for me?”

“No.”

“Even if it turns out I’ve cracked the case?” Suit said

“Puts you right at the top of the list for detective.”

“Soon as we have detectives,” Suit said.

“Right after that,” Jesse said.

Suit shrugged.

“It means Lutz lied to us,” he said.

“Or at least left stuff out,” Jesse said.

“We maybe should ask him about that?” Suit said.

“Sooner or later,” Jesse said.

“First, you want to get all your ducks in a row?”

“I’d settle for getting them herded into the same area,” Jesse said.