High Profile

40

The window in Jesse’s hotel room looked out onto an air shaft on the West Side of New York. Jesse made a drink and looked at the air shaft for a time. Then he went to the phone and called Sunny Randall.

“How’s your hotel?” she said.

“A bed, running water,” Jesse said.

“You’ve always been a minimalist.”

“I’m on a minimalist budget,” Jesse said.

“How’s the case?”

“Lot of information, none of it useful,” Jesse said. “How about yours?”

“Weird,” Sunny said.

“Good to hear,” Jesse said.

He sipped his drink.

“I’m sorry,” Sunny said.

“I didn’t expect it wouldn’t be,” Jesse said. “How weird is it?”

“You know my friend Spike.”

“Yes.”

“We decided that it was time to put Jenn and the stalker together,” Sunny said. “In a protected environment.”

“And?”

“Spike, ah, apprehended him, and brought him to my place.”

“And?”

“They swore they didn’t know each other,” Sunny said. “He didn’t know her. He wasn’t stalking her. He was an innocent bystander.”

“Jenn?”

“She said the same thing. He wasn’t the stalker. He didn’t rape her. She’d never seen him before in her life.”

Jesse took another drink. He did it carefully so that maybe Sunny wouldn’t hear the ice clink.

“Any chance that it’s the truth?” Jesse said.

“I don’t know about the rape,” Sunny said. “But this guy has been stalking her. I spotted him. Spike spotted him. He’d been grabbed by this very large man and brought to a strange place against his will. I offered him a chance to call the police. He didn’t. Plus, he runs a marketing company that does business with Jenn’s TV station. He’s bought a lot of time there.”

“On-air people wouldn’t have to know the advertisers.”

“No.”

“But why would she deny the stalking?” Jesse said.

“I was going to ask you.”

Jesse looked at his glass. Still plenty left. He glanced at the dark air shaft outside. At her end of the phone, Sunny was quiet.

“When I was about as bad as I’ve ever been with drinking,” Jesse said, “I snuck it. I didn’t drink in front of Jenn. She thought I was quitting. But I used to keep a pint of scotch in my car, and have a few pops when I was alone. One day we were going someplace and Jenn opened the glove compartment and there was this half-empty bottle of booze...”

Jesse sipped some scotch.

“And she said, ‘Why is this bottle of scotch in the glove compartment?’... and I looked at it and said, ‘What bottle of scotch?’”

“You were caught in something you were ashamed of and you didn’t know what to do,” Sunny said.

“It happens,” Jesse said. “You get caught and you’re humiliated. It’s too horrible, and you say anything. You deny the fact before you.”

“You think she made this up?” Sunny said.

“I don’t know.”

“Why would she make it up?” Sunny said.

“I don’t know.”

Jesse’s room was dark. The small light that had come from the air shaft had disappeared with the day. He put his head back against the cheap fabric covering of his chair.

“I’m going to find out,” Sunny said.

Jesse didn’t speak.

“Focus on the murders,” Sunny said. “I’ll do this.”

Jesse finished his glass. He looked at the bottle. Plenty left.

“There’s a key to her apartment in the drawer of my desk in the police station. It’s labeled.”

“Will you clear me with Molly?” Sunny said.

“Yes.”

“I’ll go get the key,” she said.

They were both quiet.

“We had a good time in Los Angeles,” Jesse said after a time.

“Yes. Things change,” Sunny said.

“Sometimes.”

They were quiet again.

“I think it’s time for us to hang up,” Sunny said.

“Yes.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Good,” Jesse said.

They hung up. Jesse sat motionless for a time, holding the empty glass.

“We’ll always have Beverly Hills,” he said out loud in the silent room.

After a time, Jesse turned on the light next to the bed. Then he stood and made himself another drink. He took it to the window and looked at the air shaft. Then he turned and walked to the dresser and looked at himself in the mirror. The reflection was shadowed by the single light.

“A second-rate hotel with a window on an air shaft,” he said, staring into the mirror. “And a bottle of scotch.”

He raised his glass to his reflection.

“Perfect,” he said, and drank some scotch.