High Profile

54

Healy didn’t know Rosa Sanchez, but he knew someone who knew her bureau commander, and her bureau commander put him in touch with the Sixth Precinct commander, who assigned her to Jesse. Rosa was a detective second grade, not very tall, quite slim, with black hair and olive skin and the lyrical hint of Hispania lurking behind her perfect English.

They met her at the Sixth Precinct station house.

“According to the precinct commander,” she said as they walked out on West 10th Street, “I’m yours, as long as you need me... in a professional sense.”

“You the newest detective?” Jesse said.

“Yes.”

“So you catch all the stuff like this,” Jesse said.

“I do,” she said. “You ever on the job in a big city?”

“L.A.,” Jesse said. “Robbery Homicide.”

“Hotshot?”

“You bet,” Jesse said.

“You think Bratton can make a difference out there?”

“He made a difference here,” Jesse said.

“Good point,” she said. “What’s our plan?”

“We’re going to visit a woman at her condo on Perry Street.”

“Not one of the big new ones?” Rosa said.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, good,” she said. “I been dying to see what they’re like inside.”

“While we’re in there, we’ll conduct an interview, which Officer Simpson will covertly record.”

“Is that a tape recorder that he’s got in his purse,” Rosa said.

“It’s a shoulder bag,” Suit said. “I bought it for the occasion.”

“Sure,” she said. “You won’t be able to use the tape in court.”

“Don’t plan to,” Jesse said. “I plan to see what she says, and then interview a guy in Boston and see what he says, and then, maybe, if what they say doesn’t match...”

“You’ll play each other’s tapes for them.”

Jesse nodded.

“You ready, Suit?”

“Yeah. I tested everything in the hotel room. I’ll start it before we go in. Leave the bag unzipped. Tape’ll run for ninety minutes.”

“What’s your first name?” Rosa said to Suit.

“Suit, short for Suitcase,” he said. “I mean, that’s not my real name. My real name is Luther, but there was a ballplayer named Suitcase Simpson...”

Rosa nodded.

“And it’s a lot better than being Luther,” she said.

“Well,” Suit said, “maybe a little better.”

Rosa was wearing black boots with a medium heel, black pants, a white shirt, and a yellow blazer. When they got to the front door of Lorrie Weeks’s building, she reached into the pocket of her blazer and took out her badge. As they walked past the doorman, Jesse noticed that she shifted slightly into a cop swagger. He smiled to himself. He wondered if he did that. Because she was pretty and small, it was probably more noticeable.

At the reception desk, Jesse said, “Lorrie Weeks?”

The woman at the desk said, “Who may I say is calling?”

Rosa held up her badge.

“Detective Sanchez,” Rosa said firmly, “New York City police.”

The reception woman made the call and then took them up to Lorrie Weeks’s apartment. In the elevator, Suit put his hand inside his shoulder bag and turned on the tape recorder. Lorrie’s place was one of only two on the floor. She looked worried when she opened the door. But people often do, Jesse thought, when the cops come calling.

“Oh,” she said when she saw Jesse. “It’s you. What is it?”

“We need to talk,” Jesse said. “You remember Officer Simpson. This is Detective Sanchez. Since we’re in New York, she’ll be the law in the room.”

Lorrie stepped away from the door. The reception lady looked like she wanted to know more, realized no one was going to tell her more, and walked discreetly away back to the elevator. Jesse went into a vast living room with huge picture windows.

“What is it?” Lorrie said. “Is it anything bad?”

“No,” Jesse said. “We just have some new information, and we wanted to see if you could help us interpret it.”

“I’ll be glad to try,” she said.

“Good,” Jesse said.