“Me?”
“Have to ask,” Jesse said.
She glanced at her date book, then looked up and met his gaze for a moment. He could see her thinking.
She said, “I was in bed with Neil Ames.”
“All night?”
“We were together from five-thirty in the afternoon until nine
A.M. the next morning.”
“I’ll need to verify it,” Jesse
said. “Where do I find Mr.
Ames?”
“Two doors down,” she said.
“He’s the marketing
director.”
“Does he think the Super Bowl matters?”
Jesse
said.
“No.”
“What does he think matters?”
“Money.”
“No fool, he,” Jesse said. “Can
you tell me anything at all that
might shed light on Kenneth Eisley’s death?”
“Have you tried at work?” she said.
“Maybe he lost somebody’s
life savings.”
“As we speak,” Jesse said. “Any
other thoughts?”
“No.”
Jesse took a card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Christine.
“Anything occurs,” he said,
“call me.”
“Even if it’s not about the
case?”
“Sure,” Jesse said. “Maybe we
can schedule
something.”
Again the tight smile. Jesse smiled back. Then he went down the
hall to talk with the marketing director.
13
Jesse stood in the living room of Ken Eisley’s condominium,
listening to the silence. Jesse liked to go alone to places where victims lived, and visit for a while. Rarely did the silence whisper to him anything worth hearing, but that didn’t mean it
wouldn’t, and being there helped him think. The condo was a mirror
image of the one where Angie Aarons lived. On the living room floor, near the gas fireplace, was a big plaid dog cushion. On the low oak coffee table was a bottle of single malt scotch and two short thick glasses. Above the fireplace was a four-inch-thin wall-mounted television set that Jesse knew cost about $7,000. On an end table was a baseball enclosed in a plastic case. The ball had been signed almost illegibly by Willie Mays. To the right of the fireplace was a small maroon and gold replica model of an Indian motorcycle. In the kitchen was a set of stainless steel dog dishes in a black metal rack. There was a king-sized walnut sleigh bed and a large-screen television in the bedroom. On the bedside table were two copies of a magazine about men’s health and exercise. In the bathroom was a wooden container of shaving soap, a brush, and a double-edged razor. The razor and the shaving brush each had an ivory handle. A bottle of bay rum stood on the shaving ledge beside them. Everything was obviously new.
The fact that the marketing director had alibied Christine Erickson didn’t prove much, Jesse thought. There were probably two
people involved in the shooting. And each could be the other’s
alibi. But why? Jesse could find no reason for either of them to kill Eisley. According to Peter Perkins, Eisley was
