R O B E R T B . P A R K E R
“Well, I don’t know how to say it without sounding terrible.”
“We won’t judge you,” Jesse said.
“I . . . I don’t come from circumstances as elegant as you might think,” Lorrie said. “When I was a young woman, it was exciting to marry a policeman.”
“At any age,” Jesse said.
Across the room, Rosa Sanchez smiled.
“But then he went to work for Walton,” Lorrie said. “And I started to move in a different world. And meet different people. And . . . it wasn’t so exciting anymore to be married to a policeman.”
“Or a bodyguard.”
“Or a bodyguard,” Lorrie said.
“And Lutz didn’t mind?” Jesse said.
“Well, I suppose, of course, he must have minded,” Lor rie said.
“And do you think he minded when you married Weeks?”
“Well, I guess,” Lorrie said. “I suppose so.”
“But he stayed on as Weeks’s bodyguard.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It was a good job,” Lorrie said.
Jesse nodded.
“Do you think he might have minded enough to kill Weeks and hang him in a public park?” he said.
“Oh my God,” Lorrie said.
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H I G H P R O F I L E
Jesse waited. Lorrie’s tongue flicked her lower lip.
“Oh my God,” Lorrie said again.
“Whaddya think?” Jesse said.
“Well, I, my God . . . of course Conrad had some violence in him. A policeman. A bodyguard. He carried a gun. . . .”
“Maybe?” Jesse said.
“There was a lot of force in Conrad,” Lorrie said. “A lot of passion.”
“So you’re saying he might have done it?”
“I suppose.”
They were quiet.
After a moment Lorrie said, “It could have been Conrad.”
