“We both know,” Jesse said, “when all is said and done, the ones you can’t solve are the ones where somebody walks in, 2 7 4
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aces somebody, disposes of the murder weapon, and walks away. No motive. No witnesses. Nothing. This thing with Weeks and his girlfriend was badly overproduced.”
“So they’ll be inclined not to sit still,” Molly said.
“It’s why I think Lorrie’s involved,” Jesse said. “Lutz is an ex-cop. He should know better.”
“What if he prevails this time,” Molly said. “What if they do sit tight?”
“I know that one or both of them did it,” Jesse said.
“Sooner or later, I’ll prove it.”
Molly looked at Jesse for a long moment, then she reached up and rested her hand briefly on his cheek.
“Yes,” she said. “You will, won’t you.”
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62
As Jesse got out of his car in the parking lot, he could see someone sitting in the dark at the foot of his stairs. Jesse took his gun out and held it at his side.
“Stone?” the person said.
“Yes.”
“Lutz,” he said. “I need to talk.”
“Okay.”
They sat in Jesse’s living room with the French doors open to the deck and the night air coming in thick with the smell of the harbor.
“You got a drink?” Lutz said.
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“Scotch okay?”
“Sure, some ice.”
Jesse got the whiskey and the ice and a glass and put them on the table.
“One glass?” Lutz said.
“I’ll pass,” Jesse said.
“I heard you were a boozer,” Lutz said.
He put ice in his glass and poured whiskey over it.
“Sometimes I’m not,” Jesse said.
He sat at the bar across from Lutz and put the gun on the bar top. If Lutz noticed, he didn’t care. He looked past Jesse at the big picture behind the bar.
“Ozzie Smith,” Lutz said.
