“Bodyguard called in,” Suit said.
“Bodyguard,” Jesse said.
“Guy named Conrad Lutz.”
“Conrad did a hell of a job,” Jesse said. “You got an ad dress for him?”
“Langham Hotel,” Suit said. “In Boston. He was there with Weeks.”
“Post Office Square,” Jesse said.
“I guess,” Suit said. “Molly told him to come in for an interview.”
“When?”
“ASAP,” Suit said.
“Press will swarm him,” Jesse said.
He shrugged.
“But that’s what they do,” he said.
“You think Weeks was afraid of something?” Suit said.
“You know, having a bodyguard?”
“He was a famous man who annoyed a lot of people,”
Jesse said.
“Be good to know who they were,” Suit said.
“Maybe Conrad will know,” Jesse said.
2 6
8
Jesse,” the voice on the phone said, “it’s Daisy Dyke. I need you to come up here.”
“Business?” Jesse said.
“Yes, but could you come by yourself, like quiet?”
“Sure. I’ll walk over.”
“Thank you.”
When he went out of the station house, he had to push his way through the press.
“I’m going to lunch,” Jesse said.
He said nothing else and ignored all questions. It was a ten-minute walk to Daisy’s Restaurant. Three of the reporters R O B E R T B . P A R K E R
tagged after him. Daisy met him at the door. She was a big, strong-looking woman with blond hair and a red face.
“We ain’t open yet,” she said to the three reporters. She let Jesse in and locked the door.
“I don’t know what to do,” Daisy Dyke said. “I figured I should talk to you first.”
“Okay,” Jesse said.
