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Being out of uniform,” Suit said. “Does this mean I’m a detective?”
“No,” Jesse said.
“If I was out of uniform and got a significant raise?” Suit said.
“Might,” Jesse said.
They were in New York, walking up West 57th Street.
“We’re going to see Walton Weeks’s manager,” Suit said.
“Tom Nolan,” Jesse said.
“In hopes of detecting who killed Walton,” Suit said.
“Yes.”
H I G H P R O F I L E
“So how come, if I’m detecting, I’m not a detective?”
They crossed Sixth Avenue with the light.
“Department’s not big enough to have detectives,” Jesse said.
“So I do detective work for patrolman’s pay,” Suit said.
“Exactly,” Jesse said.
They passed the back entrance to the Parker Meridien hotel across 57th Street.
“Who’s going to be there?” Suit said.
“With Nolan? The widow, and as much of the staff as he can get together.”
“Current widow.”
“Yes.”
“We going to talk about the broad being pregnant?”
Suit said.
“We won’t introduce the topic.”
“You think they know?” Suit said.
“I mentioned it to the governor’s man, Kennfield,” Jesse said.
“And you figure he blabbed.”
“Yes.”
They turned into a narrow building on West 57th Street.
“And you kind of want to see if he blabbed to them,”
Suit said.
“I do,” Jesse said.
“Always nice,” Suit said. “If you think a guy’s a jerk, and he confirms your suspicion.”
