milk,” Suit said.
Jesse nodded. The car went up the Charter Oak Bridge over the Connecticut River, with Hartford on the left.
“Second thing,” Suit said. “Nobody seemed to be mourning the guy much.”
“Sometimes after a murder,” Jesse said, “people seem flat and without feelings. It’s shock mostly.”
“You know what kind of guy he was?” Suit said.
“No.”
“Anyone say anything about him?” Suit said.
Jesse, from the passenger seat, glanced over at Suit and nodded slowly. Driving, his eyes on the road, Suit didn’t see him nod.
“Not that I can remember, Detective Simpson,” Jesse said.
“Nobody did,” Suit said. “I went over my notes last night in the hotel. Nobody said they loved him. Nobody said the world lost a great man. Nobody said they’d miss him.”
“Hendricks said he wanted to carry on Walton’s legacy,”
Jesse said.
“What’s that mean?” Suit said.
“I think it means he wants Weeks’s job,” Jesse said. 9 6
H I G H P R O F I L E
Suit nodded.
“And the wife, the current one,” Suit said. “She didn’t even claim the body.”
Jesse nodded.
“And she didn’t worry when he didn’t come home, and she didn’t even come up when she heard he was dead. Nobody came up. The lawyer, the manager, the researcher guy. I think we’ll find that Lutz did all the arrangements.”
“Hendricks,” Jesse said.
“And the ex-wife,” Suit said.
“Stephanie,” Jesse said.
“That’s why I take notes,” Suit said. “I can’t remember any-body’s name.”
“Whatever works. What about Stephanie.”
“She implied that maybe the wife . . .”
“Lorrie.”
“That Lorrie,” Suit said, “might have been fooling around and didn’t care if Weeks came home.”
“She didn’t quite say that,” Jesse said.
“I think that’s what she meant,” Suit said.
“We’ll see,” Jesse said.
“We gonna stop up here in Vernon at that deli.”
“Rein’s,” Jesse said. “Yeah, tongue sandwich on light rye.”
