There was silence. Jesse could hear the computer keys tapping.
“New system,” the sergeant murmured.
“They’re all new to me,” Jesse said.
“Yeah,” the sergeant said, “ain’t that the truth.” More tapping.
“Shit!” the sergeant said. His voice raised. “Alice, will you come over and run this goddamned thing for me.”
Jesse heard a woman’s voice murmur in the background.
“Walton Weeks,” the sergeant said, “public indecency, 1987.”
The woman’s voice murmured again. The computer keys tapped. Jesse waited.
“Come on, come on, come on,” the sergeant said. Jesse knew he was talking to the computer.
“Okay,” the sergeant said. “Here it is. Goddamn. Way to go, Walton.”
“What,” Jesse said.
“Got a couple of complaints at the White Marsh Mall. Officer went out and found Walton bopping some girl in the back of a Mercedes sedan.”
“How old was the girl?”
“Bonnie Faison,” the sergeant said. “Age nineteen.”
“What was the disposition?”
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H I G H P R O F I L E
“We booked them both, and that was the end of it. Case got dismissed pretty quick.”
“Friends in high places,” Jesse said.
“Well,” the sergeant said, “it was a Mickey Mouse charge anyway. Damn arresting officer should have just shooed them away.”
“Once he brought them in . . .”
“We had to book them.”
“You know anything about the girl?” Jesse said.
“All I got is her address in 1987.”
“I’ll take it,” Jesse said.
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27
Molly came into Jesse’s office with a woman. The woman wore a white tunic and black pants. Her black boots had three-inch heels. Her hair was black with a dramatic silver streak in the front. Jesse could sense Molly’s approval in the way she ushered the woman in.
“Ellen Migliore,” Molly said. “Chief Stone.”
Jesse stood. They shook hands. The woman sat down. Molly left the door open and departed.
