“That’s what he told me.”
“And you can’t remember which one it was you talked with.”
Lutz shook his head.
“I should, I know, me being a former cop and all. But . . .” He spread his hands. “You know how it is.”
“Actually, I don’t,” Jesse said.
Lutz shrugged. Jesse waited. Lutz didn’t say anything else.
1 7 8
H I G H P R O F I L E
After a time, Jesse broke the silence.
“You know anything about any real estate that Weeks might have been interested in around here?” he said.
“Real estate?” Lutz said. “Walton? No, I don’t know anything about that.”
Jesse nodded.
“Why do you ask?” Lutz said.
Jesse shook his head.
“You got something breaking in the case?” Lutz said.
“My ass, mostly,” Jesse said.
1 7 9
40
The window in Jesse’s hotel room looked out onto an air shaft on the West Side of New York. Jesse made a drink and looked at the air shaft for a time. Then he went to the phone and called Sunny Randall.
“How’s your hotel?” she said.
“A bed, running water,” Jesse said.
“You’ve always been a minimalist.”
“I’m on a minimalist budget,” Jesse said.
“How’s the case?”
“Lot of information, none of it useful,” Jesse said. “How about yours?”
H I G H P R O F I L E
“Weird,” Sunny said.
“Good to hear,” Jesse said.
He sipped his drink.
“I’m sorry,” Sunny said.
“I didn’t expect it wouldn’t be,” Jesse said. “How weird is it?”
