“Seth Ralston lives in one of those new condos on Beach Plum Ave., near the beach.”
“I know the place,” Jesse said.
They both paused to eat a bite of sandwich.
“Lives there with his wife, Hannah Wechsler. She kept her maiden name.”
“Kind of figured that,” Jesse said.
“Been there five years. Married for seven. No kids. He’s a college professor. Taft University in Walford. She used to be his graduate student. She’s still in grad school, and she also teaches some night classes at Taft.”
“After seven years?”
“She’s been in grad school for ten,” Suit said.
“Slow learner,” Jesse said. “What’s he a professor of?”
Suit glanced down at his small notebook.
“English and American literature,” Suit said.
“And that’s what she’s doing her graduate work in?”
“Uh-huh. She got a master’s. Now she’s working on a Ph.D.”
“An English professor is just the kind of guy who would use a phrase like ‘cri de coeur,’ ”
Jesse said.
“What?”
“He used it in one of his letters to me,” Jesse said.
“What’s it mean?” Suit said.
“Something like a cry from the heart,” Jesse said.
“Latin?”
“French,” Jesse said.
“Wow, no wonder you made chief.”
“I looked it up,” Jesse said.
“What’s the missus teach?”
“Freshman English,” Suit said. “On Wednesday nights.”
“How ’bout him?” Jesse said.
“He don’t teach any nights,” Suit said. “Matter of fact, he don’t seem to teach much at all.”
“What’s his rank?” Jesse said.
“Rank?”
“You know, academic rank,” Jesse said. “Is he a professor?”
“Yeah.”
“What kind?” Jesse said.
“Kind?”
“He a full professor?” Jesse said.
“I guess so,” Suit said.
“That’s why he doesn’t teach much,” Jesse said.
Suit finished his sandwich and wiped his mouth and hands on one of the napkins.
“So I’m thinking,” he said, “here’s a guy likes to watch. And his wife’s out every Wednesday night, so I go back over all the Peeping Tom reports . . . and they all took place on a Wednesday night.”
“Before he started working days,” Jesse said.
“I wonder what she does days,” Suit said.
“Maybe you should find out,” Jesse said. “Especially the days of the photo shoots.”
“Great idea,” Suit said. “Another reason you’re the chief.”
“I’m chief,” Jesse said, “because some years back Hasty Hathaway assumed if he hired me I’d be a useless drunk and he could run the town as he wished.”
“And where’s Hasty now?” Suit said.
Jesse smiled.
“Excellent point,” he said.
38
THEY SAT in the squad room, just the three of them, with the door closed.
“I’ve asked Steve to come in and run the desk,” Jesse said. “Me and the rest of the guys will run the department, and you will be the Night Hawk task force.”
“Me and Molly?” Suit said. “Ain’t a hell of a big task force.”
