Jesse knew he should pursue this topic.
“Could she hang on to me for a reason other than love?” Jesse said.
Dix raised his eyebrows slightly.
“Why would she?” Jesse said.
They were both silent. Then Jesse could see Dix decide to prime the pump.
“Think about her life,” Dix said. “She has some talent, but as you said, her M.O. is to sleep with men who can advance her career.”
Jesse nodded.
“So that her life may seem to her to be in the control of others,” Dix said.
Jesse nodded.
“In an out-of-control life,” Dix said, “what stability is there? What can she count on?”
Jesse was silent for a moment.
Then he said, “Me.”
Dix nodded firmly.
“She could have that. Hell, when we were married she did have that,” Jesse said.
Dix nodded.
“Hell, she could have that now if she’d stay with me,” Jesse said.
“But she chooses not to,” Dix said.
“Or can’t choose otherwise,” Jesse said.
Dix nodded.
“I’m not enough,” Jesse said.
“Apparently not,” Dix said.
“So we’re saying that because I love her and she can count on me, she’s free to fuck her way to success,” Jesse said.
Dix smiled faintly and nodded again.
“How’s that working out for both of you?” Dix said.
Jesse leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him.
“The Night Hawk,” Jesse said, “writes me these letters, and when you read them they sound like they’re about two people. Him and his obsession. It’s like the obsession needs him to do things to satisfy it, and he does them, and it doesn’t satisfy the obsession . . . and it fucks up his life.”
“Do I hear an analogy being drawn?” Dix said.
“Doing what the obsession wants,” Jesse said, “like, makes it more obsessive.”
“Sometimes,” Dix said.
“So enough is never enough.”
“Never,” Dix said.
“Drinking water makes you thirsty.”
“Yes,” Dix said.
Jesse put his hands behind his head as he leaned back.
“What a great arrangement,” he said.
Dix smiled.
“God is undoubtedly an ironist,” he said.
“Now what the fuck do I do?” Jesse said.
“Be good to catch the Night Hawk,” Dix said.
40
JESSE INTERVIEWED Hannah Wechsler in her office at Taft University. She shared the room with five other teaching assistants, all of whom were scruffy. Hannah was not. She was dressed appropriately enough in an ankle- length dress and sandals, but it had the look of contrivance. Her hair was too well groomed. Her makeup was too good. She was manicured and pedicured, and her teeth were very white.
“Is Seth okay?” she said when Jesse introduced himself.
“He’s fine,” Jesse said. “It’s another case we’re working on, and we hoped maybe you could help us.”
There were three other teaching assistants in the office. They all looked at Jesse with automatic hostility. Philosophically, they were grimly in favor of the working man. In fact, of course, plumbers made them uncomfortable, and they viewed cops with suspicion.
“May I buy you some coffee?” Jesse said.
“Sure,” Hannah said, “the cafe in the student union.”
It was a short walk to the student union, a short wait for the coffee, and a short search to find a table for
