“We can do it. We did do it, and yes, you’re within your rights,” Jesse said. “But I need to know who likes to watch. And I can question everyone in your club until I find out, but it would be easier if you told me now.”
“That’s not true,” she said. “You’re just saying that.”
Jesse nodded and opened his middle drawer. He took out a sheet of paper and began to read.
“Mr. and Mrs. Martin Felts, Ralph Alfonzo and Maria Dupree, Mr. and Mrs. Clyde Crosland
. . .”
“Oh, God,” Kim said.
“Shall I go on?” Jesse said.
“No,” Kim said. “No.”
Jesse nodded and put the paper back in his middle drawer.
“How did you find out in the first place?” Kim said.
Jesse shook his head.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said.
“But they’ll know you got their names by watching my house,” Kim said.
“Yes,” Jesse said.
“And you’d question my husband.”
“Yes.”
“So he’d know,” Kim said.
Jesse waited. Kim’s eyes began to fill.
“Why can’t you just leave us alone?” Kim said. “We’re not harming anyone.”
“Just looking for a name,” Jesse said.
Kim looked at Molly. Molly smiled encouragingly. Kim looked back at Jesse, and quickly around the small room.
Then she said, “Seth.”
“Seth?”
“Seth Ralston,” she said.
“He ever watch you?” Jesse said.
Kim’s face reddened again.
“Yes.”
“Others?”
“We all talk about how he mostly doesn’t want to actually do it.”
“We?”
“All the girls,” Kim said.
“So what does his partner do while he’s watching?” Molly said.
Kim shrugged.
“Sometimes she does a three-way with Hannah and Hannah’s partner.”
“Hannah is?” Jesse said.
“Seth’s wife,” Kim said. “Hannah Wechsler.”
Jesse nodded.
“Thanks, Kim,” he said. “That’s a great help. Do you need a ride home?”
“No,” she said. “I have my car.”
Jesse stood and put his hand out. Kim shook it. Molly stood, too.
“I won’t have to come again, will I?” Kim said.
“Oh,” Jesse said. “No. Of course not.”
34
“YOU MEAN that?” Molly said.
“What?”
“That she won’t have to come in again?”
“No,” Jesse said. “I didn’t. I just figured we’d squeezed her enough for today.”
“Yes,” Molly said. “She was going to break down on us if we pushed her more.”
“I still have the issue of the kid to deal with.”
“We skirted around that pretty good,” Molly said.
“We did,” Jesse said.
“Course, Kim’s not the brightest bulb in the string,” Molly said.
“You think she likes swinging?” Jesse said.
“No.”
“So why do you think she does it?” Jesse said
“I don’t know, but I’ll guess it has to do with her husband.”
“I was starting to worry about you,” Jesse said.
“I was pretty convincing,” Molly said.
Jesse grinned.
“When you decide to get into swinging,” he said, “can I watch?”
“Ugh!” Molly said.
“ ‘Ugh’ about swinging, or ‘ugh’ about me watching.”
“All of the above,” Molly said. “I especially like her saying that there’s less infidelity among swingers.”
“Depends on how you define ‘unfaithful,’ ” Jesse said.
“Like it’s okay if we both do it?” Molly said.
“Or it’s okay if we each give permission to the other one,” Jesse said.
“Right,” Molly said. “Eat this apple, Adam. It’s okay if we both take a bite.”
“Boy, are you retro,” Jesse said.
“I am,” Molly said. “And no remarks about Native Americans.”
“Moi?”Jesse said.
“Vous,”Molly said. “My one-night stand with Crow was infidelity. I’m not exactly sorry I did it. But it was unfaithful to my husband and my marriage, and I know it and don’t pretend otherwise.”
“You love your husband,” Jesse said.
“I do, and did while I was unfaithful.”
“You’re okay with it?”
“Yes.”
“What if he’d given permission?”
“Permission, shmission,” Molly said. “It’s still infidelity, and gussying it up with a bunch of free-to-be-you-and-me crap doesn’t make it otherwise.”
“So you were just pretending when you told her how tempting it was to you,” Jesse said.
“I was,” Molly said.
“God, you were good,” Jesse said.
“Everybody says that,” Molly said.
Jesse grinned again.
“Does this mean I’m not going to get the chance to watch,” he said.
“I’ll put you on the list,” Molly said. “We gonna look into Mr. Ralston?”
“We are,” Jesse said. “Ms. Wechsler, too, I think.”
“How about the Clark kids?” Molly said.
“Step at a time,” Jesse said. “First I’ll find the Night Hawk, then we’ll save the children.”
“And after that?” Molly said.
“Probably leap a tall building,” Jesse said. “At a single bound.”
35
“I SIMPLY couldn’t do it,” Gloria Fisher said. “I simply would not.”
Jesse sat across from her in her living room. Molly sat beside her on the couch.
“Tell me about it,” Jesse said. “From the beginning.”
Gloria nodded. She was like the others, dark-haired, trim, in her early forties.
“My husband went to work. I got my daughter off to school, took a shower, got dressed, and when I came out of the bedroom, he was here.”
“Door unlocked?” Jesse said.
“I guess it was. It’s stupid. I knew this had been happening. But I forgot. . . .” She spread her hands. “I’m terrible about locking up. Anyway, I said, ‘What the fuck do you want?’ And he pointed his gun at me and said, ‘Do what I say and I won’t hurt you.’ And I was enraged. . . . I said, ‘Like hell.’ And he said, ‘Take off your clothes,’ and I said, ‘Like hell.’ It’s funny, I wasn’t scared, I was very, very angry. The sonovabitch came in my house. . . . Now I’m scared.”
Molly nodded.
“That’s because now it’s safe to be scared.”
“I guess,” Gloria said.
“So what did he do?” Jesse said.
He said, ‘Undress or I’ll shoot you.’ And I said, ‘Get out of my fucking house.’ And his eyes got really big and he took a step toward me and then stopped, and, like, stared at me, and then he turned around and ran out of the house.”
“Did you see his car?”
“No.”
“Which way he went?”
“No,” Gloria said. “I went right to the phone and called nine-one-one and Officer Friedman was here in like a minute.”
Jesse looked at Steve Friedman, standing in the kitchen door.
“I was two blocks away,” Steve said. “I didn’t see him.”
“Description?”
“Oh, about my husband’s size, I would say. Five-eleven, hundred and eighty-five pounds.
Black jacket and pants, black ski mask, had on those latex gloves like doctors use.”
“The gun?”
“I don’t know anything about guns,” she said. “It looked small to me, kind of silver-colored.”
Jesse nodded.
“Any sign of a camera?”
“I think so,” Gloria said. �
��I think he had some sort of digital camera in his other hand.”
“Which hand had the gun?” Jesse said.
Gloria closed her eyes for a moment and pantomimed with her hands. She opened her eyes.
“Right hand,” she said. “He had the gun in his right hand.”
Jesse nodded.
“That would mean he’s right-handed,” Gloria said.
“Probably,” Jesse said.
“You wouldn’t carry a gun in your off hand,” Gloria said.
“Probably not,” Jesse said. “If he was anybody you knew, would you have been able to tell?”
“I don’t think so,” Gloria said. “His voice didn’t sound familiar.”
“Did he do anything to disguise his voice?” Jesse said.
“Like whisper or something?”
“Uh-huh.”
“No,” Gloria said. “That would mean he wasn’t someone I might know.”
Jesse grinned at her.
“Ah, come on, Mrs. Fisher,” he said. “Could you let me do a little of the police work?”
“But,” she said, “if we didn’t know each other, he would have no reason to disguise his voice. Doesn’t that make sense?”
“It does,” Jesse said. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”
“Not really,” she said. “He was only here, probably, a couple of minutes.”
“You’re a brave woman,” Jesse said.
“I didn’t know I was going to be,” Gloria said. “But . . .”
She looked at Molly.
“You got kids?” she said.
“Yes.”
“Daughter?”
“I have a daughter and three sons,” Molly said.
“I just have the one daughter,” Gloria said. “I kept thinking of her when I saw him. I knew who he was as soon as I saw him, you know? I’d heard about the other women. And I . . .
kept thinking of my daughter . . . and I couldn’t let her mother be forced to strip naked in her own living room in front of some stranger . . . I couldn’t. I would not.”
She looked at Molly again.
“Could you?” she said.
“I won’t know unless it happens,” Molly said.
Gloria nodded.
“We’ll leave Officer Friedman here,” Jesse said. “Until your husband gets home.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Driving back to the station, Jesse said, “Tough woman.”
“Yes,” Molly said. “I wonder if I’d have done what she did?”
“You were right when she asked you,” Jesse said. “No way to know until you’re in the situation.”
“I hope I’d be like her,” Molly said.
“Be a good woman, and a good cop, Moll,” Jesse said. “Whether you did or not.”
“Thank you,” Molly said.
“That’s what you are,” Jesse said. “And whatever you do in one specific situation doesn’t change what you are.”
“Even what I did with a certain Native American person?”
“Even that,” Jesse said.
36
THE WEATHER was pleasant, so Jesse took his first drink of the night out onto his balcony and sat and reread his new letter from the Night Hawk.
Dear Chief Stone,
By now you must know of my recent humiliation. The woman defied me. And I had to run.
Run away! I don’t know why I didn’t force her to do what I said. I wanted to, God knows. But somehow I seemed frozen by her. I couldn’t approach her. I wanted in the worst way to take her and strip her clothes off. But I didn’t. For reasons I don’t understand I fled, and am now in my home, frightened and enraged. What I wanted to do frightens me. That I couldn’t do it enrages me. And it is the rage that I really fear. I have never felt such rage. To be denied like this and humiliated in the process. It will drive me. I can feel it driving me, and if you do not stop me, I don’t know what it will drive me to. I am becoming ever more dangerous. What started out as a basically harmless adventure is turning into something monomaniacal.
Something—shall I say it? Yes!—something evil. So be warned, and be alert!!!
The Night Hawk
Jesse read it twice more. It seemed to him more a display of bravado than a call for help.
To be denied what? Jesse thought. A photo op? He’s embarrassed because the woman faced him down and he ran. He’s explaining to me and himself that he’s really a dangerous bastard and needs to be stopped. Jesse’s glass was empty. He stood and went back into his living room and made himself another one. He took it back out on the balcony and sat with his feet up on the rail and looked out over the dark harbor. Jesse felt some comfort in the fact that the Night Hawk had run. Maybe he wasn’t so dangerous. Maybe he protested that he was because he really knew he wasn’t. But why to me? He doesn’t need my approval. He needs the approval of the town. Jesse sipped quietly at his drink. And the chief is, for him, the face of the town. It was a clear night, but the moon was a slender crescent, and it shed very little light. Jesse took another sip of his drink. Approval isn’t quite it, Jesse thought. Fear? Respect? Fearful respect? Jesse drank again. Then he nodded to himself. He needs us to think he’s not a pathetic creep. He wants us to think he’s THE NIGHT HAWK! instead of the nasty little voyeur that he knows he is. Jesse finished his second drink and went back to the bar. As he mixed the third, he looked at his poster of Ozzie.
“Used to be simpler, Oz. Used to be whether you could go to your right and make the long throw. Used to be about could you sit on the fastball and adjust for the curve.”
Everything rode on questions like that, but not life or death. Baseball was the most important thing that didn’t matter that he’d ever known. Win or lose, you played again the next day, or the next year, as far ahead as you could see when you were nineteen and had an absolute cannon of an arm.
“Had a big arm, Oz,” Jesse said. “Bigger than yours, to tell you the truth. Didn’t have your hands. Didn’t probably have your bat. Couldn’t do a backflip. But I had a gun.”
He took his drink back to the balcony. Sixteen-ounce glass, lot of ice, lot of soda. The warm evening made the condensation bead up on the glass and run in tiny rivulets down the side.
Now I gotta worry about whether this guy needs respect enough to hurt one of these women.He drank.
“I guess we have to assume he might,” he said aloud in the empty stillness. “We got to assume he might.”
He drank some more.
37
SUITCASE SIMPSON came into Jesse’s office carrying a large paper bag.
“Seth Ralston,” Suit said.
He took a large Italian sandwich out of the bag and unwrapped it on Jesse’s desk.
“Is that a sub I see before me?” Jesse said.
“From AJ’s sub shop,” Suit said. “The best.”
“You have Daisy Dyke right up the street, who makes her own bread, and you’re buying mass-produced submarine sandwiches at AJ’s?”
“Yeah. I got one for you, if you want it.”
“You bet I do,” Jesse said.
Suit handed him a second sandwich, and Jesse unwrapped it on his desk.
“Seth Ralston?” Jesse said.
“And Hannah Wechsler,” Suit said. “Got ’em both for you.”
“And still managed to pick up some subs,” Jesse said. “What have you got.”
“I gotta get a Coke first,” Suit said. “You want one?”
“Just some water,” Jesse said.
Suit went out and returned in a minute with a Coke and a water from the refrigerator in the squad room.
“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 s
even. 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.”
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