places,” Dix said.

“Phone booths and movie theaters,” Jesse said. “Stuff like

that?”

“The danger of being caught increases the guilty pleasure.”

“So they know it’s wrong?”

“The Lincolns? Sure. Its wrongness is its appeal.”

“What will they do next?”

“I have no idea,” Dix said.

“What I’ve been giving you are

informed, or at least experienced, guesses. I’ve talked with a lot

of wackos in my life. All I can say by way of answer is that there is often an element of ritual in these kinds of crimes, and thus they would tend to keep repeating the ritual.”

“Doing the same thing over and over.”

“Yes.”

“In exactly the same way?” Jesse said.

“Yes.”

“Why do you suppose they were photographing my home?”

“I don’t know,” Dix said.

“Maybe they like to first possess the victim’s image.”

“Victim?”

“What do you think?”

“I think they want to kill me next.”

“They might,” Dix said.

54

It was snowing again. Pleasantly. Not the hard nasty snowfall of

a Northeast storm. This was the kind of fluffy downfall that would leave the town looking like a winter wonderland. In a day or two, the reemerging sun, and the strewn salt from the streets, would shrink it in upon itself, and it would become an implacable mix of dirt and ice, marked by dogs, and littered by people. But right now it was pretty.

“Pretty doesn’t have a long shelf

life,” Jesse

said.

“Are you speaking of the snow?” Marcy said. “Or

me.”

They were on the sofa looking through the window in the living room of her small house in the old downtown section of Paradise where the winding streets made the pre-revolutionary town seem older than it was. Marcy was drinking white wine. Jesse had club soda and cranberry juice.

“Snow,” Jesse said.

“It’ll be ugly by Thursday.”

“And I won’t.”

“No,” Jesse said. “You got a

long time yet.”

Marcy was wearing a gray dress. She had kicked off her heels and

put her stocking feet beside Jesse’s on the coffee table.

Jesse

drank some cranberry and soda.

“No wonder you have a drinking problem,”

Marcy said. “You drink

a lot of whatever’s in front of you.”

“Yeah, but think how clean my urinary tract is,” Jesse

said.

“Well, that’s certainly a

comfort,” Marcy said.

They were quiet, watching the snow. There was a small fireplace

faced with maroon tiles on the far wall of Marcy’s living room.

Jesse had made a fire.

“How long since you’ve had a

drink,” Marcy said.

“Two weeks.”

“Good for you,” Marcy said.

“I don’t drink anymore,” Jesse

said.

“You’re so sure?”

“Yes.”

“Whatever happened to ‘one day at a

time’?”

“I know what I know,” Jesse said.

“You think you’ll ever drink

again?”

“Not to excess,” Jesse said.

“You’re so sure.”

“I am.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Jesse said.

“Stuff changes.”

“How about Jenn,” Marcy said.

“How is she?”

“Don’t know. I haven’t seen her

in a couple of weeks,

either.”

“Will you see her again?”

“Yes,” Jesse said.

“So some stuff doesn’t change.”

“Maybe it does,” Jesse said.

“Just not as, what? … not as

simply as yes or no.”

“Relationships are hard,” Marcy said.

“Except ours,” Jesse said.

“We have a great advantage in ours,” Marcy said. “We don’t love

each other.”

“I know,” Jesse said.

They each took a drink. The snow came down very smoothly past the window.

“You got the kids that raped that girl,”

Marcy

said.

“Yes. They copped to a plea. Probation and community service.”

“No jail?”

“No jail,” Jesse said. “Kids.

First offense

…”

Jesse smiled slightly.

“On the other hand,” he said,

“their community service

assignment is me.”

“You rigged that, didn’t you.”

“I did.”

“Well, maybe they will get a taste of justice, at least.”

“Candace won’t,” Jesse said.

“You think she won’t get over

it?”

“I think the other kids won’t let

her.”

“Some of them will be kind,” Marcy said.

“And some of them won’t,” Jesse

said.

“And you can’t protect her.”

“No,” Jesse said. “I

can’t.”

“Well,” Marcy said. “You did

what you could, you closed the

case.”

“You been hanging around with me too long,” Jesse said. “You’re

starting to talk like a cop.”

“Or at least like you,” Marcy said.

“I’m a cop,” Jesse said.

“I know.”

“Sometimes I think that’s all I am,

everything I

am.”

“There are worse things,” Marcy said.

Jesse smiled at her.

“Like serial killing?” Jesse said.

“That would be worse,” Marcy said.

“Are you getting anywhere

with that?”

“Yes and no,” Jesse said. “I

know who they are. I can’t prove

it.”

“Who are they?”

“A couple, live over in the Seascape condos.”

“By Preston Beach,” she said.

“Yep.”

“What are their names.”

“Tony and Brianna Lincoln,” Jesse said.

“My God,” Marcy said. “I think I

showed them a house

once.”

“Recently?”

“No, maybe three years ago. Before they bought their condo.”

“Form any impressions?”

“No, yes, actually, I did. They were a pleasure. You know, you

bring a husband and wife to look at property and they usually are on each other’s case the whole trip. The Lincolns were great, really together. I remember thinking how nice it is to see that.

He’s not scornful of her questions about the house. She doesn’t

smirk at me when he speaks. They acted like people who liked each other and respected each other’s ideas.”

Jesse laughed a little.

“Still do,” he said.

“And you know it’s them?”

“There’s some evidence. They own

twenty-two ammunition. Their

car was parked in the row next to the one where the woman was killed at the Paradise Mall. A car that resembled their car, we didn’t get a number, was parked in the church lot where the guy got

killed coming home from the train. But we have no hard evidence. No ballistics, no prints, no eyewitness - God knows, no motive.”

“And you can’t just arrest them on cop-ly intuition?”

“Doesn’t seem fair, does it,”

Jesse said.

“So what will you do?”

“We’re excavating their past,”

Jesse said, “which seems to have

taken place in Cleveland. We’re trying to keep an eye on them twenty-four/seven.”

“You sound like that’s hard.”

“It is, in a small department in a small town. My guys haven’t

much experience.”

“You do.”

“Yes, I do,” Jesse said. “But I

can’t spend all day and night

keeping them under surveillance. I have to eat, to sleep, to conduct other police business, to fuck you.”

“Yes, fucking me is important.”

“Right now it seems like the only thing I’m any good at,” Jesse

said.

“Pays to specialize,” Marcy said.

“And if you’re fishing for a

compliment, you are very good.”

“Thank you.”

“State police can’t help with the

surveillance?” Marcy

said.

“They’ve taken over the routine night patrols for us,” Jesse

said.

“How about the gun, they must have a gun, if they buy

bullets.”

“We test-fired it,” Jesse said.

“The gun they own didn’t fire

the bullets that killed the victims.”

“So all you can do is watch and wait?”

“Maybe something will turn up in