Boston.”

“Go in,” Jesse said.

“It’s harder to brush you off.”

“You did a

lot of this in LA,” Perkins said. “You got any ideas.”

“When in doubt,” Jesse said,

“cherchez la ex-wife.”

“Wow,”

Perkins said, “it’s great working with a pro.”

10

She was taking the photographs of Kenneth Eisley down from the big oak-framed corkboard in the office.

“Leave that head shot,” he said.

“Memories?” she said.

“Trophy,” he said.

She smiled, and handed him the pile of discarded pictures.

“Shred these,” she said. “While

I put up the new

pictures.”

He began to feed the discarded photographs through the shredder.

“What is our new friend’s name?”

she said.

“Barbara Carey,” he said.

“Forty-two years old, married, no

children. Her husband’s name is Kevin. She’s a loan officer at the

in-town branch of Pequot. He’s a lawyer in Danvers.”

“They happy?”

“What’s happy?” he said.

“They go out every Saturday night,

usually with friends. They go to brunch a lot of Sundays. The second picture up, they’re coming out of the Four Seasons.

They

don’t fight in public. They both drink, but neither one seems to be

a drunk.”

“They own a dog?” she said.

“No sign,” he said. “I think

they’re too busy being successful

young professionals to get tied down by a dog.”

“That’s good,” she said.

“I still feel worried about Kenny’s

dog.”

She glanced at the remaining photograph of Kenneth Eisley.

“Somebody will find the dog and adopt him,” he

said.

“I hope so,” she said. “Dogs are

nice.”

He fed the last photograph into the shredder.

“Kevin usually leaves the house first in the morning,” he said.

“She leaves about a half hour later, at eight-thirty.”

“That means she’s home alone for half an hour every weekday

morning.”

“Yes, but it’s a neighborhood where

everyone is home looking out

the window,” he said.

“So where will we be able to do it?”

“She does the food shopping,” he said.

“At the Paradise Mall,” she said.

She pinned the last of the pictures onto the corkboard with a small red map tack, then stepped back beside him and the two of them looked at thirty-five photographs of Barbara Carey going about the business of her public life.

“Big parking lot,” he said. “At

the Paradise

Mall.”

11

Molly Crane had a pretty good body, Jesse thought, for a cop with three kids. The gun belt always looked too big for her. She adjusted it as she sat in the chair across from Jesse’s desk.

“I’ve been doing a little off-hours

snooping,” Molly

said.

Jesse waited.

“Into the rape thing.”

“Candace Pennington,” Jesse said.

“Yes.”

“How you doing?” Jesse said.

“Well,” Molly said, “mostly

I’m just watching. I park outside in my own car, no uniform, and watch her come to school, and go home.

During lunch hour, I hang out in the cafeteria kitchen and watch. I know the food service lady down there, Anne Minnihan.”

“Find out anything?”

“Maybe,” Molly said. “There was

a moment this morning in the

cafeteria. Three boys sort of circled her and they stood and talked for maybe two minutes. They were all big and she was against the wall, and you could barely see her. One of them showed her something. The boys laughed. Then they moved away.”

“How did Candace react.”

“Scared.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. She was terrified, and … something else.”

“Something else?”

“Yes. I can’t quite say what. It was like whatever they’d shown

her was … horrifying.”

“Know the boys?” Jesse said.

“Not by name, yet,” Molly said.

“But I’d recognize all of

them.”

“Okay,” Jesse said. “We

don’t want to cause this kid any more pain than she’s already in. You need to ID these three boys without

them knowing it.”

“They were big, one of them was wearing a varsity jacket. I’ll

check the sports team photos in the lobby,” Molly said.

“Out of uniform,” Jesse said.

“Just a suburban mom waiting to

see the guidance counselor.”

“Hey,” Molly said.

“I’m not old enough to have kids in high school.”

“Vanity, vanity,” Jesse said.

“Cops can be vain,” Molly said.

“Sure,” Jesse said.

“You’re thinking especially if

they’re female, aren’t

you?”

Jesse leaned back in his chair and put his hands up.

He said, “I don’t have a sexist bone in my body, cutie

pie.”

“Anyway,” Molly said,

“I’ve lived in this town my whole life.

I’ll get them ID’d.”

“Okay, as long as you keep the kid in mind.”

“Candace?”

“Yes.”

“Hard to investigate a crime without anyone knowing it,” Molly

said. “For crissake, we can’t even talk to the victim.”

Jesse smiled. “Hard, we do at once,” he said. “Impossible takes

a little longer.”

“Oh God,” Molly said, “spare

me.”

Jesse grinned. “Just be careful of

Candace,” he

said.

“You’re very soft-hearted,

Jesse.”

“Sometimes,” he said.

12

Kenneth Eisley’s former wife had resurrected her maiden name,

which was Erickson. She worked as a corporate trainer at a company called Prometheus Plus, which was located in an office park in Woburn, and Jesse talked to her there, sitting in a chair made of silver tubing across from her desk. The desk too was made of silver tubing, with a glass top.

“Do you have any idea why someone might kill your former

husband?” Jesse said.

Christine Erickson laughed briefly and without amusement.

“Other than for being a jerk?” she said.

“Was he enough of a jerk to get himself shot?”

“Not that kind of jerk,” she said.

“He was a harmless

jerk.”

“Such as?” Jesse said.

“He thought it was important, I mean he actually thought it was

seriously important, who won the Super Bowl.”

“Everybody knows it’s the World Series that matters,” Jesse

said.

Christine looked blankly at Jesse for a moment. Jesse smiled.

Her demeanor was calm enough, Jesse noticed, but her movements seemed tight and angular.

“Oh,” she said.

“You’re kidding.”

“More or less,” Jesse said.

“What else was annoying about

him?”

Christine was wearing a dark maroon pantsuit with a white blouse

and short cordovan boots with pointy toes and heels a little too high to be sensible. She was slim and good-looking, with auburn hair and oval wire-rimmed glasses. Behind the glasses, her eyes were greenish.

“He believed the ads on television,” she said without

hesitation.

She’s talked about his faults before, Jesse thought.

“He thinks what matters is looking good, knowing the right

people, driving the right car, owning the right dog … Oh God,

what about Goldie?”

“He’s healthy,” Jesse said.

“Dog officer has

him.”

“What’s going to happen to him?”

“I was hoping you’d take him,”

Jesse said.

“Me. God no. I can’t. I work twelve hours a day.”

Jesse nodded.

“Can you find him a home?” Christine said.

Jesse nodded.

“You think I should take him,” Christine said, “don’t

you?”

“I do,” Jesse said.

“I can’t have him home alone all day, peeing on my

rugs.”

Jesse nodded.

“Well, I can’t,” Christine said.

“‘Course not,” Jesse said.

“Hell, he was never my dog. Kenny just bought him because he