Sea Change

“Oh. Well if she did come off a yacht, it’s strange no one has reported her missing.”

“No one seems to have reported her missing, yacht or no yacht,” Jesse said.

“We got five missing persons in the Northeast that could be her,” Molly said. “Except none of the dental IDs match.”

Jesse wore blue jeans and sneakers and a short-sleeved white police chief shirt, with the badge pinned to the shirt pocket. He carried the snub-nosed .38 that he’d brought with him from L.A. The issue gun, a nine-millimeter semiauto-1 9

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matic, she knew, was in the right-hand bottom drawer of his desk. His hair was cut short. He was tanned, and, Molly always noticed this about him, while he wasn’t a particularly big man he seemed very strong, as if his center were muscular.

The phone rang and Molly took it and said, “Yes ma’am.

We’ll have someone check right on it.” She wrote nothing down, and when she hung up she took no further action.

“Mrs. Billups?” Jesse said.

Molly nodded.

“Says there’s a man she doesn’t recognize walking past her house. He looks sinister.”

“How many is that so far this month?”

“Four,” Molly said.

“And this year?”

“Oh God,” Molly said, “infinity.”

“Mrs. Billups hasn’t got much else to occupy her,” Jesse said. “Who’s on patrol?”

“Suit.”

“Have him drive slowly past her house,” Jesse said.

“There’s nothing there, Jesse.”

“I know, and you know. But Mrs. Billups doesn’t know.”

“You are awful tenderhearted,” Molly said, “for a guy who banged Carl Radborn in the balls with a stick.”

“She’ll peek out the window when she sees the patrol car,” Jesse said. “Have Suit give her a little wave. Maybe a thumbs-up.”

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Molly shook her head in slow disapproval, but she turned as she did so, and called Simpson on the radio.

“Go do another Mrs. Billups drive-by,” she said.

“Oh shit, Molly, that old biddy sees things every day.”

Jesse leaned into the microphone.

He said, “Serve and protect, Suit.”

There was silence for a minute, then Simpson said, “Aye, aye, skipper.”

Jesse went into the squad room in back and got two coffees and brought one in for Molly.

“If you’re missing from a town or a city, people might not notice right away,” Jesse said. “But a yacht?”

“So she’s probably not off one of the yachts.”

“Or, if she is, people don’t wish it known,” Jesse said.

“Which would mean that someone murdered her.”

“Or that someone doesn’t want anyone to know she was on the yacht.”

Molly nodded.

“Like somebody else’s wife,” she said.

“Or a hooker, or a juror in a pending civil trial, or something neither of us can think of.”

“There’s nothing neither of us can think of,” Molly said.

“Except who the floater is.”

“ME can’t give you anything?”

“Sure they can,” Jesse said.

He looked at the ME’s initial report.

“Floater was about thirty-five. Alive she was about five-2 1

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seven, probably weighed a hundred and thirty pounds. Brown eyes, natural brunette. She was wearing an expensive dress and silk underwear when she died. She had been drinking.

She showed traces of cocaine, and she was a smoker. Her breasts had been enhanced. She was alive when she went in the water. She was not a virgin.”

“No kidding.”

“Just running down the list, Moll,” Jesse said. “She had never had children.”

“We could start checking with plastic surgeons,” Molly said. “See if any enhancement patients are missing.”

“If it were done by a plastic surgeon,” Jesse said. “Any MD can do this kind of surgery.”

“But most intelligent people wouldn’t go to an allergist or somebody,” Molly said. “Would you?”

“For breast enhancement?” Jesse said.

“You know what I mean,” Molly said.

Another call came in. Molly answered and listened and wrote down an address.

“Okay, Mr. Bradley,” she said. “I’ll have an officer there in a few minutes. Call back if there’s any problem. And stay away from the animal.”

“Rabid animal?” Jesse said.

“Skunk. Guy working on a roof up on Sterling Circle says it’s staggering and walking in circles in the street. He was on his cell phone.”

“Suit should have saved Mrs. Billups by now. Have him go up and shoot the skunk.”

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“What if it’s not really rabid?” Molly said.

“Family can sue us.”

Molly called Simpson. When she was through she turned back to Jesse.

“Do people like urologists really do plastic surgery?”

“They may legally do so,” Jesse said. “Some people don’t know one doctor from another. In the white coat they all look the same.”

“A woman wearing silk underwear would know,” Molly said.

Jesse grinned.

“Depends who bought the underwear,” he said.

“Still, odds are it would be a plastic surgeon. I can make some calls.”

“Sure,” Jesse said. “If we’re lucky, maybe she did them around here.”

“Of course,” Molly said. “She could have driven here from Grand Junction, Colorado, and parked on the Neck someplace and jumped in.”

“Except we haven’t found any abandoned vehicles,” Jesse said.

“Or someone was with her and threw her in and drove away.”