Sea Change

“I hope so,” Jenn said. “The image of you sitting alone in your office watching a gang bang is not a pretty one.”

“I think a gang bang requires more people,” Jesse said.

“This is more a ménage à trois, I believe.”

“It’s a ménage à yuck,” Jenn said. “What are you looking for?”

“Something I saw on a yacht yesterday afternoon,” Jesse said. “A brass monkey with a long brass tail, and I have some sort of subliminal memory that I saw something like it, or part of it, or something brass, on this tape.”

“A brass monkey tail,” Jenn said.

“Yeah,” Jesse said. “And the couch on the boat where they were eating lunch was the same color as the bed she’s having her liaison on.”

“Blue-and-yellow stripe,” Jenn said.

“Wow, you journalists are observant.”

“I think the correct phrase is still weather weenie, ” Jenn said. “At least until after they air my Race Week special.”

“Okay, ween,” Jesse said. “You’re still observant, want to help me watch?”

“Okay,” Jenn said, “but you better not enjoy it.”

Jesse clicked the remote again. The tape proceeded. Jesse and Jenn watched silently. As Florence shifted slightly in her delight, the camera moved right to stay on her, and something gleamed fractionally in the right corner of the screen.

“There,” Jenn said.

Jesse froze the frame, but it was past the flash. He rewound, 7 4

S E A C H A N G E

and went forward and froze the frame again, and this time he got it. Curling into the picture was a brass monkey tail.

“Every person on that boat said they didn’t recognize anyone in the pictures,” Jesse said.

“It doesn’t actually prove that it’s the same boat.”

“No, but it’s a pretty good coincidence,” Jesse said. “And coincidence just isn’t useful in cop work.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Get some stills made,” Jesse said.

“Then what?” Jenn said. “Confront them with it?”

“First I think I’ll check more on the boat. Some of those yachts are rented. These people may not have been aboard when Florence was. I need to be sure it has been around these parts long enough. She was in the water awhile.”

Jenn nodded.

“Why do you think she made that tape?” Jenn said.

“I don’t know,” Jesse said. “Could have been money.”

“That seems more like a home movie,” Jenn said. “Video camera with a light bar.”

“You would know amateur from professional?” Jesse said.

Jenn shrugged.

“I’ve seen a few porn films,” she said.

“And?”

“And nothing,” Jenn said. “I didn’t enjoy them.”

“But your date thought you would?” Jesse said.

Jenn shook her head and didn’t say anything. Jesse reeled himself back in.

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R O B E R T B . P A R K E R

“I have known women,” he said, “who were interested in seeing themselves having sex on film.”

“With two men at the same time?” Jenn said.

Jesse shrugged.

“Do you have any idea,” Jenn said, “how . . . how a thing like that would make a woman feel?”

“The men, too,” Jesse said.

Jenn looked startled.

“Yes,” she said. “I suppose that’s right. It doesn’t glamor-ize them, either.”

Jesse nodded.

“Most women I know don’t like that,” Jenn said.

“No,” Jesse said.

“But men do,” Jenn said.

“More than women, probably,” Jesse said. “Most men will look. Most men wouldn’t want to spend too much time looking. And almost all men know that it gets old really quick.”

“Why would you want to look at something that turns you into a thing?” Jenn said.

Jesse was quiet. They were veering into Dix territory again.

“You’re a man,” Jenn said. “Why do you think men are like that?”

This was about more than pornography, and in some vis-ceral way Jesse realized that it was about him. He took in some air.

“This could turn quickly into psychobabble,” Jesse said.

7 6

S E A C H A N G E

“But you’ve had enough shrink time to know what some of the reasons might be.”

“Objectification is control,” Jenn said.

Jesse nodded.

“Of what?” Jenn said.

Jesse shook his head and shrugged.

“Of the object,” he said.

“Are you still talking to Dix?” Jenn said.

“Some.”

“Well, you better keep it up,” Jenn said. “’Cause you’re getting crazier.”

7 7

17

J esse sat in his car on the tip of Paradise Neck, at Lighthouse Point. The car windows were down. The sea air was coming in gently,

and he was looking at the Lady Jane with a pair of good binoculars. The sailboat races were under way east of Stiles Island, and several of the yachts anchored at the harbor mouth had moved out to watch. Lady Jane stayed at anchor.

They hadn’t come for the races. They’d come for the cocktails. Jesse could count six people and three crew from where he sat, though he couldn’t see well enough to pick out Darnell or the mouthy blonde. He couldn’t see the brass monkey, either.

S E A C H A N G E

Molly called him on his cell phone.

“Why don’t you ever take your official chief car?” Molly said. “I keep trying to raise you on the radio.”

“I like mine better,” Jesse said.

“Christ,” Molly said. “You don’t drive the car, you hardly ever wear your uniform, you don’t use the department issue gun. What’s wrong with you anyway?”