Passing In the Night

Passing in the Night

Chapter 2

Part 1

I met Simon Banks at the Police Academy. He was watching the day we were practicing hand-to-hand combat.

"Sandburg. Brown. Square off."

After some dodging and feinting, I knocked him down with a move that surprised not only him and the instructor, but me as well. Where the hell had that come from?

"Nice work, Sandburg." Simon Banks removed his ever-present cigar and grinned at me.

"Uh… Thank you, Captain."

"I want to talk to you. Al?" He glanced at the instructor.

"Sure, Simon. Sandburg, you're dismissed. The rest of you ladies hit the showers."

"Yes, sir." Slightly out of breath, I followed the Captain out of the gymnasium.

"Where'd you learn moves like that?"

"I don't know, sir. I'm serious," I assured him when his raised eyebrow told me he begged to differ.

"There was nothing in either your high school or college paperwork that suggests you took ROTC."

"I didn't." He'd looked into my file?

"Might your father have taught you something?"

"I never knew him. He was killed on Iwo Jima." I could have kicked myself for letting that slip, possibly giving away my real date of birth, but Captain Banks simply nodded.

"A lot of good men died on that island. An uncle, then?"

I couldn't prevent a laugh at the thought of Aunt Rebecca's husband teaching me anything other than how to cover a ship's network of pipes with asbestos. "No, sir."

"Hmmm. Well, your reaction to Brown's advance was definitely military."

"I watched a lot of war movies, Captain Banks." That made him laugh. "That's all I can think to explain it. Is it… is it important, sir?"

"No. I was just curious. Hit the showers. You don't want to be late for your next class."

"Yes, sir. No, sir. Thank you, sir." I breathed a surreptitious sigh of relief and hurried to the locker room.

But after that, whenever I turned around, he seemed to be watching me, his expression thoughtful.

Even after graduating from the Police Academy, I would run into him, and I would wonder what it was about me that he wanted to learn.

****

I was assigned to the 15^th Precinct, along with Henri Brown. Because we were rookies, we weren't partnered together, but after work, those times when Naomi was having a decent day and I didn't have to hurry home, we would go for a beer with his partner, Joel Taggart.

They were good men, and after two years on the force, I trusted them where I wouldn't trust some white cops.

Maybe it was because they were a minority. Maybe it was because in the two years we'd been on the force together, I'd never left them hanging. For whatever reason, I knew they had my back, even though I was queer.

I kept that aspect of my life to myself, but they learned about it one evening when I went to a bar after I'd clocked out.

I couldn't even say I was hoping to get lucky and get laid. I hadn't had sex in so long it felt like I was dating my right hand. The problem was every time I thought I was getting close to someone, he'd turn out to be not the one I wanted – too needy, too kinky, too… too.

I was in the men's room, contemplating the glory hole, trying to convince myself that sticking my dick in it wasn't an act of desperation. I'd seen the young man who was in the stall. He wasn't bad looking, not that it mattered.

Just then, two men entered.

"Jesus, Sandburg!" The hissing of sibilants made it sound like a tea kettle. "What are you doing here?" It was Joel Taggart.

"Uh… "

"Are you part of the bust?" Henri Brown. They were working nights out of Vice. Gay bars being busted was a fact of life – they could be shut down just for selling beer.

"Uh… " I felt my face go up in flames.

"Fuck, man, you better get your honkey ass out of here!"

"Yeah, man. Split! We'll tell Inspector Todd the can was empty."

"Thanks." I didn't say anything else, just grabbed the guy who'd been sitting in the john and slipped out the door, dragging him behind me and collaring another couple of young men who were heading in our direction.

"Hey!"

"Move it!" I hustled them out the back door, not offering any explanations. Just as it was closing, I heard the front door being smashed open, and a high-pitched voice squeak, "Don't nobody move!"

The next day I thanked Joel and H again. "I'm serious, man. You saved my ass. And my badge."

"Forget about it, Sandman." H had called me that ever since commencement, when the mayor of the city had given a speech that was so dry it had put me to sleep. "You've been there for me when it counted."

"Yeah, but… " I'd jumped in to help him when some bigoted assholes thought the color of his skin meant he shouldn't be a cop.

"Doesn't matter to us what butters your biscuit. If we hadn't seen you there last night, we'd never have guessed."

"I just got one question for you. Don't you like dark meat?"

My jaw dropped, and all I could do was stare at Brown.

"I mean, you never made a pass at either one of us."

"Did you want me to?"

"No. But .. "

"H, you're making my head hurt."

He laughed at me, and I flipped him off.

"The thing is, Sandburg," Joel remarked, "you've got enough going on being a Jewish cop. A *queer* Jewish cop… " He shook his head and laughed. "Just don't start decorating the squad room, okay?"

"Oh, what? You're fond of antique ugly? You're a sad, sad man, Taggart." But I was relieved to know I hadn't lost their friendship.

****

I was in the locker room, changing after shift, when Brown walked in.

"Where's your partner?"

I scowled at him. "O'Neill's gone for the day."

"I heard he's gonna try for detective again."

"Yeah. If he doesn't get it this time… What are you doing in here? Your shift's already started. I'd have thought you'd be with your partner."

"He's in the can. I thought I'd talk to you while I could."

"You want to talk to me?" I flirted my lashes at him. "Why, Officer Brown, darlin'! Are you gonna ask me out?"

"Asshole. Listen. What's up with you, Blair?"

"What do you mean, 'what's up with me'?"

"Captain Banks has been asking questions about you."

"Shit. About… " I thought of the night that gay bar had been shut down. H shook his head, and I blew out a relieved breath. "Then why?"

"Dunno, but he's with the Cap right now. Whyn't ya go see?"

"Yeah." I shut my locker and spun the combination. "I think I will."

Simon Banks was just exiting the Cap's office. He was dressed in civilian clothes.

"Ah. Sandburg. I was hoping I'd run into you."

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you in a hurry?"

"No, sir."

"I'd like to buy you a cup of coffee, then."

We walked around the corner to Rosie's Diner. Cops ate breakfast there before shift, dinner there after shift, and coffee any time in between.

"Two coffees, Rosie. One black, one regular."

"How did you know I take my coffee regular?"

"I know a lot about you, Sandburg." He pointed to a booth in the back, and waited until I went first.

I slid onto the vinyl seat and folded my hands on the table. My mouth was dry, and my gut started to twist into a knot. "Is something wrong, Captain?"

"Should there be?"

"Police captains don't usually invite patrolmen for a cup of coffee. And they don't generally know how their subordinates take their coffee."

Babs, the older waitress, approached just then, and put two glasses of water before us. "Rosie's makin' a fresh pot."

"Thanks, Rosie," he called, and she gave him a wave to let him know she'd heard him.

Babs turned her smile on me. "Hi, Blair. We got blueberry pie if you want?"

I shook my head. I'd have blueberry stains all over my teeth, and that was the last thing I needed to worry about during an interview with someone in the upper echelons.

"When you gonna ask me out, sugar?"

"Ah, Babs, I can see it clearly. We go out, I fall in love with you and let you have your wicked way with me, and then you leave me for someone taller and break my heart."

She grinned and fluffed her hair. "That's the truth, sugar." She sashayed back behind the counter.

Captain Banks laughed softly.

I picked up the glass and took a small sip, determined this time not to say anything.

"I've been looking through your files."

Fuck. This was it. He was going to tell me he'd learned I was too young and would boot me off the Force.

Naomi was doing better, but going back to work was out of the question, even if she'd been given the green light by her pulmonologist. She had to stay away from any place where smoking was allowed, which left out the Starlight Lounge and every bar and restaurant in the city of New York.

I needed this job for the Major Medical, if nothing else.

The coffee arrived, and I brought the cup to my lips.

"You didn't tell me you'd been to Peru."

"Excuse me?"

"You spent four months in Peru."

"Well… yes, I did. I was on a field trip with Professor Stoddard for the anthropology course I was taking."

"What part of Peru were you in?"

"Uh… Iquitos, on the Peruvian Amazon."

"Did you go south? Anywhere near the Chopec Pass in La Montaña region?"

I opened my mouth to tell him 'yes', but nothing came out. I swallowed, then said, "Why are you asking me this, Captain?"

"A friend of mine traveled to Peru. I haven't seen or heard from him in a few years. His name is Jack Pendergrast."

I knew that name. Again, I could tell him nothing.

"Jack and I were in the Army together." He began to talk about Pendergrast, about their tours of duty in the Pacific Theater during World War II, in Korea during that conflict. "He saved my ass more times than I like to recall. I owe him."

"He sounds like a swell guy, Captain, but ..."

"You can't tell me anything. I understand. Look, would you mind if we got together for coffee every now and then. I'd like to talk to someone about him."

"He had no family you could talk to, sir?"

"No. He had a … No."

I wondered what Captain Banks was going to say.

"It's sad, I know, but you having been in Peru is about as close to him as I can get."

"Well… well, that would be fine, Captain."

"I don't bite, I promise." He studied my eyes, then smiled, and I realized he hadn't had a cigar in his mouth the entire time. "And maybe I can get O'Neill off your ass. Babs! Bring us a couple of slices of blueberry pie. And don't be stingy with the whipped cream!"

****

That was the start of our friendship. We'd meet at least once a week for coffee and a slice of blueberry pie, and he'd tell me about Jack Pendergrast, about how he'd taught at a military academy for a time, then quit to do … something else.

"He always could be a close-mouthed son-of-a-bitch," Captain Banks had chuckled. I'd looked up sharply, but there had been no malice in his expression.

I talked about Peru and what it had been like. I never told him that I had met Jack Pendergrast, if only for a short time. At least, I assumed it was a short time. And I never mentioned that there were almost three weeks that I couldn't remember.

When I first had the idea about taking the test to become a detective, I brought it up to him, and when I got my detective's badge I didn't know who was more proud, Simon or Naomi. And he offered his help if I should ever need it.

A year or so later, he left the force and opened Banks, his own security agency. He provided men to guard banks and art museums, and the occasional bodyguard. He, himself, kept his hand in by doing some private investigating.

We still got together every other week, and he'd tell me about his men and the jobs they handled, but it was Megan Connor, Simon's secretary, who whetted my curiosity about Jim Ellison.

Megan was an Australian transplant who'd come to America to become a Radio City Rockette. A bad break had left her leg unable to bear the stress of a dance routine, and she'd found herself out of work. She'd fallen in love with Manhattan, though, and she'd stayed, putting herself through secretarial school and getting the job with Simon.

On this particular day, I'd come to see him about something I was working on. Normally, I would have waited until our regular meeting at Rosie's, but this case had been driving me nuts. Now I was pretty sure I had a handle on it, and I'd wanted to share that with Simon.

Banks seemed to be empty, but then I heard something in the break room. I strolled down the corridor and gazed in to find one of Simon's younger guards. He must have been going off shift because he was dressed in casual clothes.

"Well, hello, Gabe."

He jumped and almost spilled some coffee onto his jeans. "Blair. Detective Sandburg." He put the cup down and smiled at me.

"You can call me Blair. I was looking for Simon, but finding you is even better." I'd seen him checking me out whenever I stopped by, so I flirted with him. "Are you busy?"

"Oh, I… I… " He was breathless. "No. I was just… "

"Want to have dinner with me?" I hadn't been on a date in forever, he was cute, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

"Oh, yes, I'd… "

I crowded him back until his knees hit the sofa and he sat down. I leaned over, gripped his biceps, and brought him back to his feet. I had just started kissing him, when there was a low wolf-whistle behind us.

Megan had walked in.

Gabe's arms, which had been around my neck, were withdrawn hastily, and he shoved me away. His face was beet red. "He... he started it!"

"Looked to me like you were enjoying it," Megan remarked.

Gabe sputtered for a second, then rushed out, pulling the door shut behind him.

"I thought no one was here. Where were you?" I asked ruefully.

"In the ladies room. So, that's why you've never made a pass at me."

"Are you upset?"

"Actually, I'm relieved. I thought I was losing my touch. Are you going after him?" She nodded toward the door that had almost hit Gabe in the ass in his rush to leave.

"No, I don't think so. If he's embarrassed to be seen kissing me, then I don't think he's the one for me." There hadn't been 'a one' for me in quite some time.

She looked thoughtful, and then her expression smoothed out. "You were here for a reason, Sandy?"

"I need to see your boss."

"Simon's at JFK picking up Daryl. He'll be staying for the summer."

Simon had been married for a short time just after he'd left the military. His wife Joan was a good woman from what he'd said, but she'd gotten ill and died.

Hearing about that frightened me. She'd been even younger than Naomi.

She'd left Simon with a toddler, and ill-equipped to care for such a young child by himself, he'd left Daryl with her parents, who lived in Cascade, in Washington State. He saw the boy on long school holidays, and in the summer, but the grandparents were getting older, and he was talking about having Daryl with him permanently.

"He's gonna be busy, then. Okay, I'll catch him another time. I just wanted to tell him his tip paid off. We picked up Joey Ten Thumbs last night."

"Nice going, Sandy. I'll let him know." She went to pour herself a cup of coffee.

"Thanks, Megan. I'll see you." I walked out of the break room.

"Psst." The door to the men's room was cracked open. "Psst!"

Curious, I sauntered back towards it. A hand snaked out, latched onto my arm, and dragged me into the bathroom.

"I'm sorry." It was Gabe. "I got nervous when Megan walked in. I don't want anyone to know… I… I do want to have dinner with you." 

"Great. Where would you like to go?"

"Gabarino's? It's the theater district."

"That sounds fine." I'd taken Naomi and Simon to the Italian restaurant after I'd gotten my detective's badge. She'd loved the veal marsala. "Give me your address, and I'll pick you up around 6."

"No! Er… No. I'll meet you there, okay?"

That should have warned me, but he was cute, and I shushed the little voice in my head.

I really should have listened.

We sat down across from one another, ordered dinner, and he toyed with his breadstick, his water glass, his napkin.

"So tell me a little about yourself, Gabe." I tried the old-fashioned art of conversation.

"Oh, I was born, I grew up, I'm here in the Big Apple."

"But what happened in between."

"Nothing."

"Well, how long have you been in New York?"

"A while." The date was going nowhere fast.

"What's up, Gabe?"

"My boyfriend… "

"You have a boyfriend?" He refused to meet my eyes. I sighed. I hadn't really given much thought to the possibility that I might get laid, but a smidgen of hope had been there. It had been a very long time. "You're on the rebound?"

"Nnnno."

 

"Gabriel!" One of the most feminine-looking men I had ever seen stalked to our table. He was about 5'4", wearing a skin-tight jumpsuit, and his face was made up with grease paint. "You bitch!"

"You followed me?" Gabe's expression was a mixture of indignation and excitement.

"Reggie told me, but I didn't believe him! I had to see it for myself. I rushed right over from the club … You… Our place. Our table. How could you?" The little queen turned to me. "And how could you?" Tears streaked his face with eyeliner. "You brute! Breaking up our home… "

"We were just having dinner..." I tried to defend myself, unsure exactly how I'd gotten into this predicament.

"Dinner now, bed later," he sneered.

"No, really… "

 

"Oh, what? He isn't good enough for you?"

"Excuse me?" I blinked.

"Baby, no, it wasn't like that. I promise you."

"I know you, Gabriel. You tramp, you slut, you... "

"You weren't paying any attention to me." His tone was sulky. "What did you expect me to do?"

"I expected you to be at home after work. Waiting for me to come home from work. I'm going to miss the first performance! Now, get on your feet and march! I'll deal with you later. As for you… " He glared at me, leaned down, and snarled, "Go near him again, and I'll tear your balls off and stuff them down your throat. I may be small, but I'm mean!"

They left. I looked around to find myself the focus of interested eyes, and I felt color rise to my hairline.

There was a touch to my arm. It was the waiter. "The manager requests you not make a scene." He handed me the check and a bag. "Your dinner, sir."

I paid him. At least I was getting dinner. And Naomi would enjoy it. I walked out of the restaurant.

Gabarino's had always been a little stuffy.

****

The next time I paid a visit to Banks, Megan mentioned that Gabe had quit. "Just like that." She snapped her fingers. "Told me to mail his paycheck. What did you do to him?"

"Me?" Why did everyone think I was this Casanova? "He had a boyfriend!"

"Hmmm." She studied me carefully. "All right. I'll have to see if I can find someone for you."

"Uh… Megan, I'd really rather you didn't… "

But true to her word, she let me know whenever she came across a cute guy – at the grocery store or the movies or in the park.

"You don't even know if they're queer," I pointed out.

"It wouldn't hurt for you to ask."

"You saw what happened with Gabe."

"That was a complete and utter mistake. Which you engineered, all by yourself."

"Hey!" I protested.

"Now, there's a very personable young man behind the counter at Barney's... "

I found myself wondering what she was doing in a men's store, but refrained from asking. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"You keep telling me that."

"Any chance one day you're going to take me at my word?"

"No."

"Okay, but I'm going to keep trying."

Part 2

It was a hot and muggy August day. I walked into Banks, loosening my tie and running a hand through my hair. I gave a fond thought to the short-sleeved uniforms I'd worn when I'd been a patrolman.

Megan looked up from her desk. "Hi, Sandy!" There was a little smile on her lips. "Simon's thinking about hiring a new boy."

I raised an eyebrow. After the debacle that had been Gabe, we'd come to a mutual agreement to stay away from Simon's employees.

"His name's Jim Ellison. A friend of Simon's was a friend of his. Jack Pendergrast."

I made a noncommittal sound. Simon hadn't talked about him in quite some time, and he still had no idea that I'd met Pendergrast briefly ten – jesus, it was already ten years? – ago. I wondered if I tried to talk about that time, if I'd finally be able to.

"Sandburg, you were here for a reason, or was it just to flirt with my secretary?"

"Uh… " It never failed to amaze me that even after all these years, Simon had no idea of my sexual orientation. "Actually, I do have a reason." I followed him back to his office and laid out the case I was working on.

"Ah. Those girls who are being stabbed. The Secretary Slasher?"

"That's the one." The bastard didn't really slash. He slid his knife between their ribs, then let them spill out of his arms onto the sidewalk and took a souvenir, a watch, a necklace, a ring. "This time our killer took an earring. With her ear."

"He's escalating."

"Yeah."

"I've been reading about it in the News."

"Yeah. Sam Samuels. He gave him the name." I ran a hand through my hair. "We're getting some pretty strange stuff going on this time. Would you believe a midget came in to confess? We don't know much about this son-of-a-bitch, but Dan Wolf was able to extrapolate from the placement of the wounds that he's about six feet tall. I told Mr. Kupperman that, and he puffed up and claimed he was a master of disguise. And when I refused to accept his story, he said I was prejudiced against little people. Asked if I would let my sister marry one."

Simon was struggling to hide a grin. "You don't have a sister, Sandburg."

"That's what I told him. He said that was a bigot's answer if ever he heard one."

He lost the struggle and burst into laughter. "Sorry," he was finally able to say.

"Yeah, well. Anyway, right now I'm hitting a blank wall."

"I'll have my boys listen for any information."

"Thanks, Simon."

He patted my shoulder, then glanced at his watch. "Damn. I've got a prospective employee coming, Blair."

"Jim Ellison?"

"Someone's been talking, I see."

"You know Megan. Look, I've got to get going myself. The Cap is planning a meeting about this clown." I smoothed my hair and straightened my tie. "Good luck with your new guy. Keep an eye out for me, Simon!" I opened the door and walked right into a chest. "Oops, sorry."

I trotted toward the subway entrance down the block and caught an uptown train.

****

Simon wasn't able to come up with a tip, but one of my informants was. The Cap decided that I would go undercover as the newest secretary in the insurance company where our killer worked in the mailroom.

I shaved my legs and donned a straight blonde wig and mini skirt, and found a padded bra in my size.

"Don't ask me about visiting a ladies lingerie department, Cap. It was an experience I don't want to repeat!"

I was also wearing something to cover my ribs. Joel had helped me rig up a gizmo with tape and fine wire mesh.

When George Wimbley tried to slide his knife between my ribs, he got a surprise. He got an even bigger one when I tossed him over my shoulder, straddled his hips and yanked his arms behind his back, and cuffed him.

I got off him and removed the wig, rubbing my scalp. His eyes goggled. "Damn. You was such a pretty woman."

Taggart and Brown looked away and coughed, and I growled at them. "Book this asshole!"

So we caught the slasher, when I went to tell Simon about it, I learned that Jim Ellison had got the job.

I'd met most of Simon's men at one time or another, but for some reason, I kept missing him.

"You ought to come by on payday, Sandy. I think you'll like him. He's very cute. His hair is short, but it's the kind of texture you just want to run your palm over."

"How do you know what it feels like?"

"What do you think? I made an excuse to see for myself."

"Forward wench. But how do you know he's … um… that he'd like me?"

"I'm trying to tell you, Sandy, if you'd let me get a word in edgewise."

I nodded and pretended to sew my lips shut.

"All right then, mate. This was a while back, four, maybe five years ago. I was dating a very nice gentleman who had a very poor sense of direction. He wanted to take me to the Copa, but we wound up … somewhere else. I think it was called The Leather Jacket. It was a homosexual bar, but we didn't realize that until we went in for a drink. I happened to see our man Jim there. He was with a very handsome man who was all over him. And it was obvious that Mr. Ellison did not mind in the least."

"Very handsome, huh?" Well, that let me out. I did pretty well in the looks department, and I could even go up against handsome, but 'very handsome'? I laughed and shook my head. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"I'm not a gossip," she declared righteously, then laughed, spoiling it. "Why don't I tell him you're interested? I'm pretty sure he is. Every time I talk about you, his ears perk up."

"His… Yeah?"

"Mmm hmmm. You bumped into him the day Simon hired him, you know."

"That was him?" Now that I thought of it, that chest had felt really firm. I hoped she couldn't see how my body reacted to that bit of information.

"Yes."

"Megan," I cleared my throat, "I'm a grown man. If I want to ask someone out, I can do that all by myself."

She put a sheet of paper into the typewriter.

"I can."

She flipped open her steno pad and began to type.

"Uh… let me think about it?"

Megan paused in her typing. "Piece of advice, Sandy. Don't wait too long. He's very cute."

But it was the holiday season, things got busy, and there just wasn't time.

I stopped at Banks  to drop off a tray of Christmas cookies. "Hellooooo! Where is everyone?"

Simon poked his head out the break room door. "The boys will be trailing in soon. Megan's gone up to Friedman's Deli to get the sandwich platter they do for us. Do I smell cookies?"

"Naomi made 'em." No one knew that my mother couldn't cook, much less bake. I made the cookies and said they were from her because New York City detectives didn't spend time in the kitchen.

He hurried toward me and lifted the lid of the box, and helped himself to a Santa covered in green and red sprinkles. "Be sure to thank her, Blair. How is she, by the way?"

"Better, thanks." Occasionally, she'd have a relapse, and she'd spent Thanksgiving in the hospital. "I think after the New Year I'm gonna see if she can spend some time with my cousin Franklin. This is shaping up to be a really cold winter, and the air hurts her lungs."

"I have something for her. I'll be right back."

"Sandy!" Megan came from behind me. She wore her winter coat, and her arms were around a box bearing the logo of Friedman's Deli. "Happy Chanukah!"

"Merry Christmas!"

"Are those Naomi's cookies? Bring them along!"

I followed her into the break room. While she unloaded the box, I looked around the room. There was a Christmas tree in the corner with presents piled under it, a menorah on top of the small fridge, and pine garlands draped along the walls. A portable record player was stacked with what I assumed were Christmas records.

A few television tray tables that I knew Simon kept in the storeroom were scattered around for his employees' eating convenience, and I set the cookies down on one of them.

Megan had taken a platter out of the box and put it on the table, and now she was removing the plastic wrap that protected it. The sandwiches were cut into neat triangles and stacked high.

"Can you stay for the party?" She took out a container that held pickles and another one that was divided for different types of olives. Then she put jars of mustard and mayonnaise beside the platter.

"No, I have to be back at the Precinct." I'd been working the night shift for the past few years. "I just wanted to wish you and Simon Merry Christmas and give you your presents." I kissed her cheek and handed her a flat box.

"Tickets to Man of La Mancha! Sandy, thank you! I've been dying to see this!" She threw her arms around me and hugged me so tight I thought my ribs were in danger of cracking. I eased her arms off me, but she didn't notice. She was too busy petting the tickets. "I'll ask Evan."

"Who?"

"Evan. My newest flame. He's a sweetie. You have to meet him sometime. Just let me put these away." She ran out of the room, and I took the opportunity to take a sandwich. Then she was back. "And this is for you and Naomi." She took a couple of boxes from under the tree and handed them to me. I opened mine.  It contained a yellow and black hand-knitted scarf.

"Thanks, Megan."

She pinched my cheek. "You gonna look so cute!"

I wrapped it around my neck. I was gonna look like a bumblebee.

"I knitted one for Naomi too, only it's pink and purple."

"I'm sure she'll love it."

Megan positively beamed. "So. Any plans for the New Year?"

"I've got the night off. Can you believe that? That's the first time since I've been on the force!"

"Nice. Do you have a date?"

"No. It's not an evening I want to spend with just anyone. I thought I'd go up to Times Square by myself and watch the ball drop." I helped myself to another sandwich.

"You're spending it alone?" Megan made clucking noises. "Chicken."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Sandy. Jim would go out with you in a minute. Why haven't you asked him? No, never mind, I don't want to hear any excuses. Men. Straight or queer, there's no difference."

"I beg to differ."

She smacked my arm.

"Hey!"

"Well, it doesn't matter. Jim is busy too."

My stomach clutched. Was he seeing someone?

Megan blithely continued, "He's working two jobs."

"Oh, well, there you go. We're both busy men."

"That may be, but as far as I can see, you're both only busy with work."

Simon came in, bringing that conversation to a halt, much to my relief. He was carrying two packages. "These are from me and Daryl, for Naomi and you."

"Thanks, Simon." I gave him a slim, flat box. He tore off the wrapping paper. "You're as bad as a kid!"

"Ah, Blair! Daryl is going to love this!" He held tickets for the first Knicks' basketball game at their new arena in Madison Square Garden on 33^rd Street. "*I* love this! Thank you!"

"You're welcome." I set Naomi's present aside and opened mine. "Oh. Simon."

"Are they okay? Do you like them? Daryl and I found them in a used book store. I'm not too sure about the titles … "

"Simon, thank you! These are… I don't have words!" The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana, The Perfumed Garden of the Shykh Nefzawi, and best of all, Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night – a manuscript edition. They were all translated by Sir Richard Burton.

I stroked the covers and couldn't wait to get home to start reading them.

****

I hadn't been joking when I'd told Megan I would only take someone out on New Year's Eve if I were serious about him.

New Year's Eve had always been a special holiday to me. I'd talked Butch into sneaking out of the house and ringing in the New Year the year he and his mother had left.

This was the first New Year since then that I'd been in Times Square when I hadn't been working. It was… interesting.

The ball came down, and – as they said – the crowd went wild. There were noise makers and fireworks, but I'd been a cop too long not to recognize gunshots when I heard them.

I started shouldering my way through the crowd, heading east.

When I got there, the mounted cops had it under control. "Hey, Sandman!"

I groaned. I was going to shoot Henri Brown one day for giving me that nickname.

"Hi, Walt." We'd been in the same class at the Academy, but he'd always wanted to work the mounted detail, and he'd gotten transferred to it as soon as he could.

"Don't you ever not work on New Year's Eve?"

"I'm not on duty tonight!"

He glanced around at all cops. "So what are you doing here if you're not working?"

"I heard gunshots. What's going on?"

He snorted, a disgusted sound. "A couple of teenagers showing off for their girlfriends. We confiscated their fathers' guns. The 53^rd's handling it. They're taking the kids to the Precinct, and their daddies will be getting a call shortly." His horse started to dance. "I'd better get going before Ben steps on your toes." He leaned down and extended his hand. "Happy New Year, Blair."

"Happy New Year, Walt."

The area was quieting down as the crowd thinned and people left to find a party or somewhere warm. The nip in the air was definitely becoming more noticeable. No sense in staying here attracting cold germs.

I went down into the subway and showed my badge to the old man in the token booth.

"Better hurry, Detective. The train'll be here in a minute, an' if you miss it, you'll have an hour's wait!"

"Thanks, Pop." I hopped over the turnstile rather than going through the gate and dashed down the steps to the platform. It was pretty empty. Across the tracks on the downtown side was a lone traveler. His back was to me, and he was staring up the track, looking for his train. I grinned. It was such a New York thing to do. Even out-of-towners did it after they'd been here a while.

In a moment of whimsy I was about to call, 'Happy New Year' to him, but his train pulled in, the doors slid open, and he stepped into the car.

And then my train arrived, and I forgot about it.

Part 3

Whenever Megan would ask when I intended to ask Jim Ellison out on a date, I'd find an excuse why I hadn't, couldn't, would do it soon. Refurbishing the apartment I'd moved Naomi to as soon as I could afford it after I'd graduated from the Academy, getting Naomi on her flight to San Francisco to visit Franklin and his wife and kids, and the ever-popular swamped with work.

And so, before I knew it, we were into February.

I walked into the squad room and hung up my coat. My shift would be starting in about twenty minutes, and I figured I might as well get a head start.

O'Neill, the man who had been my partner when I'd been a patrolman, was holding court at his desk. He looked around when he heard the door close, and his expression soured when he saw me. He had made detective only a year or so before I had, and that was a wild hair up his ass.

He turned back to Monaghan and McGaffney, who were looking bored. "And I got another fucking murder case!" he groused. "A strangulation."

"I thought those were the kind you liked," Monaghan remarked innocently, surprising a laugh out of me. O'Neill was the kind of policeman who made 'cop' sound like a four-letter word.

"Not just before I'm gonna retire." He scowled at me. "The victim is a goddamned faggot! I could tell by the prissy way the apartment looked. His boyfriend probably decorated it. Doilies and shit like that. I bet they had a tiff." He stuck out his little finger and spoke in a lisping falsetto. "'Oh, precious, I don't like that color slipcover for the loveseat. It doesn't match the drapes.' As far as I'm concerned, that's one less homo, and the world is better off."

"So did you talk to the boyfriend?"

His scowl deepened. "Haven't been able to track him down."

"Hasn't been able to find anything to back his theory either," McGaffney muttered as he passed my desk.

"Whether or not he was homosexual, he was still a human being, O'Neill. He didn't deserve to be killed, to die before his time."

He curled his lip. "What, are you a fag now too?"

"And if I was? You want to take it outside? In the alley?"

He backed off. He was taller that I was, and he had about twenty-five pounds on me, but still, he backed off. "If my hernia wasn't acting up, I'd mop up the squad room with you."

"Yeah, sure. Isn't your shift over? Go home, O'Neill. Your wife may have to put up with your bullshit, but I don't."

He left, grumbling as he walked out of the squad room and slamming the door for good measure.

I wasn't surprised when that case went cold after only a week.

****

It was the Monday before St. Patrick's Day, and I was at home having breakfast even though it was almost noon. I poured milk over a bowl of Frosted Flakes, then sliced a banana on top of it. The midmorning radio personality on WMCA was talking about the City gearing up for the Parade this coming Sunday.

The telephone rang. "Sandburg."

"We've got a homicide on Central Park West." It was the Captain. "Your team is on it."

'My team' was Joel Taggart and Henri Brown. Taggart had made detective about the same time as O'Neill had, and Brown a year after I did. There was a lot of bullshit in the locker room about affirmative action, but they were good men and had worked hard to get the position.

"Wait a sec, Captain. We're working the 4-to-midnight shift. Where's O'Neill?"

"He's in the hospital."

"His hernia?"

"Yeah. This is a priority." Which probably meant the victim had money or came from a prominent family. "As of this minute, you're on 8-to-4. Taggart and Brown have already been dispatched to the scene. Santini is out with the flu, so Wolf will be the coroner on this one. The man who found the body lives on the same floor, and I want you to talk to him." He rattled off the address, gave me time to verify it, then hung up.

"And a good afternoon to you too, Cap." I sighed and took a last spoon of cereal, then emptied my bowl into the sink and looked down at myself. I was in jeans and a flannel shirt. There were some errands I'd needed to run before I dressed for work. I guessed they'd have to wait.

I went to the bedroom. At least it was tidy. I always made the bed as soon as I got up. I changed into white shirt, a suit, and tie, and fastened my holster at my waist.

The temperature had dipped during the night, and I'd need my overcoat. I rode down in the elevator, worrying my lower lip. Why had the Cap put us on this case?

The subway didn't care if you were a detective on the job. There was another breakdown on the B line. I ran back up to the street and caught a Number 10 bus just as its doors were swinging shut.

"Let me off on 74^th Street?" I showed the driver my badge, and he nodded.

There wasn't much traffic, and he caught every light. It wasn't long before he pulled up to the curb, and I got off in front of the 50 story building. There were a couple of black and whites parked in front of it.

"Excuse me, sir. Do you live here?" a young cop asked as I entered the building. He couldn't have been more than a month out of the Academy. "If you don't… "

His partner gave him a poke. "He's one of us. Hi, Detective Sandburg."

"Hi, Nixon. This your new partner? He's lucky. You're a good teacher."

"Thanks."

I turned to go toward the elevators.

"Detective Sandburg? He's the Sandman? But he's … short!"

"Shhh!"

I pretended I hadn't heard.

"Detective Sandburg! Detective!" It was Sam Samuels, who reported for The Daily News.

"I'm busy, Sam."

"Aw, come on. Gimme a break. What's going on here?"

"I can't tell you. I'm just getting here myself."

"On your way down, then? Okay?"

A uniformed officer was by the elevator. I showed him my badge. "You'll need this, sir." He handed me a key.

"Thanks." I inserted the key in the slot and pressed the button for 50. The doors slid shut on the sight of Sam trying to get some information out of the uniform.

Another officer stood at the door to the penthouse apartment. "Detective." He opened the door, and I went it.

Henri was coming toward me. "Joel's in the big bathroom, Blair. Straight down that hallway and to the right. It's through the bedroom. That isn't where he was killed, though. There are two gouges in the carpeting. He was dragged. From one of the living rooms, it looks like. That's at the other end of the penthouse."

"Who called this in?"

"A Marc Addams. He lives on this floor, too. There are three penthouse apartments on this side of the building."

"Where is he?"

"I told him to wait in the study. That's…uh… " He looked blank for a second. "Geez, this place is huge," he griped.

"Never mind. I'll take a look at the body and then go find him."

"Y'know something, Blair? This place is almost too clean."

"You think someone may have come in and wiped it down? Well, I guess we'll see." Riley and Stephens, the Print boys, were already here. Maybe they would find something.

"We'll keep our fingers crossed. I'm gonna talk to the other tenant on this floor and see if he knows anything."

"One other thing, H. This building has almost as much security as Fort Knox. You might want to question the doorman, see if he saw anything, if anyone struck him as odd."

"Good idea. I'll let you know what I learn." He walked out of the penthouse.

I went down that hallway and to the right, and into the bedroom.

I blinked. The room was almost as large as the apartment that Naomi and I had had on Lexington and 3^rd. There was an alcove with a daybed. Beside it was a long, low glass table standing on wrought iron legs. An armoire, which stood open, contained a television. Paintings of nude men in various poses, alone, in pairs, a quartet – arms and legs and hard, curved asses.

I shut my mouth, feeling like a hick in the big city for the first time.

The canopied bed had to be at least four feet off the floor. "Jesus! Is there a Sherpa around? This looks as high as Mount Everest!"

One of the two men dusting for prints glanced around and nodded at me. "Yeah, I know what you mean. You need a friggin' ladder to get into bed!"

"Unbelievable." There was actually a stepstool beside it.

"Say, I thought this was O'Neill's case?"

"He's in the hospital."

"His hernia?" The other shook his head. "He really oughta do something about that."

"The Cap said something about an operation."

They snorted and got back to work. O'Neill wasn't too well-liked.

I started to go toward the bathroom. In the corner by the door was a tall, leafy plant. I touched the soil. It had recently been watered. I dried my fingers off on my trousers and walked into the bathroom.

I blinked again.

I'd never seen anything like it. It was huge and contained a sunken tub large enough to comfortably host an orgy; the shower was separate. There were cabinets and closets, a sink topped with a marble counter and with what I was pretty sure were gold fixtures. I didn't think anything as mundane as brass would be permitted in this apartment.

The scent of death was heavy in the air. Joel looked up from where he crouched beside the corpse and nodded in somber greeting.

Sprawled over the john was a man who had been, at one time, very handsome, but now… his tongue was black and protruding. His cheeks were mottled. The whites of his eyes were dotted with red, the blood vessels having ruptured. Around his throat were the imprints of two brutal hands.

Joel rose and shook his head. "He must have pissed someone off to a very large degree."

"I'll say. It would have taken a strong man to overpower someone of his size." I figured he was about 6'2" and tipped the scales at 195, maybe a bit more. It didn't look like fat, either. The polo shirt he wore molded the muscles of his arms and torso lovingly.

"Dunno about that. I got the smell of alcohol. If he was drunk, a smaller man could have done it."

"It looks like he was attacked from behind. Notice the indentations at the front of his throat?"

"Yeah. And check out the back of his neck. Thumb prints?"

"Yeah. Dan will have to let us know after the autopsy." Joel handed me something. "His little black book?"

"Yeah. I found it in the night stand. Found some other things in there too. I swear to god I have no idea what a man would use those things for! And would you take a look at this?" He walked toward the counter beside the sink and began to lay down pieces of glossy paper. "This was buried underneath everything else."

The pieces were a professional photograph that had been torn again and again. It was like a jigsaw puzzle, and I helped him put them together to reveal the subject.

I caught my breath. His light brown hair was thick and fell in a disordered style, as if someone had run his fingers through those strands. I wanted to run my fingers through them to see if they were as soft as they looked. The eyes smiling up into mine were ice blue, but there was nothing cold about them. They seemed teasing. You know I can make you feel good. Let me show you how good.

I swallowed. "Who is this?" I didn't recognize my voice.

"Dunno, but for him," he gestured to the dead man, "to do something like this… "

"You're right. It doesn't seem logical the killer would tear up the photo, then stuff it in the night stand."

"Do you think he could be our killer?" He gestured toward the counter.

I bit back the NO that automatically came to my lips. I didn't know, and I couldn't let my little head interfere with my big head's thinking.

"There should be a number on the back of the photograph, along with the name of the man who took it. Professional photographers identify their work that way." I knew because I'd had some photos taken when I'd worked for Neil. As far as I knew, he still had the one of me in a white leather vest and chaps, lounging beside a black horse. He'd liked the contrast. "Joel, would you track down the photographer?"

"Sure." He found the piece and jotted down the information.

"I'll… uh… I'll take these pieces with me and put them together." I was afraid he was going to call me on taking the shredded photograph, but he just nodded, and I put them in my pocket.

"What about the names in his black book?"

I thumbed through it. "There are only male names in it. Interesting." Even more interesting were the notations after each name. 'Okay with threesomes.' 'Likes to be tied up.' 'Gives good head.' 'Only puts out after dinner and a trinket.' There was a star beside one name, and I figured this Jeff had to be something special.

"It looks like he's of your persuasion." He grinned, and I didn't take offense as I would have if O'Neill had been the one saying that.

"Doethn't make him a bad perthon," I lisped, then got serious. "It also looks like someone whose name begins with E did something to make him unhappy."

"How do you figure?"

"There's a ragged edge in here. A page has been torn out. And look at this." I showed him the gouges in a number of pages after that.

"I guess scratching it out wasn't enough."

"The problem is – is E his last initial or his first?"

"Who lists people in their address book by their first initial?"

"Naomi does."

"Okay, she's your mama; I'm not saying a word about that."

"Smart man. Okay. I'll have Monaghan run the names in this book as soon as we get back to headquarters, see if these men know of anyone with the initial E who was dating our victim."

"You think they were romantically involved?"

"Oh, yeah. You don't rip a page out of your address book because a friends pisses you off. Where's the small study?  I'll question Marc Addams now. Maybe he knows something about our mysterious Mr. E."

"Follow the hall outside the bedroom door all the way around to the left."

"Thanks, Joel. Dan should be here pretty soon."

He shrugged and jerked a thumb toward the dead man. "He's not going anywhere."

"I guess not. See if you can find some contact information that will give us an idea who to notify." I turned around and walked into a tall man whose hair hung down his back in a tail. "Sorry, Dan."

"It's okay, Blair. Hi, Joel." He was carrying what looked like a tool box, and which actually contained the tools of his trade.

"Hi, Dan. Hi, guys."

The two men with the coroner waved but stayed put. They knew the drill. They'd wait in the hall with the gurney until he was ready for them.

Dan glanced over the body. "Handsome man at one time. Okay, I'll get started." He set the case on the floor and opened it. It was time for me to leave.

I followed the hall around to the small study. Small was a relative word. I'd seen whole families live in as much space as that small study.

Bookcases lined two of the walls. There was something about the books they held that gave me the impression they'd been chosen by the decorator with regard to only how they would appear.

A fireplace was against an inner wall, and framing it were two sofas. The opposite wall was made up of ten-foot high windows that opened onto a balcony.

Marc Addams was sitting in an easy chair, his legs crossed at the knee. He was gazing toward the door, but his eyes were unfocused – he wasn't seeing anything.

"Mr. Addams, I'm Detective Sandburg."

He blinked, refocused, rose and offered his hand, gave a polite smile. "Detective."

"Sit down, please. Thank you for taking the time to speak to me. What can you tell me about what happened here?"

"I found Randy's body. I called the cops." He shrugged. "That's all there is to it."

I stared at him and said nothing. He sat there, blank-faced, but I noticed his left thumb was picking at the cuticle of his middle finger.

"Can you give me a little more detail?" His expression remained blank. "All right. Suppose you tell me what made you come into this apartment?"

"I just… I hadn't seen Randy in a while, and I became worried."

"Detective Sandburg." Henri was standing in the doorway. I raised an eyebrow, and he jerked his head toward the hall.

"Excuse me, Mr. Addams." I met Henri in the hall. "What've you got?"

He spoke quickly and succinctly.

"Hmmm." I turned to go back into the study, and he caught my arm.

"Wait a second! There's more!" He continued filling me in.

"Thanks, H. Thank you very much." I gripped his arm, then returned to the study. "Mr. Addams, would you care to reconsider your response?"

"Excuse me? Why would I..."

"I've just been told that you were away for the last two weeks, you were not particularly close with the decedent, and if he died you would… 'dance on his grave and then piss on it,' I believe your words were."

He looked disconcerted for a second, then frowned. "So what? That doesn't mean I couldn't be concerned about him if he wasn't seen for a period of time."

"Mr. Addams. The last time the deceased was seen alive was Sunday evening when he returned from an afternoon out with a friend."

"Friend? Randy didn't have friends. He had sycophants and toadies. He mocked and tormented the people who worked for him… " For a second he looked as if he couldn't catch his breath, and he turned pale. "At work, I mean. He worked on Wall Street, you know."

"I didn't know that, but I do understand. I guess even a building this expensive won't guarantee decent neighbors."

"Exactly." His expression was relieved. "Lloyd – Lloyd Johnson, he owns the other penthouse – One of the reasons Lloyd is moving is because Randy was so condescending and disdainful to his fiancée.

"Then why did you go in to see how he was?"

"Okay, look. I… I had a feeling. Didn't you ever get one of those?"

"Actually, I can't say that I have."

"Oh. Well, I did."

"All right, let's set that aside for a moment. Was he seeing anyone with the initial E?"

"Are you kidding? Randy went through the alphabet repeatedly. The last guy he saw…" He stopped abruptly and looked away, obviously uncomfortable.

"We're aware the deceased was homosexual. Do you recall anyone whose first or last name began with an E… "

"No." It was too fast.

"… and who possibly angered him enough for him to tear out a page of his black book?"

"No." He met my eyes. "Do I need to call my lawyer?"

"You're not a suspect. At this point you're not even being held for questioning."

He nodded. "Is that all, then?"

"For now."

He walked toward the door. "By the way, does this mean I shouldn't leave town?" He gave what I assumed he thought was a jaunty smile, but which fell far short, and left the apartment.

People were watching way too many cop shows on television.

Entr'acte

I will be what they want me to be. They will see what I want them to see.

-Amanda Gill

Mother was never without the golden locket that hung around her neck. Even when she went on stage as Medea, she wore it, tucked beneath her costume.

I had asked her once, when I was a young boy, what it contained. She told me that within it was a picture of the one she loved most in the world.

"Me, Mother? Me?" Because of course I knew that Father did not count for as much as I, and there was only the three of us.

"You were no more than two years old, my precious, and Mother held you to her heart."

"May I see, Mother? Please?"

"Not today, Christopher. The key is upstairs in Mother's jewelry box, and I am rather fatigued. Do you understand fatigued?"

"Of course, Mother." And I had proudly recited the definition from Webster's dictionary, "'A weariness from physical or mental exertion.'"

"What a clever, clever boy!"

"Will it be mine one day?"

"You are a boy. This is something young ladies wear."

"Please, Mother?"

"Perhaps if you find a young lady to give it to. Now, run along and play. Mother must rest for her performance tonight."

"Yes, Mother."

But I had gone up to the playroom at the top of the house, secure in the certainty that one day, Mother's locket would indeed be mine.

****

Somehow Mother never found the time to show me the picture in her locket. There was no way for me to forget about it, for it was always around her neck.

The years passed, and now there was no time for Mother to open the locket.

She lay beside my father.

Jameson tapped on the door to my study, then opened it.

"John!" I was surprised to see John Hastings, my lawyer. We had gone to Harvard together and had lost touch after graduation, when he had been struck by wanderlust. He contacted me when he joined a prestigious practice in Manhattan, and since Peters, who had been employed by my father, was obviously becoming senile, I had no qualms in dismissing him and hiring my friend. I crossed the room and accepted his hand. "I am sorry, have I forgotten an appointment?"

"No." He seemed disturbed, not his wont.

"Would you care for a cup of tea, or perhaps some sherry?"

"Thank you, no. I'd prefer to get right down to business."

"That will be all, Jameson." My butler closed the door, and I gestured to a chair. "Please be seated, John. About what did you wish to see me?"

"I know this has been a difficult time for you, Christopher." He opened his briefcase and took out a document. "Your mother had this drawn up some time before she became ill. It's a codicil to her last will and testament."

I frowned at him. "Why was this not read at the same time as Mother's will?" The reading of her will had gone without a problem. Her artwork and first editions were given to friends and colleagues. Her costumes and bedroom furniture went to the Smithsonian.

All the money came to me, as did this house, the house on Long Island, and the Rolls Royce. I also retained complete control of the Amanda Gill Theatre.

Most importantly, I had her locket.

"My deepest apologies, Christopher. An inexperienced intern who had no business handling such papers. Rest assured, he's been fired."

I took the paper and scanned it, my throat growing tight.

"The locket is not mine?"

"I'm sorry, no. It is to go to Frederick Collins."

"Who?"

"Frederick Collins. Apparently, your mother had known him when she was quite young. According to this codicil, her final wish is that her gold locket be returned to the person who gave it to her."

*The person who gave it to her?*

"I… I see." Confused, I rose from my desk and walked to the window. Raindrops were hitting the panes, and I watched as they trickled down.

I had everything. Except the locket.

"Christopher, are you all right?"

I had crushed the paper.

I looked at it in my hand, drew several deep breaths, then forced a smile. "I beg your pardon. You were saying, John?"

"I know this is a difficult time for you," he repeated. "I'll give you a few days to come to terms with this, but then I will need to present the locket to Mr. Collins." He looked as if he were about to say more, but I scarcely noticed.

"Of course. Yes, of course." I returned to my desk. "I'll see that you have it by the end of the week."

"I'm sorry, Christopher."

"No need to be," I forced myself to say, and he looked shocked. "Oh, you mean for Mother's passing. Thank you."

"We're friends, Christopher. I could do nothing less for you."

"I am sure you must have a million things to do, John. Thank you for taking the time to come see me."

"Yes." He smoothed out the paper, returned it to his briefcase, and closed it. "I must be going."

I pressed a switch on the intercom. "Jameson, would you come see Mr. Hastings out?"

"Take care of yourself, Christopher."

"Of course. Good day, John."

"Good day, Christopher."

The door closed behind him, and I waited until I heard his car drive away from the curb. Then I threw the intercom across the room. It hit the wall and fell to the floor with a satisfying clatter. "Damn you, Mother! How could you do this to me?"

Well, I had dealt with Father, and I would deal with this.

The intercom lay broken upon the floor. I straightened my suit jacket, smoothed my hair, and strode down the hallway.

"Jameson, I just remembered I have an errand to run. Call a cab for me, please."

Within a few minutes he found me. "The cab is here, sir." He held out my overcoat.

"Thank you." I slid my arms into it, and he stepped away. "Oh, and see about finding a repair man. The intercom is not working."

The cab was at the curb, and I got in, uncaring of the rain. "Fifth Avenue and 57^th Street, please."

I had no doubt that Tiffany's would have the perfect locket, similar in every way to Mother's.

After all, what did Frederick Collins need with a locket that contained a picture of me with my mother?

****

He was called Randy Beautiful. His fair, handsome exterior hid a spoiled, selfish core.

I chose Randolph to be the next player in my masterpiece. Although his trust was more difficult to obtain, I succeeded, and it was all the sweeter.

I refused to think how I had earned his trust.

It was Sunday, and we had just returned from the Museum of Modern Art.

Randolph was lounging on the loveseat in the informal living room, listening to The Beatles. The Beatles.

So bourgeois.

"Get me a Drambuie, would you, precious?" He did not know how much I loathed it when he called me that. I concealed my emotions well.

I went to the bar, filled a whiskey tumbler with ice from the refrigerator under the bar, and poured a very generous measure into the glass. This was his fourth drink since we had gotten home. I did not tell he that he had been drinking too much. I encouraged it.

The Beatles were singing, 'Can't buy me love…'

"That's bullshit. Isn't it?" Randolph's laugh was a trifle sotted. "Anything can buy love."

"Do you believe that?" As if I cared.

"I've never known any man who would love me without reservation," he murmured. He glanced at me through his lashes. "Even you, precious."

"I. Beg. Your. Pardon?"

"Oh, don't give me that snooty, old-money, blue-blood attitude. You look like you've got a poker up your ass. If I wasn't the first man to make you see fireworks when I fucked you, you wouldn't stay with me."

And Mother had said that I could not act.

"Do you think so little of yourself that that is all you have to offer a man?"

He did not respond to that. "Tell me, precious. What did you think of that security guard?"

"What should I think of him? He was simply a security guard."

"Oh, you are a snob." As though he himself were not.

I handed him his drink, and he took a sip.

"Ah, this is good." He savored the taste and relaxed against the back of the loveseat.

"Would you like me to massage your shoulders, Randolph?"

"Yes. I'd like that."

Indeed.

I went behind the couch and began to knead his shoulders.

"Mmmm." He relaxed and tipped his head back. "You have magic fingers."

I leaned over him and caressed his torso. The locket slid from my collar and grazed his cheek.

He reached up and took the locket in his hand, fondling the gold cover. "I never paid any attention… What's in here?"

"There is a picture of me in it when I was a child."

"Open it! I want to see what you looked like as a kid."

"I do not have the key upon my person." Actually, it must have been misplaced; I had never been able to find it, not even in Mother's jewelry box.

He continued to fondle the locket, and it was all I could do not to rip it from his hands.

I twisted his nipples, and he arched and hissed. The front of his trousers was obscenely tented.

"Oh, that's nice, precious. Don't stop." It was an order. Randolph never begged.

I added a touch of savagery to the twist, and he writhed under my hands.

"He almost caught us," he panted. "In flagrente, so to say."

"The guard? Yes," I said dismissively, but I stopped what I was doing. I had gone cold when I had heard the doorknob of the men's room rattle. 

"I should have let him in. He used to… " He hesitated, then grinned at me over his shoulder. "He used to be a hustler. He was very talented. He could do things with his mouth…"

I shuddered. Randolph had made me do things with my mouth. The first time I had barely made it to the lavatory before I vomited.

"I wonder if he still can," he mused. "We could both have had him, Chris. Or both of us could have had you. You would have enjoyed that, wouldn't you?"

It was not enough that he debased me, but he must have someone else violate my body?

"Chris." He put down the empty glass, and unnoticed by him, it fell and landed on the plush rug. He reached for me, tugging on the chain to bring me down to his lips.

I pulled away sharply. There was a burning sensation at the back of my neck, but his words and my intent caused me to disregard it.

My hands encircled his neck and brought his chin up. His eyes were slitted and his face flushed with lust. I squeezed.

His struggles were ineffectual. He had had too much to drink.

I squeezed. And squeezed until panting, I straightened and looked down at the distortion that had been his handsome face.

"You were a fool, Randolph. A trusting fool."

I will be what you want me to be. You will see what I want you to see.

I walked around to the front of the loveseat, caught him under his arms, and dragged him into his luxurious bathroom.

Part 3

The body had been removed, and Riley and Stephens were gone. A uniformed officer was left guarding the door.

Something about this case was gnawing at me, and I worried it as I stepped into the elevator. Joel and H were right behind me.

"Any luck with Marc Addams, Blair?" Joel asked.

"Hmmm? Oh, he's stonewalling." I turned the key and pressed the button for the lobby floor. "Tell me something. If you were caught in an outright lie, why would you stick to it anyway?"

Henri answered right away. "A woman." Joel poked his arm, and he coughed. "Of course, in your case, Sandman – a man." The two of them burst out laughing.

"Yuck it up. Assholes. But yeah, you're right. So. What woman is involved with the two of them?"

"Beats me." Joel shrugged. "All the names in our dead man's little black book are male, and the other address book I found in his desk just has family. The addresses are all in Maryland."

"Shit. Who's notifying?"

"The Cap will probably have Lieutenant Dawson fly down."

"Good. That's the part of the job I hate the worst."

The elevator came to a stop, and Joel and Henri stepped out.

"Uh, see you at the station, Blair." They took off, and before I could wonder about that, Sam popped up in front of me.

"What happened?"

"No comment." I strode toward the door. The doorman leaped forward and held it open for me.

"Who was killed?"

"No comment."

"When did it happen? And if you tell me 'no comment' one more time, I'll make something up!"

"Look..."

"Come on, Detective Sandburg. Gimme a break. Tell me something."

I ran my hand through my hair. "Okay, look. All I can tell you is the crime was well-planned, well-executed. Will that get you off my back?"

"You bet! Thanks!" He hurried off, scribbling in his notepad.

I didn't think what I'd told him could account for that amount of scribbling, but I had to get back to headquarters.

****

As Addams had informed me, the deceased had acquaintances and hangers-on but no real friends.

Except for Richard Lee, who seemed genuinely distressed, until I started asking questions.

"Can you tell me about his personal life?"

"I think not." He looked down his nose at me.

"Look, Mr. Lee. I need to get as much information about him as I can in order to find who did this."

"You'd like to know about his private life, wouldn't you? Who he was screwing, how much money he made, how he spent it and on whom. Sandburg. That's Jewish, isn't it? Whoever heard of a Jewish cop?" His eyes raked over my body. "I imagine you don't make very much. Everyone knows how tight-fisted Jews are. How do you feel, knowing that Randy had all that money, and that no matter how he spent it, there was always more?" His face was flushed, his lips were parted, and his chest was heaving.

I stared at him thoughtfully. Unless I was reading the signals wrong, he wanted what he saw when he looked at me, and he definitely wasn't happy about that.

"Mr. Lee, as you noted, I'm a cop. My religion and the amount of money I make have nothing to do with the way I do my job. I assure you, I don't get my jollies out of investigating the private lives of people who have been murdered, whether they're male or female." I handed him my card. "If you remember anything that might be germane to this case, please call me."

He hmphed but took my card.

When I got back to the precinct, the Captain called me into his office. He sat behind his desk, drumming his fingers on the polished surface. "Any luck?"

"Not just yet, sir. There are a couple of leads that we're pursuing… "
 

"Sandburg, I'm not the press!"

"Sorry, sir. Marc Addams… "

"The man who called it in?"

"Yes, sir. I've got a feeling he's hiding something or protecting someone. Detective Brown spoke with Lloyd Johnson, and it seems the three tenants on the penthouse floor shared a cleaning lady. Maria Hernandez."

"Well, then. Question her."

"We'll have to find her first."

"Do that."

"Yes, sir."

"Anything else?"

"Detective Taggart found a professional photograph that had been torn up. He's trying to track down the photographer. It might not mean anything, but then again… "

"I'm glad you're covering all bases. The Commissioner wants us to be very thorough on this." The Cap didn't look overjoyed.

"We always are, sir."

"Yes, well… " Commissioner Hawthorne was a thorn in his side and had been since they'd graduated from the academy together. "Now, I've just found out that the wake will be Wednesday evening. It's for the deceased's friends. His family is having the body flown to Maryland on Thursday morning."

"You're telling me this for a reason."

"I want you there. Maybe you can pick up something. You're good at that."

"I'll make sure my black suit is back from the cleaners."

"All right, that's all for now."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and say hello to Mrs. Sandburg the next time you talk to her."

"Yes, sir."

****

On Wednesday evening, I took Joel and Henri to the wake with me, hoping with the deceased right under their noses, we might have more luck, especially if we split up.

"You're gonna put us in for overtime on this, I hope," Joel groused.

"I'm gonna put us in for overtime, Joel." I couldn't blame him for being in a sour mood. The photographer was dragging his feet about releasing the name of his model, and the judge Joel had gone to for the court order almost seemed to be throwing up road blocks as well.

"Jesus!" Henri's mouth dropped. "I've never seen so many… " He shut up as he realized what he'd been about to say.

"So many what, H?" Joel asked tartly. "Men?"

"Uh… yeah." His complexion was dark, but I could still see his blush.

"I'll protect you if anyone gets fresh, H."

"Shut up, Joel. I can take care of myself."

"Knock it off, you two. Take different ends of the room, and keep your eyes and ears peeled. And try to … Never mind." There was no way they could appear inconspicuous. For one thing, their overcoats were plain cloth, not fur or cashmere as most of these men wore. For another, the color of their skin was bound to stand out.

I stood at the back of the room. Everyone was sitting in the forward chairs, and this area was empty. I was able to study the occupants without drawing their attention.

They were treating Richard Lee as if he were the bereaved. Everyone seemed to come to talk to him, shake his hand, touch his arm, before going up to stand before the coffin for a few minutes.

He stiffened, and I turned to see what had caught his eye.

I stiffened myself, and my mouth went dry. It was the man from the photograph. His hair wasn't as long as it had been, and his ice blue eyes had a chill that hadn't been in the photo.

Joel came over to me. "I guess I won't need to get that court order. You can go right up to him and ask him his name and why his picture was torn to shreds." He looked more cheerful, and I would have smacked his arm, but I was feeling pretty good myself.

To find him after all these years…

I shook my head. What was I thinking? I turned my attention back to the man from the photograph.

He stood alone, gazing toward the coffin, his expression indecipherable. Was he devastated because he would never be able to make it up with his one-time lover? I found myself drifting closer to him.

Just then, another man joined him, and they hugged. I stopped short, watching as they spoke, then signaled to H.

"Yeah, Blair?"

"See if you can find out who that man is, the one on the left."

"Will do." He strolled around the room and listened.

I turned back to the two men, only catching bits of the conversation.

"We weren't sure if you'd be here ..."

"Not our worry..."

"I'll just say a final prayer…"

He followed the shorter man to the coffin, and I could see that something in the room was bothering him. I hoped it wasn't emotion. Maybe he had an allergy to the flowers. There were enough of them to make the room look like a greenhouse.

Because I was watching him so closely, I was aware when he began to list, and I got to him. He straightened and shrugged my hand off his arm, his irritation plain. I sighed and backed away, then noticed that H was trying to give me the high sign.

"What did you learn?"

"They're fairly close-mouthed, but I happened to hear that he's a working boy. A hustler." I nodded to let him know I was aware of what a working boy was. "His name is Jeff. All they're saying is that apparently he," H nodded toward the open coffin, "used his services on occasion."

"Any idea what his relationship is to the big guy next to him?" Had he and the deceased shared the hustler? I'd worked a threesome a couple of times, either in double-dicking the john or letting him have it from both ends. As a seventeen-year-old, I'd found it hot to have my dick in a tight ass while I kissed the escort who was fucking his mouth. I still thought the image was pretty hot, but as an adult, I preferred a single lover.

"What do you mean, 'big guy'?" H interrupted my thoughts. "They're the same height."

"No, they're not. The hustler is shorter than… " I couldn't keep thinking of him as 'the gorgeous guy from the photo.'

"Sandburg, they could pass for twins!"

"Brothers, maybe, but not twins. The shorter guy's hair is darker, and his eyes aren't as blue."

"He's not shorter! Oh, all right, have it your own way. And you saw all this in the few seconds you were close to them?"

"Hey, it's a detective thing."

"Okay, Sherlock Holmes. Anything else you want me to do?"

"You're doing a good job. Go do it more."

He grinned and nudged my shoulder with his, then crossed to a small group of men and women who were looking very uncomfortable. I glanced around in time to see that the hustler had left, and Richard Lee had joined the man from the photograph.

I sauntered to where they stood in time to hear Lee say, "This is your fault, do you realize that, Ellison?"

'Ellison'? I shook my head. That had to be a coincidence.

"Listen, the last time I saw him was Sunday, when he came to the Museum of Modern Art. He was with someone named…" He looked as if he was having a hard time remembering the name, and then he did recall it. "… Chris."

"Chris was with Randy?" Lee didn't seem too thrilled to hear that. "That means that Chris was probably the last person to see him alive! Except for his killer."

"Why didn't you tell me this, Mr. Lee?" I'd known he hadn't told me everything he could have. Why did people conceal facts from the police? Just because they didn't think it was important didn't mean it wasn't

Before I could introduce myself, I realized Ellison was staring at me, almost in a daze.

"Hey! What's wrong? Are you all right, big guy?"

"I've never been better, Chief." His smile was the one from the photograph, and I swallowed a moan. His eyes grew hot. But… he couldn't have heard me. I hadn't made a sound.

I was a professional, dammit. And I had a job to do. I turned to Richard Lee.

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what? Detective Sandburg." The fact that I was Jewish really seemed to stick in his craw.

From the corner of my eye  I could see the other man's interest pique. Not that he hadn't been interested before, but…  I wondered what had increased his interest, and I hoped there would be a moment where I could ask him about it.

Mental babbling. How uncool. I dragged my gaze back to Lee.

"I asked you about his friends. You didn't mention this 'Chris'."

"Chris was not a friend."

"Oh?" I remembered the notation after Lee's name, in the deceased's little black book: 'Wants a threesome with J.' I wondered if as well as 'J', he'd wanted a threesome with Chris and possibly been turned down. A man like Lee wouldn't like being denied. "Then what would he be considered?"

"He was just a fling, a good time boy, a fun time on a Saturday night."

"But as I understand it, he spent more than one Saturday night with this man."

"What are you insinuating?"

"I'm not insinuating anything." I'd thrown that out to see how he would react. "What I'm saying is if I see someone a lot, that makes him more than a fling or a fun time on a Saturday night. At least to me."

"You? You're just a cop. You wouldn't know how we do things."

"Wouldn't I?" I'd serviced a few men like him, who presented a powerful, in-control façade to the world, but behind closed doors liked nothing more than being forced to their knees and getting their asses fucked. "So. What's the info on this Chris character?"

There was a tightness around his mouth. "I have no idea. Randy did not see fit to reveal his secrets to all and sundry."

"Bullshit," Ellison snapped. "He may not have spilled his guts to all and sundry, but he certainly told you everything, Richard."

"That is bull -" He caught himself. After all, men like him didn't use vulgar language. "That is to say, that is a complete and utter lie!"

"Listen to me, sunshine." I was tempted to poke him in the chest but restrained myself. Naomi had raised me well. "I've got a dead man, and no one who wants to cooperate. So either you tell me what you know, or I'll arrest you for obstructing an investigation." I had a feeling he wouldn't be too happy, thrown in a cell with someone named Leroy. Then again, I could have been wrong.

"Well, er… none of us had met this Chris person."

"That doesn't sound like Randy. He loved showing me off." Ellison flushed and licked his lips, and I wondered what he was thinking.

"Yes, well, you aren't Chris," Lee snarled. "Randy talked – had talked – about him. Vivacious and fun-loving, and a body to die for. Not like you."

"From what I can see, you've got a damned nice body," I murmured under my breath.

And then the first of a series of things happened that left me puzzled.

Ellison responded, "You think so?"

"I think so what?" Confused.

"That I've… Never mind."

He couldn't have heard me. I would barely have heard me, and I was the one saying it. How could… I snapped out of when I realized Lee was getting aggressive, balling his fists and taking a step toward the other man. I stepped between them.

"Uh uh uh. Play nice, kiddies." Lee looked… relieved? Regretful? "So tell me, Mr. Lee. What is Chris's last name?"

He looked down his nose at me. "That is something Randy never told us."

"He isn't here, is he?" I gazed around the room at the people who were gathered in clumps and knots, stealing glances at the two black detectives, at me, at the men who stood beside me. "I mean, no one's come running over to point him out. Where does he live?"

"That is something else Randy never told us. Now if you'll excuse me, I want to pay my respects."

"Asshole," I muttered, again under my breath, and again, Ellison laughed. I started to ask him what was so funny, but he cut me off at the pass. Maybe he was just a happy guy.

"Sorry, I'd better go. I'm wearing out my welcome. It was nice meeting you, Detective."

"I'd like to talk to you, Mr. Ellison." I suddenly found myself wanting to keep him there with me.

"Call me Jim, Chief. Please."

"Jim. And I'm Blair. Have I seen you before?" I wanted to bang my head against the wall. Talk about your inane pick-up line. Fortunately, Jim took me literally, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Maybe at Banks? I work for Simon."

"You're his newest security guard?" I laughed to myself. Megan was going to be so pleased I'd finally met him. I walked toward a back corner of the room. I could keep an eye on the occupants and have a little privacy. Taggart raised his eyebrow, then swallowed a grin and turned back to the small group of men and women who were the deceased's colleagues from Wall Street.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"You said you'd seen the man who was with," I nodded toward the front of the room. "Can you describe him?"

"Usually I'm pretty good with descriptions, but this time… All I can tell you about Chris is that he was maybe the most gorgeous man I've ever seen."

"The most gorgeous man you've ever seen? I see." There it was again. 'Very handsome.' 'Gorgeous.' How could a detective compete?

"Yeah. But he didn't do anything for me."

"He didn't?" I couldn't stop a grin from spreading across my face.

"No. There was something off about his looks."

"How do you mean 'off'?"

"I don't know. He was using… not makeup. Greasepaint? I think it smelled like greasepaint. I dated a guy once who was on Broadway."

"You were that close to him?" I figured he'd have to be right in the guy's face to see and smell that.

"The guy on Broadway? It was just a fling. Oh, you mean Chris, who was with Randy." His eyes were wide, and I realized he was teasing me. "Actually I wasn't too close, but he must have layered it on with a trowel. I had no trouble smelling it. It may have just been me, though. It didn't seem to bother Randy, and he was all over him."

"Oh?" I liked that he teased me. It had been so long since I'd had that kind of a relationship… What was I thinking? I'd just met the man!

"Chris went down on him in the men's room."

"Hmmm. What about distinguishing features?"

"You mean if he had a scar or bushy eyebrows or a really huge nose?”

"Yeah."

"No. Gorgeous, remember? Now you – you've got a sweet nose. I could never forget it."

"You think I've got a sweet nose?" I couldn't prevent myself from rubbing a finger over my nose. I'd never thought it was anything special, but he thought it was sweet?

"Yeah, I do." But he was staring at my mouth. My lips felt tingly, as if we'd already kissed. I tipped my head back and leaned toward him. We were going to kiss, and location be damned… and then I got myself under control. He looked regretful, and then he looked at his watch. "It's getting late, and I've got work in the morning. I'd better go."

"Can I call you?" Too rushed. Too… rushed. I quickly got my thoughts together. "I mean, if I have any more questions?"

"Sure. Do you have a pen?"

"Yeah." I reached into an inside pocket, then another one. "Damn, I must have left it on my desk. Hey, Taggart! Over here."

"Yeah, Blair?"

"Pen?"

"You lost another one?"

"It isn't lost. It's simply… not on my person." I'd always had a tendency to misplace pens and pencils, even before I'd gone to the Academy.

"Right. Here you go." I could depend on him. "Make sure you don't lose this one."

"Yeah, yeah." I gave it to Jim.

"Thanks." Instead of writing it on a piece of paper, he took my hand and wrote it on my palm. It was all I could do to prevent a full-body shiver. 

"I'll be in touch in the morning. No, wait. You'll be at work…" I had to think more clearly. I had to get a grip on myself. Why was I allowing myself to be swept away by this man? The touch of his hand cupping my hand… From somewhere way at the back of my mind, I thought I heard whispered, //Enqueri.//

"Yes. And I've already had a day off."

"I'll call you in the evening, then."

"I'll look forward to hearing from you. Bye, Blair." Jim smiled at me.

"Bye, Jim." I shifted so my reaction to his smile wouldn't be too obvious.

"Detective Taggart." Jim returned his pen and smiled politely. It was nothing like the smile he'd offered me, and I was tempted to give Joel a smug grin.

"Yeah, bye, Jim." Joel was aware. I cuffed his arm, and he laughed softly. He waited until Jim left the room. "So, Blair. Learn anything?"

"Yeah. He thinks I have a sweet nose." What was I saying? "I mean no. He couldn't give me a description of the man who was with the deceased."

"But you're going to question him again tomorrow."

"Why not? A good night's sleep might shake up the little gray cells."

"Keep telling yourself that. You just want to see him again."

I felt a blush rise to my eyebrows. There was something about Jim that was starting to nag at me. I'd have to think about it later. Kind of like Scarlett O'Hara. The mourners were beginning to leave, and I got back to business.

"Did you learn anything, Joel?"

"Just that some of these men didn't like the deceased. I've got names."

"Good work. Get H. We may as well…"

And then Richard Lee stalked up to me. "I would like to speak to you, Detective Sandburg." He glared at the man standing beside me. "Alone."

"Joel, why don't you and Henri call it a night. It's gonna take some time to get used to the new shift. I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay. 'Night, Blair. Good evening, sir." Joel at his most professional. He gave a small nod and signaled to Henri. H waved, and they left.

"Now, what did you want to talk to me about, Mr. Lee?"

"I could not help but notice that you seemed taken with Jim Ellison."

"Taken?" Shit. I usually wasn't obvious.

"Attracted to." His lip curled.

"I don't see how this is any of your business."

"As I mentioned, he lived with my friend."

"Lots of people live together. Lots of people break up." I shrugged. "So what?"

"You're not paying attention! Ellison peddled his ass on the street! Randy picked him up from the gutter and gave him everything a man like him could want – designer clothing – leather, I'll have you know!" His fingers rubbed together as if they longed to rub the leather trousers. "baubles – his wristwatch alone must have set Randy back a grand! a roof over his head – I'm sure you've seen Randy's penthouse, and Ellison had a room of his own that was spectacular!"

"So?"

"Ellison was a whore!"

"The operative word being 'was'."

"I have no doubt he's still whoring himself! He threw everything Randy gave him back into my friend's face and left him. Ellison is the most useless, worthless pieces of scum on the face of the earth."

"That's slander." I took a step toward him. "I happen to know he isn't." Although I wasn't going to tell him what Jim did for a living now. I wouldn't put it past Lee to try to get Jim fired.

"The police commissioner is a dear friend of my mother." He backed away and began fidgeting with the buttons of his overcoat. "I do not think he would be pleased to learn one of his detectives is consorting with a hustler."

"So you're gonna have your mommy run to Commissioner Hawthorne if I date Jim Ellison?"

He flushed. "Do not take that tone with me!"

"Or what? You'll challenge me to a duel at dawn? What bug is up your ass about Jim Ellison?" 

He glowered at me. "I have no idea about what you're talking."

'J' – for Jim? "Don't you? I'm willing to bet you wanted Jim for a threesome, but – he wasn't willing to go along with it." I was certain of that. Why else would Lee be so rancorous, unless he hadn't gotten what he'd wanted?

"That's absurd!"

"Is it?" I made a point of looking bored, then glanced around. "Everyone seems to have gone, and I'm sure Mr. Canis would like to go home. I suggest we leave also."

"I won't forget this, Sandburg!" Lee turned on his heel, nodded goodnight to the funeral director, and stormed out of the room.

"Thank you, Detective. I need to start closing up, and it isn't good form to do that when mourners are still here."

"Are you leaving immediately?"

"No. I'll be here for another twenty minutes or so."

"May I make a phone call?"

He smiled. "Please do, and take your time. I like having company when I'm closing up."

"Thank you." I went to the phone, opened my palm, although I really didn't need to, and dialed Jim's number. 555-3310. As it rang, it dawned on me, 'E' – the missing page in the address book – And then he picked up.

"Ellison."

I forgot all about 'E' for Ellison. "Hi."

"Blair?"

"Yeah." I was pleased that he recognized my voice. Pleased? I wanted to do handsprings. "I wanted to make sure you got home okay."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I couldn't wait until tomorrow to talk to you again."

"Oh." Was he breathless?

"I hope you don't mind?" I wondered if he heard the flirty tone in my voice.

"I don't mind."

I had to be grinning like a loon, but I didn't care. I heard the flirty tone in his voice, and I made a date to have dinner with him the next evening at 7.

To Chapter 3