Passing In the Night

Passing in the Night

Chapter 3

Part 1

I was talking to him about sentinels, about the monograph by Sir Richard Burton that I'd found in the rare books room of the library, but his expression told me there were other things he would rather be doing, and suddenly, I wanted to be doing them too.

I slid my hand around his neck and pulled his head down to mine, and I kissed him.

His lips were lush, and the kiss was soft and chaste, until my tongue touched the seam of his lips. His mouth opened, but I didn't plunge my tongue in. He moaned as if that was what he'd expected… anticipated.

But I wanted him shaking and shivering under me. I explored his mouth delicately, and then deeply, and he accepted my tongue in his mouth as readily as he would my cock in his body.

Somehow I wound up flat on my back with him covering me like a blanket. His legs straddled my thighs, and I could feel the length of his cock nudging mine. My hips jerked involuntarily, and we both groaned.

I looked up at him, at his eyes hotter than they'd been in the photo that had been torn. He rocked against me, and I closed the fingers of one hand around his hip, urging him closer, while my other hand traced the crevice between his ass cheeks, searching for his hole. His mouth was back on mine, feeding off it. The first of his moans escaped into my mouth as I pressed a fingertip against that spot, and I swallowed it.

I nipped the tendon at the side of his throat, sucked on it, marked him as mine, and he buried his hands in my hair, and held on.

I could feel every inch of his body against mine. He raised his head. His lips glistened, his cheeks were flushed, and the look in his eyes told me he was close to coming.

And then I pulled his mouth down to mine and ravaged it, we both came, and I called his name…

"Enqueri!"

I woke the next morning smiling, even though it was earlier than I was used to getting up. I was going to have dinner with Jim Ellison.

For the first time in more than a year, I had breakfast at the time people normally ate the first meal of the day. And I smiled, because after work, I was going to 852 East 14^th Street, apartment 3E, and I'd be having dinner with Jim.

I caught the subway to the Precinct and trotted up the stairs, smiling, because I was having dinner with someone I found fascinating, and sexy, and...

I walked into the squad room, smiling.

Monaghan looked up from his desk. "You get lucky last night, Sandman?"

"Why?"

"You're smiling."

"I don't have to get lucky to smile."

"Who's smiling?" Brown and Taggart walked in together. "Man, day shift is a pisser."

"Sandburg's smiling. He has to have gotten laid. And you only think this is a pisser because you're just coming off working nights. Hey, you were with him last night. Cap said you were going to that wake." He pulled a face. "Aw, fuck, man – that's just sick!"

"What's sick?"

"Picking up chicks at a wake."

Joel smirked. "Trust me, Monaghan, Sandburg did not pick up a girl last night."

"Then how come…"

"Geez, what's the big deal with me smiling?"

The Captain stuck his head out of his office. "Excuse me, gentlemen. Don't you have work to do?"

"Yes, sir," we chorused.

Monaghan's phone rang, and he was called out on a case, Joel and H were following a lead on the whereabouts of Maria Hernandez, the cleaning lady, and the thing about the case that had gnawed at me the night before started gnawing at me again.

I went down to the basement where the cold case files were stored and looked for O'Neill's Valentine's Day murder.

Joseph Bishop, 35, had lived in Gramercy Park. He'd worked for a restaurant that was situated in the Theatre District. Nothing in the information O'Neill had gathered, what little there was of it, backed his belief that the man had been queer.

One thing stood out and hit me like a sledge hammer right between the eyes, though. The body had been found on the john. 

I decided to talk to his landlady.

Mrs. Flaherty was an older woman. Her stockings were rolled down around her ankles, and she wore a pink housedress that buttoned down the front. Little yellow flowers were scattered all over it. Covering the dress was a bibbed apron, navy blue, with a pattern of appliances on it – coffee pots, blenders, toasters.

"I'm Detective Sandburg, ma'am."

"Are you looking into Joseph's murder? I'm so glad it's someone else. Not to speak ill of someone who isn't here to defend himself, but I wasn't liking that other flatfoot's attitude."

"Yes, ma'am. Did you happen to hear anything on the day of the murder, Mrs. Flaherty? Or see anything?"

"No. I was at Mass. Joseph was such a good man." She touched her eyes with the corner of her apron. "The neighborhood children loved him, and he always helped with chores around the house. Lily, his fiancée, is heartbroken."

"His fiancée? You've met her then, Mrs. Flaherty?" Joseph Bishop wouldn't have been the first queer man to hide behind a non-existent wife or girlfriend.

"Why, yes. Why wouldn't I?"

"Just wondering." There had been nothing about a fiancée in O'Neill's report. Had he just looked at the doilies and made assumptions? "What can you tell me about her?"

"Lily lives just around the corner. She works in the office of St. Francis Xavier Parochial School on 23^rd Street. She's very much a homebody in her spare time, always knitting and crocheting. She makes the loveliest doilies."

"Did she make them for Mr. Bishop?"

Yes. Would you like to see the ones she made for me?"

"Thank you, yes. I would." I followed her into her apartment. It was crowded and fussy, and if Bishop's had looked anything like it, it was easy to see how a homophobic jerk like O'Neill, who saw homosexuality all over the place the way Joe McCarthy had seen Communists around every corner, would jump to the conclusion the victim was queer. It was very wrong – my apartment looked nothing like that, even though Naomi lived with me – but it made a twisted kind of sense. "Did Detective O'Neill talk to her?"

"No. Now that I think on it, he didn't ask very many questions at'all."

That was sloppy, even for O'Neill. "Can you give me her phone number? I'll have one of my men get in touch with her."

"Of course. Just let me get my phone book." She went to a small table against a wall. A squat black telephone sat on top of it on a doily; she removed a long, narrow, spiral-bound book from the single drawer beneath it and thumbed through it. "Here it is."

I borrowed a pen and jotted down the number. Beneath it was her work number, and I wrote that down as well. "Did you find the body?"

"Oh, no. Lily found Joseph. They were to have dinner, and when he didn't arrive to pick her up – that was so unlike him, you see, he was always such a gentleman, not like some of the young men you see today – Where was I?"

"Mr. Bishop didn't pick up his fiancée."

"Yes, thank you. I mean, Valentine's Day. Such a very special day. So she came here."

"Was that usual? Her coming to see what was holding him up?"

"Not at'all. He was never late. Never. Punctual to a fault, he was."

"May I see his apartment?"

"Oh! Oh, my. Oh, dearie me. The policeman told me there was no need… I've rented it out, you see."

Dammit. "All right. Thank you, Mrs. Flaherty. May I call on you again if I have more questions?"

"Such a polite young man." She dimpled. "Please do."

****

On the way back to the Precinct, I decided to let what I'd learned simmer in the back of my mind, and daydreamed about what dinner would be like with Jim instead.

He'd insisted on cooking dinner for me, and I wondered what he had in mind. No one had ever done that for me. Even Naomi preferred not to cook if she could get away with it. When Swanson came out with frozen TV dinners, she was one happy woman, and our freezer was stocked with them

Then I wondered what I should wear. There was plenty of time after work to shower – I ran a palm over my chin. I'd need to shave, too – and change. I'd found a very nice pair of black silk boxers in a small men's shop off 5^th Avenue. That was a start. Casual slacks and a button-down shirt, no tie and the top buttons undone, and Jim undoing them further…

That was as far as I'd gotten when I walked into the squad room. Joel and H were still away from their desks, and I hoped they were having luck finding Maria Hernandez. She might not have anything to do with the case, but then again, she might.

"McGaffney, are you free?"

"No, but flowers and dinner will usually do it."

"What?" I started to laugh. "Asshole."

"What can I do you for?"

"I need a follow-up on something of O'Neill's that's gone cold. It may tie in to my case."

"Sure thing."

"Lily Monroe. Apparently she was the one who found Joseph Bishop's body." I handed him the paper. "These are both her home and work numbers."

He glanced at the clock on the wall. "She'll still be at work. I'll call her there and see if she can talk to me."

"Thanks."

In a matter of minutes he was grabbing his coat and heading out the door.

****

The afternoon passed quickly. I was finishing up some paperwork when Taggart and Brown came back in, pissed because while the lead had panned out, Maria Hernandez hadn't been there.

"As a matter of fact, she hasn't been home since Monday."

"Y'know, it might be a good idea to pay a visit to Marc Addams. Maybe a surprise visit."

"Yeah." He and Joel began to plan the next day's strategies.

The phone on my desk rang. "15^th Precinct. Detective Sandburg."

"This is Hans. Hans Schultz. Although on Valentine's Day I was Aaron Fielding." The change of accent from German to Midwestern puzzled me, but I'd gotten some strange calls in my years as a cop.

"How can I help you, Mr. Schultz?"

"I like vhat you say in ze newspaper, Detective Sandburg, zat vhat I do is vell-planned, vell-organized. Detective Sandburg. Phah. Zat is so formal. I call you Blair. Vhen you come here, I think you vill see that I am up to my previous standards."

"Come where?" I listened in growing dismay to what he had to say, snapping my fingers to get someone's attention, and when that failed, throwing a pencil at Taggart. I stabbed frantically at my phone and made a dialing motion, and he picked up his phone and started the process of getting the call traced.

I was desperate to keep Schultz on the line, and I tried every trick I knew, even begging, but he seemed aware of how long it would take to locate him.

"I am smarter than you!" he mocked. He intended to hang up just before we could make the final connection. "Auf Wiedersehen, Blair."

"Wait! Wait!" I sat with the receiver at my ear, even though all that came over was the hum of the dial tone. I looked to where Joel sat, hoping against hope. He shook his head; he hadn't been able to trace it. I swore and put the phone down, feeling cold.

The Captain stood in his doorway, staring at me. "What was that all about?"

"We may have another murder."

"'May'? In my office now, Sandburg." The Captain was tense. I went into his office and shut the door. "You want to explain that to me?"

"Cap… " How could I explain it? I didn't understand it myself. "The phone call I just had... The caller identified himself as Hans Schultz."

"Who is Hans Schultz?"

"I don't know, Captain, but I have a feeling he may have killed someone earlier today. From what he said, he may be responsible for the murder I'm investigating, as well as the death of Joseph Bishop, the man killed on February 14^th."

"Valentine's Day? That was O'Neill's case, wasn't it? I was afraid it would get out as The Valentine's Killer. So why did he call you?"

"Because I said his last murder was well-planned and well-executed."

"You're paying compliments to killers now, Sandburg?"

"Cap, if he's killed today, that will make three murders."

"Fuck."

I flinched. The Captain never swore.

"All right. You have the address? Go check it out."

"Yes, sir." I left his office.

Joel and H were hovering nearby. "Are you okay, Blair?"

"Sure."

"'Cause it sounded like the Captain really wasn't having a good day."

"We were just discussing how best to handle this case."

"Yeah. So what are we gonna do?"

"We?" That was right, they were my team. I picked up the paper I'd scrawled the address on. "We're gonna go here and see if whoever lives here really is dead."

****

A black and white drove us to 44^th Street. The Print boys were going to meet us there.

Pounding on the door was fruitless. I crouched down to study the lock. It didn't seem to have been tampered with.

A neighbor came out of the next apartment to glower at us.

"May I help you?" She was less than pleased to see three men at her neighbor's door.

"I'm Detective Sandburg. This is Detective Taggart, Detective Brown. Have you seen the man who lives in this apartment?"

"Norbert Himmel? No. I just got home from work." She frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"That's what we're here to determine, ma'am. We don't want to break this door down. Joel, H, see if you can find the landlord." I turned to the woman who had to be in her late forties. She reminded me a little of my Aunt Rebecca. I smiled at her. "Can you tell me anything about Mr. Himmel, Mrs. … ?"

"Dylan. Mrs. Amelia Dylan." She broke her first name into four syllables.

"Mrs. Dylan."

"Mr. Himmel is a personable young man, very wrapped up in his work. He's a buyer for a company in the Garment District. He doesn't seem to date very much, although he occasionally will bring a friend home."

"A woman?" I took out my notebook. For a change, there was a pen clipped to it.

"Oh, no. Now that I think of it, his friends are all young men. Very muscular. One might almost say attractive, in a Marlon Brando-Streetcar Named Desire kind of way. If you understand?"

I nodded. It was starting to look to me as if Norbert Himmel were queer. Was this a factor in his being selected to be strangled, or was there something else?

"I always thought it was strange that he would have friends who were so… crude." She shuddered delicately.

"Crude in what  manner, Mrs. Dylan?" 

"They arrive at his door in jeans or black leather jackets, you know, the kind with chains dangling off the shoulders?"

"You think it was unusual why, ma'am?"

"Norbert is so obviously upper middle class – he's so fair and has such lovely manners, rather like yours, Detective Sandburg – and they… I assume with all the integration and bussing that was going on, well, I assume he met them in school."

I nodded again and continued jotting down notes.

"Sometimes they get a little noisy, but he's always so apologetic when I … well, not complain exactly, but more like..."

"Advising him that they're getting a little rowdy?"

"Why, yes. Exactly." Her smile told me how pleased she was to find someone who understood.

"Thank you, Mrs. Dylan." The elevator opened, and Joel and H and the landlord stepped out. "May I talk to you again if I have more questions?"

"Of course!" She fluttered her lashes at me and gave me her number, then glared at the landlord, scurried back into her apartment, and slammed the door.

"Bitch," the landlord muttered. "Always callin' me, complainin' about the noise, wantin' me to patrol the corridors. What am I, the cops?"

"If you'll just unlock the door?"

"This apartment belongs to Norbert Himmel."

"Mrs. Dylan informed me."

"Mrs. That's a laugh. Ain't never seen no mister, unless she's got him locked up in there."

Riley strolled down the corridor, carrying his camera and the case that held fingerprint powder and other equipment. "We've gotta stop meeting like this, guys."

"Where's Stephens?" He and his partner were like Mutt and Jeff.

"Twisted his ankle in a pick-up basketball game of shirts and skins at the Y."

"Ouch."
 

"Yeah."

The landlord used his master key to unlock the door.

"If you'll wait outside?"

He was trying to peer around the door. He shrugged. "Mr. Himmel ain't gonna like this."

"I'll take responsibility. We'll let you know when we're done here."

He grumbled under his breath but hovered outside the door. I shut it in his face.

The odor wasn't as bad as in the penthouse apartment – the victim hadn't been dead as long – but it was there.

"I'll get started taking pictures, and then I'll dust for prints." Riley snapped shots of two long, faint heel scuffs in the linoleum, leading away from the living room.

"Okay. H, see what you can find in this room."

"Got it." He began casting around the living room like a bloodhound.

The scuff marks, no doubt the result of Norbert Himmel being dragged, led to the bathroom. This one was tiny in comparison to the one we had seen on Monday.

As that bastard Hans had told me, the young man was dead. He was on the john, a lipstick kiss drawn on his forehead. Riley was busy taking pictures.

"Fuck. Do two murders make him a serial killer?"

"Two?" I remembered that I hadn't told Joel about my suspicions about the victim in O'Neill's case. "Maybe three. I think one of O'Neill's cases may be tied in to this one."

"Fuck," he repeated. "Uh… Blair? He's wearing pajamas and slippers." The slippers looked like the leather-soled variety.

"I noticed. He could have called in sick and spent the day in bed."

"Not the whole day."

Obviously not. "Mrs. Dylan said he worked in the Garment District. We'll need to find out where and give them a call."

"I'll take care of it." He leaned forward. "Look at the bruises on his neck." The collar had been undone, and the marks were livid. "What do you think? He was attacked from behind?"

"Yeah. It looks as if Hans somehow got the deceased to trust him enough to let him into this apartment, waited until the time was right, and then made his move. Let's see if H has found anything."

We went back into the living room, the click and whir as Riley snapped his pictures a faint background noise. Soon that would be replaced with silence as he started dusting for prints.

H was bending over something, and he straightened when we entered. "This was knocked over." It was an end table, small and made of wood. "That plate must have been on it – it's shattered." There was broken China on the area rug. Pieces of cake were scattered all over the floor.

"Do you think he was sitting on the sofa?"

"Looks possible. But how could Hans persuade a grown man to allow him to get behind him?"

"I found this on the floor by the sofa, Blair." Henri was holding a photo album, using a handkerchief to avoid getting his fingerprints on it. I nodded toward the sofa, and he put it down gingerly while I patted my pockets. H started to snicker, then stopped when I found what I was looking for.

"Ta dah!" I waved the pen in front of his nose.

"You've gotta get lucky sometime." He grinned good-naturedly.

The point was retracted, and I used it to carefully turn the pages. The album contained pictures of a very young, very alive Norbert Himmel, blowing out candles on his birthday cake, playing with a puppy, gleefully opening Christmas presents, and then as an older boy, swimming at the beach, sailing, riding with a group of boys and girls.

Birthdays, holidays, special occasions. The last page held a studio portrait of him in his cap and gown, flanked by a man and a woman who had to be his parents. In front of them was a young girl, obviously his sister, trying to look serious.

"So what do you think?"

"He was lulling Norbert into a false sense of security by admiring his photographs?" I hunched a shoulder. "Unless Hans comes right out and tells us, I don't know if we'll ever find out."

"These two must have fallen out." H laid the pictures next to the album, again using his handkerchief, and I leaned forward to study them.

The first one was another graduation photo of Norbert, this time standing beside a young man his age, also in a cap and gown, who was grinning mischievously at Norbert's surprised expression. His hand was hidden behind Norbert's back. Had he goosed him?

The other picture was a Polaroid. It was a little out of focus, a little blurred, and I had the feeling it had been set it up to be taken automatically.

It was summer. Norbert was lying on a window seat in what appeared to be an attic. Braced over him was the boy from the graduation photo, his fingers caught in the act of stroking a very hard nipple. They were maybe sixteen, barefooted, and wearing jeans but no shirts. The sunlight shining through the leaves of a large, old tree just visible through the window dappled them, almost focusing on the beads of sweat that clung to their hairless chests. Good-looking boys, young and healthy, and with the whole of their lives ahead of them.

"Do you think he was queer?"

I jumped. "Geez! Give a guy a heart attack, why don't you?" I hadn't realized Joel had come up behind me.

"Sorry, Blair."

I blew out a breath. "Never mind." I tapped the photo with my pen. "It could have been simply a phase. Not all boys who experiment with their own sex as teens continue to do so as adults."

"There's something about this that's bugging me." H was chewing his lip. "My Mama and Daddy have all the pictures from when I was growing up."

"You think it's odd that he would have these pictures?"

"Back from when he was a kid? Yeah. He'd be able to see them when he went to visit his folks, but the photos he'd have now would be current. Friends, girlfriends, colleagues."

"I think he's got a point, Blair. And what if it wasn't a phase? His family wouldn't be too thrilled about it."

"No, they wouldn't." I'd seen too many kids who'd been thrown out like so much trash, and I was thankful I'd never had to deal with that. No matter what, Naomi loved me. "We still don't know how Hans got in."

"Maybe he met Hans somewhere and brought him home for sex?"

"A date gone wrong? That could explain Norbert in his pajamas, but we still have the similarity to the Central Park West murder."

Riley came in and started dusting for prints. "I hope you didn't touch anything."

We sneered at him, and he laughed.

"H, see what else you can find in here. Joel, you take the kitchen. I'll check out his bedroom."

 Part 2

The lone bedroom was down a short hall. I stood in the doorway and looked into it. The blinds were open, letting in faint light as the moon rose. I pictured our victim getting up in the morning and opening them. He'd been strangled before he could close them.

The light switch was just inside the door. I used my cuff to flip it on and observed the room. A small chest was on the dresser. Most likely it contained cufflinks and tie tacs. Some Broadway show posters were on the wall, as well as a couple of Tony Curtis, one in a slave's tunic and another of him hanging from a trapeze. No clothes were tossed carelessly on the floor or over the small desk in the corner.

I took a clean handkerchief out of my pocket and opened the drawers with it. They held copies of Physique Pictorial. There was gay pornography – The Boys in the Back Room, The Boys in the Barracks, and The Boys in the Bunkhouse. A loose-leaf binder labeled The Adventures of Bert and Marty was filled with hand-written pages that were a cross between romance and fantasy. The last page read, Marty looked into Bert's green eyes. 'I love you,' he said. 'I've always loved you. I never should have let you go!'

Bert was so very happy. He put his arms around his best friend, the man he loved more than Judy Garland, Ethel Merman, and Bob Fosse all rolled into one, and kissed him. He knew they were going to live happily ever after.

I shook my head and replaced the binder.

In the center drawer was an envelope that was stained with tears. It had been crumpled and then smoothed out. It was addressed to Mr. & Mrs. Otto Himmel on Long Island. Refused was scrawled across the front, heavily underscored.

It hadn't been unsealed.

I put it back in the drawer and turned to examine the rest of the room. On the night stand was his wallet and keys, and a telephone.

I picked up the wallet with my handkerchief and flipped it open. Inside was an identification card and a photo of two figures, older versions of the boy and girl from the graduation picture.

The double bed was made, but the cover was wrinkled, and toward the foot was an indentation as if the heel of a shoe, weighted down by the other shoe upon it, had rested on that spot. The bedspread over the pillow was also mussed and the pillow dented, and a coal black hair lay across it.

"You're blond, Norbert. Who was lying on your bed?" I used my handkerchief to pick up the strand of hair, then folded it closed and put it in my pocket.

Riley walked into the bedroom. "Hey, Sandman." He ignored my growl. I was going to shoot Brown one of these days. "I'm done with the rest of the apartment, and I'm gonna dust here now. As soon as I'm finished, I'll head back to the Precinct and get the pictures processed, and see if the prints are in the system."

"Okay. Get some pictures of the bed, will you?"

"Sure thing."

"Thanks, Riley." I returned to the living room. "Anything, H?"

"I found some contact information. His parents live out on Long Island."

Joel walked in. "He liked to cook. There's a shelf of cookbooks in the kitchen, and half a homemade cake on the counter. Pot of coffee on the stove. It's cold."

"Hmmm. How many cups?"

"One in the sink. Washed."

"Blair? I think this may be the remains of another cup." H displayed the handle of a cup dangling from his pen. "This looks like it was nice China, too."

The door opened, and we turned, our hands going for our guns. This case was making us jumpy.

Dan Wolf walked into the room with his kit. With him were two men wheeling a gurney. "The bathroom?" At our nods, he sighed. "Okay, someone show me the way."

I led him down the short corridor. His men followed us and waited just outside the bathroom. "Dan, you did the autopsy on Joseph Bishop?"

"Who?"

"O'Neill's Valentine's victim?"

"Oh. Yes. Sorry. Sometimes they run into each other. Yes, I remember him now. O'Neill didn't do more than glance at my report. When he learned there had been no anal tearing, he lost interest. What did you need to know?"

"Is it similar in any way to our Central Park West victim?"

"No alcohol in his system. No pills or pot. Other than that, he was strangled from behind in his living room, and then placed on the john. Oh, shit. We have a serial?"

"It's starting to look like that."

Dan gazed at our newest victim and shook his head. "He appears to be the youngest."

"According to the ID in his wallet, he's 25."

"Damn. Well, no sense standing here with our thumbs up our butts." He removed his overcoat, and I took it from him. Then he knelt beside the john. "Rigor has set."

"Can you give me a time of death?"

"Just from looking at him? Probably around 3 PM, give or take." He opened his kit.

"Uh… I'll be inside, okay?"

"Sure thing, Blair." He chuckled as I left the room. Everyone knew I had a thing about those liver thermometers.

"You get to make the notification, Sandman." H was looking smug. So was Joel. "We flipped a coin."

"Don't try to make me feel good." I draped Dan's coat over a chair and glanced at my watch. Shit. There was no way I'd be able to keep my dinner date with Jim. "I need to make a phone call."

"There's a phone in the kitchen."

H nudged Joel. "Who's he calling? Naomi is out of town."

"He's calling his boyfriend."

"I heard that, blabbermouth. I don't have a boyfriend."

"Not yet, maybe. But I saw the way you two were looking at each other."

I flipped him off.

"You didn't tell me anything about that, Joel," H complained.

"There, there, little man."

"Supercilious asshole! And don't give me that look, Taggart."

"You go throwing around those $50 words… "

"I graduated college."

"City College."

"It's a qualified college!"

"Keep it down, guys."

I went into the kitchen, and dialed Jim's number from memory.

"Ellison."

"Hi, Jim."

"Chief! Wait until you get a taste of what I'm cooking. It's gonna knock your socks off."

"What are you cooking?"

"It's a Jewish dish – Kusneyeya Rice."

"Aw, Jim. For me?" Aunt Rebecca had made it on the occasion of Naomi's discharge from the hospital. 'Just like Mama used to make, isn't it Naomi?' Naomi had given her a weak smile and used the excuse that she was still recuperating to leave the table. I didn't think it was bad, but considering what I'd put in my mouth in Peru, what did I know? "I can smell it from here."

"Sure you can." He laughed. He sounded so happy to be cooking for me. "So why are you calling me when you should be here in about forty-five minutes?"

I licked my lips. I had to explain why I wouldn't be there in about forty-five minutes – another murder, similar to the one of his… friend? lover? It was going to dawn on him that I was a cop, that this was my job, and why would he want to see me again? I started to ramble, something I never did.

"Blair." He waited until I shut up. "We can do this another time."

"Thanks, Jim." I was surprised he was willing to have dinner with me again after I'd canceled on such short notice. I was more surprised at how relieved I felt.

"Hey, Blair!" Joel stood in the doorway.

"Hold on a sec, okay?" I said into the receiver, then covered it and turned to Joel. "What's up?"

"The M.E. wants to take the body!"

"Be right there, Joel. Jim…"

"Did Detective Taggart really have to shout, Chief? I'd have thought you'd be close enough to hear him."

"What?" Joel hadn't been shouting. What was Jim talking about?

"Blair! Tell your boyfriend goodbye. We have to move it! Dan's getting antsy!"

I covered the receiver again. "I'm coming! I have to go, Jim. Can I… can I call you when I get this done here?"

"I'd like that. You'll be careful?"

"I'll be careful. Bye, Jim."

"Bye, Chief."

I hung up the phone and turned to see Taggart and Brown standing there.

"What are you grinning about?" H wanted to know.

"He told me to be careful." I knew the grin on my face had to be sappy in the extreme. "Just now. On the phone."

"Oh boy, have you got it bad!"

Then my mind backed up and replayed what Joel had said, 'Tell your boyfriend goodbye,' and I felt myself turn cold.

Taggart must have read my expression. "Riley left. I wouldn't have teased you otherwise."

"Sorry. I just… "

"I know. I understand." He shut up as Wolf came into the room.

"My boys are getting the body ready to transport." He was looking grim. "There were no defensive wounds. It looks like he didn't even put up a fight."

"Shit. H, gather up whatever of the cup you can find. Maybe we can have it tested, see if there was anything in it that might have kept him from fighting back. Dan, you'll let me know what else you find?"

"You got it."

"I'd like to see what you have on Joseph Bishop too."

"I'll send my notes over first thing in the morning."

"Thanks. Joel, you and H finish up here." I ran a hand through my hair. It was getting long; I'd need to get a haircut soon. "I'll go notify the family. Dammit, I hate this. There's just no good way to do it. I'm taking the black and white."

"Okay. We'll see you tomorrow."

I opened the door and walked smack into Sam Samuels, the Daily News reporter. "Talk to them." I jerked a thumb over my shoulder.

"Detective Brown… "

"I'm not at liberty to divulge details, Mr. Samuels. I'm just the subordinate detective on the case."

"Detective Taggart? How about you? I'll mention your name in the paper," he wheedled.

"So weirdoes can call me like they do Sandburg? I don't think so."

And of course the reporter latched onto it like a bulldog. "Who's calling Sandburg? What weirdo?"

Son-of-a-bitch.

I turned on my heel and stalked back into the apartment. "The weirdo who read your story Tuesday morning. He liked that I said the murder was well-planned, well-executed. How do I know this, you may ask? Well, I'll tell you. I know this because he called to tell me just before I was going home for the day. Then he said I should come to this address, and I would see this murder was up to his previous standard." I managed to keep that singular. I didn't know if Sam was going to print what I told him, and I'd have to clear it with the Captain before I let the public know we had a serial killer on our hands.

Sam had the grace to look appalled. "You mean… "

"I won't confirm until the medical examiner gets back to me on it, but … Look, Sam. I know you have to report this. Just do me a favor. Don't say anything about him calling me at the station?"

"How do I explain how you discovered the body?"

"It was called in?"

"By who? Anonymously? By the neighbors?" Sam had his notebook out and was scribbling furiously.

"Is not getting credit for it gonna piss Hans off?" H asked.

"'Hans'?"

"Aw, shit. Now we gotta worry about hurting a murderer's feelings?"

"Who's Hans?"

"Dammit. I don't have time to deal with this."

"Excuse us. Coming through!" The two men wheeled the gurney with the covered body through the room.

We stepped aside, Sam looking mildly interested, but not disturbed. He went back to writing in his notebook.

Dan followed them. "Goodnight, gentlemen."

"'Night."

"Huh? Oh, yeah. G'night, Dr. Wolf. Okay, look. How about if I say that it was called in by Hans… Did he give you a last name?"

"Schultz."

He scribbled in his notebook. "Hans Schultz. Got it."

I checked my watch. "I have to go. Joel, you can handle this?"

"Are you still here? Go. Sam and I will get along fine."

"Okay. I'm gone. 'Night, guys, Sam."

"'Night."

"Where's he going," Sam wanted to know.

"Notifying the family… "

The rest of what Joel said was lost as I stepped into the elevator and the doors closed. I knew he wouldn't spill all the beans. The public, bless their blood-thirsty hearts, didn't have to know all the details. Something had to be kept so we could nail the killer, or else tell him from the copycat.

The officer in the black and white looked up as I opened the passenger door and got in beside him. "Where are we going?"

"Long Island." I told him the town.

"I'll take the 59^th Street Bridge."

****

Notifying a family that their child, even if he or she was an adult, had been killed was something I'd never gotten used to. This was even worse. Norbert Himmel had been sent away because of his sexual orientation.

"Mr. and Mrs. Himmel, I'm Detective Sandburg. I regret to inform you that your son is dead."

"Ve haff no son." Both his parents stared at me with stony expressions. "Norbert has been dead to us for years." And they closed the door in my face.

How could parents… Okay, granted, having a gay child might not be what every parent aspired to, but cutting Norbert out of their lives? I began to understand why he might have been willing to open his door to a stranger.

I headed down the walk toward the black and white, shaking my head.

"Officer?" A man stood by the gate. His overcoat had been thrown on and was unbuttoned. From the light cast by the streetlight, he appeared to be in his mid-twenties.

"Detective, actually. Detective Sandburg."

"Detective. I'm sorry. Edie overheard you talking to her parents and called me. Is it true? Is Bert dead?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm Martin Wagner. I've lived next door all my life. Bert and I were best friends." I recognized him. He was the boy in the pictures. "Edie is his sister. My… my girlfriend."

"I'm afraid it is true."

"What happened to him? Was he hit by a car? The people who drive in Manhattan are maniacs. They… "

"He was murdered."

"Oh, dear god, no!"

"I'm sorry."

"His parents always said this would… It's because he's… he was queer, isn't it?"

"This is an ongoing case, Mr. Wagner. I can't talk about it."

His lower lip quivered. "What's going to happen? To his body, I mean?"

"If no one claims it, he'll be buried in City Cemetery on Hart Island."

"For the 'unbefriended dead'?" He gave an unhappy laugh. "I'll claim his body. What do I need to do?"

I took out one of my cards, searched my pockets for a pen, and sighed. "Do you have a pen?"

"No, sorry."

I tapped on the window. Officer Connelly leaned across the bench seat and rolled it down. "Yes, sir?"

"Pen?"

He stifled a laugh, slid one off his clipboard, and handed it to me.

"This is the number for the coroner's office. Call them tomorrow. They'll be able to tell you when his body will be released."

"Thank… thank you." He gripped my hand. His eyes widened, and for a second he held onto my hand. I pulled it free, and he took a step back. "I'd better... "

"Marty! Marty!" A young woman ran down the steps. She was dressed too lightly for this weather.

"Edie." He caught her in his arms. "You shouldn't have come out."

"Bert's gone! And my parents… "

"I'll take care of it. I'll take care of everything."

"I'm sorry for your loss, miss."

Eyes blue where her brother's had been hazel turned toward me. "Thank you."

I nodded, opened the cruiser's door, and got in. "Here's your pen. Let's go."

"Sorry for laughing, Detective," he said as he put the car in gear and drove toward the westbound exit of the Southern State Parkway.

"Forget about it, Connelly." It beat the hell out of me why I kept losing my pens.

My stomach rumbled, and I thought wistfully of the dinner Jim was going to prepare for me.

"There's a pretty nice diner just a few blocks on the other side of the 59^th Street Bridge, sir."

"Thanks. I've got something in the fridge at home. Just drop me off outside my building, okay?" I gave him the address.

"Okay."

"What's this?" Traffic was backing up.

"Looks like there may be an accident up ahead." He switched on his radio, and we listened. "A pileup on Exit 32 South. As soon as I can get to the next exit, I'll try another route."

"Do you know your way around Long Island?"

"Sure. It'll be a snap!"

It took us three quarters of an hour to get off the Parkway. Who would have thought so many people would be out on a Thursday night?

I lost myself in thoughts of what the dinner I'd missed would have been like. Was Jim a good cook? It didn't matter. I'd have complimented whatever he'd served. And afterwards… what would we have had for dessert? Maybe him?

"Detective Sandburg? Detective Sandburg!" A hand was on my shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"We're here." It had taken almost another two hours to get back into Manhattan.

"Oh. Sorry." My internal clock was still screwed up from switching from nights to days. I scrubbed my hand over my face. "Thanks very much, Officer Connelly. Goodnight."

"'Night, sir."

I took the elevator up to the seventh floor. Naomi and I had moved into this building on East 53^rd as soon as I could afford it. It had two nice-sized bedrooms with bathrooms off each one, a living room, dining room, and kitchen. It was the largest apartment we'd ever lived in, and I figured whoever watched over dancers and their queer sons was looking out for us the day I found 7E.

It was after midnight, I was starving, and I needed a shower, but I'd promised to call Jim. I turned on the oven, and not even bothering with preheating, put a Swanson TV dinner in.

I'd take the shower after I spoke to Jim. I dialed his number.

"Chief?"

"Yeah, Jim. How'd you know it was me?"

"Lucky guess."

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No. I was up." He had waited up for my call? I liked that. I tucked the phone under my chin, leaned against the wall, and folded my arms across my chest. "How was the rice?"

"It was good. It would have been better if you'd been here to share it with me."

"I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you." I'd much rather have had dinner with him than tell a family that couldn't care less their son was dead. "Jim, would you do me a favor?" I'd had a thought on the way up in the elevator.

"Yes."

I blinked. He'd agreed so readily. I couldn't stop myself from wondering what else he'd agree to. I pushed that out of my mind for the time being.

"Come down to the station tomorrow and talk to our sketch artist? If we can find Chris, maybe we'll have some idea of who killed your friend and who killed Himmel."

"Himmel?"

"Our latest victim."

"Uh huh. Well, sure, Chief. But if he was using greasepaint, I don't think it will be much use."

I hadn't even thought of that. I was punchy from the long day and then the ride out to Long Island. "I'd still like you to give it a try." I really wanted to see him.

"Okay. What time do you want me there?"

"About 11?" Then we could have lunch together. I couldn't take him to Rosie's, there were always cops there, but…

"I can't, Chief, I'm sorry. I have work."

"Damn. I forgot." I was punchier than I'd realized. "Well, how about after work? You get off at 4, right? Okay, then, how does 4:30 sound? 15^th Precinct." It probably could have waited until the weekend, but suddenly it was imperative that I see him sooner. "I appreciate it, Jim." 

"Whatever I can do for our fair city."

"And maybe when you're done … maybe we could go for dinner?" I thought briefly of bringing him here, but the fridge was pretty bare, and I wouldn't have time to go grocery shopping. "I know this place…" It was a small diner tucked away on 48^th Street. I went there at least once a week, sometimes more frequently when Naomi was away.

"I'd like that." There was something in his voice that told me he really would like to have dinner with me. "Chief, can you talk about what happened tonight?"

"Sure. Why not? You'll read about it in the papers tomorrow anyway – no, it will be this morning, won't it?" Sam the reporter would bust a gut seeing he made his deadline. "Norbert Himmel. Age 25. Blond, hazel eyes. Homosexual. The body was half-on, half-off the john. There was a set of lips drawn on his forehead in bright red lipstick. And those bruises around his throat."

"How are you, Chief?" He sounded concerned. I liked that.

"I'm okay. Just really tired." I couldn't prevent a yawn. "Sorry. I'd better go. I wanted to hear your voice before I called it a night, though."

"I'm glad. I like hearing your voice too. It's… it's soothing."

"Thanks. I think." Something about my voice being soothing to him was like an itch at the back of my brain, trying to remind me of something, but then it was gone. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"'Night, Chief."

"G'night, Jim." I hung up the phone and glanced at the timer. I'd have about fifteen minutes. I went to take a quick shower.

I'd changed into flannel pajamas and was just coming into the kitchen when the timer went off just, a really annoying buzzing sound. I shut it off, took a potholder from its hook, and took the aluminum tray from the oven.

I removed the foil covering, and steam rose to warm my face. As I let it cool, I thought of all the ways Jim Ellison could say 'yes' to me. Yes, I'll suck your cock. Yes, I'll let you fuck me. Yes, I want you in my life forever...

I put a forkful of the TV dinner in my mouth, then spit it out and stared down at it in dismay. Salisbury steak? This was one of the TV dinners that Naomi preferred. What had I been thinking? No longer hungry, and in spite of the children who were starving in India or China, I dumped it into the garbage.

Then I turned off the kitchen light and went to bed.

Part 3

I woke up with a fizzy feeling in my stomach, and it wasn't because I was starving. Something wonderful was going to happen today.

I was having dinner with Jim Ellison. Of course, he was coming down to the Precinct first, and I had no doubt the sketch artist would be able to come up with something.

I had two bowls of Frosted Flakes, thinking about him. I was hard.

I had time for a shower, and I jerked off under the warm spray. Was he cut, like me? Would he be hot and tight, squeezing my cock as I slowly fucked him?

I turned my face up to the spray and quickened my strokes. What would his skin taste like, his come?

I gasped and came harder than I had in a long while.

As I caught my breath and rinsed off, I realized that I hadn't sucked anyone since Toby in Peru. I wondered idly how he was and if he'd gotten his doctorate in anthropology. There was regret that I hadn't been able to continue that route myself, but it was very mild.

A glance at the clock told me that if I didn't step on it I was going to be late, so, in spite of feeling sated, I stepped on it.

I arrived at the One Five just as Joel and H were entering the elevator. They held it for me.

"What's up for today?"

"H, I want you to talk to the doorman who works days. Then see if Marc Addams is home. Maybe he can tell us where Maria Hernandez is. Joel… "

"Norbert's address book? I'm on top of it. I'll see if I can learn what company he works for and maybe stop there."

"Good idea." We split up. I sent the hair to be analyzed, then picked up my phone and called Riley.

"Sandman! I was just going to stop by to see you."

"What've you got?"

"A gorgeous print. Perfect in every way."

"Except?" I could tell from his tone of voice there was an 'except.'

"It's not on file."

"Fuck it!"

"Yeah. My precise thought. Well, I'm going home. I've been here since noon yesterday, and I'm beat."

"These murders always happen in the afternoon. Thanks, Riley."

"Don't mention it."

We hung up.

It would have been nice if the print had at least matched one lifted at the other crime scenes. This guy was too fucking smart.

Before the morning was out, I had Dan Wolf's autopsy notes on Joseph Bishop. I scanned them, shook my head, and went to see the Captain. His face darkened as I informed him of what I had found.

"Goddamn it! Sloppy. Slipshod. It's a good thing O'Neill is retiring. I'd have him riding a desk the rest of his time in the Department otherwise. All right. I'm pulling your team off all your other cases. See what else you can learn about this. I want this case solved before..."

"Yes, sir. I sent Brown to the building on Central Park West. He'll question the day doorman. Then I've asked him to talk to Marc Addams to see what he can learn about the cleaning lady."

"Taggart?"

"He has Norbert Himmel's address book, and he's talking to the people in it. McGaffney hasn't come in yet. He was supposed to see Lily Monroe yesterday…"

"McGaffney is not one of your men."

"No, sir, but Brown and Taggart were out trying to track down Maria Hernandez."

"Who? Oh, the cleaning lady. Yes. All right."

"Just one other thing, Cap? All three men are blond, although only the first two had blue eyes."

"So we've got a pattern here. Similar coloring, killed in a similar manner, and all three appear to be homosexual. All right." He ran his hand over his hair. "Keep me posted."

"Yes, sir." I went back into the squad room, letting out a relieved breath.

"Hey, Sandman! Phone call!"

My first thought was that it was Jim, calling because he couldn't wait until 4:30 to talk to me, and I couldn't stop grinning.

"Detective Sandburg."

"Bon jour, mon ami! Oh, from your tone of voice you are glad to hear from me! Comment ca va?"

"Excuse me?"

"C'est moi. 'Ow do you like my accent? My Maurice Chevalier – c'est si bon, n'est-ce pas?"

"I'm sorry. I don't understand French," I lied. Monaghan was staring at me, and I gave him the high sign that this call needed to be traced.

"Oh, I am disappointed, Blair."

"Hans?" Was he calling to inform me he'd strangled someone else?

"Oui, but I am feeling… pah! 'Ow do you say… " He was playing with me. "I am feeling verrry French today. Excusez-moi." He covered the phone, but I could hear him ordering brunch. I listened as hard as I could, hoping the man he was speaking to would say his name. No such luck. "Mon cher Blair, are you still there?"

"I'm still here. What do you want, Hans? Or should I call you Jacques?"

"Eh, but of course!"

"Or you could tell me your real name."

He laughed. "Non, mon ami. Non, et non, et non."

"Okay. It was worth a shot."

"You are so mignon! How sad that we cannot meet in person."

"Yeah." I was cute? Was he flirting with me? I felt sick. "Suppose you tell me why you're calling today?" Please, not that someone else was dead. I felt sicker.

"I wanted to thank you for what you say about me in today's newspaper. This Sam Samuels, he is a good friend of yours, no?"

"No. Sam is just a reporter."

"Well, he say nice things about you. And he say nice things about me too. Ha – ha - ha."

"Does that mean you're going to call him from now on?" A glance at Monaghan let me know he was getting close.

"Jealous, mon cher détective? There is no need. Je suis toujours vrai à vous de ma mode, chéri."

He was always true to me in his fashion? The son of a bitch was quoting Cole Porter to me? I ground my teeth.

"Anyway, I just called to tell you 'merci,' and to wish you a weekend of the most pleasant kind. I will be going away for a few days, and I promise to be a good boy."

"Wait a second!"

"Oui?"

"Uh… can you talk to me a little more? I really like hearing you talk. French accents have always turned me to mush." Jesus, what was I saying? "Uh… Where are you going?"

"Mais non. If I talk longer you will … 'ow you say?… trace this call. I think not. Au revoir, mon cher Blair." He hung up.

"Monaghan?"

"No."

"Goddammit!"

"'French accents have always turned me to mush?'" He snickered.

"I was desperate to keep him on the line." I dropped the phone into its cradle.

He shook his head, and returned to his desk. "I'm glad my perps don't call me on the phone."

"I'm just so lucky." And my phone rang again. He was calling back to rub it in some more? "Listen to me, you…"

"Detective Sandburg?" The voice was hesitant. "You may not remember me. I talked to you last night. I'm…"

"Mr. Wagner. Yes." I took a couple of breaths and regained my cool. "What can I do for you?"

"You recognized my voice." He sounded pleased. "Might I… I'm in the City. I'd like to see you if you have some free time?"

"I can't tell you when your friend's body will be released."

"No, I already spoke to someone in the coroner's office, and it won't be for another few days. It's just… I need to talk to someone about Bert."

"What about his sister?"

"No. She has no idea… Please."

"Why me?"

"Last night, I couldn't help but notice that you were… you had sympathetic eyes."

"Where are you?"

"I'm in Grand Central Station."

"Okay." It was almost noon. "There's a Nedick's just past the shoeshine stand." I had a soft spot for Nedick's. The hotdog stands were all over the city, even in the boondocks of Queens. Naomi would sometimes treat me to them when I was little and she didn't have to work that night. The drinks were sweet enough to make our teeth ache, and it wasn't until Naomi had bought me an orange for Chanukah one year that I realized they didn't really taste orange, but that was what I ordered every time. "I'll meet you there in twenty minutes. We can grab lunch, and you can tell me what's on your mind."

"Twenty minutes. Okay. Thanks." He hung up.

McGaffney opened the door just as I reached for the knob. He looked tired.

"Are you okay?"

"O'Neill is a fucking idiot!"

"You won't get an argument about that from me, but why?"

"Bishop wasn't queer. At least not according to his fiancée. And what are you grinning at?"

"Our strangler made a mistake, Mac. He thought Bishop was queer, but it seems he was wrong. If he made one mistake, he's bound to make more."

"I'm so happy for you."

"What's up with you?"

"When they warn you about comforting the grieving widow, jesus, they weren't kidding!"

"Huh?"

"Lily Monroe. Fiancées are just as bad!"

"You had sex with her? But she works in a Catholic school."

"No matter, man. The woman was insatiable!"

"I'm sorry I asked you to… "

"Are you kidding? I'm seeing her again tonight!"
 

****

I had a funny feeling about Martin Wagner, but there was no way I could cancel my meeting with him. I caught a bus to 42^nd and Park and found him waiting in Grand Central Station by the Nedick's stand. It was crowded with people trying to get a quick lunch.

"Sorry I'm late."

"I was afraid you weren't going to make it. Have you… uh… learned anything?"

"As I told you, I can't talk about the case, Mr. Wagner. Would you like a hotdog? They're very good."

"Oh. Uh... just one, please."

I ordered one dog with mustard and sauerkraut for each of us, and two orange drinks as well. A couple left a tall table toward the end of the counter, and I led the way to it before anyone else could claim it. I put my drink down and took a bite. The mustard was yellow, not as good as the hot mustard the Jewish delis usually had, but it was part of Nedick's ambience.

For a few minutes he concentrated on eating. He took small, neat bites, and chewed as if he were counting each one.

"So," I wiped my mouth with a paper napkin, "what's on your mind?"

He met my eyes. "Are you going to find Bert's killer?"

"I'll do my damnedest."

"You won't let the fact that he's…"

"What? Homosexual?"

"You knew? How?"

"I'm a detective. It's my job to find out things like that."

He took a sip of his drink and grimaced. "That's sweet!" He put the cup down and began to pick at the hotdog bun. "How did you know?"

The Tony Curtis posters were a dead giveaway, even before I'd seen the porn in his desk. "His parents were awfully fast to disown him."

"Mine would have done the same." This time he looked away. "We… when we were in high school … "

"That picture of the two of you in the attic."

"He kept that? He told me he'd torn it up. Would… when this case is solved, would you give that back to me?"

"If you're claiming the body, I don't see why you shouldn't have that."

"Thank you." He took another sip and grimaced again.

"You want me to order you a root beer?"

"Excuse me? Oh, no. This is ..." He couldn't lie and say it was fine. Instead, he pushed it away and licked his lips. "I broke it off, you know. He went away to college, Farleigh Dickinson, and when he came home for the Christmas break, he was so excited. All that freedom… He wanted me to come back with him, to live with him. I told him we had to stop."

"Did you tell him why?"

"No." His voice was low, and I had to lean forward to hear him. "How could I tell him I was a chicken shit? You see, someone we'd gone to school with… He was captain of the football team! Who would have thought? He was arrested for … well, you know. His family moved away in the middle of the night. I overheard my parents talking about it, about how unnatural it was, and disgusting, and… and how they'd never permit a child of theirs… I told Bert I didn't love him any more."

"I understand."

"You do?"

"It's not easy when you don't have the support of your family." It wasn't easy even if you did.

"You talk as if you know."

I wasn't about to discuss my sexuality with a stranger. "I'm a cop. I come across things like this – kids so heartbroken and alone they do anything for a little human warmth. A lot of times they wind up dead."

"I see." Maybe he did, but somehow I really didn't think so. "I… I guess… It was my fault. If I'd been stronger… "

"What happened?"

"He was so… unhappy. He went back to college after the break, and that was the last time he came home. He fell in with a crowd… They were older, wilder… He wrote me about in, in detail. Told me if I didn't want him, there were plenty… " He blinked rapidly. "His grades started slipping, and his parents drove down to the Metropolitan Campus to see what was going on. They learned he wasn't living in the dorm any more and managed to track him down. They never talked about it – I don't know where they found him, and he never told me what happened. All I know is that there was a confrontation, and they left. It sobered him. This time when he wrote me, he begged me to talk to them. I tried. Maybe if I'd tried harder… " He crumbled the remainder of his hotdog and looked around for a trash can.

I took it from him. "He sent a letter to them that was returned, apparently without ever being read. They cut off all contact with him?"

"Yes. Edie's parents told her she didn't have a brother any longer; I had just started dating her, and they told me if I ever brought up his name again, they would forbid her to see me. They packed up everything of his and left it on the curb." His laugh was bitter. "If they'd given it a moment's thought – what the neighbors would think was always a big concern of theirs – I don't think they would have gone quite so far, but maybe not. Edie and I brought everything into my parents' garage, and I was the one who sent it to the college."

"He had a picture of the two of you – Edie and you – in his wallet."

His breath caught. "Edie sent it to him. I wasn't sure he got it. I hoped he hadn't. He'd dropped out of college around that time." I reached for a napkin, and he rested his hand on mine and rubbed his thumb over my knuckles. "Maybe if I had… "

"There were a number of things you could have done but didn't. What you did do was call me." I freed my hand. "Why?"

"I wanted… " He flushed.

"Did you think you could… " We were surrounded by the lunchtime crowd, and I bit back my words. Did he think he could make a pass at me, and I wouldn't knock his block off?

"Last night you were so empathetic. You just looked so… "

My looks and height. I'd had to be twice as aggressive at the Academy and in my first few months at the One Five. The teasing had been malicious, but after I'd challenged a few cops to a couple of rounds in the ring in the gym and mopped the mat with them, it eased off. 

"You've got a girlfriend."

"She's as close to Bert as I could acceptably get. He had hazel eyes, but they changed color depending on what he wore. When he wore blue… Edie's eyes are the same shade." He bit his lip and looked away. "You don't think much of me, do you, Detective Sandburg? I just... I'm so lonely."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"You're so… " He glanced around, cleared his throat, and changed what he'd been going to say. "I apologize. I wanted to know… How was he living? Who were his friends? Was he happy?"

"He had a nice apartment, and I was told he worked in the Garment District. As for his friends – We have his address book, and one of my men is looking into that."

"But was he happy?"

I shrugged. He was lonely enough to open his door to a total stranger.

"What will happen to the contents of Bert's apartment?"

"That depends on whether he had a will."

"What 25 year old has a will?"

"In that case, I think it would go to his next of kin. Since his parents have shown no interest in him," and probably had even less interest in his things, "that would be his sister, but I'm not a lawyer, and I'd suggest consulting one."

"All right." He sighed. "I guess…  I just need to know that Bert won't be written off again."

"I'll find the man who did this, and I'll make sure he goes to jail for it." I shoved my cuff back and checked my watch. "I have to get back to work. Look. It's not my place to give advice, but… don't hurt Norbert's sister. It's not her fault that she isn't him."

"I know."

"I hope you find the answers to your questions, Mr. Wagner."

"So do I." He looked at me wistfully. "Thank you for lunch."

"You're welcome." I disposed of the trash and left.

****

The bottom drawer of my desk was my home away from home. In it were things I kept in case I needed to work a double shift or go to court at a moment's notice – a spare shirt in the plastic wrapper from the dry cleaners, an electric shaver, a travel-size toothbrush and toothpaste.

At 4:05 I clocked out and went to the men's room to freshen up. I pulled off my shirt and undershirt and dropped them over the radiator. I ran the electric shaver over my cheeks and jaws, thought about slapping on some aftershave, but for some reason it didn't seem like a good idea and I decided not to, then I brushed my teeth. I blew into my palm and inhaled.

Minty-fresh.

I did a quick wash, wet a comb and slicked it through my hair in an attempt to tame the curls, removed the shirt from the wrapper, and put it on.

Lieutenant Dawson, who worked nights, pushed open the door and walked in. He looked me over. "Getting ready for a date, Sandman?" He went to the urinal and unzipped his fly.

I fastened the cuffs. "I've got a possible potential witness coming in to talk to George." I buttoned the front of my shirt, freed my tie from the other shirt, and threaded it through my collar.

"'Possible potential'?"

"Yeah. He saw someone with my murder victim. If he can give George a description, we may be able to track this guy down and get a new lead."

"And that's why you're getting all spiffed up?" Dawson zipped himself up, flushed, and went to wash his hands.

"I'm just taking him to Nana's Kitchen. As a form of 'thank you' from the NYPD."

"And that's why you shaved and put on a clean shirt?" Dawson was grinning. He knew that by the end of shift I usually sported a pretty heavy 5 o'clock shadow.

"Can't have Major Crimes presenting a sloppy image."

"Nana's Kitchen, hmmm? Not Rosie's?"

"Rosie tends to spice her foods a bit too much."

"Huh?"

Huh? I couldn't explain where that came from. I changed the subject. "Thanks for going down to Maryland. Notifying the family is one of the worst parts of this job."

"Don't mention it. Those poor people. I felt sorry for them. They couldn't understand how something like that could have happened to their son. Well, I've got a drug bust to see about. Good luck getting that sketch."

"Good luck yourself."

We left the men's room together. He headed for the elevator that would take him to the lobby and out, and I returned to the squad room to stuff my things into my bottom drawer. I'd take the shirt and undershirt home some night when I didn't have a date.

****

It was 4:29, and I was pacing the lobby of the Precinct. The Captain came out of the elevator and glanced at the clock on the wall.

"You're still here, Sandburg?"

"I'm waiting for a possible witness to show up."

"Possible?"

"Well, he saw someone with my first victim." It did sound pretty thin. I shrugged. "We have a first name, but that's all. He's going to talk to George. Maybe we'll get a likeness. If we do, and if I can find him, we might have a lead."

"Okay, okay. You're not getting paid overtime for this, though. Bookkeeping is unhappy enough I okayed it the other night."

"No, sir." I could see a tux beneath his overcoat. "Are you going to that event at City Center?"

"Yeah," he growled. "If my wife wasn't on the same committee as the Commissioner's wife… "

"Enjoy the food, sir."

"Not likely. Good luck, Sandburg."

"Thank you, sir."

He left. And then the door swung open, and Jim walked in. He was wearing an overcoat. March had been bouncing back and forth between spring and winter, and it paid to be prepared. He was also wearing black jeans that clung to his lower legs.

His face lit up when he saw me. "Hi, Chief. I'm not late, am I?"

"Jim. Hi." I lost myself in his eyes. He had such beautiful eyes, burning with the promise of passion.

We were together on a mat in some jungle hut – the sweat beading on our bodies caused not only by the humidity of the rainforest but by the bout of lovemaking that had been so intense we'd been on the verge of passing out...

"Chief?"

I shook myself out of my daze. "No, you're not late."

"Good." He smiled, and took off his overcoat. I couldn't prevent a low wolf whistle. I lost myself again.

He was crouched above my supine body, rising and falling, fucking himself on my cock…

I swallowed. Damn. I had to stop doing that.

"Chief?" His eyes were hot, burning hot, as if he knew… But that was impossible. He couldn't know how turned on I was. "Who do I need to see?"

"George. He's our sketch artist." I swallowed. Jim was looking a little flushed, but I didn't think to wonder about that just then. "His office is right this way."

I took his arm, and he smiled as if his fondest wish was being granted.

Part 4

"I'm sorry that I couldn't help your sketch artist, Chief. Not to say 'I told you so,' but…"

"I know. You did say something along those lines." We had left the Precinct and were walking through the rush hour crowd. "Well, George was able to sketch in some details. We've got a rough idea of the shape of his face, the distance between his eyes, where his ears are placed on his head… "

'He was called 'Randy Beautiful', you know,' he'd told me of the man at whose funeral we'd met, as we entered George's tiny office. 'Beautiful face, beautiful hair, beautiful body… '

I'd wanted to kill a dead man.

' …. and a soul to rival Dorian Gray's.'

And I'd still wanted to kill him.

"Do you think finding Chris will give you some idea of who the murderer is?"

"I hope. Maybe Chris saw our killer in the hallway. In the elevator. Coming into the building as he left." I felt as if I were clutching at straws.

We'd checked with both the night doorman, who told H that the deceased had a habit of bringing men up to his apartment, and the day man, who had seen no one except the cleaning lady go up to that floor.

Where was the cleaning lady?

H hadn't been able to question Addams about her – the doorman had reluctantly told H he'd left for Palm Beach earlier that morning. He'd tried Maria Hernandez's apartment once more, but the people there suddenly couldn't understand his Spanish.

"Randy always came home after Gene left for the day."

"That would explain why he couldn't describe any of your friend's… boyfriends."

"I guess." Jim stopped suddenly, looking around. He rubbed the back of his neck, and his expression was tense.

"Jim?  Is something wrong?"

"No. Uh… no." But it took a minute or so for him to relax. "So what does this tell us, Chief?"

"Maybe Chris looks like you?"

"I didn't think so, and I saw him, remember."

"Hmmm. Oh, we're here." Nana's Kitchen. No one knew her real name, but she looked like everyone's grandmother, and she cooked the way they were supposed to. We entered the diner, and I led him to my usual booth situated at the back. I hoped he'd like the food here. I was thinking of bringing him back again and again.

It crossed my mind that I was unusually relaxed with him. I'd never met anyone I'd connected with so quickly. Sure, there were the guys I'd had sex with, but I'd never considered taking them home, making love to them in my bed. Having Naomi meet them.

Guiding them …

I nearly tripped over my own feet.

"Are you okay, Chief?"

"Uh… yeah. Sure." I took off my overcoat and hung it up on the hook on my side of the booth.

Jim did the same, and I started salivating. He was wearing black jeans and a turtleneck that seemed to caress the muscles of his torso. He wasn't wearing an undershirt, and his nipples were visible.

It wasn't cold in Nana's. That meant he was aroused. My cock twitched.

Nancy, the waitress who always served me, came over, and we ordered two beers. I was pleased when Jim, unknowing, ordered the same brand of beer that I drank.

I waited until she left to pick up the thread of our conversation. I wanted to get it out of the way so I could concentrate on him.

"There could have been a resemblance that wasn't apparent to you, Jim. From the back? The side? At a distance?"

For a second I thought he was going to argue with me, but then he blinked. "You might have a valid point, Chief. Jeff said Randy had hired him a few times."

"Jeff?"

"I was talking to him at the wake before I got cornered by the Dick Man. Richard Lee. Anyway, Jeff and I look a little alike."

"I noticed." I'd had the impression after watching them at the wake the other night that they were friends, but nothing more. "He's good-looking. Just not as good-looking as you."

"Oh. Thank you." He sounded surprised. Didn't he realize how attractive he was?

"You're welcome." I grinned at him and reached across the table to cover the back of his hand. Jim turned his hand over, and we were palm to palm. I curled my fingertips against the lightly calloused skin, and he shivered.

"So… um… what do you do now?"

"We need to fill in the time between when the doorman saw them enter the building and when his neighbor…" I suddenly wondered if he knew the neighbor.

"Marc."

"Right." How well did he know him? "We need to find out how much time passed until Marc called us."

He didn't ask me why we needed to know this. He just sat waiting patiently.

"The thing is, the bastard who did this took his time, Jim."

He turned pale, and I felt my gut clench. Did he still care for the dead man? Then I realized how what I'd said must have sounded.

"I'm sorry, Jim. I don't mean he took a long time killing him. He… Your friend was killed in the living room, then dragged into the bathroom and posed."

He looked relieved. "Thanks, Chief."

"Norbert Himmel was posed the same way. I want to talk to this Chris. The odds are he wasn't there when the murderer came knocking on the door, but I want to talk to him anyway."

Nancy returned and placed the beers on the table. "Would you like to order?"

"Oh…" We'd been so wrapped up in the conversation he hadn't had a chance to look at the menu.

"Jim? If you trust me, I'll order." I gave him what I hoped was my most winning smile.

"I trust you, Chief." He touched his tongue to his upper lip and smiled at me from under his lashes.

I was suddenly hard, and I shifted. It was a good thing the angle of the table concealed my lap. His smile broadened as if he knew. But how could he know?

Nancy was tapping her pencil against her pad.

"We'll have two turkey dinners." That was the special tonight, but it was good any night, and it wasn't excessively spicy. I blinked. Why was I worrying about the amount of spices in Jim's food? "Uh… Baked potato, Jim?" He nodded. "And house salad with French dressing."

"I'll have a Caesar salad."

"I'll put this in and have your salads in just a few."

"Thanks, Nancy. Caesar salad, Jim?" I hoped Nana left out the anchovies. I raised my glass, thinking maybe I'd like to propose a toast to us, then thinking maybe that was silly, and I took a sip.

"Just because I let you order everything else – I don't want you thinking I'm easy."

The thought of him being easy… I swallowed wrong, choked and gasped, and the beer went up my nose.

"Sorry, Chief."

"Never mind." I pulled out a handkerchief, mopped my eyes, and blew my nose. He looked so rueful I wanted to pull him over the table and kiss him silly.

While I was catching my breath, he said, "Y'know, there's something that's been bothering me. If Chris had left, if Randy was alone, he wouldn't have let anyone he didn't know into the penthouse."

"What? That's… "

"Cautious?" He knew as well as I that living in New York could tend to make a person cautious. "That was just the way he was."

"You knew him pretty well, didn't you?" I wanted to know more about him. Was I being too obvious? The only person I'd ever known well, aside from Naomi, had been Butch, and that had been a long time ago.

"Well enough." He looked away.

I wasn't going to push him. We really hadn't known each other too long, and I didn't want to come across as – well, pushy.

When I didn't comment, he said in a rush, "We lived together for about six months. I left him last August."

"I guess it wasn't love then." That pleased me. He wouldn't be on the rebound when he came to my bed.

"No. I thought… No."  He looked so lost, and I wanted to comfort him, but Nancy arrived with a basket of rolls cradled on an arm and our salads in her hands.

"Thanks, Nance."

"Welcome." She grinned.

"Oh, waitress!"

"Yes, ma'am?" She winked at me and hurried off.

"So, the man who killed him could have been someone he knew?"

"Maybe. I know a lot of people weren't fond of Randy, but that doesn't mean they'd kill him."

"Why not?" I forced myself to stop watching his mouth and forked up a bite of salad.

"His crowd wasn't likely to get physical. Not like that. Well, you saw Richard Lee."

"He looked like he was all set to knock you down." And jump all over him. Was Jim unaware of how much Lee wanted him?

"Nah. As soon as he saw I was ready to face him, he'd have backed down." He was so confident. I was sorry now I had stepped between them. I would have liked to see Jim pop him one. I tuned back in to what he was saying. "And the people Randy hung with… they'd throw a glass of red wine over his favorite suit, they'd say something derogatory about the art he collected, but they wouldn't resort to physical violence. And none of them would strangle him."

"You don't think?"

"No. Sorry." Again that rueful smile that made me want to have my wicked way with him.

Nancy returned. "Are you finished?" I was surprised to see my salad was gone. "Your dinners will be right out."

"Thank you." I selected a roll and started buttering it. "Anyway, we'll keep looking for Chris." I looked up to find his eyes fastened on my hands. I felt a flush cover my body.

His lips were parted, and he looked as if he couldn't catch his breath. Was he imaging how my hands would feel on his body? What we could do with butter?

I put the roll down and reached for my beer. What had I been saying? It took me a second to regain my train of though. I cleared my throat and told him about Joseph Bishop, the man O'Neill had written off and whose case he'd let grow cold.

"You think this man may have been one of the killer's victims?"

"Yeah. Even without the lipstick kiss on his forehead, the murders are too similar. And he was killed on Valentine's Day."

"Maybe the killer was practicing?"

"That would be just peachy." I growled under my breath but didn't say anything aloud. If he was practicing, how long would it take for him to get it right? How many more men would die?

Jim looked up sharply. I raised an eyebrow, and he smiled, but there was no mirth in it – it was just a twitch of his cheek muscles. I was about to ask him what was wrong, but our dinners arrived, and we began to eat.

****

It was a nice dinner. Jim ate slowly at first, but once he tasted Nana's tender tom turkey, he tucked into it with enthusiasm. In between bites he told me about growing up in Washington State.

"My father didn't want me once he realized I was queer. He sent me to a military academy to have it drilled out of me. It didn't work." He smiled, but I could see the regret in his eyes. "After I graduated, I came East."

If he had brought up the topic of being a hustler, I would have told him about the time I'd spent as an escort. But he didn't, so I didn't either.

I told him about growing up in Manhattan, about opening johnny pumps on hot summer days and cooling in the blast of water, of spending afternoons on 'tar beach,' the roofs of the buildings we lived in. And in the winters, sliding down the huge mounds of snow the plows would clear off the streets and leave piled on the corners.

"I wish I'd known you then, Chief. We could have… " He flushed and licked his lips.

"Yeah. We could have." I leaned my elbow on the table, moving a blueberry around on the plate while I smiled at him. The way he was looking at me had me at a simmer that was threatening to switch to a rolling boil in a split second.

"You've got ice cream at the corner of your mouth, Chief."

"Yeah?" I licked at it, making a production of it. I wanted to kiss him. I knew that under the table his legs were spread. We'd been playing footsie throughout dessert. The toe of his shoe had edged up under the leg of my trousers. I couldn't reach that far, but I could rub the side of my foot up and down his leg.

Jim's smile told me he wouldn't object if I decided to lean over this table and kiss him. I thought it might be a better idea to get him out of there.

Maybe I should ask him if he wanted to pay a visit to the men's room. That was something chicks usually did, although not because they wanted to make out, but if it got me somewhere private with him, I didn't much care.

I was about to call Nancy for the check when she rushed to our booth.

"Blair, you're wanted on the phone. It's Lieutenant Dawson."

"I'll be right back, Jim." I edged out of the booth.

"No rush, Chief." He was still smiling.

I grinned and sauntered to the front of the diner, knowing he'd be watching my ass, and took the phone.

"Sandburg." I leaned against the counter and gazed back at Jim. God, the man was a pleasure to look at.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your dinner, Blair."

"What's going on?"

"We've got a problem. A phone call came in from the doorman of that building on 74^th."

I straightened and turned away. "Not another body?"

"Unfortunately. In the same penthouse apartment, strangled. You mentioned going to Nana's Kitchen, so I gave it a shot that you'd still be there."

"How the … " I lowered my voice and gave the woman behind the register an apologetic smile. I was in a public place. "How could that happen? Who was assigned to watch that apartment?"

"No one. The Cap had to pull everyone off after Himmel was murdered."

"Why?"

"Someone in the management company knows someone in the Commissioner's office. The official word is that it wasn't necessary, that our resources were spread too thin, but the truth of the matter is they didn't want cops hanging around. It wouldn't look good."

"So the result is that someone else is killed. Do we know who?"

"Not yet. I've called in Taggart and Brown and sent them to the scene. There are some uniformed officers also in case things get more strange."

"More strange?"

"Oh, yeah. This has been a night… About twenty minutes before the doorman called, a really weird phone call came into Major Crimes. It was for you."

My stomach began to churn, and I regretted that last forkful of blueberry pie. "A weird phone call? For me?" I felt like an echo. "Who was it? Hans? Jacques?"

"Who? No, the caller identified herself as Mrs. Roosevelt. She wanted to talk to you, and believe me, she was royally pissed off that I was the only one available. Then she apologized. Said she'd promised you she was going to be good, but she's broken her word and been a bad girl. I thought she was a nut job, you know?"

"Oh, man, this is not good!"

"She said when you found out what she'd done, you were to note that her latest handiwork was up to her previous standards."

"This is really not good. Okay. I'll get right over there."

"I'd better track down the Cap."

"I saw him earlier. He and Mrs. Haines are at a function at City Center."

"Thanks. Listen, call us as soon as you know anything. If this is more work of your Strangler… "

"If the body is on the john and has a kiss on his forehead… I'll let you know as soon as I know, Lieutenant."

We hung up, and I went back to the booth. Nancy was standing there, smiling at Jim.

"I'm sorry, Jim. I have to go." I took the check from her and gave her some bills for her tip.

"Thanks, Blair." She tucked them away in her apron pocket.

"You're welcome."

I went back to the front of the restaurant and handed the check to the woman behind the counter.

"How was everything?"

"Great. As usual. Tell Nana, okay?"

The woman beamed. "She'll be so happy to hear that."

"Chief?" Jim was holding my coat. I hadn't even remembered it. He wouldn't let me take it, just held it by the shoulders. I'd seen Uncle Asher do that for Aunt Rebecca. Naomi had never kept company with anyone classy like that. I felt myself blush.

"Thanks, Jim."

"Was there another murder?"

"Yeah. Another strangulation." I told him where, and his eyes narrowed.

"Can I go with you?"

"Just don't touch anything," I ordered, but I was thinking of something else.

'Your strangler,' Dawson had called him. I had to find this guy and stop him.

****

We dodged the press and got into the building. Four officers were scattered around the lobby. They nodded, and I returned their greeting.

Jim and I crossed the lobby to the express elevator that would go to the 50^th floor. I took the key from the officer standing there, and we entered the car.

//Alone at last.// Jim's expression was hungry, and I licked my lips and took a step toward him. The trip to 50 would be long enough for me to finally kiss him. Before I could get close enough to put an arm around him and bring his head down for our first kiss, he frowned.

"Shit!"

"What's wrong, Jim?"

"There's a smell in this elevator... " His brow furrowed in concentration.

"What is it?" I couldn't smell anything.

"It's a man's cologne. Men's cologne," he corrected. "I've smelled them both recently. One under the other. I just can't… "

Something nagged at the back of my mind, and it seemed closer than it ever had been, but again it was gone. I took the opportunity to get my hands on him. The muscles of his back were tense under my hands, and I stroked them, trying to get them to loosen up. 

"Don't concentrate on trying to identify them, Jim. Relax. Maybe that will help it come to you."

"Chief…"

The elevator arrived on 50, and the door slid open.

"We'll talk about it later, Jim. Will you be okay going in?" I'd seen cops collapse and coroners upchuck at a scene, and they hadn't been involved personally with the victim. I made myself let him go, even though I didn't want to.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He stepped out of the elevator, taking some breaths.

"This was a former … boyfriend's… apartment, he was killed in it, and you haven't been here since last August." After what happened in the elevator, I was a little worried about him.

"Ah, Chief. I'll be fine."

"Let me know if it's a problem."

He gave me a sweet smile. "I will."

"Damn right you will." This was turning out to be one hell of a first date. "Come on, let's get this show on the road." I crossed the foyer with Jim beside me and grinned. "Officer Dolan."

"Detective Sandburg. It's good to see you again."

"Same here."

We exchanged pleasantries for a minute or so, and then as he opened the door for us he said, "By the way, how's Mrs. Sandburg?"

"She's doing better, thanks." I glanced at Jim in time to see all expression wipe off his face. What… ? "The new medication seems to be helping. She's gone out to San Francisco to visit my cousin Franklin."

"Give her my best the next time you talk to her."

"Thanks, I will."

We entered the penthouse and I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong. Jim slammed the door shut and scowled at me.

"Are you married, Chief?"

"Married? Me?" I started to laugh – I'd never looked at a girl, not even when I'd worked at the Starlight Lounge – until I saw he was serious. "No! How could you think that?"

"Officer Dolan, who wants to know how Mrs. Sandburg is?" Jim really seemed upset, and he was winding up a good head of steam. "You've been flirting with me, and… "

"Mrs. Sandburg is my mother."

"She is?"

"Yes. All the guys know about Naomi and kid me about Mrs. Sandburg, because I'm 28 and not married. Listen, Jim. I've done some things… well, we can talk about that another time. But I'd never marry a woman, knowing I prefer men."

He looked embarrassed, but under it, relieved. "I'm sorry, Chief. I've been involved with men who swore they were single but turned out to be married."

I had also when I'd worked as an escort. It hadn't mattered because neither my heart nor my emotions had been at risk, but…

"I wouldn't do that to anyone I wanted to date. Most especially, I wouldn't do that to someone I want a relationship with, Jim."

"You… " He looked as if he couldn't catch his breath. Finally he said, "Okay. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that. I can understand if you've been burned before. Now, come on. Joel and H are going to think I stopped to have my wicked way with you." And god knew they'd have a ball teasing me about it.

"'H'?"

"Henri Brown. He's the other detective who's working with me on this case." I realized he wasn't behind me. "Jim?" The grin I had been aiming at him disappeared as I saw him double over. I grabbed him before he could collapse and eased him down to his knees, petting his neck and shoulders. "Jim! What's wrong?"

"The smell, Chief!"

"Try to relax, Jim." Again I smelled nothing out of the ordinary. The only thing I could think of was the odor of death, and we weren't close enough to the bathroom to pick up on it. Right then I needed to have Jim get his sense of smell under control. "Let it wash over you."

He closed his eyes and clapped his hand over his mouth, and I could feel his shoulders heave.

"Okay, that's not working." Suddenly, from out of nowhere, I had an idea. I made him look at me. "Try this. Picture the dial on a television. You're on Channel 13. Gradually change the channels, 11, 9, keep going down toward 2."

I held him and stroked his cheeks, his hair, his shoulders, his neck, and I could feel him calming down, getting himself under control once more.

"How are you doing?"

"Better. Thanks, Chief." He kept leaning against me, and I kept petting him. Megan was right. His hair was soft, and I liked the way it felt against my palm. "That helped; you have no idea how that helped."

"Jim? What happened?"

"The smell was overpowering. It's British Sterling, Chief. That's the cologne Richard always wears – wore. He called it his signature scent."

"He's here? What's he doing here?"

"What was he doing here. He's dead, Chief."

"What? But how…" I felt my jaw drop. "You could smell it!" I started to get excited. Could this mean…

"We'd better get to our feet."

"All right, but why? I like holding you like this." 

"I like it too, but we're going to have company."

We were? I released him, and we had no sooner risen to our feet then Joel walked in. There had to be a reason Jim knew this. I pushed it out of my mind for the time being.

"Blair. I thought I heard voices. I'm glad you got here." For a second he seemed surprised to see Jim, and then he grinned broadly. "Hi, Mr. Ellison."

"Detective Taggart."

"H is still talking to the doorman, Blair. He's seen the victim before, but he never got the name."

"Have you ID'd the victim?"

"Yeah. Wallet in the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Richard Lee. Age 33."

I stared at Jim. "You knew."

He nodded. He was turning pale again. I grabbed his hand and stroked his forearm, and after a few seconds, he seemed better. He squeezed my hand and relaxed, and I let him go. Reluctantly.

Joel watched with his jaw hanging. He met my eyes, shook his head, and said, "The thing is, we've got a victim with the wrong coloring." He gave me the ID card.

I scanned the information. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"  There went our beautiful theory right out the window.

"Yeah. That's what we said when we saw him."

Jim looked from Joel back to me. "What am I missing, Chief?"

"We thought our boy was going for light-eyed blonds"

"But Richard… oh, yes. I see. Richard has red hair and dark brown eyes."

Joel frowned. "Yeah. Wait'll the Cap hears about this."

I rubbed my hand over my face. "So. Has our killer changed his MO? Do we have another killer, a copycat? And did anyone call the coroner?"

"H did, Blair. Dan Wolf is working tonight. He's on his way."

"He always seems to get these bodies. Okay. I've got to assess the scene, Jim. Stay here."

"No problem, Chief." He smiled at me. This had to be one of the strangest first dates he'd ever had, but he smiled at me anyway.

I smiled back at him, then turned to follow Joel.

****

"This is a shitty situation, Joel."

"Tell me about it. It's one step forward, two steps back."

"What've we got?" We walked down the corridor.

"Someone called the doorman around 7 PM and told him to check out this apartment."

"Dawson didn't tell me that." 

"I'm not sure that he knew. The doorman was still pretty shook up when we got here. According to the him, the caller spoke with an English accent." He lowered his voice. "I'm thinking it was your 'friend'."

H was standing outside the bedroom. Beside him was the reason for Joel's discretion – a lanky man whose uniform made him look like something out of an operetta: royal blue jacket and trousers, gold epaulettes on the shoulders, gold buttons down the front and along the cuffs, and thick gold braid everywhere else.

"Blair, this is Mr. Barat. He's the night doorman."

"Mr. Barat."

"Detective." He looked pale, and his eyes kept darting around, avoiding the bedroom door and what lay in the bathroom beyond it.

"I appreciate you staying. Detective Brown has your statement, but we may need to speak to you again."

"Yes, sir. I'm here every night during the week, and the detective has my home address and phone number. Do you need me for anything else?"

"That phone log you told me about?" H reminded him. He'd learned when he'd first spoken to the doormen that the management company insisted that every phone call made to the building be logged in a book kept at the doorman's kiosk.

"I'll have it ready for you when you come down, Detective Brown."

"Thank you, Mr. Barat. You can go now."

To Chapter 4