"Lance, Lorenzo!  In my office- NOW!"  Captain Harry Lipschitz glared at his two detectives, his bifocals on the edge of his nose.  They were, in his words, "the best damn homicide cops in the department."  Harry sometimes adopted a "what have you done for me lately?" attitude, however-a throwback from his days as a New York City cop.

Rita Lance looked across her desk at her longtime partner and rolled her eyes.  Chris Lorenzo’s expression matched hers, and seemed to say, "If we had a nickel for every time he’s said that…"

Putting on a cheerful expression, she and Chris strode nonchalantly into Harry’s office.  They knew his bark was usually worse than his bite.  "What’s up cap?" asked Chris, tossing his squeeze ball into the air and catching it.  Rita thrust her hands into the pockets of her dress pants, and with a knowing look at her partner waited for Harry’s answer.  He walked behind his desk, leaned on it heavily.  He looked up slowly, and his expression softened into a boyish grin.

"Actually," he said, "I wanted to tell you myself before Donovan showed up and blabbed the news all over the department.  We got a call from upstairs about your work on the Seaside Strangler case."  Harry’s smile widened.  "You’re both being given a special commendation from the Commissioner.  Congratulations!"

Chris and Rita exchanged surprised glances.  The Seaside Strangler case had been one of the most difficult and dangerous cases the two Sams had ever worked.  A ruthless serial killer, the strangler had tortured and murdered more than a dozen young women over a period of at least six years.  With the help of Eric Russell- an ex-cop turned crime writer who had been tracking the Strangler for quite some time- Chris and Rita had finally caught up with him.  Rita, posing as a prostitute, was picked up by the Strangler and taken back to his dungeon-like lair.  Her backup had lost them on the way, and she narrowly avoided being his next victim.  Chris, who was recovering from a gunshot wound to his shoulder and supposedly out of action, had tagged along and taken down the Strangler.  As a result, Eric had the final chapter in the book he was writing about the case, and Rita had a possible new love interest in Eric.  But a commendation from the Commissioner?  They had both had commendations before, but never from the Commissioner himself.  That seemed a little over the top for the two Sams.  They preferred to stay out of the spotlight; personal satisfaction was all the reward they needed.  Most cops felt the same way.

Harry walked around his desk, still beaming with pride for his two star detectives, and gave Chris a hearty handshake.  Rita accepted a warm hug from him next.  Then Harry stepped back and held his arms out, waiting for their reaction.  Chris and Rita exchanged glances again; Rita started to speak, then Chris finally said, "Well cap, that’s uh… that’s great!  We- we’re honored."
Harry pointed his finger.  "It’s about damn time, too.  You guys deserved a commendation like this a long time ago.  You’re the best homicide team I’ve ever worked with.  Even better than any of those bums in New York."

Rita smiled; she knew that anytime Harry said something or someone was better than in New York it was really a compliment.  If it was up to him he would probably still be in the Big Apple, rather than "Calm Beach", as he called it.  "Well thanks for telling us, cap- we appreciate it," Rita said.  "So, what exactly does this commendation involve?"

Harry made a dismissive gesture with his hand.  "Ah, it’s no big deal.  The commissioner will come down on Monday and make the presentation here at the station.  Nice and cozy- no banquets or press conferences or any of that garbage."

"Aw, that’s too bad!" said Chris with a mischievous grin.  "I’ve always wanted to be on the cover of Time Magazine.  ‘Chris Lorenzo: Man of the Year.’  Sounds good, doesn’t it?"

"Don’t let it go to your head, Sammy," replied Rita with a poke to his ribs.  "After all, you weren’t the one he had tied up in his dungeon."

Chris shook his head.  "Nope, nope- I was just the one who nailed him.  Boom!" he added, pulling an imaginary trigger.

"Okay already," said Harry, walking back around his desk.  "Enough patting yourselves on the back- you’ll give me a rash.  Now get out of here and catch some more bad guys, will ya?"

Chris and Rita smiled in unison.  "Thanks cap, we will," said Rita, making for the door.

Once outside, they returned to their desks and sat down.  Chris propped his feet up and tossed the squeeze ball from hand to hand.  The mischievous grin returned to his face as he said, "So, have you heard from Eric Russell yet?"

"No, I haven’t…" replied Rita, not looking up from the report she was working on.  The corners of her mouth were turned up slightly, though.

Chris continued in the same tone, "Yep, I hear he wants to interview you for his new book.  Funny that he didn’t ask me, though, seeing as how I was part of the case and all."

Rita finally looked up and tossed the cap of her pen at her partner.  "Okay, Sam, so I think he’s cute!" she said.  "So what?"
Chris feigned innocence.  "Did I imply that you thought he was cute?  I merely suggested-"

Just then Rita’s phone rang.  Chris, still in a teasing mood, mimicked her as she picked it up, putting his hand to his ear.  "Sergeant Lance," Rita said, trying to sound serious but still grinning in spite of herself.

Chris’s eyes widened as he pretended to listen to his thumb.  Then, in a high pitched voice he said, "Oh helloooo Eric, you cute little thing you!"

Rita grabbed the squeeze ball and heaved it at her partner, giving him a warning look.  With a smile, Chris held his hands up in surrender.  Rita tried to look mad, but she couldn’t keep from smirking.  Then she turned her attention back to the phone.  "Oh hi, Claire.  How are you?  Good…"

As the conversation unfolded Rita’s expression became more serious.  When she hung up the phone Chris turned his attention from the squeeze ball and asked, "What’s up?"

"Um, I’m not sure," she replied, her eyebrows knitted thoughtfully.  "That was Claire MacKenzie, one of the girls from the shelter I volunteer at."

"Oh yeah, I remember her.  She’s really good with the runaways, right?"

Rita nodded, smiling.  "Yeah.  Claire’s a wonderful girl; she’s just a kid herself, really- she just turned 21.  And she looks even younger.  The young girls that come in can really relate to her."

Chris nodded.  "She seems like a nice kid.  Her boyfriend plays hoops with us sometimes.  Jack… uh- what’s his name… Jack Horkheimer.  Good shooter, but no hops."

Rita laughed out loud.  "Shoemaker," she said.  "Jack Shoemaker.  He’s a little bit younger than Jack Horkheimer, although you had the right profession, Christopher."  She smiled wryly at her partner.

"Oh yeah," Chris said, grinning sheepishly.  "Horkheimer is that guy on public TV late at night with the Members Only jacket, and he tells you to keep looking up, right?"

Rita laughed again.  "That’s him.  And Jack has told me the same thing on more than one occasion.  Must be the Astronomer’s Secret Handshake or something."  She paused, then said, "Claire told me that a girl just came in and was really upset.  She didn’t say why, but she seemed to think the law needed to be involved."

"Ah, ‘the law’ meaning you?"

Rita nodded in reply.  "Claire can handle almost any situation.  For her to call me it must be pretty serious."  She paused again.  "Can you cover for me for a while?  I’m going to go check it out."

"Well, I supposed I can manage," Chris replied, sitting back and lacing his fingers behind his head.  "And what shall I tell Mr. Russell if he calls while you’re away?"

Rita grinned as she got up from her desk.  "Tell him how heartbroken you are that he didn’t want to interview you."  She winked at him and left the police station.

As she walked in she immediately saw Claire sitting at her desk.  Inwardly she smiled; Rita thought of Claire as her protégé; she was so young and full of promise.  Like Rita, she too had lost her parents, although only recently.  Unlike Rita, she had been raised as a normal child, not being passed from one foster home to another like a hot potato.  Fortunately, Rita eventually was adopted by Tom and Sue Lance, and under the circumstances she couldn’t have asked for more.  She loved and respected them so much that she had taken their last name.  But despite their love and kindness, Rita still missed her father every day, and was haunted by the memory of his suicide.

Next to Claire was a young girl, no more than eighteen or nineteen- Rita guessed.  She looked even younger than that.  She was a sharp contrast to Rita’s protégé: dark blue eyes; short, straight, hair- dyed blond and chin length; lots of make-up, and a very short, very revealing red dress.  Claire, on the other hand, dressed very modestly; her auburn hair was long and wavy, and although she was very attractive she never wore any make-up.

Rita pulled up a chair and sat down.  Claire smiled warmly and said, "Hi Rita, thanks for coming."  Claire was a Scot; Rita believed her soft, musical voice had a lot to do with her popularity among the girls who came into the shelter.  Claire went on, "Rita, this is Natalie.  Natalie, this is a good friend of mine, Rita Lance.  I think she can help us."

Rita and Natalie shook hands.  Natalie’s eyes were red; she looked as if she had been crying.  But now she was composed and very calm.  She told Rita that she was a dancer- an exotic dancer to be exact.  That explained the outfit and the make-up.  But Rita still didn’t know why she had come to Night Moves.

Claire gently put her hand on Natalie’s and said, "Tell Rita what you told me, honey."

Natalie sniffed, and her composure started to crack again.  With tears brimming in her eyes, she took a deep breath and began, "Last night I was at work- at the club.  It’s the one off of Worth Avenue- Thoroughbreds.  It was late, about 2 a.m.  I had just finished a set and my stomach was hurting really bad.  So I went out behind the club to get some fresh air and have a smoke where it was quiet.  Then I saw them."

"Saw who?" Rita prodded gently.

Natalie composed herself once again and went on, "There were three of them.  It was dark- I couldn’t see their faces.  They were holding another guy and- and beating him up.  They shined a flashlight in his face.  And they were shouting- at each other and at the guy they were holding.  One of them asked the guy a question, and he said, ‘You can go to hell!’  And then- then-"  Natalie broke down again.  She buried her face in her hands and mumbled through her tears, "They put a gun to his head and shot him."

Rita and Claire exchanged glances; now Rita understood why Claire had called her.  Natalie had witnessed a homicide.  Rita waited for Natalie to calm down.  Then she said, "Natalie, did you recognize any of them?"

Natalie nodded slowly.  "The one they killed- his name was Billy.  Billy Vasquez.  He was a bouncer at the club.  He was so sweet- why would anybody want to kill him?"

"Natalie, I’m sorry," Rita said softly.  "Was he a friend of yours?"

She nodded slowly again in reply.  Then Rita went on, "Can you describe him for me?"

"Um, he was about 25, I think.  I don’t know- average height, well built.  He was, um, Latino- long, dark hair and dark eyes."

Rita nodded, making mental notes.  "And what about the three men- did you recognize any of them?"

"No," Natalie sniffed.  "It was too dark."

"Hmm.  Do you think they saw you?"

She shrugged her shoulders.  "I guess not- I’m still alive, aren’t I?  No, they didn’t see me.  I was behind a dumpster, and I waited until they had gone before I went back inside.  One of them went back in the club, and the other two took- took Billy and drove away."

"You didn’t recognize the one who went back into the club?"

Natalie’s reply carried a trace of irritation.  "No, I told you it was too dark to see anything."

"What about the car the other two were driving?  Did you see what make it was?"

Natalie shook her head.  Rita paused for a moment, then said, "Natalie, why didn’t you go straight to the police when this happened?"

She threw up her hands in frustration.  "Fuck, I was scared!  I didn’t know what to do!  Besides, I’m a stripper.  The last thing I want to do is waltz into a police station."

Rita frowned, not following her logic.  "But you’re also a citizen, Natalie.  Taking your clothes off in front of strangers is not illegal."

Natalie glared at Claire, taking her annoyance with Rita out on her.  Claire remained silent, but her expression was sympathetic.  Then Natalie abruptly stood up and said, "The hell with this."  She stormed out of the office.  Rita and Claire exchanged glances again, then Claire hurried out after the witness to the murder.

Rita sighed.  Natalie reminded her of another young girl that Rita had encountered several years earlier.  Her name was Nicole, and she too had been a witness to a murder.  At the time she had been younger than Natalie.  She was a runaway, and Rita had taken her in while the case was investigated.  Despite the fact that Nicole had stolen her Jeep, Rita stood by her.  Nicole had been molested by her father, then abandoned by her sister.  She had no one.  Rita knew better than anyone how it felt to be that alone.  Everything turned out all right for Nicole; she was now living in Orlando with her new foster parents.  She wrote to Rita often, and she credited her with helping her turn her life around.  Rita had always known there were a lot of girls out on the street like Nicole, but she had always managed to look past them, as if they weren’t there.  But Nicole had finally opened her eyes, and her attitude changed.

Eventually the two girls came back inside.  Natalie wore a neutral expression.  Before she could say anything, Rita said, "I’m sorry, Natalie, if I came across the wrong way.  I know you’ve been through a lot and you’re really upset.  You have every right to be.  But I’m here to help, okay?"  Natalie nodded, and Rita went on, "We’ll need you to come by the station so that we can take your official statement."

"The police station?" Natalie replied.  She shook her head firmly.  "No way- I’m not going there."

Rita struggled to keep the annoyed look off of her face.  Before she could say anything, Claire interjected, "Rita, maybe you could drop by later with the paperwork?"

Rita forced a smile.  "Okay- no problem.  In the meantime, Natalie, I want you to go on with things as normal.  Do you work tonight?"  Natalie shook her head.  "Okay, fine.  When you do go back, pretend that nothing’s happened.  Don’t be nosy or ask any questions- just play it cool.  Okay?"

With a concerned look, Natalie asked, "Do you really think it’s safe for me to go back there?"

"As long as they didn’t ID you, yes.  I think if you didn’t go back now, it would look suspicious.  In the meantime, Chris and I will get to work on this.  Why don’t we drop by around lunchtime, and we’ll talk some more."

"Great," Claire said, smiling.  "We’ll be here.  Thanks, Rita."

Rita smiled back and strode back to her car.  "So that’s your cop friend, huh?" Natalie asked as she watched Rita’s retreating back.

"Aye," Claire replied.  "She’s really a wonderful person."

"When she’s not busy being a cop, I guess."

Claire eyed her curiously.  "What do you have against cops?"

Natalie sighed and squinted up into the morning sun.  "Maybe I’ll tell you sometime.  Listen, I’ve got to go."  She paused, then met Claire’s gaze again.  "You’ve been really sweet, Claire.  Thanks… thanks for listening to me."

Claire smiled warmly and put her hand on Natalie’s shoulder.  "You’re welcome.  Just give Rita a chance, okay?  I promise you’ll like her."  Reluctantly, Natalie nodded.  Then Claire asked, "You’ll be back around noon?"

"Yeah, I’ll be here."  Then she lit another cigarette and strode off.

"Let me guess," Rita replied.  "Hispanic male, early twenties, single shot to the head."

She heard Chris whistle over the cell phone.  "How’d you know that Sam?  Have you been calling the psychic hotline again?"

Rita laughed a little.  "I’ll explain when I get there, partner."

"See ya!"

Rita hated crime scenes, especially near the beach.  Inevitably, there were dozens of gawkers, eager to get a glimpse of the body.  For what reason, Rita couldn’t comprehend.  She wasn’t quite thirty years old yet, and already she had seen enough dead bodies to last her for the rest of her life, and beyond.  She flashed her badge to the uniformed officers on the scene and stepped under the yellow "police line- do not cross".  Chris was bent down over the body, which was covered up to the neck by a yellow tarp.  Next to him was Hattie Morgan, the M. E.  Chris and Rita had seen a lot of medical examiners pass through Palm Beach P. D. in their time as homicide detectives, but Hattie was one of the best.  She had graduated at the top of her class at Harvard Medical School.  And she was sharp as a razor; she often spotted clues that even the Sams missed.  Such was the case today.

"Hey Rita," Hattie said, looking up.

"Morning, Hattie.  What have we got?"

"Well, I’d put the time of death between 1 and 3 a.m. last night.  Liver temp will narrow it down.  Single gunshot wound to the head- point blank range, probably a 9 mm.  And I’m guessing that the shooter was a lefty, because the wound is to the right temple."

Chris looked up and grinned.  "Very good, Dr. Morgan- I didn’t even notice that.  What would I do without you?"

"Traffic duty, stud,"  Hattie replied dryly.  Then she smiled and winked at Chris.  She went on, "That’s what I figure, unless this was a suicide.  But most suicides don’t shoot themselves and throw themselves into the ocean.  Usually it’s one or the other."

"No, it wasn’t a suicide; I can guarantee you that."  Rita nodded to herself.  "Long dark hair, well built, mid-twenties- fits Natalie’s description."

"Who’s Natalie?" Chris asked.

"She’s the girl that Claire called me about."  She pointed to the gunshot wound.  "She saw this go down last night."

Chris suddenly became serious.  "So, we’ve got a witness… Did she ID the shooter?"

Rita shook her head.  "No, there were 3 perps, and she didn’t see any of them."

"Damn," Chris murmured.

Then Rita turned to Hattie and asked, "How soon can you give us a workup?"

Hattie crossed her arms thoughtfully.  "Tomorrow morning at the earliest.  I’ve got a full house, if you know what I mean.  And none of them made an appointment!"

Rita laughed and clapped Hattie’s shoulder.  "Good enough, Dr. Morgan.  See you later."

Chris said goodbye also, and he and Rita left Hattie’s team to "bag him and tag him."  As they walked back along the marina dock, Chris said, "So what did this girl see?"

"She saw Billy get shot," Rita replied with a trace of impatience.  Then she went on more calmly, "I have a feeling she knows more than she told me,  and if she’s coaxed she might remember.  It may not be easy, though; she’s got kind of an attitude."

"Oh really?" Chris asked.

Rita sighed.  "Yeah, but I think it’s a front.  I think she’s just scared, which is understandable.  Seeing someone shot in cold blood like that…"  Rita shook her head, then added, "But she also seems to have some kind of problem with cops.  What it is, I don’t know.  Instead of reporting the murder to us, she went to the shelter.  And when I asked her to come by headquarters she refused."  She paused and shook her head again.  "She’s just a kid- eighteen or nineteen at the most.  She reminds me of that girl Nicole a couple of years ago.  Remember her?  She had some pretty dark secrets hidden inside her, and I have a feeling Natalie’s the same way.  Most strippers do what they do because they have some kind of history of abuse."

"Ricki wasn’t abused," replied Chris, referring to an old flame.  She too had been a stripper, and Chris had been forced to end their relationship because he wasn’t able to deal with her exhibitionism.

"Well, not that you know of, anyway," said Rita.  She looked out over the ocean, watching the surfers riding spectacular waves as she thought.  Then she made a decision.  "Listen, I’m going to go solo with Natalie, okay?"

"Aw Sam, you’re gonna cut me out of the action?"

"Just where Natalie is concerned.  She doesn’t like cops, so the less of us that are around, the better."

"Doesn’t like cops…" Chris echoed, shaking his head.  Then he straightened his blazer and quipped, "That’s because she hasn’t met me yet."

Rita poked his ribs playfully.  "I wouldn’t let you near her, you shark!"

Chris feigned innocence.  "Hey, I don’t play in the day care, Sammy.  I find it’s much easier to attract women in places like… well, the ER for example."

"And would you perchance be referring to the good Dr. Jillian?"

Chris smiled roguishly.  Dr. Jillian Dupree had performed surgery on his shoulder after he’d been shot in a previous case, before his encounter with the Seaside Strangler.  Like Rita, the end of the Strangler case meant the beginning of a new romance for Chris.

Chris was about to reply, but suddenly Rita’s attitude turned businesslike.  "Listen Chris, does anybody know you at Thoroughbreds, the club that Natalie works at?"

"No, I don’t think so," he replied.  Then he added dryly, "I don’t date strippers exclusively, you know.  Ricki was the exception."

"Yes, but when you and Lem were working vice you hung out in strip clubs a lot.  I don’t want you going in there if you’re going to be pegged right away as a cop."

"Don’t worry Sam, I can handle it.  I’ll drop in tonight, see what I can find out, okay?"

Rita nodded absently, looking out over the ocean and avoiding Chris’s eyes.

Chris cleared his throat and said, "You okay, Sam?"

Rita looked back at him and faked a smile.  "I’m fine," she said unconvincingly.  "Just haven’t been sleeping well lately."

Chris looked at her sideways.  He had known her for too long to be fooled so easily.  "No, come on, Sam.  What is it?" he asked.

She sighed and replied, "I’m having those nightmares again."

A look of understanding came into Chris’s eyes.  He remembered Rita’s battle with nightmares, during another case that she had solved.  One of her close friends was murdered by her boyfriend, and her death was the proverbial last straw.  Rita had been haunted by visions of all the people she had known that had died or been killed.  Unfortunately, it was a long list.  Lieutenant Hudson had ordered her to see a psychologist.  The most important thing that Rita learned from the whole ordeal was that she couldn’t suppress her feelings, good or bad.  She had to deal with the bad ones head on, not hide them away and ignore them.  If not, she was warned, pretty soon she wouldn’t be able to feel anything at all.

Chris was concerned, but not overly so.  More than anyone else, Chris felt that Rita could handle anything.  Deep down, Chris believed she was tougher than even he was.  They had both had difficult childhoods, but Rita’s had been worse.  Never knowing her mother (she had died right after Rita was born), and losing her father to suicide had been hard blows, more than any seven year old should be expected to take without going down for the count.  As a result, Rita had hardened her heart, made a thick shell around it that was difficult to penetrate.  She almost never wore her feelings on her sleeve.  Lately, though, she had been through a lot.  During the Seaside Strangler case, she had discovered the bodies of two young girls- the Strangler’s last victims.  Girls who, only days before their death, had come to Rita at Night Moves, looking for help.  Every cop was taught not to blame themselves for the death of innocents.  It was essential for their survival.  But even cops were human, after all, and couldn’t always slough these things off so easily.

Rita tore her mind away from the emotions swirling inside her.  Unconsciously her jaw clenched as she turned to her partner.  With an effort, she relaxed and said, "Listen partner, I’m going to go back to the shelter and meet with Natalie and Claire again.  I’ll see you later, okay?"

"All right," Chris said, unconvinced.  He didn’t like the idea of them splitting up, but when Rita asked for a little space he was obliged to give it to her.  They went off alone- for now.

"Leave it, Jerry," Donnie barked in reply.  "I want it dark."

Jerry Magee made his way carefully down the steps as his eyes adjusted to the dimness.  He stopped in front Donnie’s desk and waited.  Donnie picked up his tiny cup and blew the steam off.  Glancing at Dutchie, Jerry noted that his boss seemed to have an affinity for anything miniature.  He continued to wait patiently as Donnie sipped his espresso.  Finally, Donnie said in a low voice, "I trust that last night’s… ‘incident’ has been taken care of?"

Jerry looked troubled, then uncertain.  Fortunately, Donnie wasn’t watching him.  Jerry recovered quickly; he affected a weasely grin and said, "Yeah, boss.  No problem."

Donnie nodded.  "Good," he said.  "I really hate to do that kinda thing, you understand.  I’m a reasonable guy.  But rules are rules.  When they’re broken, action has to be taken."

Jerry nodded, that nauseating grin still on his face.  Dutchie began to whine.  Donnie glanced up and waved his friend away.  "Now get outta here, Jerry.  I got a headache.  And that stinkin’ aftershave of yours is upsetting Dutchie.  You know how sensitive he is."

"Sorry, boss," Jerry mumbled, and hastily retreated back upstairs.  Donnie turned back to Dutchie and gently scratched under his chin, murmuring softly to comfort him.

Rita’s eyes lit up as she took it.  "Oh, Claire, that was so sweet of you," she said.  "You didn’t have to, really."  Claire smiled warmly as Rita unwrapped the box and opened it.  Inside was a luxurious wool sweater, more beautiful than any Rita had ever seen.  Her jaw dropped in astonishment as she held it up to admire it.  "Claire, this is so pretty!" she exclaimed.  "Oh thank you, sweetheart!"  She hugged her young protégé again.

"My father was a sheep farmer," Claire explained.  "And the sweater is made by the people who bought lambswool from him."  She laughed a little and tucked a lock of auburn hair behind her ear.  "I used to shear the lambs on the farm, so in a way I made it for you myself.  I’m afraid you won’t get much use out of a heavy sweater in Palm Beach, but I wanted you to have one."

"Thank you Claire," Rita said again.  "It’s beautiful.  And nevermind the weather; I’ll find an excuse to wear it- even in summer."
The two women enjoyed talking while waiting for Natalie to arrive.  Rita was actually relieved not to have to worry about the case for a few minutes.  She had packed three sandwiches; she and Claire were hungry, so they dug into theirs.  Claire had just started a new semester at Palm College, and Rita inquired as to how her classes were going.  Claire was majoring in education; she wanted to become an elementary school teacher.  Rita also asked about her boyfriend, who was a graduate student of astronomy at the same college.  Jack Shoemaker was a bright young man, with an even brighter future.  Rita had met him, and she approved of him thoroughly.  Whenever Claire talked about him, her green eyes sparkled like emeralds.  Rita was extremely glad that Claire was in love with someone like Jack, who could give her the love and support she needed after the untimely death of her parents.
About a year ago, Claire’s father had sold his sheep farm in Scotland and taken his family to America to retire.  He wanted to get away from cold Scottish winters and bask in the Florida sun.  Tragically, he and Claire’s mother had not enjoyed their retirement for even six months before they were killed in a car accident.  Claire had not coped well with their deaths; she had been very close to them, and perhaps a little too dependent.  Her brother Ian was more self-reliant.  Although he and Claire remained very close, Ian was a musician, and his work took him all over the world.  Claire and her brother loved each other dearly, but the true stabilizing force in Claire’s life was Jack.  Jack, and the shelter.  Like Rita, Claire’s work at the shelter was a kind of therapy.  Rita firmly believed that kind of therapy was infinitely more valuable than laying on a couch in some shrink’s office, surrounded by pictures of Freud and staring at ink blots.

At 12:45, Claire’s phone rang.  It was Natalie, and she told Claire that something had come up and she wouldn’t be able to make it to the shelter.  Concerned, Claire asked her if anything was wrong.  Natalie said no, and Claire asked her to hold on while she consulted with Rita.  Quickly, they decided on a course of action.  Rita couldn’t afford to lose a witness, but if she pressed, she might scare Natalie off.  She asked Claire to give her the phone.  As she did, Claire mouthed the words, "Ask her to come to my apartment."

Rita nodded and put the phone to her ear.  "Natalie?  This is Rita Lance."  She intentionally left out the "Sergeant" that usually preceded her name.  "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Natalie answered in a neutral voice.

"Listen, we still need to talk to you about the case."

"No, I don’t think so.  I don’t want to get involved in this."

"Natalie, you have to.  You’re our only witness."

"I’m not a witness.  I told you seven hundred times I didn’t see anything!"

Rita kept her voice calm.  "Your friend is dead, Natalie.  Don’t you want to see whoever killed him pay for it?"  Natalie hesitated before replying.  Seeing that her persuasion was working, Rita went on, "Look, why don’t we meet tonight?  All three of us.  At Claire’s apartment, maybe?"   She glanced at Claire, who nodded her approval.  Rita went on, "Come on, I promise there won’t be any cops there.  Just me.  It’ll be like ‘girls night in.’  What do you say?"

After a few seconds Natalie sighed and said, "Okay, okay.  Put Claire back on."

Rita handed the phone back to her, and sat back and listened as Claire gave Natalie her address and phone number.  After she hung up, Claire said, "She’ll be there around eight.  Is that okay?"

"Fine," Rita answered.  She crossed her arms thoughtfully.  At length, she said, "Claire, what did Natalie say to you when she first came in this morning?"

"Not much," Claire replied.  "She just said that she had seen someone shot to death, and that she was afraid to go to the police."
Rita nodded slowly, then said, "Did she tell you anything about her personal life?"

Claire sighed.  "She hinted, and she was vague about everything.  From what I could pick up on, I think she’s not been here in Palm Beach very long.  And I don’t think she has much money, either."

"Hmm.  Do you know where she lives?"

Claire shook her head.  "No, she didn’t tell me that."

Rita nodded again.  "Well, I guess we’ll find out more tonight," she said.  "I’d better be getting back to the station.  I’ll see you around 7:30, okay?"

"You’re coming early?" Claire asked.

Rita hesitated.  She was about to tell Claire that she still didn’t trust Natalie, but there was no sense in worrying her.  Instead, she replied, "Yeah, I want to get all the paperwork ready before she gets there.  Is that okay?"  In truth, she wanted to be at Claire’s apartment well before Natalie arrived.

"Sure," Claire answered cheerily.  "I’ll make dinner for us."

"Great!  But no haggis, okay?"

Claire giggled.  "Rita, you know I don’t eat sheep’s stomach!"

Rita laughed and hugged her goodbye.  "Thanks again for the sweater, honey.  I’ll see you tonight."

In the next room, her roommate was asleep, thoroughly stoned.  She had used Natalie’s money to achieve the state she was in.  She used Natalie’s money for a lot of things, it seemed, which is why Natalie never had any.  Yet somehow Natalie always survived.  At this point in her life, she could fit just about everything she owned in the palm of her hand.  She had forsaken material wealth about a year and a half ago; she had been surrounded by it her whole life, and it had never done her any good.  At the same time, she had abandoned the wealthy southern town where she had grown up, setting out to find herself.  Where had it gone wrong? she asked herself.  As time passed, she asked that question more and more often.  How far would she have to go to accomplish what she set out to do?  Palm Beach was merely the latest stop in her restless wanderings.  She had been to Vegas, New York, Hollywood… She had even gotten a bit part as a cocktail waitress in a big-budget movie.  She had rubbed elbows with movie stars, rock stars, drug dealers, pimps, and worse.

She stood up and looked in the mirror, admiring her dark blue eyes and full, naturally red lips.  No wonder they liked me so much, she thought.  She went back to the bed and sat down, then pulled open a drawer of her nightstand.  Inside was a small pistol.  It looked like a toy- hard to believe it was deadly.  She took it out and held it in her open palm, staring at it for a long time.  Slowly, her fingers curled around the handle, and her index finger came to rest against the trigger.  She lifted it, pressed it against her temple.  Without hesitating, she closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.

Chris and Rita exchanged uncertain glances.  Not hearing an immediate reply, Harry turned his stern gaze up from his report.  Finally Rita said, "Well, Cap, we… we don’t have much yet.  His name was Billy Vasquez, and he worked for that strip club off Worth called Thoroughbreds.  We ran him through the NCIC computer- no priors, no wants or warrants."  Rita paused.  "We have a possible witness, who I’m meeting with tonight.  Also, we think it might be mob related."

Immediately Harry replied, "What makes you think that?"

Chris answered, "The type of gun, for one thing, and the way he was taken out.  But we’re pretty much in the dark; we’ll know more tonight.  I’m going to check out the club while Rita is meeting with the witness."

"Who is this witness, anyway?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"She’s one of the dancers," Rita answered.  "I talked to her briefly this morning, but she got a little spooked and disappeared.  But she’s agreed to talk to me tonight."

Harry nodded, satisfied, and looked back down at his report.  As she and Chris turned to leave, Harry said, "Oh Lorenzo, before you go to that club you better check with vice first.  I seem to remember seeing one of their internal memos about that place.  They may have something going on."

"Will do Cap.  Thanks," Chris replied.  As Rita went back to her desk, Chris sauntered down to vice division to see his old friend, Lieutenant Louis Hudson.  A few years back, after Captain Hutchinson had been rotated to Fort Lauderdale, Lt. Hudson had taken over, on loan from vice.  He was quite a contrast from Harry Lipschitz: laid back, affable, and a sharp dresser.  When Chris thought about it, it seemed to him that Harry wore the same white shirt every single day of his life.  And Chris could count the number of times on one hand when his tie wasn’t loosened.  As for the tie, well… suffice it to say that Harry probably hadn’t bought a new one since 1965.

As Chris rapped his knuckles lightly on Lou’s door, the lieutenant looked up.  On seeing Chris his face broke into a wide grin, and he leaned back in his chair and said, "Well, Sergeant Lorenzo!  What an unexpected pleasure.  What brings you my way, hotrod?"  He and Chris slapped hands, then Chris sat on the edge of his desk.

"Just here to dust you off, desk-jockey," Chris quipped.  "Don’t want you to gather too much moss in your old age."  Since their time together in homicide, Lou had gotten a tiny hint of gray on his temples, contrasting his dark skin.  But his full goatee was still solid black.

"Hey, you watch your mouth, son," Lou warned, still grinning.  "Just because I’m not with you clowns in homicide anymore doesn’t mean I’m out of the action.  Quite the contrary."  He paused, and his face became serious.  He gestured to the mounds of paperwork on his desk and said, "My caseload just seems to be getting bigger and bigger.  And the drug dealers and hookers keep getting younger and younger."  He shook his head.  "The world’s gone crazy, my friend."

Chris nodded solemnly.  "You don’t have to tell me.  I see it from my end too."

Resuming his laid back posture, Lou wagged his finger and said, "I bet I know why you’re here, Chris.  Could it have anything to do with Thoroughbreds?"

"You got it, Lieutenant.  One of their bouncers went for a swim with a bullet in his head."

Lou nodded.  "Yeah, I heard."  He paused, then said, "Close the door, Chris."  Chris complied, then resumed his seat.  Lou leaned forward on his desk and steepled his fingers, then went on, "Some very… interesting things have happened at Thoroughbreds.  About two years ago, one of their dancers turned up missing.  The only reason we knew is because the girl’s mother filed a missing persons report.  The people at the club said that she took off on a jet to England, left no forwarding address or anything.  Well, we checked with all the airlines, and no one with her name bought a ticket to England- or anywhere else, for that matter."  He shrugged.  "She could have used an alias.  There were a dozen other possible explanations, too.  A lot of strippers are runaways- girls with no family ties.  They disappear-" he snapped his fingers.  "-Nobody cares.  And in this case, nobody would have- without the missing persons report.  Then, a couple of months later, the same thing happened again.  And again."  Chris raised his eyebrows.  Lou continued, "Each time, the club said that the girl had gone to another country, never the same one twice.  Each time, there was no evidence that the girl bought a plane ticket.  And none of the girls have been heard from since."
Chris nodded, then frowned.  "How do you know about this, Lieutenant?" he asked.  "You’re in vice division, not missing persons."
"Let me finish," Lou replied patiently.  "Actually, one of the girls has been heard from, because she turned up dead.  Drowned in a hottub, here in Palm Beach.  The autopsy showed she was heavily intoxicated and hopped up on amphetamines, and it was pronounced an accidental death.  It made sense- she’s totally blitzed, she passes out in the hottub…"  He let his words hang in the air for a moment before continuing.  "The autopsy also showed she had had very rough sex just before she died.  There was extensive bruising in all the fun places."

Chris nodded thoughtfully.  "Sounds like it could have been murder," he speculated.

"My thoughts exactly," Lou replied.  "But no one was ever charged.  Now, as to my connection with all of this- vice is after Thoroughbreds, too.  Or was, I should say.  The former owner was a guy called Pauley Francesco- an old New York gangster type.  Vice was working with the N.Y.P.D. to nail Francesco on drug trafficking and pornography charges.  And these charges had nothing to do with the club- it was his business on the side.  But then Francesco got whacked, about six months ago.  It seems his old enemies from the Big Apple caught up with him."

"So it was a mob hit, then."  Lou nodded.  Then Chris asked, "Did it have anything to do with these missing dancers?"
Lou leaned back, laced his fingers behind his head.  "Not as far as we know.  But all these girls turning up missing from the same club… The whole thing was very peculiar.  Captain Tucker told me about it; that’s how I know."

"Hmm.  How many girls altogether?"

"Six," came Lou’s reply.  "Including the one that died."

"And you think there’s some connection between Francesco and the missing girls?"

Lou shrugged.  "There’s no evidence to confirm it, but I have a feeling that it’s all tied together somehow.  Especially now that one of their bouncers has turned up murdered."  Lou paused, and a grin made it’s way onto his face.  "There’s more," he said.  "Guess who owns the club now?  Your old friend- Donnie ‘Dogs’ DiBarto."

"Donnie Dogs?" Chris murmured.  Then he gave a low whistle.  "So did Donnie have anything to do with whacking Francesco?"
Lou shook his head.  "He washed up clean.  And since he’s taken over, no dancers have turned up missing- that we know of, anyway.  So it may have ended with Francesco.  Or not.  Who knows?"

Chris shook his head thoughtfully.  "Well, that is definitely very… interesting, Lieutenant.  I appreciate it."  He extended his hand.
Lou smiled and shook his hand.  "Anytime, hotrod."  He paused, then added, "If you need any help on this, don’t hesitate to ask.  I would be more than happy to assist."

Chris took his meaning- Lou wanted to prove his theory.  Chris knew how he felt, and he also knew the value of another cop’s insight.  Especially a cop of Lou’s caliber.  "I will keep you informed, Lieutenant," Chris said with a wink and a grin.  Then he left Lou’s office with his usual swagger.

She carefully placed the pistol back in the drawer and closed it.  Just then, the phone rang.  She answered it.  "Hello?"  It was Mr. DiBarto from the club.  Immediately, Natalie’s heartbeat quickened.  Trying to keep her voice calm, she replied, "Oh hi, Mr. DiBarto.  What?  No, nothing’s wrong.  I- I just was expecting someone else to call, and when it was you I was… surprised."  She winced; she wasn’t doing a very good job of playing it cool.  Then Mr. DiBarto asked her to come by the club.  Her heart raced even more.  "Uh, today, Mr. DiBarto?  B- but it’s my day off."  He politely insisted, saying it wouldn’t take very long.  He had an "opportunity" to discuss with her, he said.  Not knowing what else to do, Natalie agreed.  Mr. DiBarto seemed like a nice man; she hadn’t known him very long, but she liked him.  He was always kind to her and the other girls, and if any of the club patrons got too friendly, he would always make sure they were promptly "removed."

Natalie stood up and looked in the mirror.  She fixed her make-up, applying a little more red lipstick, and put her shoes on.  Finally, she straightened her tight red dress and left the apartment.

When she arrived at the club, she was accosted by one of Mr. DiBarto’s "employees," Jerry Magee.  Whereas Mr. DiBarto exuded class and style, Jerry was the exact opposite.  His manner was that of a pervert- harmless enough, but creepy.  He was about the same age and build as Mr. DiBarto, but the resemblance ended there.  Donnie was babyfaced; Jerry looked more like a catfish- a real bottom feeder.  The way he looked at her made Natalie feel creepy all over.  She was glad when he ushered her into Mr. DiBarto’s basement office.  She paused at the top step, feeling a lump come into her throat.  Quickly she swallowed and tousled her hair.  Then she strode down the steps as confidently as she could manage.  It was not as dim as it had been earlier; Donnie had gotten over his headache and was feeling much better.  His eyes lit up when he saw Natalie, and he stood up to greet her, carrying Dutchie with him.  After complimenting her dress, he gestured for her to sit down.  He had a fresh cup of espresso on his desk, and he offered Natalie one, which she politely refused.  Then Natalie said, "So what was it you wanted to talk to me about, Mr. DiBarto?"

Donnie stroked Dutchie’s head absently as he replied, "Well, Natalie, you’ve been with us for… how long?"

"About three months, Mr. DiBarto."

He looked surprised.  "Has it been that long?  Well, I’ve been away on business quite a bit lately.  So, how do you like it so far?"

"Well, it’s okay," she replied.  Donnie raised an eyebrow, and Natalie added quickly, "I mean- I like it so far.  A lot.  I mean- everyone’s really nice, and…"  She trailed off, smiling nervously.  Then she fumbled in her purse for a cigarette.

Seeing this, Donnie held up his hand.  "Please, honey, not in front of Dutchie," he said.  "He’s allergic."

"Sorry, Mr. DiBarto," Natalie murmured.  Then she dropped her purse on the floor.  Bending down to retrieve it, she cursed herself silently.  She was blowing it, blowing it!  She had to calm down.  Before straightening up, she took a deep breath.  When she looked up again she found Donnie staring at her questioningly.

"You okay, doll?" he asked, with what seemed like genuine concern.  "You seem a little nervous."

"Well, it’s just that…" Natalie stammered.  "I- I thought maybe I had done something wrong, or you were upset with me.  You know.  Being called into your boss’s office usually means you’re in trouble."

Donnie laughed a little and made a pacifying gesture with his hand.  "Not at all, sweetheart, not at all," he said.  "As you may know, I deal in many types of business.  I have friends everywhere, and occasionally I get the opportunity to mix business with pleasure."

Natalie didn’t like the sound of this- not one bit.  She had the feeling that Mr. DiBarto was going to ask her to escort.  It wouldn’t be the first time someone had suggested it to her- nor would it be the last.  She had been asked to escort when she was in Las Vegas.  Naïvely, she had agreed, thinking that she would be accompanying rich gentleman to fancy restaurants, wearing glamorous clothes and expensive jewelry.  After a couple of weeks, when she found out what escorting really meant, she had left town, and vowed she would never do it again.

As her apprehension grew, Donnie went on, "Now when I first hired you, Natalie, I said to myself, ‘Here’s a girl with real class- and talent.’  Now, don’t get me wrong- there ain’t nothing wrong with dancing.  But a girl like you- you have more… options open to you."

Natalie narrowed her eyes.  Seeing her suspicion, Donnie came to the point.  "What I’m talking about here is modeling.  You could say I’m a talent scout, and you got what it takes, kid."

"Modeling?" Natalie echoed uncertainly.  This was a surprise.  No one had ever suggested she model before.  She wasn’t that pretty- or so she believed- and she was only 5’5".  Most models she knew of were around six feet.

Donnie gestured innocently as he replied, "Strictly fashion modeling, sweetheart.  Nothing kinky.  Unless you want to, of course."  He laughed a little, but Natalie continued to eye him suspiciously.  Keeping a lighthearted expression, he went on, "Have you ever been to Japan?  They love American girls.  And nowadays, a lot of girls start out there.  You stay for a while, build up your portfolio, and before you know it, you’re off to Milan, Paris, New York… And you’ll be in all the big shows: Versace, Armani, Valentino- just to name a few.  So what do you say, doll?"

Natalie was taken aback.  She hadn’t expected anything like this.  On the surface, the idea appealed to her; at least she wouldn’t have to take off her clothes anymore to make a living.  And being a fashion model was so glamourous…

She toyed with the idea for a second, then dismissed it- for now, anyway.  Even though she liked Mr. DiBarto, she still didn’t trust him completely.  Not after what had happened to poor Billy.  Natalie looked up and replied, "I- I don’t know Mr. DiBarto.  Japan?  That’s so far away, and…"

Donnie held up his free hand.  "No pressure, kid," he said.  "Just wanted to mention it to you.  But it’s a fantastic opportunity.  Take some time- think about it.  Okay?"

She smiled weakly and replied, "Okay, Mr. DiBarto.  I will.  Um, was that all?  I kinda have to get going."

Donnie smiled.  "Sure thing; I won’t hold you up.  You make sure you get plenty of rest tonight, though.  Tomorrow’s Friday, and I want you looking your best."

She managed another weak smile.  "I will."  She stood up and turned to leave.  Then suddenly, a rash idea came into her head.  Without stopping to think, she turned back to face Donnie and blurted out, "Oh, Mr. DiBarto, have you seen Billy today?  He was supposed to give me a ride home last night, but when I was getting ready to leave I couldn’t find him."

She remembered too late that Rita had warned her not to be nosy.  Donnie’s face darkened at the mention of Billy’s name.  He scratched Dutchie under the chin, in an effort to curb his anger.  In a low voice, he said, "I’m afraid Billy’s no longer with us.  I had to… terminate his employment."

Natalie pushed even further, treading on more dangerous ground.  "Why?" she asked.

Donnie’s expression turned even more sour.  "Nevermind why," he said, fixing a cold stare on her.  He pointed his finger threateningly and added, "I want you to stay away from him, Natalie.  You understand me?  That kid is bad news."

"Okay, Mr. DiBarto," she replied in a near whisper.  She was so terrified she was shaking; suddenly the image of Billy’s murder flashed into her mind.  She saw the gun being pressed against his head, the blood splattering…  Had Donnie been the man who pulled the trigger?  She hoped he didn’t notice her fear.

He did, however.  He stood up and put his arm around Natalie’s bare shoulder.  "Don’t worry, doll," he said reassuringly. "Everything’s gonna be fine."  Grinning, he personally escorted Natalie out of the club.

She took a cab home, and not until she was back inside her apartment did she really relax.  She had been so frightened by Donnie’s hard stare, she hadn’t really thought about what he actually said.  He had warned her to stay away from Billy- why would he say that if Billy was dead?  Maybe he didn’t know.  On the other hand, he could just be messing with my head.  She shook her head and decided to forget about it; she wasn’t good at innuendo.  She stood there, arms crossed, gazing into her full-length mirror.  It was something she did quite often, in an effort to figure out who was looking back at her.  This time it was different, however; that person she saw there could very soon be on her way to bigger and better things…

She began to walk back and forth across her small bedroom, imagining she was walking the catwalk at a Versace show.  All the big names would be there: Crawford, Campbell, Christensen, Moss, to name a few.  She even had a poster of Kate Moss on the wall above her bed.  She peered at it closely; Yasmeen Ghauri was standing near her in the photo, and Yasmeen towered over her.  Natalie knew that Yasmeen was tall, at least six feet, which meant that Kate must be as short as Natalie was, if not shorter.  Her spirits lifted; if Kate could make it as a supermodel, then so could she.  With renewed energy, she pranced up and down the imaginary catwalk, tousling her hair, striking seductive poses, and blowing kisses to her adoring fans.  Then suddenly, the pain hit her.

It had been going on for several weeks now.  Seemingly out of nowhere, a sharp pain would hit her stomach, then turn into a dull ache, which lasted sometimes for hours.  Natalie froze in mid-stride and doubled over.  She stayed that way for several minutes, her face contorted in pain.  Finally, taking long, deep breaths, she slowly straightened up.  She hobbled to the bathroom and downed three aspirin.  Returning to her bedroom, she took off her platform heels and stripped out of her tight red dress.  Then, clad only in her underwear, she curled up in a tight ball in her bed, and waited for the pain to stop.  At length, she drifted off to sleep.

"I’m at Billy Vasquez’s apartment," Chris answered.  "I took a good look around, but I didn’t find anything.  I talked to the neighbors and the landlady, too.  Nothing there either.  Billy was a quiet guy who minded his own business.  No family in Palm Beach, according to the landlady.  No one I talked to could think of anyone that wanted him dead, or why.  Oh, and by the way, the landlady said she would come down and ID the body if we needed her to."

Rita nodded, then remembered she was on the phone and said, "Okay, Sam- good work.  I guess it’s on to the club, then."

"Yeah, in a little while," Chris replied.  "Things don’t really pick up there for another couple of hours.  Don’t want to waltz in there when it’s deserted and be pegged right away for a cop," he added dryly.

"Okay, okay," Rita replied, laughing to herself.  "Let me know what you find out.  I’m on my way to Claire’s apartment to meet with Natalie."

"Will do, Sam.  See ya!"

A few minutes later, Rita arrived at Claire’s apartment.  It was still early, not quite 7:30.  Jack Shoemaker, Claire’s astronomer boyfriend, was there.  Jack was tall, lean, and handsome, in a boyish kind of way.  He wore his thick, dark hair a little longer than Chris’s, and in a more relaxed style.  His blue eyes were warm and friendly, and he was definitely not most people’s idea of what an astronomer looked like.

Rita greeted them both warmly.  Jack was helping Claire in the kitchen, and from the smell of things, they were going to have fish for dinner.  Rita asked Jack how his schooling was going.  "Almost finished, thank goodness," he replied with a smile.  "For the next two semesters I’ll be co-oping at an observatory in Miami.  Then after I finish my last thesis, I’ll be done."

"Oh that’s great, Jack," Rita replied.

Claire and Jack exchanged glances.  Then Jack said, "Well, unfortunately it means Claire and I won’t get to see each other as much while I’m in Miami."

"Miami’s not that far of a drive," Rita said encouragingly.  "And there’s always the weekend, right?"

"I work most weekends," Claire replied, her voice a little dejected.

Rita patted Claire’s arm.  "I’m sure you’ll work something out," she said.  "I know you two won’t be able to stay away from each other, no matter what you have to do."

Jack laughed a little and said, "Well, I know one thing for sure; we’ll be spending a fortune on long-distance phonecalls."  Then he kissed Claire’s forehead and said, "I understand this is ‘girls only’ tonight, so I’ll make my exit without further ado."

"Oh, you don’t have to rush off, Jack," Rita said.  "The… girl we’re meeting with won’t be here for a little while."

"Actually, I have a lecture to give at the planetarium.  But thanks anyway, Rita.  It was nice seeing you again."

"You too, Jack."  Claire and Jack hugged warmly, and Rita stepped back discreetly into the living room, giving them their privacy.  They kissed tenderly, and Jack murmured softly into Claire’s ear.  It sounded like he was encouraging her.  In reply, she nodded and bit her lip.  With a last, tender kiss on the cheek, Jack left the apartment.  Rita carefully made her way back to the kitchen.  Claire brushed a tear away from her cheek.  Embarrassed, she explained, "Jack’s going to be leaving next week.  I just can’t get used to the idea that he won’t be here.  I’ll miss him terribly, Rita.  Terribly."

"Aw, honey, it won’t be that bad- I promise."  Rita embraced her young protégé, as Claire bit her lip again to hold back the tears.  When they let go Claire smiled, and Rita helped her finish making dinner.

At 8:30, Natalie finally showed up.  She greeted Rita coolly, but gave Claire a friendly smile.  Rita asked her why she was late, and Natalie replied that she hadn’t felt well and had taken a nap.  Rita accepted her explanation, and together they all went into the kitchen.  Rita noticed that now, Claire and Natalie were dressed much more alike than they had been earlier that day.  Claire had on a cream-colored, light v-neck sweater, with an argyle stripe across the chest.  With it she wore blue jeans.  Instead of her stripper outfit, Natalie wore jeans also, and a sweater similar to Claire’s.  Natalie’s sweater was a v-neck as well, cranberry in color.  The two girls seemed to have hit it off very well, Rita noticed.  She saw the admiration and respect in Natalie’s eyes when she looked at Claire.  Of that, Rita was glad.  Perhaps Claire could be the kind of role model Natalie needed.

They all fixed themselves a plate of Claire’s smoked trout, and went in the living room and sat down to eat.  Natalie was silent, for the most part, but the way she dug into the trout seemed to indicate that she didn’t get a home-cooked meal very often.  Before Claire and Rita had gotten halfway through their meal Natalie was asking for a second helping.  Claire complied readily, giving her an extra large portion.  Natalie ate more slowly, this time, and glanced curiously around Claire’s tastefully decorated apartment.  On the mantle was an 8 x 10 of Claire and her family- mother, father, and brother, it looked like.  Natalie squinted at it, then looked up above it.  She asked Claire what the symbol was hanging there above the mantle.

"That’s my family’s tartan," she replied.  "In Scotland, a tartan is kind of like a family crest."

Natalie nodded and replied, "My family has something like that too… I forget what it’s called.  Some Russian word."  Then Natalie noticed another photo of Claire and a man- her boyfriend, she assumed- on the coffee table.  It was several feet away from her, and Natalie couldn’t see the man clearly.  She was a little nearsighted, and she didn’t have her contacts in.  Even though he was blurry, he looked familiar.  Claire was looking down at her plate; she didn’t notice Natalie squinting at the photo.  As Natalie tried to figure out who he was and where she knew him from, Rita spoke to her, breaking her concentration.
"Is your family from Russia?" she asked.

Natalie nodded again.  "My father’s side.  My real name is Natalia, but when I… left home I changed it.  My grandfather was like, a rocket scientist, and after World War II was over he came to America."

"Oh," Claire said brightly.  "My boyfriend Jack is a scientist too- well, not exactly, I guess.  He’s an astronomer, but he’s very interested in space exploration and things like that.  Did your grandfather work for NASA?"

"Yeah," Natalie replied thoughtfully.  The boyfriend’s name was Jack… She knew a Jack.  Was he the same one?  She couldn’t think very clearly for some reason.  Natalie had always had a terrible time concentrating; any distraction, however small, and she would completely lose her train of thought.  Now Rita was talking to her again.

"Where is your family now, Natalie?"

"My mom and my dad and my brother are in Canada," Natalie said.  At the mention of their names, Natalie’s thoughts went back to them.  She hadn’t seen her family for a long time; she was too busy wandering aimlessly across the United States.
Rita saw the turmoil in her face, and she decided not to press further.  They finished their dinner, making a little small talk.  After they were done, Natalie thanked Claire and helped her clear the dishes.  The two girls made cappuccinos for all, and then Rita decided she had to get down to business.  She sat next to Natalie on the couch, while Claire curled up in the armchair next to them.  Her cat, Duncan, hopped up onto the couch and settled into Natalie’s lap.  Natalie stroked his ginger coat and kissed his head; she seemed to really like animals.  Reluctantly, Rita opened her small briefcase and pulled out a photo.

In a gentle voice, she said, "Natalie, I have to ask you to look at this photograph.  Is this Billy?"

Natalie glanced at the photo and quickly looked away.  "Yeah, that’s him," she said, her voice nearly a whisper.

Rita hesitated.  She suspected that Natalie knew something about Billy’s killers.  Either she was too scared to say anything, or she was unwilling to help.  Rita hoped it was the former.  "Natalie, I want you to think about what you saw last night.  Go over it in your mind.  I know it’s not pleasant to think about, but you may know more than you think you do."  Natalie stared blankly down at the floor.  Rita went on, "Is there anything about the three men that stands out in your mind?"

Natalie shook her head slowly.  Undaunted, Rita went on, "You said before that they were shouting.  What were they saying?"

Natalie sighed and squeezed her eyes shut in concentration.  "They were arguing with each other."  She tapped her fist against the arm of the couch, trying to remember.  "Then- then one of them said to Billy, ‘You be smart- take your time before you answer.’  Or something like that."

"Okay, that’s good," Rita said encouragingly.  "Now, think about his voice.  Did you recognize it?"

Natalie shook her head.  "Not from just those couple of words," she said.  "If he had talked more maybe, but…"

"Did he have an accent?  Did he sound old, or young?"

"Um…"  Natalie chewed her lip thoughtfully.  Concentration- she hated it!  She wished she could just go home.  But then the image of Billy came into her mind.  She had to do this for him.  Think, Natalie, think!  "Well, the way he said ‘answer’- he had kind of a New York accent, I think.  And I think he was older."  She paused, then her eyes lit up.  "The other man," she went on hurriedly, "The one the New York guy was arguing with- he sounded… German.  Because he said that word- it’s German for shit- um… scheisser, or something like that.  And then- and then after they shot him, they started arguing again.  But I don’t know… I don’t know what they were saying- it’s all jumbled in my head."  Her last remark carried a hint of frustration, and she began to look irritated.  Claire leaned forward and scratched Duncan’s chin, smiling at Natalie as she did.  Natalie’s expression softened, and she took over scratching him.  Duncan enjoyed it thoroughly; he was purring loudly now.

"That’s good," Rita repeated, silently admiring Claire’s action.  "That’s very good, Natalie.  Now, the man who pulled the trigger- was he standing in front of Billy, or behind him?"

The blank look returned to Natalie’s face.  Rita waited for an answer, but never got one.  She went on, "Okay, now think about when you saw the one man go back into the club.  Which one was he?"

"The New York guy," Natalie answered without hesitating.

Rita nodded, then said, "You didn’t see his face?"

Natalie shook her head.  Then she said, "But I did see his silhouette.  He was heavy set, kinda old.  I think he was bald on top."

"Great," said Rita, smiling.  "See, you knew more than you thought.  Now, is there anyone who works at the club that fits your description?"

Natalie thought back to the afternoon, when she had been summoned into her boss’s office.  Mr. DiBarto… he fit the description.  She swallowed and looked at Rita with wide, frightened eyes.  "Yeah," she murmured.  "Yeah… my boss, Mr. DiBarto.  He owns the club.  He’s older, heavy set, balding on top, and he’s from New York."

Rita’s expression turned grim at the mention of Donnie’s name.  She nodded to herself thoughtfully, then said, "What about the German?  Any idea who he could be?"

Natalie shook her head.  Rita sat back and chewed her fingernails.  In the background, Claire tried to see behind the two women’s expressions, to their thoughts.  Then Rita sat up.  She hesitated; she knew Natalie wasn’t going to like the next part, but she might as well tell her and get it over with.  "Natalie, I have to ask you not to leave town without telling us.  We may need you to testify in court.  Even though you didn’t see the killer’s face, your testimony is pretty much all we’ve got so far.  And it could make all the difference in deciding the case."

Suddenly Natalie turned and glared at Rita.  "No fucking way," she said.  Duncan jumped off her lap, spooked, and scurried into the bedroom.  "No way am I going to testify.  Why don’t I just kill myself now, and get it over with?  Cause if I testify against some mob guy I’m as good as dead."  She made a disgusted face and went on, "Why don’t you find the guy that killed Billy and just shoot him in the head?  If you really want justice, that’s what you should do."

"Natalie, you know we can’t do that," Rita said gently.  "We’re police officers- the good guys."

Natalie snorted derisively.  "Bullshit," she said.  "Cops are worse than the criminals.  They abuse the power they have.  You should be able to trust cops, but you can’t."

Rita sat back and sighed.  Claire looked uncomfortable, but she didn’t say anything.  Rita knew that Natalie’s criticisms were more than just random discontent.  It had to be something personal.  Keeping her voice calm, Rita said, "Why don’t you think you can trust cops, Natalie?"

Natalie sighed and looked at Claire, then at Rita.  Her eyes were cold.  She folded her legs under her and crossed her arms, then said in a quiet voice, "I was raped by a cop.  In California, when I was seventeen."  Claire’s eyes widened, and she shifted in her chair.  But Natalie was staring at Rita.  Rita met her gaze evenly; she wasn’t surprised, but it still made her sick to hear it.  Natalie went on, "It was late at night and my car broke down.  And then this cop comes along and I was glad, because who better to help you in that situation, right?  So he said he’d give me a ride to a phone so I could call a tow truck.  I wondered why he couldn’t just call from his car- I mean, cops have radios, right?  But I didn’t say anything- I just went with him.  So after a few minutes he pulls over to the side of the road.  I wondered what was going on, and then he…"  She trailed off and stared down at the floor.
"Natalie, I’m sorry," Rita said softly.

She turned on Rita again, a sarcastic comment on the tip of her tongue.  But she held it.  "I need a smoke," she muttered.  She grabbed her cigarettes and lighter and went out on Claire’s balcony.

Inside, the two women sat in silence.  Finally, Claire cleared her throat.  "That’s so horrible," she whispered, watching Natalie’s back as she smoked.  "I can’t believe a policeman could do something like that."

"It happens," Rita said, patting Claire’s knee.  "A lot of cops go bad.  But for every bad cop that you hear about, there are a hundred good cops you never hear about."

Claire sighed.  "That doesn’t mean much to someone like Natalie, though."

"I know," Rita said, looking down.  "I know."