Messiah Josiah

[greenbeing]

Chapter Nine

Jim woke up to a kiss. His eyes fluttered open slowly, still dreaming. “I think,” Christie’s voice said, “you are trying. I’m sorry.” Warm lips. Without a face.

He gasped, broke away, and sat up, pushing something to his right, which moved back under the pressure, grabbing a cushion to his left, the back of the couch. Disoriented, he sat there a moment, feeling the leather warming under his hand.

A hand touched his. He looked over, feeling the couch, the blanket wrapped around him, his clothes still on, his shirt half unbuttoned, shoes off, a corduroy pillow under one hand. He could hear someone else breathing.

“Your alarm went off. Time to get up.” She squeezed his hand.

Jim nodded, but didn’t let go of the couch.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah. Time to get up.”

“No, about you trying.”

Jim thought back. She kissed him and it brought him back to the dream, which he couldn’t remember, just the kiss. “Yeah.” He looked up at her, blinking. “I’m sorry, too.”

“That’s what you asked me last night, what I thought of you.”

“I remember.”

“I think you’re trying. I like that. I have to leave for work, though.”

She left and Jim sat there, listening to her grab her briefcase and close the door. His breathing returned to normal. Sometimes, waking up, even in bed, he’d be disoriented, dreaming, forget for a minute everything that had happened in his life, who he was, where he was, why he couldn’t see. A few minutes of bliss to dream in color, then a few minutes of hell, readjusting to the loss of his sight.

But, he realized as he picked himself up off the couch, Christie hadn’t asked if he was okay. That was good; he didn’t want to tell her.

He headed for the shower, feeling warm, like the fight was over.


* * *


“So that guy who was in here last night,” Marty said as soon as Jim came back from the locker room, “how sure are you that you knew him before? You sure you’d recognize a voice years later?”

“Yeah, Marty.”

“And you’re sure the name was Brian Mulhaney?”

“Yeah.”

“Not something else similar?”

“What else would it have been?” Jim sat carefully in his chair, preparing himself for the end of Marty’s questioning.

“And no one else has any idea you would have an inkling of who Brian Mulhaney was?”

“Not except his father. Where are we going with this?”

“Brian Mulhaney came back last night. Late, about ten.”

“Sonny never called. You didn’t have to stay so late.” Jim tried to ignore the niggling feeling in his gut that only wanted to know what Mulhaney had been doing there. Patience, get the story from the beginning, make sure he didn’t miss anything and didn’t have to go over it again.

“I needed a little more overtime. And when you left, I just had this uneasy feeling. So I kicked back with a cup of coffee in one of the interview rooms, looked through some mug books. Janitor came by about nine thirty and turned off all the lights. I spaced, staring out the window, maybe dozed a little, then I heard this noise. He was going through your desk, Jim.”

“My desk?”

“So I came out, asked what I could do for him, said I was working nightshift. He says he’s from Internal Affairs, heard there was a detective here keeping secret files in a language no one else could read, and he had to look into it.”

“Internal Affairs?”

“You still sure you got the right guy?”

“If he was from IA, why wouldn’t he have said so in the first place? He told me he was looking into a homicide at his precinct and we shared a witness.”

“I told him I didn’t have access to those files. He said he had a warrant. I told him to show it to the lieutenant in the morning.”

“You know I was lying bout those files, right? I still suck at Braille.”

“And I said, why would IA need a warrant anyway? He said he’d be in touch.”

“How’d he get up here?”

“He had a badge. Showed it downstairs. I went down and asked, told them not to let him back up again. They’ll call if he comes back.”

Jim leaned back in his chair, rubbing his mouth and thinking. “You were here with me last night, Marty. That file I pulled up on Brian Mulhaney, it listed him missing.”

“That’s why I had to ask. ‘Cause when I ran it this morning, he came up, been a cop four years.”

Jim stared at Marty.

“And I thought, it’s bad enough they’re reinstating blind cops. You gotta draw the line when they start reinstating dead ones.”

“Maybe I was wrong and he wasn’t dead. But that doesn’t explain how the file got there saying he’s been with us four years.”

“So you’re sure you pulled up the right name last night?”

“Absolutely.”

“’Cause I didn’t get a look at it.”

“I know I did.”

“Good. ‘Cause I called the listed supervisor; never heard of his kid. I had the lieutenant call his old friend Robby Mulhaney to confirm his kid was dead. He did, but they’re keeping it hush-hush ‘cause they’re investigating something deep. Mulhaney’s coming down tomorrow to talk with Fisk about what we got, see how it’s related. Lieutenant told me to get what we can today, ‘cause tomorrow they might pull the case, if it’s too interrelated. They don’t want us screwing anything up.”

“But how’d the file get there?”

“That, I can’t answer.”

“You didn’t ring up IT? See when tech services has the last update on that file listed?”

“I didn’t. Didn’t think of that.”

“I’ll make the call.”

Jim scrolled through the electronic address book on his computer and put in the call. “They’ll get back to me. You think this guy’s gonna come back?”

“It would take some balls. He’s gotta know we’re onto him by now.”

Marty’s phone rang and he picked it up.

Jim sat back and ran a hand through his hair. He took off his sunglasses, pinching the bridge of his nose, listening to Marty’s half of the conversation. He’d barely walked through the door and already he had a headache. As much information as Marty’d thrown his way, all he could think about was Christie.

“That was Brian Mulhaney’s supervisor, the guy I called earlier to see if he worked there? Called back, apologizing, said he didn’t know how it happened, but Mulhaney had just walked through the door with a transfer notice and did I want to talk to him.”

“What’s this guy playing at?” Jim asked just as his phone rang. IT had been fast. They spouted off the information, then Jim hung up. “They’re shutting down the system. A major breach about five this morning. Maybe just hackers, but that’s when that file was changed. They’re going to try to pull back-up files and compare changes, send out the matches to all the precincts, see if we can figure out what it means.”

“I think it means we’re all screwed, how ‘bout you?” Marty asked.

“I think we should move De—”

“I did that last night before I left.”

“Good. Great, thanks.” Jim sighed, relieved, and rubbed his head again. “I think I’ll see if Karen wants to go over when she gets here. I’d like to ask DeLana the same things we asked Artez.”

“No offense, but I don’t think you should go over there. They know you’re in charge of this case, right? What if they’re following you?”

Jim gritted his teeth.

“Tom and I can hit it later.”

“Tha—”

Fisk slammed the door to his office open. “Dunbar, you know that Artez guy you booked? I just got a call from IT—he was released this morning to another precinct. You know anything about it?”

Jim closed his eyes. “Officer’s name Brian Mulhaney?”

“Yeah. But if this is the same kid I called Robby Mulhaney about this morning to confirm he was dead, we have a problem.”

“He’s dead,” Marty said. “We have a problem.”

“Boss, we need to talk,” Jim said gravely.


* * *


“Dunbar! Hey, Jim!” the lieutenant called out his open office door.

Jim’s head snapped up. He’d been pondering the case, trying to figure out how to find out what they didn’t know. He wondered how many times the boss had called him.

“Come in here a minute.”

Jim wondered what was up. Lately, most of the times he’d been called into the boss’s office, they’d been less than peachy visits. The thought flew through his mind that maybe Dr. Galloway had sent over an unfavorable report, something about his fight with Christie.

Jim stood up, but as he took a step away from his desk, he found someone in front of him.

“We have a Mrs. Campbell here, Jim,” Lt. Fisk said quietly. Jim looked up at him. “Real name’s Laine Campbell…”

“She was sent up here because one of those witnesses you interviewed the other day might be here daughter. A uniformed officer matched the description. We thought you might be able to confirm it, since you interviewed the girls.”

Jim rubbed his forehead and resituated his sunglasses. Asking him to identify someone? Besides Christie and Hank, who could he ID? “Uh…”

“I want you to get a feel for her. It’s up to you what we tell her.” Fisk touched his arm. “Come on.”

Jim awkwardly took Fisk’s elbow, wondering why the lieutenant would be playing up the blindness. More problems with the case? That’s all they needed. He followed his boss, feeling like he was getting disoriented. He wasn’t used to being led around the squad, the pace different than usual, throwing him off just enough. He felt the sleeve of his jacket brush the door and stopped, letting go of Fisk’s arm.

He touched the side of the door to reorient himself, then cocked his head. The first second in a new room was always awkward, before he knew where everyone was. “Mrs. Campbell?” Jim asked without stepping into the room or turning. He couldn’t even hear anyone else breathing.

“Yes,” she said quietly, much quieter than DeLana would have. That much they didn’t have in common.

“Which one’s your daughter?” Jim asked.

“Her name’s Lana. Actually it’s Laine. Named her after her grandfather. We just always call her Lana.” Her voice quivered, like she’d been crying and wasn’t done yet.

“Tell me, when’s the last time you saw your daughter?” Jim faced her, his arms crossed.

“I haven’t actually seen her in three years, detective, but she and I, we kept in touch. She would call me, but she couldn’t give me a number to reach her back. She would write and send pictures of Tamika.”

Jim nodded. “And your son?”

There was a moment of silence. “I have four daughters.”

Jim pressed his lips together. “When’s the last time you heard from your daughter?”

“About six months. She said she wouldn’t be able to call for a while, so I wasn’t too worried. Then I got this phone call saying Lana was in police custody.”

“Who called?”

“I don’t know.”

“Male? Female?”

“Male.”

“Young, old?”

“I don’t know.”

“And you believed them because…?”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve heard from her! I’m worried. What if something happened? It’s sounded like she’s been having trouble lately, so I’m worried.”

Jim didn’t know what to think. “The girl in question, I’m not sure she’s your daughter. And no, we don’t have her in custody, she’s not arrested, not in any trouble. But if you leave your number, we’ll call when we talk to her again.”

“Dunbar,” Fisk said. “I’ll take it from here.” He stood as Jim nodded and turned. “Let me help you back to your desk.”

Jim waited, breathing evenly to keep his hands from clenching. The lieutenant opened the office door and Jim took the big man’s arm again. He let go as soon as Fisk shut the door and stopped walked.

“What’s your impression?”

Jim shook his head. “Another anonymous tip-off? I don’t like it.”

“You don’t think she’s telling the truth?”

“I don’t want that lady anywhere near DeLa—Laine. Whoever. I don’t know if that’s her mom or not. I’m actually thinking she might be, but—”

“Well?”

“Boss, the way this case has been going, even if she is family, I’m inclined not to believe she has DeLana’s best interest in mind. Family can turn on each other as much as strangers can.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I’m trying not to compromise the life of the only witness I have left. At this point, I’m afraid any contact with DeLana—or Laine—and her mom… I don’t know what would happen. A cheerful reunion? That’s doubtful. They haven’t seen each other in three years—why now?” Jim stood waiting, running scenarios through his mind. This woman, she’d found them through an anonymous tip, just like the Bartlett woman. If she was authentic, maybe she was being followed. If not, the way information had been skewed and files had been breached, Jim trusted only Fisk and the other three detectives. Anyone else was extraneous, liabilities. He just hoped he could trust the officers staying with DeLana to do their jobs.

“So we’re not going to tell her anything?”

“Let’s get some contact info and a photo. We can ask DeLana about her first. Marty offered to go talk to her later.” Jim shook his head. “But as far as Mrs. Campbell’s concerned, we don’t know where her daughter is.” He turned back to his desk, but Fisk stopped him.

“IT called back—that file on Mulhaney was the only altered one. They found a deleted one.”

“Artez?”

“Yeah.”

Jim swore. “And you called Mulhaney’s squad?”

“Hasn’t shown back up since this morning.”


* * *


“I’m not much of a people person, Miss Artez. You can stop smiling,” Marty said, leaning back on the dilapidated old couch that had seen too many rear ends in its day. The whole house needed to be torched or torn down. Marty kept an eye out for rats while he concentrated on DeLana’s expressions. Jim had asked for a more complete second opinion, so Marty was paying as close of attention to her as he figured Dunbar would have, back when he could see.

“So you’re playing the bad cop, he’s the good one?” DeLana asked, gesturing across the room at Tom.

“I don’t play games like that, Miss Artez. I also don’t go out of my way to try to make people like me.”

DeLana was 26, but the look in her eyes was wary. She wasn’t a trusting kid. You could tell just by looking at her clothes and her hair that she couldn’t afford to fix them up. She kept herself groomed, but she wasn’t coiffed and styled, couldn’t afford make-up, couldn’t even afford a needle and thread to patch her clothes.

“Well?” DeLana prompted. “Why are you here?” She waited and Marty just stared at her. “I’m waiting for an answer.”

“So are we.”

For the next twenty minutes Russo and DeLana eyed each other suspiciously, but neither one offered any information.

Tom practically ran into the room, holding the baby in front of him like a live grenade. He held it out to DeLana, set it on her lap when she didn’t immediately take it. “Here. This one stinks.” He turned to Marty. “I don’t know how Dunbar got out of there in one piece. You have a kid, it’s your turn. I’ll finish out here.” He sat on the half-dead couch and motioned at DeLana to go on. “You can take care of that first.” He glanced at Marty. “Where are we?”

“Nowhere,” Marty said. “She hasn’t told me anything. Until she does, I’m not telling her anything. This isn’t a one-way street.”

“Go take care of the kids.”

“No,” Marty said. “I’m not a baby-sitter.” He stayed seated next to Tom.

“Miss Artez, what do you want to know? We’ll tell you something, then you tell us something. You help and I won’t get out the thumbscrews.”

“I want to know why you haven’t brought my brother back yet.”

“We booked him as accessory to the murder of his girlfriend,” Tom said.

“He didn’t—”

“We know. We just thought: one, it would keep him safe; two, he was withholding information, and maybe this would soften him up a little. Seeing as he was in police custody when the murder went down, we can’t hold him as more than an accessory.”

“So he’s in jail?” she asked with a pained expression.

Tom turned to Marty. “You really didn’t tell her anything, did you?”

“Why should I? If they would have told us anything first time around, we wouldn’t be in this position.”

“I don’t know anything,” DeLana persisted.

“Just tell us what you do know, from the beginning,” Tom said. “Because your brother, he’s gone. And if you don’t talk, I have a feeling we’ll never find him alive. Got that?”

“He’s missing?”

“Who are these bad dudes, DeLana? Tell us so we can make sure we can keep you safe.”

“I don’t know!” She started crying, then ran down the hall and slammed the door to one of the rooms.

She’d left Clem on the couch.

“Sh*t,” Tom said, looking at the kid.

“Watch your mouth,” Marty said. “You want that to be his first word?”

“It’s as good a first word as any.” Tom went over, snatched up the kid, holding it at arm’s length again. Down the hall he kicked the door to knock. “Laine Campbell, open up! You got a stinky kid to take care of and a lot of questions to answer!”

The door opened. She took Clem, then slammed the door again. “I’m not Laine Campbell anymore. Go away.”

“You want me to beat the door down?” Marty asked, leaning against the wall behind Tom.

“There’s no lock on the door, probably not necessary.”

“Yeah, but it would make more of an impression than just walking in, don’t you think?”

[greenbeing]

* * *


Karen’s footsteps were coming down the hall. Jim could recognize some people by listening to the way they walked and moved, and he’d spent enough time with Karen to recognize her easily, besides being the only female detective in the squad.

“Geez, Dunbar,” Karen said, plopping down in her chair, “it’s like going to lunch with your fan club. All she ever does is talk about you.”

Jim didn’t look up from his computer. “What are you talking about?”

“Anne.”

Jim’s fingers slipped on his keyboard and he quickly backspaced. He looked up and lowered his voice. “Should I be flattered?” he asked, bristling. He still had trouble hearing Anne’s name. “I thought she hated me.”

“Oh, don’t worry, she does.”

Jim nodded. He looked away, then nodded again. “Good.”

“Good?” Karen sounded surprised.

“I didn’t do the best thing in the world to her. I don’t expect to be on her good side.”

“Yeah, you stay humble now, but you should be there sometimes.”

Jim shifted uncomfortably. “Are you and I still okay?”

“Yeah, sure, I guess. It’s hard to hear some of this stuff, but we’re still partners. I respect you as a cop.”

Jim nodded. It was probably best if he and Karen didn’t strike up a friendship. Not only was she young, female, and attractive, she was also Anne’s friend. And after his friendship with Terry went south… Yeah, it was best that they retain a working relationship. “Thanks.” He went back to typing his report, but he finally looked back up. Not that he needed to excuse his actions, he just wanted to make sure Karen could trust him. “Karen, you know…”

“What?” she asked after a minute.

“Well… I know what I did was wrong… I just, I always tried to treat her well.”

“Yeah, I know,” Karen said and laughed at the surprised look that passed over Jim’s usually unreadable face, “that’s part of the reason she hates you so much.”


* * *


“Hey,” Marty said, sliding his chair over toward Jim.

Jim looked up and pulled out his earpiece.

“Can you… like, pretend you’re not blind?”

Jim almost laughed at the absurdity and the surprise of the comment.

“What kind of a question is that?” Karen asked before Jim could. She sounded offended.

Jim finally laughed. “Karen, it’s okay.” He turned back to Marty. “It doesn’t really work that way. Why do you ask?”

“I just thought, you know, everything’s getting all screwed up anyway. I thought you and I could head over to that bar—Spike’s or whatever—and ask around.”

“And the pretending I’m not blind part?”

“People are more likely to remember you then, you know. So I thought you could just follow my footsteps, like you do around here. Sit around the bar and question people.”

Jim shook his head. “Not in a bar, I couldn’t. Too noisy.” He smiled to himself, looking at his desk. “Thanks, though.”

“Maybe Tom and I could, if I can get Tom to cancel his date for tonight.”

Jim rubbed his mouth, thinking, wishing he could find a way. “What if Karen comes? I could sling my arm around her—”

“Hands to yourself, Jim,” Karen muttered.

“Of course. Karen, you know me. I’d never put the moves on you.”

She was silent a second. “I’m almost offended.” She laughed.

He joined in. “Hands to myself, no necking, I promise.”

“Smooth, Dunbar,” Marty said.


* * *


“Christie.” Jim stood behind her at the stove. He was close enough he could feel her turn. “I was wrong. I should have said something as soon as I remembered your birthday. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said. It sounded like she was smiling.

“I am. I don’t know how you can just forgive me.”

“I’ve forgiven you for worse, haven’t I?”

Jim grimaced and closed his eyes a second. She always brought it up, meaning she’d never actually forgiven him and probably never would. He walked away, putting the island between them, facing the wall of windows. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” she said amiably.

She was stirring something on the stove, the spoon scraping the pan. Jim felt like she was stabbing him. What was going on?

Did he really want her to be mad at him?

No, he’d said. But forgiveness had never been Christie’s strong suit. If they didn’t get it out in the open, he knew it would fester. It wasn’t like her to ignore it, that’s what had been bothering him. That’s what Dr. Galloway couldn’t understand. Ignoring both the fight and the birthday thing? This wasn’t like Christie.

“I was wrong,” he said.

“I know.”

“That’s it? You know?” He grabbed the back of one of the bar stools.

“Jim, maybe you need to get a better therapist if that’s as well as you can communicate.”

“Christie, Galloway’s not a marriage counselor.”

“So he didn’t suggest you apologize?”

“No.”

“You thought of that all on your own?”

“It’s been killing me, not saying something, but I knew we were going to get into a big fight, just like we did.” Jim paused. “Why aren’t we still fighting?”

“I’ve been seeing a therapist since we talked to Galloway. A friend recommended her. She really is very good. Since we don’t have time to go see that lady Dr. Galloway recommended, I thought we could both have our separate therapists.”

Jim had to sit down. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have gone to see the couples’ therapist with you.”

“I was having trouble finding a time both of us could go.”

“You didn’t ask. I could have made time.”

Christie set a plate on the counter in front of him. “Here. I’m not very hungry, but I thought you should eat.” She started to walk away.

“Christie!” Jim jumped up. He followed her to the bedroom but stopped in the doorway. “What the hell?”

“She told me I needed to come to terms with your job and accept the fact that you’re busy. We’re both career people, so we’re perfect for each other. We can both indulge at work, but when we get home, that’s just a time to relax and enjoy each other’s company. Forgive each other. Because neither of us has the energy for a deep relationship. It’s either family or career.”

Jim thought that sounded really shallow. “I thought we were trying to fall in love again, not make excuses for what went wrong.”

“Just be here for me, Jimmy. I’ll be here for you.”


* * *


Jim brooded over dinner. He’d thought things were better between him and Christie—that morning, it had seemed…

He shook his head. How could she have forgiven him so easily? He’d been a fool to believe it. She was just following a therapist’s recommendations. There was no other way she could have forgiven him for the fight the night before so easily. That was ridiculous. He stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork, but didn’t bring it to his mouth. Was it really family or a career? He had to admit he enjoyed his job, but once upon a time, he’d liked coming home to Christie. She’d gotten him through the past year, he’d leaned on her, even if he wouldn’t talk to her. He’d yelled at her when things didn’t go his way.

He heard a footstep behind him. “Christie.” He put his hand on the back of the stool next to him, gesturing for her to come sit. She sat, but he could feel the tension, like she was afraid of what he’d say. “No more fighting, huh?”

“If we’ve had a bad day at work, we don’t have to bring it out on each other.”

He grimaced. That hadn’t exactly been a bad day at work. He just had trouble adapting sometimes, accepting—maybe she couldn’t forgive him until he learned to forgive himself. But how was Jim Dunbar supposed to accept the fact that he was going to screw up, that it was inevitable? “I am really sorry—”

“No more fighting means no more apologizing,” she said and slid off the stool.

“Christie!” He dropped the fork on the plate, listened to it bounce off. He slid his hand on the counter, picked it up, put it in place so he wouldn’t have to worry about it later. He turned and slid off his own stool. “I’m going out tonight.”

“With the guys?”

“Sort of undercover.” Jim felt the corners of his mouth turning up. “Marty and Karen and I are going to ask around at a bar.” He waited for her to shower him with misgivings, remind him how badly things had gone the last time he’d gone undercover, ask if it was safe.

“Good luck,” she said.

“It’s kinda a sleazy place. You wanna help me pick out something to wear?” He cocked his head to the side, waiting.

“Sure…”

She was almost smiling again. Jim wasn’t sure what was going on, but there was a note in Christie’s voice that he hadn’t trusted. He didn’t believe her about the no more fighting, no more apologizing. Her voice had trembled. She’d always been very good at keeping her emotions off her face, but now that he didn’t rely on that to know how she was feeling, he was picking up nuances he wouldn’t have noticed before. That little waver when she said ‘no more apologizing.’ He wondered what it meant. Until then, he was going to pay his penance, make her smile, try to actually understand her for once.

“You want to go out for your birthday? Maybe Friday?” He sat on the end of the bed and listened to her sort through the dresser drawers. She threw something at him that hit him in the chest. He reached as it fell into his lap, running his hands over the cotton of a t-shirt.

Christie smiled. “Like a date?”

“Yeah.”

“Plans in advance, making reservations?”

“Buying flowers.” He pulled the t-shirt on.

“It’s black. It’ll go with your jacket.” She opened the closet door. “Maybe we can go out dancing afterward?”

Jim shrugged. He made a face, knowing from the sounds she was making that her back was to him. “I guess. As long as they don’t play “Call Me Irresponsible” I’ll be okay.”

Christie laughed.

[greenbeing]

Chapter Ten

Jim reached up and put his folded cane on Karen’s dashboard.

“You’re not bringing that?” she asked awkwardly.

He pulled off his sunglasses and set them next to the cane. “I’m not blind tonight, remember?” He turned and smiled at her.

“Right.” She got out of the car.

Jim did likewise. He got out and stretched, taking deep breaths of cold air, resituating his black leather jacket. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned nonchalantly up against the side of the car, getting into character, waiting for Karen to join him.

“Where’s the bar?”

She stepped up next to him. “A couple blocks down. I didn’t think driving right up to it would be the best thing. Not if we want to be inconspicuous.”

Jim nodded. He pushed out the sides of his jacket, hands still in the pockets. “I don’t think this guy would ever let you drive, anyway.”

“Sexist, nice touch,” she said blandly. “What should I call you? We never talked about that.”

“Anything but Ted.” His hands clenched in his pockets.

“We’re just asking questions tonight. No drug deals.”

“Good.” Jim straightened up and reached over for her. He stopped just short of her and left his arm there. “You know this is just business, right? Anything that happens, I’m sorry, I don’t mean it.”

“Right. We already agreed, you and I are an item, we stick close so no one will notice you can’t see.”

She sounded a little nervous. Jim tentatively finished his reach, bypassing her arm to put his arm around her waist. He moved carefully, keeping his face averted, feeling himself start to blush, barely brushing her clothes as his hand came to rest on the side of her stomach opposite him. Despite the fact that he was barely touching her, he could still feel her muscles tighten, hear a slight intake of breath.

“Okay?” he asked. He didn’t pull her any closer.

She relaxed a little. “Okay.” She started walking down the quiet street, picking up her pace, probably from cold and nerves.

Jim listened to the traffic, but was relieved to find almost no other foot traffic yet. Karen hurried on and Jim’s hand slipped, he nearly lost his grip. He let his hand slide into place at her elbow.

“You okay?” she asked.

“We’re going a little fast.”

She slowed.

“Nah, it’s okay. Just lemme know when we get closer, we’ll resituate. It’s easier to walk this way, anyway.”

“Okay.”

They quickly covered the distance, then Karen stopped. “I can see it.”


* * *


Karen watched Jim’s face as he slipped his arm around her waist. His jaw was set, he wouldn’t look at her, barely touched her. Again, she felt her muscles tense against her will and hoped he didn’t notice. This was just Jim, and it wasn’t real. Despite what he’d done in the past, he wasn’t the type of guy to make the same mistake twice. His fingers splayed at her side, settling on her stomach.

“You know, if my wife saw me right now, she’d kill me.” He smiled down at her.

“I thought you told her?”

“I did. She’d kill me anyway.”

Karen nodded, figuring he was close enough to feel the movement, her head at his shoulder. His gaze was lowered, embarrassment etched on his face, but the way his head was tilted it was almost like he was staring down her leather jacket and through her flimsy shirt. She glanced down to make sure no one else would be able to see anything. She felt sluttish enough in her tight leather pants.

“Should we go in?” he asked. “Marty’s probably already here.”

“Yeah.” She pushed a little closer to him and he stepped back, probably thinking she needed space. “Hey, Cujo, you can’t be so nervous around a broad or someone’s gonna notice.”

Jim laughed. “Cujo?”

“In honor of Hank. Sometimes I think that’s who he wants to be.”

“You think?”

“You should see this look he gets in his eyes, sometimes, like at a crime scene.”

Jim squeezed her with a smile. “I bet he’s at home bored, wishing he was here getting some action. Christie ignores him.”

“We’ll have to make it up to him.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, like take him out for lunch or something.”

Jim nodded. “Just friends.”

“Just friends.”

“Come on, Betty.”

“Betty?”

“Boop.”

“You think I look like Betty Boop?” she asked, offended.

Jim laughed. “I really have no idea what you look like. Not really. I just thought it would be a good personality match. Betty and Cujo.”

She laughed, then tried to giggle. “I’m not much of one for giggling, but I’ll try the airhead thing.”

Jim put on a stern face. “Let’s go, Betty. Get a move on. The night is wasting.”

He kept his head down as they walked into the bar. He leaned down to nuzzle her ear in the loud room and quietly said, “What’s it look like?”

Karen almost pulled back when his lips touched her ear, his breath blew at her hair. You’re Betty, she lectured herself. This means nothing.

She looked around in the dim light and smoke. Undesirables pressed around the bar. Broken windowpanes, holes in the walls, a few candles set out in case someone forgot a lighter. She leaned up. “Dark, lots of people. Scary people. We could probably arrest most of them if we had time.”

Jim’s mouth twitched. “Next time.” He pulled her closer. “You sound too matter-of-fact for a Betty. Chill, kid.” He closed his eyes. “It’s all just for show.” He pushed her hair away from her ear with his chin, moving around behind her, probably looking like he was really making out with the back of her neck as he stood behind her talking quietly. “Go to the bar. Which way?”

“Right,” she said and forced a laugh, put on a plastic smile. She reached behind her to one of Jim’s hands on her back and took it.

He carefully laced his fingers through hers and put his other hand on her shoulder.

She headed for the bar, but tilted her head back to look at him, his gaze looking at the top of her head. “You look like you’re manhandling me,” she said and laughed honestly.

He grinned. “That’s ‘cause you won’t do what I say.”


* * *


Karen stopped walking. Jim listened a moment, picking out sounds up and down the counter, laying it out in his mind. He put one hand to either side of Karen and reached out confidently. His hands latched onto the bar and he leaned forward, taking Karen with him.

“Lemme know when the bartender shows,” he said, pressing her stomach against the bar.

She tugged his sleeve a second later, so unobtrusive Jim himself barely noticed. Her hand fluttered on top of his and a quick motion with her finger pointed a direction.

Jim looked up before the voice boomed, loud, the kind of voice belonging to an ex-linebacker, a huge guy. “What can I get you?”

Jim ordered a shot and a beer for himself. “And the lady’d like to have Sex on the Beach,” he said and laughed bawdily.

He felt Karen’s elbow come back lightly into his ribs. “Cool it, Cujo,” she said in his ear. “I thought you didn’t want to stand out.”

He nuzzled her ear again with his eyes closed. “How’s a drunk stand out in a bar?”

Two glasses and a bottle hit the counter and Jim pulled out a roll of singles, throwing several onto the counter. He reached forward, but Karen pulled his hand back before he could touch any of the drinks. He was so close he felt her reach out and pull one closer. He stretched with his opposite hand, running it down her arm until it touched the shot. He tipped it back quickly.

Karen picked up their drinks as Jim pretended to fondle her, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “Find a table, but one close.”

He felt out of place, not just a cop in a bar full of criminals, but relying on Karen like this. Holding her close. She was the wrong size. She wasn’t Christie by a long shot. But he couldn’t pull back. He was afraid if he didn’t stay close he’d make a mistake, give himself away.

Karen plunked the drinks down on a table. Jim finally disentangled himself. The bar was getting louder and he couldn’t hear the next thing she said. He reached around her, letting her go, pulling out a chair for himself. She disappeared, but he heard her slide a chair around closer to his as he sat. She pushed the beer across the table until it touched the back of his hand. He grabbed it, then pulled his chair closer to hers. “I couldn’t hear you,” he said, leaning down.

“Marty’s here. I saw him in back.”

Jim shuddered as her lips touched his ear, brushed his hair. She was close enough he could feel lipstick on her lips. If just felt wrong, but he was glad his conscience was kicking in. He reached over to keep one hand on the back of her chair so he could feel every movement she made as she cased the bar.


* * *


They had decided Karen would be the one to start making inquiries and, if she caught anything, to send it Jim’s way. She squeezed his hand before standing.

Jim slumped drunkenly over his beer, staring at the table, his eyes unfocused, a slight frown making the lines on his face stand out. Karen turned away. The sight of Jim like that made her want to stay, but she knew it was all part of the act.

“How many’s he had?” Marty asked near her ear.

“Just one.”

Marty laughed.

She leaned closer to his ear so no one would be able to hear. “He thought he’d look less blind.” Karen put on a ditsy pose and twirled her hair around a finger.

“He almost looks stoned.”

Karen laughed back, but felt guilty as she looked over at Jim. She could have set him up at the bar to make inquiries of his own. “Anything?”

“Not yet.”

She moved away, making new friends and getting a feel for the place. A couple times she felt close enough to broach the subject, just hinting there was someone she needed out of the way, but no mess, preferably untraceable.

She watched as Jim finished his beer and a waitress came up in tiny shorts and a shirt tied up to expose her midriff. Jim smiled at the waitress charmingly, made her laugh, kept gesturing with the beer bottle, keeping his gaze on it like he was flirting shyly. Karen had to admit for a minute he didn’t look blind at all. Jim reached up and caressed the waitress, pulling her closer so he could talk quietly.

Karen turned away. Maybe Anne was right about that fatal Dunbar charm. The waitress seemed unable to resist him and it made Karen’s blood boil momentarily for both her friend and his wife. Then she reminded herself she was looking for information and flirting with guys she’d normally stay away from. Jim was surely doing the same thing.


* * *


“Let’s dance,” Karen yelled in his ear.

Jim held a hand out to her, grateful he had to hold her close. She’d been gone an hour and he’d added three whiskeys to his first shot and beer.

“How’s it going?” he yelled back.

“Kinda hard since the band started. I think a couple people are getting suspicious, since I haven’t spent any time with you.”

Jim pulled her close on the dance floor, both hands at the small of her back. “Sorry about manhandling you,” he said.

“What?” she yelled.

“Nothing. How’s Russo?”

“You mean Russ, Betty’s ex-boyfriend?”

Jim blinked.

“I had some girl ask. She wanted to get it on with you if we weren’t exclusive.”

Jim laughed, turning his head up, standing straight for the first time that night. Karen’s hand tilted his head back down to face her.

“That’s better,” she said.

Jim nodded, not moving his gaze from where he thought she was.

“You’re a terrible dancer. I thought Christie made you take lessons.”

Jim leaned down to hear her better. “Ballroom dancing, not hip hop. You want me to spin you out a few times?”

“I can’t picture you ballroom dancing,” she yelled.

“Me either!” He couldn’t help but grin.

The band ended their set with a couple slower tunes. Jim held Karen close, resting his chin on her head, keeping his eyes closed but concentrating on what was going on around him.

The band stopped and in the sudden quiet it sounded like everyone was yelling. Jim winced and it got quiet a second as everyone lowered their voices, no longer having to shout.

“You wanna sit at the bar for a while?”

Jim shrugged. “Sure.” It was getting louder again, smokier, but he could smell Karen’s perfume above everything else. He swayed a little, then laughed as he used her for balance. “You know, if I hadn’t gone blind, I probably would be putting the moves on you.” He slung his arm around her shoulders comradely. “I’m glad I got over that, but I wanted to let you know… you smell good.” He shook his head, trying to clear it. “I mean, you’re attractive, you know? You deserve a good guy. I’ll keep an eye out for you.” He laughed at his own choice of words.

Karen put his hand on one of the barstools and he hopped up, kicking his feet in the air like a kid. He pulled her close again with one arm around her back. “Good luck out there.” He gave her a hug. “This had been fun, thanks for being my partner.”

Then he spun her away and turned toward the bar, pulling his feet up onto the rung of the stool. He ordered a beer.

Someone leaned up next to him. “Hey, Cujo, taking it easy?” Marty ordered a beer for himself.

“Yeah, Russ. Having fun?”

“A bit.”

“We should set Tom up with the waitress here. She’s really nice.” He leaned closer to Russo. “Is she cute?”

“Which one?”

“The nice one.”

“How are things with you and Betty?” Marty asked casually.

“Nice kid. We need to find her a nice guy, okay? She deserves it.”

Jim looked down at his beer, imagining the bubbles, trying to think of the color. Amber. That’s what they called beer. He wondered if the first girl named Amber had been named after a beer.

Marty slugged him lightly in the arm. “I’m gonna mingle.”

Jim nodded. “You know, I have problems mingling. Not just in the bar here—thanks for letting me come, by the way, even if I’m not much help—but I have trouble with you guys, too. Sometimes it’s hard for me to tell how you guys mean something and how you’re reacting… But I think I’m getting more comfortable, you know? With you guys and—” He gestured at his eyes. “I’m getting better at compensating. I think we’re all gonna come together.”

“Last beer, Cujo.”

Jim grabbed his arm and looked closely at him. “I think I can even still walk a straight line, Russ. I know what I’m saying.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. Christie has me on this honesty kick, sharing my feelings. I just wanted you to know. I think we all work pretty well together. I’m still figuring things out in my life, but… I’m getting there.”

Jim let Marty go. He really was starting to accept it. So he couldn’t see, so what? Marty’d invited him to come undercover. They were all more comfortable together. Things were falling into place.

And the case was finally turning in the right direction, even if they had lost two witnesses.

“You know someone named Rico Artez? Tall black man?” Jim asked the next person to lean up to the bar next to him. It wasn’t looking like they were liable to find Pipsqueak, but maybe they’d be able to find Artez.

“No,” the man next to him said, then walked away with a drink.

“Artez?” the bartender said. “He stopped coming in here a few weeks ago. Said he’d run into some kind of trouble with his girlfriend. Why?”

“He owes me,” Jim said.

“He doesn’t have any money,” the guy said with a deep laugh.

“Information. He was looking into something for me.”

“What kind of information?”

Jim shook his head.

“Look, his girlfriend was here, too. Bugging one of our waitresses.”

“Which one?”

“You’re not going to cause any problems, are you?”

“No.”

“I’ll send her over.”

Jim nodded.

[greenbeing]

* * *


“Keep an eye on Cujo,” Karen had said as she passed Marty on her way to the restroom.

Marty turned. He hadn’t thought Jim was that drunk, but Karen would know, right?

Jim still didn’t look drunk. He was talking to one of the waitresses, looking a little too serious for a Cujo. Marty knew Jim’s looks and felt his heart start pounding. It looked like Jim had found something.

He shook his head and scanned the bar. There had to be something—his eyes settled on a guy he’d kept an eye on all night. He was an older man, but he fit Sonny’s description of the guy he’d talked to about Pipsqueak. And he was finally alone. Marty glanced over at Jim, still looking okay, and headed over.

“I was told you might know someone who could supply me with a certain little deadly something.”

The man didn’t even blink. “That was a long time ago.” He looked Marty up and down. “You’re the second person to ask me about that certain little something.” He gestured for Marty to sit across the booth and Marty slid in. “You’re treading dangerous waters.”

“You know Pipsqueak?”

“He doesn’t even go by that name anymore. He’s cleaned up his act.”

“Where can I find him?”

The man just sat and watched Marty, so Marty watched back.


* * *


Karen had moved Jim back to a table and Jim had resumed his drunken stupor look, even though he was feeling more sober than he had an hour before.

“You like the waitresses, huh?” she’d asked as she’d clamped a hand on his arm.

She’d left him, saying she had a couple people who might know something.

A hand clamped the back of Jim’s chair and its twin hit the table in front of him as a man leaned over behind Jim. Jim glanced up, then back down. “You girlfriend sent me to talk to you,” a deep voice said. The voice sounded young, though it was already starting to be eroded by years of cigarette smoking. “I might be able to help, in more ways than one.”

Jim was at attention. He gestured at an empty chair, but the guy didn’t move from behind him. He flicked a card onto the table next to Jim’s hand. Jim put his hand over the top of it, sliding it to the edge of the table and then tucking it into the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

“First, I thought you should know your girl’s getting it on with some guy in back.”

Jim’s jaw clenched. Karen? With one of these creeps? Was it consensual? Karen could take care of herself, and if not, Marty’d see, or maybe she’d scream. “I know,” he said, like he’d seen it himself. “We’re just looking for some information.”

The guy laughed perversely. “If that’s the case, maybe I’ll give her that info myself.” He turned.

Jim reached back and grabbed him. “She told you to give that information to me. Touch her and I’ll bash in your skull.”

He let go and faced straight ahead again. The man laughed a little, more nervously.

“Word is you’re looking for someone to be put out.”

“Maybe.”

“Is it a good cause?”

“Yup.”

“Call my uncle.” He tapped the table where he’d set the card. “He deals in all sorts of nasty chemicals.”

“Is it untraceable? I’d hate to have it come back to me, you know.”

The man leaned down to speak lowly right behind him. “Once it’s in the blood, no one will ever know.”

Then the man disappeared into the crowd.


* * *


Karen watched Marty walk away. They’d just finished a little rendezvous in the coat closet, so to speak, but it was more like a tryst in the hallway by the bathrooms, smelling of vomit and urine and other unsavory bodily malfunctions. She was glad the bulbs were burned out back there, but she stayed away from the walls nonetheless.

Next to an old payphone with the cord cut and the handset missing, she’d leaned close to Marty to keep from being overheard. A guy had walked past and stood outside the lady’s room, so Karen had to lean closer to Marty while the man watched them, finally draping her arm around Marty’s neck, snaking one leg around the back of his, pulling him so close it wouldn’t be possible to tell just what they were doing. Maybe this was why so many female spies were actually prostitutes in history; the only way to share information in public was to look really cozy.

She’d finally sent Marty away, looking out the hallway to take a quick check on Jim, then as soon as she turned around she found herself face to face with a man. A flannel shirt and jeans too tight, hadn’t shaved in a couple days, that depraved look of a stalker in his eyes, she’d seen him watching her a couple times that night. He ran a hand down her arm and Karen couldn’t restrain the look of disgust that washed over her features.

“Hey, pretty lady, you’ve been awfully cozy with a couple guys tonight. Don’t turn your back on one more,” he said.

“Not interested.”

He followed her closely as she tried to leave, rubbing up against her rear, then reaching one hand around to pull her back by the stomach. Karen turned to hit him, but he restrained her other arm before she could get it up. Karen yelled out, pushed the guy away as he bent to kiss her, kicked out one leg, sweeping his feet to off-balance him, then pulling him toward her, side-stepping in time so he’d fall.

Marty was standing in the hall already. He shrugged and almost smiled. “Not bad.” He held a hand out to help extract her from the man’s grabby hands as he tried to raise up. “I’ll keep him busy, let’s just go. Give you a call in a few minutes.”

Karen ran to where Jim was standing, looking confused and outraged and lost at the same time, pushing through people who were pushing back to see what the commotion was and if they could get a piece of the action.


* * *


Jim heard Karen cry out. He pushed back his chair and was on his feet, spinning, then unsure what to do. He didn’t know where she was, just that there were a lot of tables between them. All he could do was stand there, waiting for her to cry out again, the wait killing him as his chest contracted. He felt like he had in that restaurant with Christie, standing there, waiting for someone to speak up, at their mercy until they did. He wasn’t on equal footing until he knew for sure where someone was.

He shouldn’t have suggested to Marty that he and Karen could handle coming. He’d told Christie no woman could protect herself from being attacked, and he finally realized he’d have to put Karen in that category, too. Where the hell was she and was she okay? She was a cop, his rational side said, she could take care of herself. But the rest of him was saying Karen was in trouble, something was happening, and he had no idea what, where, or how to help.

He tuned all his senses, waiting, prepared. He heard a thump, hoped it wasn’t Karen. She’d been hurt, though not badly, on their first case when Lyman had thrown her against the wall. She’d never admitted to him how badly, but he’d heard other officers asking her about it at the house, taking her statement. She was a tough kid, wouldn’t complain, even if she had been knocked unconscious.

Five seconds, maybe ten, and Jim couldn’t handle the wait any longer. He took a few steps forward, his hands just in front of him to catch a chair or a table. Jim turned his head to the side, listening as other people got up to check, nosy, getting in his way.

Someone grabbed his hand.

“Let’s go,” Karen said.

“You okay?” But he was already moving with her. He put his hand on her arm so they could move quicker through the crowd.

“Yeah. Wasn’t much.” She pushed the door open and they hurried down the street. “Like I told you, I attract the wrong kinds of guys.”

She stepped off the curb and Jim didn’t have time to react, stumbled to regain his footing as his feet hit the street. She slowed her pace a little without asking if he was okay and Jim was grateful.

“Marty was going to keep an eye on the guy, then slip out the back.”

The were both breathing hard when they made it to the car. Jim reached out and grabbed the door handle, sliding easily into the seat as Karen hurried to her side, started the engine.

“No one’s following.”

Jim turned to her and grinned as she pulled out into traffic. “I’m proud of you, Karen, starting bar fights with such panache.”

She laughed.


* * *


Karen glanced over at Jim. He was looking out the window—or whatever it was he did. Probably just thinking, but he looked more relaxed than she’d ever seen him.

He turned back toward her after a minute and she watched his face alternate between light and shadow as they drove between streetlights. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card.

“I hope it’s useful,” he said as he turned it over in his hands. He finally held it up to her and she reached for it. “Is it blank?” he asked with a grin.

Karen glanced down in the dark. “Nope. I can’t read it, but it’s not blank.”

“I talked to someone about Artez and Samantha, too.”

“So you think, since they went to the same bar as this infamous Pipsqueak, there might be a connection?”

“Maybe. I didn’t find anything out about Pipsqueak, though.”

“Me either. But Marty said he found the guy Sonny talked to.” Her cell phone rang and she slipped the card into her pocket and checked the readout. “Speak of the devil,” she muttered and flipped the phone open. “Hey.”

Jim shifted in his seat and Karen saw a look that might have been jealousy, but it was gone by the time they got under the next streetlight.

Was he jealous because Marty’d been there, keeping an eye on that guy while they got away? Or because Marty’d been able to find the guy Sonny’d told them about? Or had she read him wrong?

Karen listened as Marty filled her in on how the guy’d tried to go after her, but he’d tripped him, almost starting a bar fight as the guy fell into the crowd, and how outraged drinkers grabbed him up. Marty’d slipped out the back in the confusion. Then he started teasing her about putting the moves on both him and Jim.

“You know, tonight, this date with Jim, that’s what it’s supposed to be like, Karen,” Marty said. “Not like those guys you’ve been dating.”

Karen glanced quickly at Jim, obliviously staring out the window again, his expression blank, his blue eyes upturned toward the stars no one could see in the city. She’d felt that side of him that Anne had known, laidback, holding her closely, and she almost wretched at how easy it had seemed for him to forget his wife and hold her. “Uh, right. Yeah.”

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Marty said.

She snapped the phone shut.

Jim turned back and smiled. “What did Marty have to say?”

Karen shook her head. “He said I should date guys more like you,” she said wryly.

Jim turned away. Karen thought he looked pained, his reflection in the window clearly showing his lips pressed together. She saw him clench one of his hands, unclench, clench, work his jaw. He finally shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault you’re a jerk.” She patted his hand quickly and he relaxed. “Or maybe it is. Just one more thing for me to make sure I don’t get in a relationship.”

Jim was silent a minute and Karen concentrated on driving.

“You know, tonight… was really… awkward,” he finally got out. “You’re not my wife.”

“What about Anne?” she asked quietly.

“Now see, that’s where I’m a jerk. She wasn’t my wife, either, it just took me longer to see it.”


* * *


Jim unfurled his cane as he unfolded himself from the car and stood on the curb. He leaned back in the open door and smiled. “This was fun, we should do it again sometime, Betty.”

Karen laughed. “Take care, Cujo.”

Jim reached for the top of the door. “Goodnight.”

“Hey, Jim,” Karen called.

He grabbed the door he’d been closing.

“Your sunglasses.”

“Oh, yeah.” He bent down and reached for the dashboard.

“I have them,” she said awkwardly.

Jim reached carefully into the open space. Her hand could have been anywhere, hovering, holding his glasses. He stopped his own searching hand and let her put the glasses in there. “Thanks.”

“No prob. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.” He slammed the door and turned. She’d said she parked directly in front of the door, so he squared himself with the car and held his cane out. He listened as Karen drove away, apparently confident he could find his own way, even if he couldn’t find his own sunglasses.

His hand safely on the outer door, Jim smiled. It really had been a nice night. Much less tense than the last time they’d done undercover work, but this time he’d had Karen and Marty right there.

“How’d it go?” Christie asked.

“Good,” he replied.

“There’s something I haven’t seen in a while,” she said as he shrugged out of his leather coat. He cocked his head to the side, waiting. “A smile.”

Jim smiled broader. He stretched, releasing the rest of the tension from the evening, mostly little things that were easily dealt with. “It was good. Really.”

He moved into the living room and nearly threw himself on the couch, stretching out, hands behind his head. “Really good,” he mumbled, suddenly exhausted.

Hank padded over and Jim scratched behind his ears.

Christie sat on the edge of the couch by Jim’s chest and he wrapped his arms around her middle, smiling contentedly. She reached out a hand and stroked his hair, then froze.

“Hmm?” he mumbled, his eyes half-closed.

“What’s this?” She fingered his ear. “You have lipstick on your ear,” she said icily. “Jim—” She pulled away and stood.

Jim laughed and sat up, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He laughed more. “It’s okay. It’s Karen’s.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Aww.” Jim stood up. “Don’t cry until you have the whole story.” He took her in his arms briefly and squeezed, then went back to the table to grab his cell phone, carefully feeling the buttons and dialing. He held the phone out to Christie, who took it hesitantly. “Just Karen.”

“Karen?” Christie said into the cell. “No… He’s okay. Uh, Karen, what color’s your lipstick?”

Jim shook his head, but he had to smile. Christie would make sure he couldn’t lie, couldn’t set up an alibi. She wouldn’t just ask Karen if it was true she’d been whispering in his ear all night, she’d ask something Jim himself couldn’t know.

Jim waited when Christie hung up, expecting her to immediately apologize. She touched his hand with the phone and he took it.

“She said she was keeping an eye on you to keep you honest, that I shouldn’t worry,” Christie said slowly, measuring the words out herself. “How does Karen know you had an affair? Why does Karen know?”

Jim grimaced and turned away to set his cell down. “She already knew,” he said awkwardly. He hated to admit it, but Karen had probably known before even Christie herself. “It was her friend.”

“And this is supposed to make me feel better?” Christie exploded.

“No.” Jim reached out and took her hands before she could escape. “I didn’t tell her. She knew when I started working with her.”

“And she just got over it? Just like that?”

“Not really. I still don’t think she trusts me completely, but she’s had a bad history of guys herself. We’re all the same.”

Christie sighed. “You are all the same.”

Jim tried to pull her closer. “Christie, please—”

“I can’t get made because Karen already knew, right?”

“It was my mistake. I’m—”

“I know you’re sorry, Jimmy! But when Karen sees me—”

“I’m sure she’s not thinking of how I cheated on you.” Christie sniffed. “I’ll apologize for the rest of my life if I have to.”

She snuggled up to him, still sniffling.

Jim shivered. He had to admit, this felt better, holding Christie close, not Karen. He didn’t want to admit how close he’d had to get to Karen tonight, how her lipstick had got on his ear, probably in his hair. He probably smelled like her—

“I need a shower.” He pulled away. “I stink.”

“That you do, detective,” Christie said. “Who were you tonight?” She followed him to the bedroom.

“Cujo,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head.

Christie laughed. “How’d you come up with that one?”

“In honor of Hank.”

“I never would have thought you’d turn out to be such a compassionate dog owner.”

“You kidding? Most the time, I feel like Hank owns me.”

[greenbeing]

Chapter Eleven

Jim listened to Tom sit down at his desk without saying hello. He pulled off his sunglasses and turned. “Tom, what are you wearing?” Jim asked and wrinkled his nose.

“Ha, ha, Jim, I’m not falling for that one. Not about to take fashion advice from a blind guy.”

Jim smiled and slipped his sunglasses back on.

“How’d it go last night?”

“Good,” Jim said.

Tom laughed. “You got a stupid grin on your face. Spill.”

Jim nodded and tried to wipe the smile off his face. “We learned a lot, we had fun. You should have been there; Karen almost started a bar fight.”

“Karen? Our Karen?”

“Who else? I’m surprised she doesn’t take bodyguards with her when she goes out.”

“Because I can take care of myself, Jim,” Karen said, sounding peeved.

“I know. I was there, remember?” He spun his chair toward her. “I know you can take care of yourself.”

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

“What else?” Tom prodded.

“Jim got a little drunk,” Karen said, smiling.

Jim felt his face getting red. “Just a little. But I’ll have you know I was still totally in control of all my faculties.”

“Just not your tongue,” Marty said.

Jim looked up, startled, not having heard Marty come in.

“You learn anything useful on your drunken rendezvous?” Fisk asked, his tone clipped.

Jim’s head swiveled. He still hadn’t recovered from Marty showing up; how long had Fisk been there?

“Which no one bothered to tell me about, by the way,” Fisk continued. “What if something would have happened?”

“Boss…” Karen said.

“We were just asking questions,” Marty defended.

Jim hung his head.

“And the last time you all went undercover?”

Jim averted his gaze further, anger swelling in his stomach.

“We kept an eye on him,” Marty said.

Jim snapped his head up. “Boss, all due respect, but that was one time. We don’t get a second chance? I think we all learned last time—”

“And we watched out for each other this time,” Karen said.

“So Karen almost starting a bar fight…?”

“A joke, boss,” Jim said, keeping his eyes down.

“Just a guy hitting on me.”

Jim clenched his fist tightly in his lap. The conversation was going so badly he was sure any second Fisk was going to order him to stay behind in the future, just in case something happened to Karen and he couldn’t help her.

“Don’t let it happen again,” Fisk ordered. “These little things, you run them by me first. Do you all understand me?”

They chorused like schoolchildren.

“Now, that said, what’d you learn?”

There was a moment of silence. Jim felt the necessity to break it, since they’d only been reprimanded in light of him being in on the bar escapade. “Marty found the guy Sonny’d talked to.”

“And Jim got a card from someone who offered us a bit of untraceable poison.” Karen started typing.

“And Karen tripped this guy—you shoulda seen it, boss,” Marty said, grinning.

“Marty,” Karen said, sounding like she was blushing and trying to hide behind her laptop.

“She also got several leads,” Marty continued.

“None of which panned out,” she said glumly.

“Only because we split early,” Jim reminded her.

“My fault again.”

“Karen…”

“Next time we go out, I’m dressing as a man.”

Jim and the other guys laughed.

“No real problems last night?” Fisk asked.

“No, really,” Karen said.

“We’re really starting to come together, right Jim?” Marty teased. “All getting more comfortable as a squad…”

Jim cleared his throat and glanced away. A small laugh escaped, despite his embarrassment. “Right, Marty.”

“Really?” Fisk asked.

“Really,” Marty replied. “Dunbar and I had a little heart-to-heart.”

Jim looked away again.

“Good to hear it.”

“I can’t find anything on this card,” Karen said, stopping typing. “All it has is a pager number—we’d have to call it and hope for the best.”

“So much for that,” Jim said, knowing they were already treading on thin ice with the boss.

“We’ll keep it in mind,” Fisk said.

“But no more deals with the blind guy,” Jim said, facing Fisk as closely as he could and forcing a smile.

“Right.”

“So, Russ, it all hangs on you,” Jim said, turning.

Marty cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything right away. “We had us a little staring contest…”

“But he never told you anything?” Karen prodded.

“Nothing. I asked all sorts of questions, believe me, and he just stared at me. I asked around about him, but no one had a name, so I’m going to spend the morning going through mug books and hope we can haul him in on something for leverage.”

Fisk sighed. “Well, I’m glad you three had fun last night.”

Marty grumbled something.

“Jim, my office,” Fisk said as he turned to leave them.

Fisk’s footsteps hurried away. Jim stood slowly.

“Hey, we got your back, Jim,” Marty said.

Jim shook his head. “I realize that, Marty, I’m just not used to needing people to stand up for me.” He started away.

“Jim,” Karen called. “Don’t worry so much.”

Jim shut the door to Fisk’s office without answering.

“Have a seat,” Fisk offered.

Jim shook his head.

“Jim, you know you need to be extra careful, right? Because if something were to happen…”

Jim kept his head down and nodded. It wasn’t enough for him to say he’d never let anything happen to Karen.

“Are we clear on that?”

“Yes.” Jim raised his gaze. “We’re clear.”

“You can go.”

Jim stepped out the door and headed for his desk, the corners of his mouth drawn, feeling an extra responsibility had been dropped on him. He sighed.

“Jimmy!”

Jim turned toward the hall and cocked his head, trying to place the voice. He grinned, suddenly feeling years younger. “Rob.” He stuck his hand out at the approaching footsteps, but had to wait a moment for Rob Mulhaney to finish crossing the squad.

“It’s good to see you back on the job again.” He clapped Jim on the shoulder. “Not for nothing, but the last time I saw you, you looked like hell.”

Jim bit his lip, acutely aware of the other detectives milling around right behind him, listening to every word.

“Robby!” the lieutenant called out his office door. “Come on in.”

“Always business,” Rob said under his breath to Jim. “I’ve been trying to get him to relax for years.” He touched Jim lightly on the arm. “Can you get to the office okay?”

“Yeah,” Jim said quickly. “I can get around no problem. Been awhile since we’ve seen each other, huh?” He gestured for Rob Mulhaney to go ahead of him, then followed, keeping his gaze to the floor.

“Hey, Gary, you’re lucky you got a chance to work with this knucklehead,” Rob said. “Jimmy’s always been a great detective. Glad he got a chance to come back.”

Jim paused in the doorway, then took a step just to the left to make room for the other three detectives.

It was strange seeing people from before, ones he didn’t get to see often. So many of them he’d once considered good friends. They called him Jimmy, not Jim. He felt like a different guy, like two separate people. He used to be Jimmy, all laidback, had friends, people respected him. He couldn’t imagine Tom and Marty calling him Jimmy. Karen had a couple times, once right before telling him maybe he was lucky he was blind…

Three more bodies shuffled in, the last one shutting the door. They filled the office, moving around to each claim a space. Jim leaned against the wall of windows and crossed his arms.

Rob clamped a hand on Jim’s arm a second before pulling the chair just to his left closer to Fisk’s desk. He sat, shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t think Jimmy’d even remember anything I told him about my son… but I’m glad he did. Our end of the case has gone stagnant. We had a few leads, friends of… Brian’s. They all disappeared before we could get any proof.”

“What have you found?” Fisk asked.

“It was all luck. One day three kids showed up at my door, Brian’s age. They were looking for him, didn’t know he was dead. I didn’t tell them, wasn’t allowed, with the investigation. No one was supposed to know who didn’t need to. But now I’m wondering, if I did tell them… if they could have helped shed some light.

“The girl’s name was Mary, the other two were guys, both had played football in high school, thought they couldn’t make anything out of their lives. They told me to call them Rock and Bug, I never did get full names.

“Mary was crying when they showed. They just had to find Brian, she kept saying. All I could say was I hadn’t seen him, but if they’d help me, maybe I could find him. Who had he been hanging out with, where, how was he making a living…

“Nothing. She cried harder, we just have to find him, don’t you understand.

“No, I told ‘em I didn’t. Does he have something of yours, or is he your boyfriend, or what? They wouldn’t answer any of my questions. I finally told ‘em, look, I’m a cop, if you’re in some sort of trouble, I can help.”

Tom cleared his throat. “It’s sounding an awful lot like our investigation.”

“Did you get anything?” Jim asked. He heard Rob turn in his chair to look over his shoulder.

“In the mail, believe it or not. They asked me for a stamp, said they’d keep in touch, then they left and mailed me this flier for a resort in Indiana. For writers and artists.”

“Do you still have the flier?” Jim asked.

“Yeah, but it won’t do you any good. I drove all night, left immediately. By the time I got out there, the place was deserted. I tried to contact the guy in charge, but couldn’t find him.”

“What’s the name?” Fisk asked.

“Josiah Wilkins? I really couldn’t find anything on him. Didn’t seem particularly inclined toward the arts, so I figure he was just the benefactor.”

Jim heard papers being sifted through and handed around, listened as Rob’s hand crinkled the papers.

“We need to find this guy,” Fisk said after a moment of allowing Rob to look through the connections they’d found to Josiah Wilkins.

Rob shifted, slammed the papers on Fisk’s desk. “Look, I was supposed to pull you off this case. We were going to take it over. But… I gotta admit you’re getting somewhere.” He sighed. “Find him.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “I gotta go.” He turned, froze.

Jim felt a hand on his arm and looked over.

“I gotta go,” Rob said, his voice cracking. Anger, frustration, or sadness, Jim couldn’t tell. He just nodded back. “Good seeing you, Jimmy. I’ll be in touch, maybe take you and Christie out to dinner.” He squeezed Jim’s arm, then threw open the door and left. Jim let his gaze follow the footsteps out the door.


* * *

[greenbeing]

* * *


Fisk planted himself on the edge of Jim’s desk between the detectives. “I just got a fax of the flier and all Rob’s personal notes. He can’t send us the full file, being a closed investigation, but he thought this might be helpful.”

Jim listened as Marty slid over and took the papers, fanning through them and whistling. “One hell of a note taker, ain’t he? I’m glad we didn’t get the full file.”

“He’s got a list of names in there, people he found useful. One of ‘em’s Glenn Bartlett.” He stood up. “Keep this all under wraps—we’re not supposed to be on this case anymore. Keep that in mind.”

“No problem, boss,” Karen said. Fisk walked away, closing the door to his office. “Let’s spread out in one of the interview rooms and go through all that.”

Jim waited until the other three had headed to the room, then slowly followed. He closed the door behind him, listening to where they all were.

“Split it fo—three ways,” Karen said from the far left of the table. “Sorry, Jim.”

“No problem. You got an empty chair?”

“Side of the table by the window.”

Jim nodded and headed to his right.

“By the window?” Marty said. “Really, Karen, how’s he supposed to know—”

Jim grimaced. “I’ve been in this room on enough interviews. I know where the windows are, Marty.” He ran his hand along the corner of the table until it touched the chair, pulled it out and plopped down. “Let me know if you find anything useful.”

“Don’t fall asleep on us over there,” Marty said from the chair right in front of the door, directly to Jim’s left.

“Wide awake, Marty.”

“The boss yell at you about going last night?” Karen asked from across the table.

Jim shrugged, wishing he could grab some papers and get busy searching for clues.

“I mean, it was all our—”

“We should have run it by him first,” Jim cut in.

“But he didn’t…”

Jim gestured out with both hands. “I’m still here, aren’t I?” He turned his head to the right, where the fourth chair usually was. “Hey, Tom—”

“Over here, Jim,” Tom said from the left, from the other side of Marty.

Jim turned his head, his mouth still open, and stared.

“I, uh, moved the chair so we could look at the files, not have to read upside down…”

Jim bent his head and ran a hand over his face. “This is turning into such a long day,” he muttered. He stood up, not looking at any of the detectives. “I’m going to go get some water.”

“Okay,” Tom said.

The other two stayed quiet as Jim left the room and shut the door. He stood there a second, his hand on the door, head down, and took a deep breath, eyes closed against the blindness. Then he strode over to the water cooler.

“Jim,” Fisk called.

Jim felt the paper cup start to crumble and quickly loosened his grip. He moved to the doorway of Fisk’s office.

“I have to look out for the safety of all my detectives, you know that, right?”

Jim nodded. “I know. And I hope you know I would never endanger any of them.”

“I do.”

“Thanks,” he said awkwardly.

“It’s nothing personal. You’re a good detective and—”

Jim held up a hand. “Boss, you don’t have to apologize.”

“I should have yelled at you all.”

“It’s okay. I’m still the wild card here, right?”

“If it’s okay, why aren’t you with the others?”

Jim held up the paper cup of water.

“Oh.” Fisk moved something on his desk. “Uh, Robby called back. He’s looking into Pipsqueak and that Uncle Josiah some more.”

“Good.” Jim nodded.

“You can go…”

Jim turned and headed back to the interview room. All he heard when he walked in was the rustling of papers. He closed the door quietly.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Karen said.

Jim headed for his chair slowly.

“Hey, Jim, what were you going to ask me?” Tom asked.

Jim felt the heat rising in his cheeks again. “I don’t remember.” He frowned. “Couldn’t have been important.” He pulled out his chair but didn’t sit. “Who has that list of names? If you give me some, I’ll start running them.”

A paper slid across the table. “Knock yourself out,” Marty said.

Jim slid his hand across the table until it touched the paper. “Is it typed?”

“Uh… no.”

“Read me a couple.” He pushed the paper back.

Marty picked it up and read him a few names. Jim pushed in his chair and quickly left the room.

Jim ran the names, then hurried back, throwing the door open so fast it banged against the wall. “They’re dead.”

“Who? All of them?” Marty asked.

“Give me the next three.”

Jim rushed back to his desk so fast he bumped into someone, but ignored it in his haste.

Back in the interview room he shook his head. “Dead.”

“You sure?” Karen asked.

Jim gave her a disparaging look and pursed his lips.

“Sorry,” she said.

Jim pulled out the chair and sat down backwards, resting his crossed arms on the backrest. “If all these people are dead…”

“Because they were helpful,” Tom said.

“Someone doesn’t want them talking to the cops,” Karen said.

“You want me to finish the list?” Jim asked, feeling useful.

“Not right now,” Marty said. “We’re starting to dig out some useful stuff from all this crap. I don’t want to have to go through it twice.”

Jim faced straight ahead. “I’m ready.”

“I got the notes on Glenn Bartlett,” Tom said.

Jim clenched his jaw. It was kind of strange, getting a statement from a dead man.

“Keep in mind, they’re just looking for the Mulhaney kid.”

Jim nodded. “Now’s not the time for dramatic effect, Tom.”

Marty chuckled.

“”Glenn likes to stare at fire,”” Tom read.

“What?” Karen asked.

“Give me that,” Marty ordered

Jim head papers crinkling, guessed Marty had yanked it from Tom’s hand.

“”Glenn likes to look at fire,”” Marty read.

The papers crinkled again.

“I just said that, man. Find your own interesting information.”

“Who said that was interesting?”

“It’s about our DOA, isn’t it?”

Jim grinned. “I like chocolate chip cookies, but that doesn’t mean it’s relevant.”

“Exactly,” Marty said.

“Mulhaney wrote it down. Maybe it’s pertinent.”

Jim chuckled. “You’re on a roll, Tom, keep it going.”

“He even put a star by it… says he had to light a candle before the kid would say anything.”

“A bit of a pyro?” Marty asked. “How’s that gonna help us now?”

“Mulhaney says it seemed like the kid couldn’t talk unless he was watching something burn.”

“So he was psychotic.”

“That’s just weird,” Karen said.

“Astute observation isn’t weird,” Tom defended. “At least Mulhaney figured out how to get him to talk, right?”

“There’s a lot of weird stuff about this case,” Jim finally said. “Maybe it’s relevant, maybe it’s not.”

“Thank you, Jim,” Tom said.

“He wasn’t exactly agreeing with you,” Karen chided.

“But he wasn’t disagreeing. I can appreciate it. I’ll take what I can get, okay? This whole file’s messed up.”

“Keep going, Tom, I’m hooked,” Jim said with a grin.

“The only thing it doesn’t have is his favorite cookie… or his family… or his address… social security number.”

“No important stuff,” Marty clarified.

“Right.”

“And about the case?” Jim asked to get them back on track.

“He said they were playing police officer one night, passing Brian’s badge back and forth, visiting convenience stores and strip malls and pretending they were there on police business.”

“When?” Jim asked.

“Uh, no specific date, but it sounds like Brian was with them.”

“So they were friends.”

“I guess. It almost sounds like they were high… Then it says they had to push Brian in the creek…”

Jim sat up straighter. “Read it.”

“”Left the shop, laughing, and headed for the middle of nowhere. Brian’s a good guy, so we stopped and pushed him in a creek.””

“Didn’t he drown?” Marty asked. “Jim?”

“I thought so…” Jim looked over at Marty. “But if he’s connected with our case, I’d almost bet he was poisoned first.”

“They were high?” Karen asked.

“You think this guy deals in poisons and street drugs?” Tom asked.

“And meds,” Jim added, thinking of how Samantha would have needed insulin and Artez would have needed something to stop his seizures.

“A pharmaceutical genius,” Marty summed up.

“So why’d they kill Brian? Does it say?” Jim asked.

“Nah. He doesn’t get specific. Mulhaney made a note to talk to the kid again.”

“And the note’s from…?”

“October 3.”

“So a few weeks before we found him. He was talking to a cop. Maybe someone found out, so they had him killed,” Jim sketched out.

“Or maybe the poison was just this new drug,” Marty suggested. “You take it a while, it goes bad in your system.”

Jim shifted uncomfortably, running his hands along the back of his chair. “Do we have anything specific?”

“Still looking,” Karen said. “Mulhaney sent over notes on everyone he’d interviewed.”

“Do you think they all really died?” Marty asked.

Jim looked over.

“’Cause, you know, DeLana and her brother, they’re not going under their own names, right?”

“So maybe they just disappeared…” Karen said. “And they’re using aliases?”

“If they’re just disappeared, they can still be found.”

Jim shook his head. “But how?”

“You work on that while the rest of us trudge through these files,” Marty said mischievously.

Jim smiled a little. “Thanks, Marty. Why don’t you be the blind guy this time and I’ll finish the files?”

Marty chuckled. “Not this time.”


* * *

[greenbeing]

* * *


“Has anyone found Artez’s body yet?” Jim asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Come on, Jim, Marty’s our resident pessimist,” Tom said.

Jim gestured at his computer. “Every single name I’ve run has come up as dead.”

“Yeah, but I’m running the photos, maybe we’ll find some of them.”

Jim sighed. “Artez didn’t even tell us anything.”

“He’s not dead yet.”

“But if he turns up—”

“He won’t.”

“What’ll he have died for?”

“For saving his sister, right?”

“If she even is his sister, which I doubt. He definitely wasn’t father of his own son.” They’d just heard back from the paternity test on Clem. “I wish you guys would have gotten DeLana to talk.”

“She was pretty upset,” Tom said. “She might have talked to you.”

“And I can’t go down there,” he said, frustrated enough he lashed out and hit his desk, sending his sunglasses skittering.

“Careful, Sundance.”

Jim grabbed the glasses and stood up. “I’m going to take Hank out.”

“You do that.”

Jim took Hank down to the park. The leaves were mostly off the trees, crunching underfoot as they walked. Jim kicked out, but heard only a couple scrape across the sidewalk. He’d need to kick something more substantial than a pile of leaves to make himself feel better.

These long, drawn-out cases, sometimes Jim didn’t mind them. The more intricate, the more fascinating. But in this case, lives were at stake. Not just DeLana and her kids, and Artez if he was still alive, but all those people like Glenn Bartlett. Were they all really dead? Or, like Marty’d suggested, was there a chance they could be found, living under pseudonyms? Would they even be in the city anymore if that was the case?

Jim heard something small run through the leaves on his right—a rabbit or a squirrel—but Hank barely turned his head, just enough to make sure it wasn’t an immediate threat. Jim ordered him to find a bench, then sat facing the dog, scratching his head. “Good boy.” Hank yawned. Jim played his hands through the long fur, his mind racing on the case.

They needed to find Samantha’s family.

They needed to find the person supplying these drugs and poisons.

And just what was the connection that would leave two cousins dead within such a short time, and one other person missing?

Where was Artez anyway?

And who was going to be next?

Hank licked Jim’s hand. Jim leaned closer to the dog. “Hank…” Jim sighed. Hank sighed back. “Exactly.”


* * *


“Jim!” Karen said, hustling over as soon as he got back. “Marty and Tom just got Mrs. Whittleton into Room 1.” She grabbed his wrist.

“Mrs…?”

“Samantha’s mom!” She started pulling him and Hank toward the observation room.

Jim pulled his arm back. “We’re coming.” He slowed his pace a little.

“We? Oh, hi, Hank.”

Jim followed Karen with Hank in tow. She pushed open the door.

“Hey, Jim,” Fisk greeted.

“Hey.”

He shrugged out of his coat in the stuffy little room and leaned against the wall with the one-way mirror.

“…you hear that made you come?” Tom was asking.

“My sister called.”

“Did you know we’ve been trying to call?”

Jim turned to Karen. “She ID the body yet?”

“Yeah,” Karen said quietly.

“I’d just heard from Samantha this morning. She’s been in Europe, but she calls every couple days,” Mrs. Whittleton said.

“She called this morning?” Marty asked.

“Yes.”

“And what did you talk about?” Tom asked.

“She said she was in Paris, everything was fine, she’d call in a couple days.”

“That’s it?”

“I was out of the house. She left a message. So when I kept getting messages that you had her body, and then I’d hear from her right after… I knew it wasn’t—” She cut herself off. Jim heard her crying.

“Obviously someone wanted you to think she was okay.”

Mrs. Whittleton cried harder. “I—now I don’t know when the last time I actually talked to her was.”

Jim lowered his head and grimaced.

“Do you know what your daughter would have been doing with Glenn Bartlett?” Marty asked.

“They’re cousins. Were.”

“Or why they’d both end up dead?”

“No, I wouldn’t know.”

“We heard he came up here to stay with her. Why?”

“I don’t know. Samantha wouldn’t have told me about Glenn because… My sister and I don’t…”

“You mind if we ask why?”

“She had an affair with my husband, is that reason enough?” she asked, her voice cold.

“So your daughter wouldn’t have mentioned anything she was doing because of that?” Tom asked.

“Last I knew, she was headed for Europe. She took some time off work—”

“Work? Where?”

“Bloomingdale’s.”

“You know she only worked there a couple weeks?” Tom asked.

“No.”

“So when did she leave for Europe?”

“About six months ago. She said she wouldn’t be in contact much.”

“Who’d she go with?” Marty asked.

“Her church group.”

“Headed by Uncle Josiah?” Tom interjected.

“I think so.”

Jim turned toward Karen, but she didn’t say anything.

“How long has she known him?”

“Her pastor? I don’t know. She left home when she was 18, so probably around then. She always liked going to church.”

“Are you aware you have a grandson?” Marty asked.

“What?” The response was a whisper.

“No?”

“Is there anything you can tell us that would help us find who killed your daughter?” Tom asked.

“Obviously I didn’t know her as well as I thought.” She sniffled. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s true.”

“Don’t sweat it. We’ll figure out what’s true,” Tom said. “You just give us contact names and friends.”

Jim wrinkled his brow. “Why’d someone go out of their way to make sure Mrs. Whittleton thought her daughter was alive?”

“When everyone else has been getting anonymous phone calls telling them where their children are?” Karen added.

Fisk cleared his throat. “You two have anything you want to ask her before we cut her loose?”

“She sounded honest enough,” Jim said. “She really doesn’t seem to know anything about her daughter’s activities.”

“You think someone overlooked the fact that they’re cousins?” Karen asked. “When it came down to keeping information from the mom?”

“Either that or they figured the mom would find out from her sister, so they didn’t bother to call.”

“But the message from Samantha—”

“I’ll see if we can get the numbers from the incoming calls to her house this morning,” Fisk said. He moved toward the door.

Jim stepped back to let Fisk pass. “You think it was tape recorded?” Jim asked Karen. “Or do you think it was just someone who sounds kind of like her?”

Fisk turned back. “I’ll see if she still has it on her answering machine. Do you think you’d recognize the voice?”

Jim shook his head. “I never talked to her myself. Karen?”

“Maybe… She talked enough. I might be able to.”


* * *


Jim got home late, but Christie wasn’t there yet. He tossed his coat on the coat rack and fed Hank, then sank onto the couch. The big date was tomorrow. He’d made reservations at a restaurant Christie liked. He barely remembered it, not having been there in over a year, but he knew there was a big fountain in the entryway.

He planned to stop and pick up flowers on his way home from work. He’d even offered to leave Hank behind so they could have a romantic evening for two.

Hank whined.

“Sorry, boy, you’re not romantic,” Jim said. He let his hand fall over the side of the couch and scratched the dog’s ears. “Did you eat?” He got up and moved Hank’s dish out of the way, washing out the doggie drool. He flipped on the TV for background noise, but sat facing the window. He imagined Christie, how she’d look tomorrow night, all dressed up. He still felt guilty about not saying anything about her birthday right away. They probably could have avoided a big fight if he’d just been upfront about it.

Or not. There were so many variables in their relationship, so many things that had gone wrong. They’d been bound to come out eventually.

The resolution still puzzled him, though. Christie just forgiving him for everything like that. He thought maybe he should ask her again if she wanted to go see the couples’ therapist Galloway had mentioned. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn’t; she might be too entrenched with her own therapist. He knew how difficult it was to open up. Sometimes it felt easier to talk to Galloway than to his own wife, but that was because Galloway wasn’t a part of his life, he didn’t have to see him everyday, didn’t have to prove his worth, didn’t have to come home to him and worry what he thought. He knew that now, but opening up in the first place? That had been difficult.

He fell asleep on the couch, barely waking when Christie came home.

“Jimmy?”

He stirred a little and grunted.

She rubbed a hand across his forehead, smoothed his hair back.

“You wanna come to bed?”

She covered him with a blanket and he stirred again.

“I’m coming,” he mumbled and held a hand out.

She took it and he followed, falling into bed. He snuggled up to her when she joined him, half awake, and fell asleep breathing in the fragrance of her hair.

[greenbeing]

Chapter Twelve

“So who would you arrest?” Marty was asking when Jim walked through the doorway.

“Elton John,” Tom said. “That brother needs help.”

“Fashion police?” Jim asked.

“Hey, Jim,” Tom greeted him. “Nah, we’re just killing time.”

“That’s a chargeable offense.”

“The boss ran down to talk to the ME. Told us we couldn’t do anything else ‘til he got back.”

“Great. So he learned something?”

“Wouldn’t tell us,” Marty said.

“So, if you could arrest one person for any reason, who would it be?” Tom asked.

“Vanna White,” Karen said, coming in behind Jim. “Do you know how much she gets paid to touch those little screens?”

“Criminal,” Tom said.

“Barbara Walters,” Jim said. “She knows too much.”

“She’s kinda creepy, too,” Tom said.

“You think that about a lot of people, don’t you, Tom?” Jim asked.

“That Crocodile Hunter guy? All those reptiles—he needs help. I had him put in solitary twenty minutes ago.”

“The boss has been gone that long?” Jim asked.

The phone rang shrilly in the quiet department and Jim realized hardly anyone was around. The four of them and a couple others, that was all. Marty grabbed the phone. “Detective Russo… Yeah, boss… We’re coming.” He hung up. “Jumper down the street. The lieutenant’s on his way down there now. He was nice enough to invite us along. Apparently most of the precinct is already there.”

Jim turned with Hank to go.

“Uh… Jim?” Karen said.

He turned back.

“I think I’ll sit this one out, if you don’t mind? Looks like they got it covered, if half the precinct’s already there.”

Jim’s face softened. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Jim? Coming?” Marty asked.

“Yeah. You know, Hank doesn’t need to see this, if it happens.” Jim made Hank sit. “Keep an eye on each other, okay?” He pulled out his cane and headed after Marty and Tom.

“Your dog doesn’t need to see this?” Marty asked skeptically in the elevator. “Worried he’ll be scarred for life?”

“I’m more worried Karen’s already scarred for life.” Jim clenched his jaw, remembering the gunshot, Karen’s scream, the waiting, those interminable seconds before he was sure Karen hadn’t been shot, the stench of blood and cordite, the sound of the body convulsing. Jim shuddered.

“You know, you don’t have to come, right?” Tom said.

Jim nodded. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“You okay without the dog?”

Jim nodded again. The elevator doors opened and he stepped off after the other two detectives. Marty had only seen him use the cane once, the day Hank had been missing. But Tom really hadn’t seen it. Jim guessed it was different, seeing him with the cane versus seeing him and Hank. It was different for him, too, getting around. But maybe less so—he was blind either way. Maybe for the other detectives, seeing him with a cane—Jim hoped he was wrong—made him seem more blind. “No problem,” he said. “Down the street which way?” He walked with Tom and Marty down the sidewalk. As they neared the building Jim could feel the energy change even before he could hear the multitudes of people milling around, waiting for the jumper to plunge among them.


* * *


“There’s two people up there,” Fisk had said only a moment before. Tom and Marty had gotten clearance to go up in the building and had disappeared. “Where’s the dog?” Fisk had just asked.

Then a collective hush, an intake of breath, a gasp—Jim knew immediately—or thought he knew.

Fisk was on the radio. “Pushed? Are you sure?”

Jim stood with the lieutenant and listened to the crackle and fuzz of the radio. Tom and a couple other officers had made it to the roof, guns drawn. Tom told them Marty’d stayed behind to talk to a witness, hysterically sobbing.

The psychologist who’d been called in was yelling at the officers to stay back.

“What the hell?” someone else on the roof asked.

“You pushed him?”

“Why?”

“Get down, we’ll talk.”

Then a dreamy voice, presumably the jumper, not an angry cop voice, said, “Being loved makes you feel like you can fly.”

“Then why’d you push him off the building?” Tom yelled. “Why didn’t you try to fly yourself?”

“Selway!” Fisk barked into the radio.

“I can’t argue with that,” the dreamy voice said appreciatively.

Another hush fell.

Jim turned away, his face averted, his hands clenched. He felt sick.


* * *


“Well, we got the perp in custody,” Tom said. “Don’t do us any good at this point.”

Jim sank into his chair. He felt sick and dirty, just wanted to get away.

“Jim? You okay?”

Jim tried to smile over at Karen. “Karen, if I told you that’s something I never wanted to see again, you’d think I was crazy.”

“I would,” Tom said. “You got my vote.”

“It doesn’t go away just ‘cause I can’t see it.” Jim shook his head. “Tom, if you hadn’t—”

“He would have jumped anyway. He’d just killed a man—he wasn’t going to just come down.”

It sounded so familiar. His reasoning at the bank. He had to shoot; the guy wasn’t going into custody if he didn’t.

“It was like he was waiting for someone to say that,” Tom said slowly. “To argue with his reasoning.”

Marty turned to Jim while Tom sank down in his chair. “So why’d you come?” Marty asked.

“It’s my job,” Jim said. But he really hadn’t needed to be there. He didn’t need it firsthand, not that time.

“So what’d you guys see?” he finally asked.

“Jim, it’s over. The guy’s dead,” Tom said.

“And you’re satisfied with that?”

“It’s tough to pin a motive on a dead guy,” Marty said. “According to the witness, we had us a would-be superhero. One that snapped. He ran through the building, yelling how he would save everyone. Grabbed a guy, took him up on the roof. And you saw the rest.” Marty paused. “Er…” He sat down. “Never mind.”

Jim swore to himself.

“Sorry, bad choice of words. You gotta stop being so touchy—”

“It’s not that.” Jim waved it off.

“There’s no one to save this time, Jim,” Tom said. “Let it go.”

“Do we know anything? Who he was or where he came from? How he got past building security?”

Fisk walked up. “I promised we’d look into it. Other witnesses said it really didn’t seem random.”

“We’ll go start a canvas,” Tom said.

“Karen, you and Jim keep working on that other one.”

When Fisk, Selway, and Russo had gone, Karen turned to Jim, who was absently rubbing his mouth. “Was it that bad?” she asked.

Jim sat up straighter and rubbed a hand over his face to compose himself. “Nah, not really.” He reached out for his laptop.

A few minutes later the phone rang. “I got it,” Jim said. “Detective Dunbar… Marty, yeah—Oh…” He swore and Karen slid over. The phone rang again and Karen lunged for it.

They both hung up at almost the same moment and turned to each other.

“That was Tom,” Karen said.

“Marty.”

“They were just cleaning up the body—Tom said the t-shirt the guy was wearing, it said, “Pipsqueak.””

Jim stared at her a second to process the information. “Marty ran into another witness, said the guy was running around, saying he’d save the world, “just like Uncle Josiah.””

“Well, damn,” Karen said.

[greenbeing]

* * *


Jim followed Karen into the diner and stood next to her at the counter while she thumbed through a menu. He still didn’t feel much like eating, but Karen had forced him to come with, keep his strength up so they could catch this guy, whoever he was.

“A dog?” a server asked across the counter.

“He’s a guide dog,” Jim said.

She didn’t say anything else, so he guessed she dropped it. They ordered.

“About the other night…” Jim started awkwardly.

“I know,” Karen said with a smile. “It didn’t mean anything. And I was proud of you—you kept your hands in legal zones.”

Jim gave her a little smile. “I didn’t mean about that. I just meant… if something would have happened…”

“Jimmy! I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah. But you gotta take care of me, too.”

She scoffed. “I’m not your baby-sitter.”

“And Russo was there,” he said without looking at her.

She groaned. “Jimmy, maybe they give you a hard time about taking care of yourself, but I get it all the time, too.”

“And you don’t need it from me?”

“No, I don’t, thanks.”

Jim nodded.

“Go sit. I’ll grab the plates when they’re ready.” She paused, probably looking around for an empty spot. “There’s a booth by the window, next to the door. Straight back, just to the left.”

Jim turned and ordered Hank to the table. They sat and he listened to the dog panting, then leaned down and scratched his ears. “Sorry, but you know you can’t have any food here,” he said quietly.

Karen sighed as she sat down facing the door. She pushed Jim’s plate over to him.

“You doing okay?” he asked.

“Better than you,” she shot back.

Jim smiled and carefully touched his club sandwich without picking it up. The toasted bread, coarse under his fingers, didn’t even feel appetizing. He and Karen didn’t have lunch together very often, he realized and looked back up at her. “Do you think we spend too much time together?” he asked.

“What?” She laughed.

“I was just wondering, being partners and all. We never have lunch together, you know?”

“I have a life, Dunbar.”

He nodded. “How’s Anne?”

“Same.”

He took a bite of a small pickle slice.

“Still not hungry?” she asked.

“If we get one more DOA connected to this case, I’m gonna go crazy. And I keep waiting for someone to find Artez’s body. Keep waiting for them to find DeLana.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“When?”

She was quiet a second. “I don’t know.”

Jim fingered a french fry. “You think DeLana actually knows anything useful?”

“I don’t know that, either. I would have sworn up and down Samantha didn’t.”

“But if she didn’t, why’s she dead?”

“Exactly.”

Jim pushed his plate away and leaned back. He pulled off his sunglasses and stared at the ceiling.

“Jim—”

“If you tell me one more time we’ll figure it out… I mean, Robby’s been looking into this over a year now.”

She sighed. He heard his plate move toward him. “Eat.”

“You half Italian, too?”

She laughed.

Jim smiled but didn’t look back at her.

“I keep going back to, what was so great about Samantha?” Karen said. “They didn’t want her family knowing where she was. She seems to be the one who got DeLana and Artez all mixed up in this. She had a son, whatever horrible thing that means.”

“So Samantha’s the catalyst?”

“She died, her cousin died…”

“Rico disappeared.”

Karen sighed. “I’m gonna get some more coffee, you want some?”

Jim shook his head. He listened as she slid out of the booth. She turned back. “I just keep thinking—hey!” She pitched forward, her hand striking the table.

Jim felt something slosh out of her cup onto his shoulder, felt her turn as she dropped the cup on the table.

“Pay your bill and leave. Now,” she said, her voice cold and low.

“Aww,” a man said, then shut up.

“Do it again and I’ll arrest you.”

Jim listened to someone hastily leaving.

Karen turned back and brushed at the shoulder of his trench coat. Jim was already blotting with his napkin. She reached across the table and he heard her pulling napkins out of a dispenser, the rough paper rasping. “Sorry about that,” she said.

Jim laughed. “It’s okay, I’m scotch guarded.” He grabbed her hands and pulled the napkins out. “Go get your coffee.”

Karen grumbled something, but grabbed the cup and walked off.

Jim wadded up the napkins as she slid back into the booth.

“I told you I can take care of myself,” she said.

“So you did,” he said. “Did I doubt?”

“I dunno. Did you?”

“Maybe for a second. But that’s it. Did I jump up to help you?”

Someone walked up to the table. “You okay, honey?” the server from before asked. She turned on Jim. “Why didn’t you help her?” she accused.

“I’m fine, really,” Karen said.

Jim laughed as soon as she was gone, finding it funny she’d asked about the guide dog, but still expected him to stand up for Karen. “Chivalry’s dead, I guess. What’d he do?”

“Just grabbed me as he went past. Nothing much.”

Jim looked down at the floor. “Not much of a guard dog, is he?”

“He looks hungry,” Karen said, her voice softening.

Jim shook his head. “He’s on a special diet, no human food.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. All guide dogs have strict diets to keep them healthy.”

“Poor Hank. I’d never be able to stick to it. I’d take one look in his big brown eyes and give him anything he wanted.”

“Good thing I can’t see, huh?”

“I told you, no!” a male voice said quietly, but full of anger.

Jim tensed. He was always listening for voices, afraid he’d miss someone he knew or miss hearing someone come up and start talking to him until the conversation was half over.

“What?” Karen asked.

“I told you, no!”

Jim listened, but the man didn’t say anything else. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the precinct. “Marty, it’s Jim. Can you describe to Karen that guy?”

“Which guy?”

Jim didn’t want to call attention to them if it was who he thought. He was quiet a second, thinking of an unobtrusive thing to call him.

“You mean, the guy I thought might try to follow you to DeLana’s?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Our favorite cop friend?”

“Hold on.” He reached across the table carefully, not sure what would be in the center between him and Karen. He was learning to hate decorative centerpieces and candles.

“Yeah?” she said into the phone, then listened. “Okay… Jim, what’s—”

“Behind you, sort of to the right? My left, just a little,” he said really quietly.

There was another pause. He knew Karen would be discreet when she looked, so he just stared nonchalantly out the window.

“Yeah. Looks like it.”

Jim held his hand out for the phone. “You busy?” he asked Marty.

“I’m always too busy to ID a suspect, Jim. You think it’s him?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Where are you?”

“Bertrice’s Diner.”

“Five minutes, tops.”

Jim flipped the phone closed.

“What?” Karen asked. “Marty didn’t—”

“Let’s make small talk.”

“Okay…” She laughed. “You want me to watch?” she asked carefully.

“Yeah.”

“Boy, this is some weather, huh?”

“How ‘bout them Knicks?”

“What are you going to be for Halloween?”

Jim laughed, finally breaking the tension he’d been feeling. He could trust Karen to keep an eye on the guy. He hoped it really was Mulhaney. But if it was, that meant Marty’d been right; they were being followed. “I haven’t thought about it.” Jim pushed thoughts of the case to the back of his mind and tried to relax. He didn’t want to give anything away to Mulhaney by looking too anxious. And he didn’t want to think of the repercussions of being followed.

“You’re not going to any parties? Not going trick or treating?”

Jim shrugged. “Really hadn’t thought about it.”

“You really are a workaholic, aren’t you?”

“I happen to like my job.”

“You need to let loose more often. It was nice seeing a different side of you the other night.”

Jim shook his head, embarrassment creeping back up. He finally smiled. “You can bet I won’t be drinking that much at the holiday party this year. Can you imagine me going up to Fisk and telling him what I told Marty?”

Karen laughed, but said, “What did you tell Marty?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“I’m surprised.” It put a new perspective on Marty. He always liked to know what was going on with everyone else, but it was nice to know he could keep things to himself. “So, Christmas? You guys have a big party here?”

“Yeah.”

Jim smiled. He’d always liked the holiday parties before at his old precinct. Now, it was nice to feel that excited lurch in the pit of his stomach, looking forward to Christmas again.

“We need to figure out what you should wear for Halloween.”

“Why the obsession over Halloween?”

“I’m sort of going to a party with this guy.”

Jim blinked and leaned closer. “Who? What’s he like?”

“Jim,” she reprimanded.

“You brought it up.”

“It’s a, uh, blind date.”

Jim laughed. “My favorite kind.”

“I hate blind dates. And to a costume party? Do you know how embarrassing that’s going to be?”

“So if it doesn’t work out, you go hang out with your friends. Really, I always did like blind dates. No commitment.”

“You were commitment phobic?”

“Isn’t every guy?” he joked. Then he shook his head. “Not phobic—I just didn’t want to settle down.”

“How’d Christie get you to do it?”

He shrugged. “No idea. Fate, I guess. I took one look at her and…” He shook his head.

“You and Christie should come to the party.”

“So that’s why you wanted to dress me up?”

“Yeah…”

“Thanks, but I’m not much for the wild free-for-all anymore.”

“Okay.” She paused. “Getting old?”

“Karen…”

“Can’t convince you?”

“A year ago, I would have come.”

The bells over the door jangled and Jim suddenly felt a body sliding into the booth next to him. He slid toward the window to make room for Marty. Someone slid in next to Karen.

“Hi, Tom, didn’t know you were coming,” Jim said.

“I wouldn’t miss a party,” Tom said.

“You want to go to a Halloween party?”

“What?”

Jim shook his head. “Behind Karen, to my left.”

“I see him,” Marty said.

“Is it him?”

“Yup.”

“I have good ears,” Jim joked.

Marty clapped his shoulder and slid out of the booth. “We’ll try not to make a scene. You guys got back-up?”

Jim nodded. He slid to the edge of the bench, ready to jump, grabbed Hank’s leash, just in case they needed to run. He listened to Tom and Marty quietly talk to Mulhaney, but couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying.

“He laughed and pulled his badge,” Karen whispered.

“Yeah, I got one, too,” Marty said.

Jim smiled to himself at the tone in Marty’s voice.

“They’re moving,” Karen said a minute later. He stood. She moved out of the booth and pressed against his arm. Jim grabbed Hank’s harness and moved with her when the bells over the door jangled.

Jim called Rob Mulhaney as soon as they got back to the squad, then he crammed into the observation room with Fisk and Karen.

“Robby on his way?”

Jim nodded and crossed his arms, waiting for the interview to begin.

“What’s this about?”

“We just want to have a conversation,” Marty said.

“Let me see your badge again,” Tom said.

“We can at least book him for impersonating an officer,” Fisk said.

“You ever meet Brian?” Jim asked him.

“A couple times, years ago,” Fisk replied. “And this is definitely not him.”

“What’s your name?” Marty asked.

“Brian Mulhaney.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“You want to call my supervisor?”

“No.”

“You want my social security number?”

“No.”

“Check my record!”

“No. We know you’re not a cop.”

“How would I have gotten a badge? How would I have gotten my job? I’ve been working four years—”

“Or just a couple days,” Tom said.

“Believe me,” Marty said, “when we figure out exactly what you’ve done, you’re going to be in a lot more trouble.”

“Are you charging me with something? You said you just wanted to talk.”

“That’ll teach you never to trust a cop,” Marty said. “Are you going to make me ask you again?”

There was silence.

“What are the charges?” Mulhaney finally asked.

“Murder. Identity theft. Impersonating a police officer.”

“Murder?”

“You better believe it,” Tom said.

“I don’t. Who do you think I killed?”

“Brian Mulhaney, for starters.”

“Suicide?” The man laughed. “This is ridiculous.” His tone of voice changed, lost the amused quality. “What are you doing?”

“Fingerprints,” Tom said. “You don’t mind, do you?”

There was a knock on the door. Jim moved to open it, being closest.

“Jimmy,” Rob Mulhaney said solemnly.

“Come on in.” Jim shut the door after him.

“You ever see this kid before?” Fisk asked.

“…No.”

“We got the badge and we’re going to run the prints.”

“He says he’s Brian?”

“Yeah,” Jim said quietly. Rob’s hand clenched his shoulder. Jim turned and put a hand on his other arm. “You okay?” The grip tightened.

“If he…” Rob started, then trailed off.


* * *

[greenbeing]

* * *


Karen and Jim took over interviewing “Brian” so Marty and Tom could have a break. He hadn’t given anything up in over two hours. They’d sent the prints out to be matched without much hope.

Jim shut the door. “Ah, Detective Dunbar!” Brian said happily. “You remember me, right?”

Jim laughed and shook his head. “Oh, yeah, I remember you. I also remember meeting Brian Mulhaney back in training, so you can drop the charade.”

“Is that what this is about? Because I didn’t remember you?” Brian asked, sounding hurt. “Been a while, huh?”

“Too bad I know your family personally, or it might have worked.” Jim pulled out a chair, but didn’t sit. He tried to test the silence, hoping Brian was sweating it out.

“You got my dad in here?” Brian asked quietly. “’Cause you should know, we had a huge falling out a couple years ago and he disowned me. He wouldn’t acknowledge—”

“Not even for an investigation? He’d refuse to ID you?”

“Yeah!”

“You want me to ask him?”

“Detective…” Brian took a deep breath. “It was a huge deal, and Dad’s an unforgiving sort of guy. You should know that.”

“And you never should have picked the name of a real ex-cop to impersonate. There’s not a single cop that ever met Brian Mulhaney who recognizes you as him. Why is that?”

“People change. I got a little heavier, that’s all.”

“And the voice?”

“Yeah, you’re a voice guy, right? Maybe you forgot.”

“You’re not going to pretend you have a cold or something?” Jim finally sat down.

“Why would I pretend?”

There was a knock on the door. Jim listened as Karen answered it. He heard a paper being passed and cocked his head to the side without turning toward her.

“Reg Schmidt?” Karen asked. “Well, Reggie, how do you plead?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your fingerprints.”

“That’s ridiculous; I don’t have a record.”

Jim leaned forward. “Actually, “Brian,” you do. Drunken and disorderly? Remember? First year of college after a frat party. You were always kinda proud of that one. Daddy’s a cop, and you had a record.”

“Oh, that.”

Karen set the file down by Jim’s hand. “MIP,” she said. “But you didn’t have any alcohol in your blood, so the case got dropped.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How do you forget your first mug shot? I’d’ve thought no one would be able to forget that day.”

There was a moment of silence. Jim wondered what else was on the paper Karen had gotten. Probably nothing much, if the case had been dropped.

“So you’re Brian’s age, nearly the same build, a little stockier, same color hair.”

“Yeah… I’d look like myself, wouldn’t I?”

“You want us to do a DNA test?”

More silence.

“Give your statement,” Jim said.

“Where the hell are you guys coming up with all this?” the kid asked.

“You want us to call you a lawyer?”

“No.”

“Well?”

“Come on, we’re all cops here. There’s no need for a lawyer. Just tell me what’s going on.” But his voice was starting to sound uncomfortable.


* * *


Jim followed Karen slowly back to the observation room. He’d made sure to grab the paper telling them the ID off the prints. He leaned against the mirror and rubbed a hand over his face, taking off his glasses and sighing. “Anything else on here?” he asked, holding up the paper.

“Nothing useful,” Karen said and took the paper. He heard her set it down somewhere.

“Hey, Rob?”

“Yeah, Jimmy.”

“You want a shot at this guy?” There was silence and Jim could feel tension mounting in the room. “Sorry, shouldn’t have asked,” he said.

“I’d love a shot at this guy… but not today.” Rob was struggling to keep his voice even.

Jim nodded, understanding. “Well, he’s not going anywhere.”

“I ran him while you guys were in there,” Fisk said.

Jim perked up. “And?”

“Not a lot.”

“But? Come on, boss, you’re as bad as Tom.”

“I’m going to bring in Brian’s high school yearbook,” Rob said. “See what he says about that. All Brian’s friends, all the stuff he did back then.”

“And I ordered Reggie Schmidt’s,” Fisk added. “This kid’s never held a job, so we’re going back a little further. We’re gonna try to find out who he hung out with. We’ll get someone to ID him.”

“No college?”

“None.”

“So… Brian,” Marty said snidely, back in the interview room. “Guess what we got?”

“What does he got?” Karen asked.

“What?” Jim asked.

“Paper,” she told him.

“Search warrant,” Fisk said.

“You don’t recognize this? I’d’ve thought, you being a cop and all, you’d know what this looked like.”

“I don’t have my contacts in,” the kid said. “And obviously, you don’t need 20/20 vision uncorrected to be a cop, so don’t go trying to tell me that.”

Jim felt Karen elbow him and he smiled at her.

“This is a search warrant for your apartment. So tell us, Brian, where do you live?”

Silence. Jim touched Karen’s arm. He heard her turn toward him.

“Oh, sorry. He’s definitely sweating,” Karen said. “Staring at the table. Kinda pale.”

More silence. Jim let go of Karen’s arm.


* * *


“I’d love to search this guy’s apartment,” Marty said later. Reg Schmidt had never admitted anything, but also couldn’t give them a permanent address. No amount of searching had provided the detectives with one, either.

Jim rubbed his mouth. “Yeah, me, too.” He raised his head when he heard footsteps approaching.

“The DOA from the roof, he had this in his pocket,” Fisk said.

Jim heard Fisk toss down a plastic evidence bag with something in it. He waited.

“Aspirin?” Marty asked.

“That’s what ME thought at first. There’s one pill in there, but it’s not aspirin.”

“What is it?” Jim asked.

“It’s the untraceable poison that dissolves instantly in the human body and kills them, stopping the heart and coagulating the blood just enough that, even if they’re shot—”

“They won’t bleed much,” Tom said.

“Exactly.”

“Geez,” Karen said.

Marty let out a whistle.

“So where’d the DOA get it?” Jim asked.

“You want to ask him?” Marty asked.

Jim smiled.


* * *


“Did you talk to my daughter?”

Jim stopped in the hallway and turned back toward the voice.

“Are you really even blind, detective? You’re not being led around today.”

“I am blind.”

“So the other day, that was what? An excuse to talk about me behind my back?”

Jim walked toward her voice down the hall, stopping a couple feet short. “Mrs. Campbell…”

“Have you talked to my daughter?” she reiterated.

“No,” he said.

“No?”

“The girl we were talking to—”

“She said I wasn’t her mother?”

“She said her name wasn’t Laine Campbell. But if we do come across your daughter, we have your number.” Jim turned to leave.

“Detective! I know that’s my daughter.”

“How?” He didn’t turn back.

“Someone told me.”

“And you believe them?”

“I believe them more than I believe you.”

Jim cocked his head to the side. He crooked a finger over his shoulder. “Come on,” he said and headed for an interview room. “Karen?” he asked as he passed their desks.

“Not here. She already went home,” Tom said. “You want me to join you?”

“Yeah.” He pushed open the door to the interview room and held it for Mrs. Campbell. “This is Detective Selway,” he said when Tom reached them. He shut the door. “Have a seat.” A chair scraped back. “Tell us, who told you we know where your daughter is?”

“I got a phone call…”

Jim nodded and moved into the room, away from the windows, where he’d heard Tom go.

“And you knew who was on the phone?”

“No.”

“And you believe them because…?”

“They told me some things.”

Jim pulled out a chair and dropped into it. “Like what?”

“Things only my Laina would know about.”

Jim cocked his head to the side. “Mrs. Campbell, do you value your daughter’s life?”

“Of course I do!”

“So why do you keep insisting we tell you where she is? If this girl is your daughter, her life is in danger, and the more you press the issue, the more dangerous it gets.”

“What do you mean, she’s in danger?”

Jim sighed.

“Everyone she was with, they’re either dead or missing,” Tom said. “You want that to happen to your daughter?”

“Why? Why is she in danger?”

“We don’t know yet,” Jim said. “Do you?”

“No.”

“So you can’t tell us anything about who called you and what they told you and why you’re trying to find your daughter?” Tom asked.

“This guy called. He said Laina had been arrested. I said, what for, he said he didn’t know exactly but I should come down here and you’d let me talk to her.”

“Why would this guy call you up? Just out of the blue like that?” Tom asked.

“He said he was a friend of hers and thought I should know. Things hadn’t been that great between me and Laina for a while. If he was a friend of hers, he’d know that.”

“You’ve had no contact with her lately?” Jim asked.

“She would call sometimes, and send pictures of her daughter.”

“She has three daughters now,” Jim said and listened to her breathe as she took in the new information. He turned to Tom and said, “Do we have a picture of Rico Artez?”

“His mug shot from when we booked him.”

“Do we still have a hard copy of that, though? After they wiped his file?”

“Who is…?” Mrs. Campbell asked.

“Rico Artez,” Jim said. “He was a friend of this girl. They said they were brother and sister. I’m wondering if maybe they were old friends, maybe you’d know something?”

Tom described Rico to her.

“No,” she said. “I don’t know.”

Jim nodded. “This girl we know, she has three kids, and a brother, and you still think it’s your daughter?”

Mrs. Campbell sniffed, opened a purse of some sort, rifled around. Jim heard the light sound of tissues rasping out of a pack, heard her wiping at her face. “They told me all about Tamika, what she’s been doing lately. She hasn’t been to school. She’s such a smart girl, she needs to go to school! And I know Laina’s had problems lately, but I thought maybe now it’s been long enough, she’ll let me help.

“They told me all the different places Laina and Tamika have been staying the past couple years, Laina’s old job—”

“Where’d she work?” Tom interrupted.

“She was secretary at some law firm or a brokerage or something like that. She had a couple different jobs. But she was good at her job, got to work for some high-profile guys, booking their lunches and meeting all sorts of people. Someone had just offered her a better job when… She said she quit, had to be there for Tamika. She said she couldn’t say anything too detailed.”

“And then she moved out of her apartment?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“She said it was going to be cheaper to stay with friends. They could split rent.”

“How was she going to pay rent if she didn’t have a job?”

“I asked, believe me I asked. She didn’t say. Like I said, we didn’t talk much, especially after she moved out of her place. That was a few years ago.”

“And now?” Jim prompted.

“She’s my daughter, detective. They said she was arrested, I was worried. I thought, even if she did something bad, someone would have to take care of Tamika. I could be there for her, like I wasn’t there before.”

“We don’t know who called you,” Jim said. “But please, as far as you’re concerned, we don’t even know where your daughter is. It’s not her.”

“But—”

“We don’t know what she knows, or what happened, but… We’re doing everything we can to keep her safe.”

She sniffled.

“And we’re asking you, if anyone asks, to tell them that. And if they contact you again,” Jim paused and pulled out one of his business cards, “call us immediately with any information.”

“And you’ll call me?”

“We will.” Jim stood up and held his hand out to her. “We’ll be in touch.” He held the door open for her, then let it swing shut. He turned to Tom with a sigh. “Well,” he said.

“DeLana really wouldn’t tell us anything about her family,” Tom said.

“At least she’s gone for now. The fewer people asking questions, the better.”

“You think we can trust her to keep quiet? If someone asks where her daughter is and tells her some horror story, you think she’s going to come running back?”

Jim shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine.” He opened the door and stepped out.

Jim froze when a hand touched his chest on the way out of the interview room. He stepped back and heard Tom sidestep him.

“Boss?” Tom asked.

Jim had never heard Fisk so quiet. Often, when no one was around, he could tell who was there, but not this time.

“We got us another DOA,” Fisk said quietly. “Reg Schmidt, down in the Tombs.”

Tom swore. Jim closed his eyes and prayed it wasn’t happening, then shook his head.

“They’re doing an autopsy now,” Fisk said. “But what d’you want to bet they didn’t search him well enough before they put him down there?”

“Probably they just thought it was a tiny, harmless aspirin?” Tom said.

Jim turned and walked abruptly to his desk, nearly stamping his feet in frustration. He threw back his desk chair and fell into it.

“Nothing we can do tonight, Jim,” Fisk said. “Go on home.”


* * *

[greenbeing]

* * *


“Jimmy, are you okay?”

He looked up, having just walked in the door a moment before. He dropped his keys on the table, hadn’t even called out yet. So why’d Christie sound so concerned?

“You’ve been standing there for five minutes,” she said.

“Have I?” He scrunched his face a little. “Sorry.”

He heard her dress swish over and remembered their date suddenly.

“I better change.”

Her hand caught his arm and she pulled him into an embrace.

“What’s this for?” He felt awkward, still in his coat with his bag across his shoulder, but he put his arms around her.

She tilted his head down with a hand on his cheek as she pulled back a few inches. “Let’s go out tomorrow.”

He raised a hand to her face, confused. “You have other plans?”

“No. You look miserable…”

He shook his head. “Long day. I’m sure as soon as we get out the door—”

“You’ll be thinking about it all night. I want us both to have fun.”

He sighed. “I promised.”

“So we’ll make a long day of it tomorrow. No big deal.”

“Christie—”

“Remember our deal? We’re not going to fight. We’re just going to be here for each other.”

Jim broke away and shrugged out of his coat. “I wasn’t about to yell at you.” He sighed. He’d forgotten to pick up flowers.

“I know.”

Family or career. That conversation haunted Jim’s memory. He wanted to ask Galloway if that was a legitimate way to have a relationship, but he’d have to wait for his next appointment.

“Do you have anything planned tomorrow?” she asked.

“No.”

“So let’s relax tonight. You look like you need to unwind.”

He nodded without realizing he was doing it.

“And tomorrow, since neither one of us had anything to do… unless you were planning to head down to the squad?”

He shook his head. “I should take a day off and let it fester.”

“That bad, huh?”

Jim smiled a little. “I’m going to change. You sure you don’t mind putting off our date?”

“It was my idea, wasn’t it? And it’s my birthday.” She trailed a hand across his chest as she crossed to the kitchen. “I’ll call the restaurant, see if we can reschedule.”

Jim shut the door to their bedroom and sat on the bed. Hank touched his knee with his nose. Jim looked down. “Hey, didn’t know you followed me,” he said. Hank sat at his feet. Jim leaned back on the bed, arms outstretched, and groaned.

He was relieved Christie was letting him stay home. He felt sore and tense and frustrated. He really wouldn’t have been able to have any fun. He’d almost been looking forward to the date, almost. A quiet dinner, then maybe a walk in the park. He hadn’t planned much, figured they could just play it by ear.

Now he had all weekend, two days off the case. It didn’t feel right, taking time when he knew something else could go wrong at any moment.

He wondered how Rob was doing. He’d been quiet when he left, but Jim knew, Rob having more at stake in the case, having someone impersonating his dead son, Jim knew if he was frustrated, that was nothing compared to what Rob must be feeling. Probably lying at home right then with his wife trying to comfort him, or maybe he was throwing things around the house. Jim smiled, thinking of a wife trying to offer comfort. He sat up, stripped off his work shirt and quickly changed into more casual clothes.

“Welcome back,” Christie said when he opened the door.

Hank followed him.

“You hungry?” she asked.

Jim shook his head. He crossed to the couch. “Join me?” he asked hopefully. Hank settled at his feet.

“Aren’t you going to feed the dog?” she asked as she leaned over the couch behind him.

Slowly he nodded. “Yeah. Right. Sorry.” He went back to the kitchen.

“I’m going to throw something in the oven,” she said. “You’ll want to eat later.” She opened the refrigerator.

Jim thought about skipping lunch and it still didn’t make him hungry. Everything was just so messed up, how could he think of food? “You want help?” he asked.

“Sure.” He listened as she dropped a few things on the counter by the stove and pulled out a pan. “You want to put together a salad?”

Jim washed the dog food off his hands and nodded, then realized he didn’t know if Christie was facing him or not. “Yeah,” he said. He pulled lettuce and vegetables out of the fridge, glad for something to do as he spread out by the sink, washing, cutting, tossing. He dropped a few cherry tomatoes into the bowl, wondering what DeLana was eating right then, if she and the kids felt safe. He knew he couldn’t go check on her, but maybe he could give Tamika a call, see what she knew about her grandmother, see if Tamika could talk to her mom about helping them. It had to be getting old, being in police custody, even if it was for safety, even if it was better than what they’d had previously.

“Jim?” Christie asked.

He turned his head, one hand on either side of the large bowl. “Yeah?”

“You’re spacing out again.”

“Sorry.” He started cleaning up, pulled out the bottle of homemade salad dressing Christie liked to make.

“I thought you weren’t hungry,” she said.

“I’m not.”

“Then just put the salad in the fridge. We’ll eat it right before dinner’s ready.”

Jim put everything back in the fridge. He hadn’t been thinking, just been on auto-pilot. He listened as Christie slid something into the oven and set the timer. He slid up onto one of the stools at the counter, his chin resting on his fists as he imagined what she was doing based on what he could hear. Her at the sink facing him, washing up, wiping down the counter, her head down, but probably glancing up at him occasionally, then turning to wipe down the area by the stove, checking the oven to make sure everything was okay, putting things back in the refrigerator, turning her back to pull a wine glass out of the cupboard—make that two wine glasses—then pulling out a bottle. He heard her set it on the counter in front of him, then she opened a drawer and set something next to it, something small. He reached out and grabbed the bottle and the corkscrew, glad she didn’t have to give running commentary anymore. She used to, every little thing: here’s the wine, it’s this kind, here’s the opener, it’s right by the bottle, will you open it? But now the silence was comfortable enough and he could follow her movements, know what was going on around him. He opened the wine and slid the corkscrew back across the counter, listening as she put it away. The two glasses she’d set behind the bottle, so he grabbed them and poured, holding one out over the sink until she took it.

“Mm,” she said, taking a sip.

He pictured her smiling over at him and smiled back. He left his own wine untouched, just played his fingers over the bottom of the glass. “How was work?” he finally asked.

“Not bad. We have an article we’re working on, this lady who designed dresses out of her basement.”

He grimaced. “Out of shower curtains again?” That had been one of the first articles Christie had ever told him about, back when they were still dating. She didn’t have as much seniority as she did now, so she often got stuck with articles, small blurbs, really, that had very little to do with the fashion industry at large. It had been a piece about eccentric clothing or something, a retrospective of all the weird and bizarre things people had tried to wear over the years.

“No,” she said, lightly complaining. “That was one time, not everything is like that.”

He smiled. “I know.”

“That’s just your favorite.”

He shrugged.

“Then I’ll always give you a hard time about that case where the guy was stealing teddy bears and giving them to children at the shelters. And the one where you followed that guy and got stuck in the fun-house because they locked the main door and you couldn’t find the emergency exit. And how about the time you fell in that play pit, the one with the balls, and all the kids were laughing at you.”

Jim laughed. “Anymore good memories you want to dredge up?”

“Give me a minute, I’m sure I’ll remember more.”

“You were going to tell me about the new article you’re working on.”

“Yeah…” She sounded like she was smiling as she moved over and sat on the stool next to him. He caught one of her legs between his and wouldn’t let go. He took a sip of wine. “Basically, she’s been designing dresses using an old sewing machine. She’s ninety years old now, but the look just caught on with a bunch of college students. Her granddaughter and her friends, then their friends. Now her granddaughter is trying to market the dresses to bigger designers.” She reached out, caressing his hand as it sat on the counter. He looked down at it. “What about your day?”

He shook his head.

“Jimmy… You used to like to work the cases out, telling me little things—”

“I left out a lot of the nitty-gritty details, you know.”

“That’s okay. Why don’t you tell me? You can censor it, if you want.”

Jim took a long drink and grabbed her hand as it made another pass over the back of his. He told her how Rob had been there today to confirm that his dead son wasn’t the guy in the interview room, how the guy had later been found dead. “Do you remember Rob?”

She was quiet a second. “Oh, uh, no, I don’t think so,” she said.

The way she said it, it sounded like she may have been shaking her head during the silence. Jim looked over at her, wishing he could read body language now, even the little things, like the shaking of a head. He kept hold of her hand and concentrated on that as he told her other small details about DeLana and the lady who might be her mom, about Artez the maybe brother disappearing, about Samantha being pregnant. He felt her muscles tense when he mentioned the details about the baby.

“Why is having a boy so bad?”

“We don’t know.” Jim shook his head and squeezed her hand.

“But it’s a baby!”

“This whole case, everything’s messed up.” He bent his head so she wouldn’t be able to see his face as well. He hadn’t been planning to tell her about the guy from the roof that day, but he found himself doing it anyway. She tensed again, her hand growing hot.

He listed everything that had gone wrong, all the people who were no longer able to offer information on the case. “I’m just worried something’s going to happen. We have one girl left, and four children. What if something happens to her? What’ll happen to the kids?”

“But you won’t let anything happen to her, she’s safe.”

He turned away. “I thought that about her brother, too. We had him in the station. And he’s gone.”

She didn’t offer him any hope, not even like Karen had done, saying of course they’d figure it out. For some reason he found that comforting, just holding her hand and feeling her pulse beat.

[greenbeing]

Chapter Thirteen—Repose

Jim kept hold of Christie’s arm. Part of his penance was to leave Hank behind. He’d be totally reliant on her all evening, but it was her birthday, and if she wanted the responsibility, he wouldn’t argue. He’d found himself avoiding a lot of arguments recently, ever since the big blow-out with Christie. Something petty like how he was going to get around all evening, it didn’t seem worth arguing about.

“Are you sure you should have left Hank behind?” Christie asked.

The streets were crowded and Jim ducked his head to hear her. “Yeah. It’s your night, remember?”

“I just don’t want you to resent me for it—”

“I wouldn’t.” It felt a little odd without Hank, but he let Karen guide him enough at work that it really didn’t matter much. It was just that he and Christie got out so rarely anymore, just the two of them, he’d thought it would mean a lot to her.

“And I know how important it is for you to be independent.”

“Relying on Hank isn’t exactly independent…” Jim said slowly. “I don’t like to rely on him, either, you know. It’s just a little easier on my conscience to impose on his goodwill than on anyone else’s.”

Christie was quiet and Jim tried to relax as she led him into the restaurant. He immediately heard the fountain, water rushing over the rocks. He remembered small marble figurines that had been stuck in the nooks and crannies, like a village in the mountains. Christie stopped a moment and turned toward the water.

“Two?” a female voice asked.

Jim looked up. No one else said anything and he felt Christie turning, so he nodded. “Reservations for Dunbar.”

There was a pause, then she said, “It’ll be a few minutes. Why don’t you have a seat?”

Jim followed Christie to some chairs next to the fountain. He felt a seat in front of his knees and let go of her arm, turned, sat. He listened to the water falling and relaxed. It was a nice sound. He resituated on the chair, not so stiff, and his left knee bumped something. He reached down and felt the low wall around the fountain pool. He pushed his hand further, to the edge of the wall, then down to the water, letting the coolness play through his fingers, feeling tiny drops spray him from the rocks.

“What are you doing?” Christie asked. She sounded amused, so he left his hand there in the water.

“I’m playing in the fountain,” he said.

She laughed.

A moment later he felt her pressing something onto the back of his right hand. He turned his hand and she pressed a small object into his palm. He closed his hand, feeling a small coin with ridges, a quarter.

“Make a wish,” she said.

He pulled his hand out of the water, wiped it dry on his pants, turned the coin over and over in his hands, thinking. He put a hand on her arm and leaned over carefully, kissing her on the cheek. Then he turned back and tossed the coin lightly. He heard it plop a few feet away.

“What’d you wish for?” she asked.

“It’s a secret.” He put his hand on her leg and squeezed.

“Dunbar?” the hostess asked.

Jim stood up, taking Christie’s arm. They followed the hostess and Jim stayed close to Christie, unsure how close the tables were to each other. Christie didn’t seem at all tense, maneuvering around the restaurant, he had to give her credit for that. She stopped and put his hand on the back of a chair. He caught her arm before she could get away and pulled the chair out for her, waiting until she sat, then helping scoot her in. He reached out for the table, using that as a guide. It was a small table, square, and the next chair was directly across the table. He listened as the hostess set down two menus.

“Do you have a menu in Braille?” Christie asked.

“Uh, no,” the hostess said. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Jim said, pulling out his chair, then shrugging off his coat and setting it across the back. He sat.

The hostess moved away, leaving them.

“I didn’t even think to ask,” Jim said. He gingerly touched the table, running his hands across the menu, moving it down to his lap so he could explore the rest of his space.

“We’ll have to go out to dinner more often,” she said. “We’ll find a few places—”

“And I’ll have to practice, huh?”

“You’ll have to do it eventually.”

Jim felt heat coming from a candle in the center of the table and kept his hands back. “I’ve been busy,” he said. His hands found a glass thing that turned out to be a vase full of silk flowers. He moved it to the side of the table.

“I’ll move the candle there, too,” Christie said.

He nodded. His hand knocked something over and he froze.

“Wine menu,” she said.

He heard her move that, also.

“I won’t prop it up like they had it.”

“Good.” He felt the cloth napkin and the metal ring around it that enclosed the silverware. “What’s on the menu?”

“Do you want an appetizer?”

He shook his head. “Steak, I think.” He listened to her turn a couple pages. “Long menu?”

“A bit. There’s a whole steak section.” She read through different kinds of steak.

“Hello, my name’s Angie, I’ll be your waitress,” a chipper voice said. She sounded about seventeen. “Let me tell you our specials.” She rattled them off.

Christie ordered them each a glass of wine.

The waitress ran off and Christie resumed reading the menu to him with descriptions of the dinners and what they came with. The waitress came back and took Christie’s order first, then Jim’s. She brought back the bottle of wine and poured them each a drink, then hurried off again. She’d taken their menus and Jim found himself playing with the napkin instead of the menu, just for something to keep his hands occupied. The silence stretched a moment.

Jim looked up finally. “We did the small talk thing yesterday, huh?” he asked, afraid they’d already discussed everything they could think of.

“We don’t get out very often, Jim. It’ll get easier,” she said.

He kept his gaze straight across the table. No more just sitting around the apartment, that’s what Christie had wanted, something normal. This was normal, dinner in a restaurant with his wife. He listened to other diners around him for a moment before deciding he’d rather just imagine they were alone. He tuned everyone else out, imagined the place dim with soft candlelight. Christie, sitting across from him—but she was in shadow, he couldn’t quite picture her, not her features, not the look on her face. He sighed and looked down.

“It’ll get easier, huh?” he asked. He nodded. “Yeah…”

He heard her move something and felt her hand on his, squeezing over the back of his hand.

“Yeah.”

He let his head drop to the side a little as he looked over at her. “It’s been getting easier at work, you know. All the stuff with Marty and the other detectives. Everything’s working out.”

“You’ve always been good at your job.”

He nodded. “I got chewed out about going out the other night…”

“I thought you had fun.”

“I did. We sort of didn’t tell the boss before we went out, though.”

“And you’re the only one he yelled at?”

“He sort of yelled at us all, but I’m the only one he pulled aside.”

She made a little noise that he knew meant she thought it was unfair.

He shrugged it off. “It’s okay.”

“You’re going to just let it stew?”

“No, we talked it out. It’s okay.”

“Good.”

“Detective?” a young female voice asked. “Detective Dunbar?”

Jim looked up.

“I just wanted to thank you—Kim. Kim Chenowith—”

Jim smiled at her. “Yeah. I’m not going to forget you anytime soon,” he said. “How’d the ash spreading go?”

“I still have my job,” she said brightly.

“Good, good.”

“And I just wanted to thank you. I had a second urn full of incinerator ashes like you suggested. For back-up, just in case. I was definitely not going to let anything happen after all that. But again, thank you.”

“No problem.”

“Have a good night.”

Jim waved a hand and listened to her quickly walk away. He turned back to Christie and picked up his wine glass.

“Well?”

Jim felt his face turn a little red. “My, uh, first case when I got back. Didn’t quite go a planned.”

“But you said—”

Jim waved her off. “After fighting you for months about going back to work, I wasn’t about to tell you what really happened that day.”

“Are you going to tell me now?” Christie asked after a pause.

Jim looked over at her and cocked his head to the side. “If you promise to laugh.” He wouldn’t go into all the implications, how Karen had been pulled off the homicide, how Fisk kept giving them assignments a rookie would have been offended by, whatever his reasoning had been. He just hoped Christie didn’t read too much into his story and figure it out herself.


* * *


It was rare to see Jimmy embarrassed. Christie’d seen it more since the shooting, but usually it was tinged with anger and frustration he could barely control. But there in the restaurant it was pure and sweet. She smiled with him as he explained about going out for a stolen car and needing to find some priceless dog ashes to save the young woman who’d just left. Christie laughed and held his hand while he talked. He seemed to like having that contact with her now that he couldn’t see. He’d never admitted it, but she could tell just by the difference in the way he talked to her when they were touching.

These were the kinds of crimes she actually preferred to think about Jimmy solving, saving people from insignificant little things that were barely life-altering. It made her feel good, made her think of him as heroic. He’d solved so many murders, but really, who benefited from that? Someone got punished, but the crime was so final. She couldn’t imagine how hopeless she’d feel all the time if it was her, doing all that work for someone who couldn’t be saved.

But it seemed to be the opposite that was driving Jimmy crazy with the new case. He was so sure someone else was going to die, someone he’d met personally, yet he felt powerless to stop it.

Jimmy turned his head and she found herself following his gaze. There was a group of women over there, well-dressed and laughing. Immediately she felt sick before she remembered he couldn’t see them, before she glanced back and saw his eyes were actually focused over the heads of the women.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

She realized suddenly he’d turned his head to listen for her and she felt her face turning red, but the sick feeling didn’t go away. She would never be satisfied, no matter how many times they fought it out. That was why she’d never made an appointment with the couples’ therapist, knowing that no matter what, she’d lost that blind trust she’d had before. Even if he couldn’t see, that didn’t mean he’d never do it again. Even though she only knew of the one woman, that didn’t mean there’d only been one. It wasn’t likely he’d admit to anything she wasn’t aware of, dig himself in deeper.

She threw her napkin on the table and stood up, pulling her hand away before he’d know anything was wrong. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

“Christie?” Jim was pulling his hand back across the table. He’d lost track of her when she moved; he was looking a couple feet to her right, then turning his head, searching for her. He looked worried.

“Restroom,” she said, already moving away. She needed a breath of fresh air. She couldn’t get mad; she’d promised.


* * *


Jim just sat there, one hand to either side of his plate. The waitress had come, startling him. He hadn’t heard her walk up carrying a tray with their dinners on it. She’d apologized and reached in front of him, probably moving his napkin and silverware. He felt the warmth of the plate next to his hand, followed her movements as she set down Christie’s plate. He gestured at his wine glass and asked for a refill.

“Sure,” she’d said, sounding nervous.

Jim could only imagine maybe she hadn’t realized he was blind. He heard her rush off and sat there until she brought back the wine.

“Is everything all right?” she’d asked, maybe wondering where Christie was, or why he hadn’t touched his food.

“Yeah.”

He heard her set down the wine glass on the table cloth, then she rushed off again. He felt around slowly. With the tablecloth and the plate in the way, the sound had been muffled, leaving him unsure of the whereabouts of the glass. He wrapped his hand around it and took a long drink, wondering himself where Christie was.

He sat there. He’d finished telling her the story, the censored version, of his first day back on the job. It had been hard to get out at first, all the little implications of that first day back, trying to prove to everyone he could do the job. Trying to keep everyone straight, all these new people he’d never seen, match a voice with a desk, add tidbits to their personality, not really feeling that he knew any of them. Until he’d been in the car with Karen, asking her if he’d done something wrong, trying to read the silence between them. He’d gotten a feel for her then, everything from her resenting him interrupting her job, feeling belittled having to drive him around, to the whole thing with her being Anne’s friend. That had said a lot, the fact that she’d actually cornered him about Anne. He hadn’t blown her off exactly, but he hadn’t been about to tell her everything that had happened in his marriage and with her friend, all he could tell her was it had been a mistake. She’d seemed to accept that, something neither Christie nor Anne had ever been able to do.

That first day back, he hadn’t told her how Fisk had practically ordered him to stay back in the squad. How he’d sat there, in the office, listening to Fisk move around. The slammed drawer of the filing cabinet, metal, how it echoed in the small room, startling him momentarily from trying to read Fisk’s mood. He hadn’t told Christie the whole bit about being asked to stay back for the safety of everyone else, like he was a liability, and how no one would want him as a partner. Those were things he’d known deep down before he even went in there, things he’d been afraid of himself. But he knew he had to try.

He hadn’t told her a bit about how damn hard it had been, following Karen around, leaning on her, having her tell him when to stay back. Trying to get his feet back under him that first day. He’d been a detective for ten years, then suddenly he’d wondered how he’d be able to find his way around a crime scene. He’d been a detective for ten years and everyone was worried he would be a danger to himself, to others. He’d been a detective for ten years, but he had to admit he’d been scared.

Back in the apartment, needing a beer, feeling the only one who’d helped him that day was a dog. Everyone else had questioned everything, from how he was going to get to the precinct to how he was going to conduct interviews. And Terry showing up… He’d needed to be home. He’d been tired, amazed at how much energy he’d lost. At first, everything seemed so right, Christie running to greet him, asking him how his day was. He’d been busy. When he realized that, he’d smiled. He’d missed being busy. Even fighting everyone for position, maybe that didn’t matter so much, if he could be busy again. He’d prove himself eventually and everything would be fine and he’d come home every night to Christie and she’d be happy to see him and ask him how his day was—and she wouldn’t question him.

He hadn’t told her any of that. Just the bit about the dog ashes. He hadn’t gone into the nitty gritty of the case with the serial killer and the clues they’d found. All he’d told her was the bit with the car, standing outside Kim Chenowith’s apartment, and going through the car. He’d told her the bit where the officer thought he was crazy for coming back on the job. The bit about being accosted by news reporters on his way there, though she’d already known; she’d seen the news before he got home from work that first day. She’d told him she’d been so excited about his first day back, she’d come home early just to be there as soon as he got home.

The chair slid back. He’d kept his foot on the leg after she left, so he’d be sure to know the second she got back. He pulled his leg back to his side of the table, keeping his hands relaxed on either side of his plate, looking straight ahead. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, fine,” she said. “Looks good.”

He heard her silverware clink. One of his hands clenched into a fist. “So…”

“You didn’t have to wait for me.”

“Christie—”

“Mmm, you want a bite? Delicious.”

Jim swallowed hard and shook his head, knowing the conversation was done before it had even started.


* * *

[greenbeing]

* * *


Jim’s hand slid down into hers as they slowly walked through Central Park. She’d told him it was dark already and a lot of people had gone home, so it wasn’t as crowded. She shivered and Jim stopped her.

“Cold?” he asked and pulled her close.

She shivered again.

He buttoned up her coat. “Better?”

She nodded, then forced an affirmative noise. She let him take her hand again.

“Maybe we should go back,” he said.

“No, I’ll be fine. We just have to keep moving.”

He bent down to kiss her, but she didn’t help him find her mouth, couldn’t respond.

“Either everything’s fine, or it’s not,” he said, starting to walk, faster than before.

“Everything’s fine,” she assured him, her voice shaking. “I’m just cold.”

His hand stiffened in hers. Christie looked up at him. His mouth was pressed in a line. He didn’t say anything else. She turned away, watching other people walk through the park, hand in hand. Jimmy was there, with her, just the two of them. It was cold, it was romantic, they’d had a nice dinner. This was for her birthday. She should be happy. She finally had him all to herself. Nothing was going to take that away. All she had to do was enjoy it. She owed him that, at least, didn’t she?

“Come on,” she said, forcing herself to sound more chipper. She took a different path, following a warm smell to a sidewalk vendor.

“Dessert?” Jimmy asked, trying to smile down at her as she stopped.

She ordered a funnel cake and they took it to a bench. She watched him sit, then settled in next to him. He put an arm around her, but when she looked up into his face, he looked… worried, concerned, confused. He had to have noticed she hadn’t enjoyed the rest of their dinner. She moved closer, shivering again, and broke off a piece of the hot fried bread. “Open,” she ordered, her voice almost steady. Jimmy’s eyes closed and his mouth opened and she fed him, then kissed him. She licked the powdered sugar off her fingers. In between bites and feeding him, she described the people around them, finally relaxing. This was Jimmy, he’d promised never to cheat on her again, he was with her, he was trying. She had to give him credit, she couldn’t just ignore him. She had to try, too.

“I’m going to get some hot chocolate,” she said and jumped up, hurrying off. She turned back and saw Jimmy’d stood, his arm outstretched as if to grab her elbow and come with, but she was too far away and didn’t want him to know she’d seen, so she hurried on without slackening her pace.

She was only gone a minute, but when she came back, his head was down, he was frowning, staring at the sidewalk. He shifted on the bench, but lifted his head when he heard her footsteps on the concrete. She hurried over, two cups in hand and slid back against him into place on the bench. Her spot had grown cold while she’d been gone. “Here,” she said, nudging him with the other cup. She blew on her own as his hand found the paper cup. He wrapped his hands around it.

Christie breathed in the smell of the chocolate and smiled. She looked over at her husband and wrapped an ankle around his, since her hands were toasty around the cup. “It smells like Christmas, doesn’t it?”

“Almost,” he agreed. “Not enough pine, but almost.”

“We should start our Christmas shopping soon, avoid the crowds.”

Jimmy smiled. “It’s a little early, don’t you think? Karen invited us to this Halloween party.” He laughed and shook his head.

“What’d you say?”

“No. Definitely no.”

“You never did care for Halloween much.”

“I could go as a pirate now, get two eye patches…” He blew on his cup of cocoa.

“We could go, to the party, I mean.”

Jimmy shook his head again. “I’m not that comfortable at parties yet.”

Christie was quiet, thinking. She’d planned to ask him about hosting a party at their place for some clients and co-workers. Even though the party her boss had held was a disaster, she had thought, being on familiar ground, maybe Jimmy’d agree. Then again, maybe it would be worse, in his own home, being taken over by strangers, running into people and their things as he tried to move around. The unfamiliar in the familiar. “That’s okay, it’ll come.”

“Dinner wasn’t bad…” he said slowly, a question in his voice. He’d definitely noticed something was up with her, but she knew he wouldn’t ask.

“No, dinner wasn’t bad,” she agreed.

“You want to go see a movie?” he asked suddenly.

“Jimmy…”

“What?” He smiled down at her. “It’s dark, it’s private…” He bent over and kissed the top of her head. “Are you telling me people actually go to movies to watch them?”

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “Maybe I’ll see where the closest drive-in is.”

He nodded. “That would be fun. I haven’t been to a drive-in for…” he trailed off. “Last time I was at a drive-in, I drove. We actually smuggled a guy in in the trunk.”
Christie laughed.

“I kept telling him I couldn’t get the trunk open, we’d have to call a locksmith.” He squeezed her close with his arm around her shoulder.

She took his empty cup. “Let’s walk.”


* * *


“So it was boys’ night out and Karen was an accessory?” Anne asked about the undercover night Karen had just been telling her about.

They were back at the Swan Dive. Anne often requested to go there, said she had a soft spot for it in her heart, surrounded by heartbreak and romance. Karen wasn’t so sure. A lot of weepy prima donnas weren’t her idea of good company.

Karen shook her head. “It wasn’t like that.”

“They let you play, too?”

“Anne!”

“I’m just asking. You’re always going on about how they don’t respect you. Sounds to me like you were just there to make Dunbar look… normal.”

Karen shot her a look.

“It’s weird, thinking of him not being able to see.”

Karen put her head down. It was kinda weird for her, thinking of Jim being able to see.

“Do you think he’s handsome?” Anne asked.

“Excuse me?” Karen said and quickly downed the shot her friend had just bought her.

“Do you?”

“He’s my partner.”

“That doesn’t make you immune. The world is full of people who fall in love with people they shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, Anne, and I’m not one of them.”

“So do you think he’s handsome?”

“I never really looked.” Karen scrutinized her friend with the best of her detecting skills. “Are you trying to get me to say any girl would fall for him so you don’t feel so bad?”

“Of course not!” Anne raised her hand to order another round of drinks. “I just want to make sure you don’t get sucked in.”

Karen didn’t say that Jim Dunbar didn’t seem quite as devious and womanizing as Anne had always made him out to be.

“Is it because he’s blind? Because I know that if he could see, he’d be all over you. He’d always have his hands on you and he’d say nice things… But I bet if I met him now, I bet I’d be immune.”

“He’s just blind,” Karen said, sinking down in her seat, exhausted from the conversation. Anne’s obsession had had that effect on her lately. They never managed to pick up any guys when Anne was in serious mode, so it was going to be an early evening. “If a guy has roving hands, blindness would just be a good excuse to use them, you know? Oops, sorry, didn’t mean to fondle you there, and all that.”

“Does he hit on you?”

“Anne! Maybe he learned his lesson, you ever think of that? Maybe you were that one special person and he couldn’t help himself and you should feel flattered.”

Anne stared at the table, unable to answer for a while. “Is he doing okay? I mean, since the shooting—I never got to see him,” she said quietly, still staring down and playing with a cocktail napkin.

Karen sighed. “He’s fine.”

“Is he still with his wife?” Anne asked, her voice suddenly icy.

“Yeah.”

“She forgive him?”

“I guess so. I don’t know.”

“He’ll never learn! You watch yourself, it’s only a matter of time. He’ll be out, playing up the pity card, getting all sorts of women, and you’re going to be in the middle of it, even if you’re immune.”

“Karen! Who’s this?”

Karen turned and saw Marty, wearing his usual dress shirt and tie. Karen sighed. “Marty Russo, Anne Donnelly. Marty works with me at the 8.”

Anne groaned. “Don’t tell me, another Dunbar lackey?”

Marty perked up, grinning and pulled up a chair across from Anne. “What is this, a bash on Dunbar party?” He ordered Anne another drink.

Anne was turning on the charm and flirting terribly. Karen rolled her eyes. “Anne, Marty’s married,” Karen said.

“Oh,” Anne said, her smile fading like she’d found out he had leprosy. She put her nose in the air. “I don’t date cops or married men,” she said.

Marty nodded. “So, how do you know Dunbar?”

Karen put her head in her hands and tried not to listen.


* * *


Marty guessed it was just one of those things a person couldn’t understand until they could experience it firsthand. Blindness and infidelity, two things Marty couldn’t understand. He’d seen Dunbar’s wife… And Jim had still been able to see his wife…

Not to say that a wife had to be ugly to cheat on her.

Maybe she was a total bitch or something.

Marty shook himself and sat down on a bench. The park was quiet this late. Homeless people and romantics tended to not make a lot of noise. The cold seeped through his jeans and he stuck his hands in his coat pockets, hunched over as the wind blew. He couldn’t go home to his own wife right then—she was sweet, innocent, stayed home to take care of the kid. He’d take one look at her and all the animosity he’d ever felt for Dunbar would explode; he’d never be able to look at the man again, might even take him up on that offer for a scrap in the alley.

His eyes narrowed just thinking about his wife—he’d never cheat on her. But if Jim’s wife was mean, or if she’d had affairs herself—no; he wasn’t going to justify Jim’s actions.

But if he didn’t, how could he accept what happened and move on?

It wasn’t like Jim had raped someone. He’d lied, he’d cheated—

He’d taken more than his fair share, like Marty was sometimes afraid he tried to do at work. Like he was trying to be Supercop and never let anyone else have a chance. It was like Jim was the kid in junior high who tried to score all the points for the basketball team and never backed off to let someone else show their stuff, even pushed his own teammates down and stole the ball. No, that wasn’t jealousy. Jim just needed to grow up. Maybe someone needed to tell him to keep his hands to himself, learn to share and not steal everyone else’s toys.

Just thinking of junior high made Marty’s guts twist and his hands clench. He didn’t want to imagine how spoiled Jim probably had been then, Mr. Perfect back when he could see, could do no wrong. Whatever could make a guy who had everything take more? Whatever had made Jim, with his gorgeous wife, go after another girl?

But if Marty couldn’t accept it and couldn’t justify it, how was he supposed to work with Jim day in and day out?

Marty stood up and pounded his numb feet on the sidewalk. Some people just screwed themselves, no matter what they did. Marty’d work with Jim, but he’d have to take it upon himself to make sure the other detective kept his hand out of the cookie jar, so to speak.

Good thing the man couldn’t see the cookie jar anymore—take away the temptation. But damn, it didn’t matter that Marty could see and Jim couldn’t and he should have felt superior, or felt pity, or should have tried to be helpful—no matter what he should have felt, Dunbar had always rubbed him the wrong way. He had trouble feeling anything but anger toward Jim.



* * *


Jim flopped on the couch, TV remote in hand, then just sat there without turning it on.

“Jimmy?” Christie asked.

“Yeah?” he called back. It sounded like she was in the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not very good at just hanging around the house all afternoon.” He turned the remote over in his hands. He could have been watching a game or something, though he preferred the ones on the radio. And he really didn’t need background noise. He tossed the remote on the couch.

“You better pick that up,” Christie said from right behind him.

He tilted his head back and smiled up at her. “Yes, ma’am.” He reached over and his fingers grazed the back of her hand as she snatched up the remote. He cocked his head to the side as he turned to her.

She leaned against the back of the couch. “A man without a remote, what will he do now?”

“I should go down to the precinct and work. That’s what I should do.” He leaned back on the couch. “You want to go out and do something?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. We could take the dog for a walk and play in the park. Stop and have coffee. It’s New York, there’s always something to do, right?”

“Don’t you want to get some work done?”

“Not today. I said I should, that doesn’t mean I have to. If you’re not doing anything…”

“Wow,” she said. “Three days in a row.” She dropped the remote back on the couch and started moving away. “I’ll go get my coat.”

Jim stood up, but he felt uneasy. The way she said “three days in a row,” it stabbed him in the heart. Not just the tone of her voice, bordering on sarcastic, but the truth behind it. They really didn’t spend much time together.

It was also the same feeling he’d gotten on their date last night. That she was holding something back.

He shook his head and called Hank over to clip his leash on. Jim put a Frisbee and a ball in a plastic bag before he heard Christie come back. “Ready?” he said.

“No harness?”

“We’re walking the dog. He’s not walking me.” Jim held out a hand to her. “Okay? Just a regular couple, taking their dog to the park.”

“Okay. Our dog, huh?”

“Yeah, our dog.” Really, Hank was just Jim’s dog. When he got Hank, went through all the training, they’d ingrained that in him. If he was just Jim’s dog, he would only obey Jim, look out for Jim, not be torn between two masters. But for the day, they could pretend. They could give Hank a day to just be a dog. He squeezed her hand, which was cold even in the apartment. “Are you going to be warm enough?” He stopped and grabbed his keys off the table.

“Are you going to button my coat up again?”

“Do you need me to?”

She laughed.

Jim followed her to the elevator. He knew their building well enough he didn’t need a guide. It was strange, realizing he used to love to come home after work so he could just be in a place he knew the layout of. But now he was ready to get out into the world again, even if he didn’t have it all mapped out, even if he couldn’t control everything.

She slipped her arm through his. “This is nice,” she said.

Jim pressed the elevator button.

“Hank looks confused,” Christie whispered. “He’s staring at you.”

Jim untangled himself from Christie’s arm and knelt on the floor of the elevator. He put a hand on Hank’s head to make sure the dog was facing him. “We’re taking you for a walk. You’re going to play in the park.” Hank made a strange noise that sounded like he was confused. “You’re a dog,” Jim explained. Hank laid his head on Jim’s shoulder.

The elevator dinged and Jim stood back up. Hank stopped at the entrance of the building and looked both ways, even as Jim followed Christie. He tugged on the leash. Hank stopped at the curb at the end of the street and wouldn’t get down when Jim stepped out. “Forward,” Jim ordered. Hank looked both ways and stepped out.

Christie laughed.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” Jim said.

“You’re right, he needs a day off.” She led him around the corner to a small park and Jim got out the ball. He unclipped Hank’s leash.

“You remember how to fetch, right?” Jim asked. He tossed the ball, more up than out, always worried about other park-goers. Hank took off running, unable to resist.

Hank dropped to the ground as he attacked the ball. It had been a while since he’d gotten out to play. He rolled in the dirt really quickly before running back to Jim and dropping the ball at his feet. He waited patiently for Jim to find the rolling ball, covered in dirt and saliva, and toss it again. Hank took off before it landed, prepared to snatch it straight out of the air. Again he dropped to the ground and rolled. It was no fun playing if you were clean, he thought. And he was always cleaned, groomed, brushed. Every night. He was the prettiest dog in town, sure, but once in a while—he shook dirt from his fur and watched it flying in the air, then sneezed happily.

He’d been confused at first, leaving the building. He never left without the harness. It was his sworn duty to guide Jim and make sure no harm came to him. And the girl, he’d never trusted her much, not since she wouldn’t have anything to do with him.

He dropped the ball at her feet, just to see what she’d do. Jim was kneeling in the mostly dead grass, but the wife was standing right behind him, watching, her hands in her pockets. Jim turned and picked up the ball. Hank gave an inward doggy shrug—no one could say he hadn’t tried to be friends.

Hank lounged at their feet while they sat on a bench holding hands. He was panting and could feel the dust coating his fur. He leaned back, his head on Jim’s foot, and yawned. He hoped they wouldn’t go anywhere for a while, just sit there and soak up the late afternoon autumn sun. Christie was laughing and Jim was talking. Hank watched them a moment before his eyes closed, thinking they must look like a family.

[greenbeing]

Chapter Fourteen

“I got a copy of that message from Mrs. Whittleton,” Fisk said. “Karen?”

“Yeah, I’ll listen,” she said.

“Marty and I talked to her,” Tom said. “We’ll take a listen, too.”

Marty didn’t say anything.

“Phone services has been looking deeper into that pager number, but they haven’t come up with anything so we’re just gonna call it, see what happens,” Fisk told them.

Karen got a tape player and they all gathered around her desk. Jim stood right behind her as she hit play.

“Hi-ii!” a girl’s voice sing-songed. “Mom, Paris is great, having a wonderful time, wish you were here—ha ha! I’m learning French—oui, oui, où est Sylvie, s’il vous plaît. Gotta go have a baguette. By-ye!”

“That’s it?” Karen asked.

“The girl calls half-way across the world and that’s all she says?” Tom asked.

“Is it her?” Jim asked.

“I think so,” Karen said. “It’s gotta be hard to impersonate someone while talking that fast about nothing.”

“Karen,” Tom reprimanded her tastelessness.

“Since we know she was already dead when her mom got this call, she must have recorded a bunch of messages and someone’s been calling when they know the mom’s gone,” Jim speculated.

“Phone services has the number listed as being from upstate,” Fisk said. “No incoming calls from Europe to the Whittleton residence in the past six months.”

“So why’d she make a bunch of tapes for someone else?” Karen asked.

“Do we know what the other messages said?” Jim asked.

Fisk said, “Mrs. Whittleton said this one was just par for the course. The past few weeks, she’s been out of the house for every call—”

“Meaning maybe someone knows when she’s leaving,” Tom said. “They don’t want her to actually be able to talk to the girl, just to think she’s okay.”

“So why’d she record a bunch of messages that just say “hi, I’m gonna have a baguette”?” Karen asked.

“The less consequential the call, the less likely the mom’s gonna get worried, right?” Jim said.

“She was just checking in. You don’t need to say anything too deep in that case,” Tom said.

“I just want to know why Samantha would willingly—” Jim started.

“—help whoever killed her?” Karen finished.

“Is it related?” Tom asked. “You think she made the tapes willingly?”

“It has to be related,” Jim said. “And it certainly sounded willing.”

“Maybe they were coded,” Tom suggested. “If she knew she was in big trouble, maybe all the messages put together mean, “Mom, I’m in trouble, this is where I am.”

“Tom,” Karen said, sounding like she was wrinkling her nose at the theory. “This is Samantha.”

“Yeah…”

“Maybe she didn’t know what the tapes were for,” Karen put in. “Maybe it was just a big joke, or she just didn’t want to talk to her mom.”

“Then why say she was leaving the country? And why make tapes? Why not just call herself when she knew her mom wouldn’t be there?” Jim asked.

“There was no pattern of times to the calls,” Fisk said. “It seems random, so we can’t just stake out a phone booth—not that it looks like they even used the same phone booth twice.”

“And why wouldn’t she have told her mom she had a baby?” Karen asked. “It didn’t sound like they were on bad terms.”

“If you come up with anything, we’ll get the mom back in here,” Fisk said, then walked off.

Jim started making notes on his computer, trying to work everything out. Time telescoped and the next thing he knew, he heard footsteps walking up. He pulled out his earpiece.

“I just paged that number you all got at the bar,” Fisk said from just the other side of Marty’s desk. “The plan is, we want just enough of the stuff for one person and we’ll meet them at Bertrice’s Diner for the exchange. Who wants to take the call?”

“My vote’s for Jim,” Tom said.

“Yeah, he got the card,” Karen said.

“And since he can’t be in on the undercover drop,” Tom added.

Jim kept his face neutral. It probably was best he didn’t go with, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel a pang at getting left behind. He was a cop and, responsibly, he knew to stay out of the way. But the other half of his cop brain wanted to run in there and finish this case once and for all.

“Whatever,” Marty said.

Jim listened as Fisk moved over toward his desk.

“You want the call?”

“Sure.”

There was a pause. “Jim.”

“Yeah?”

“The phone.”

Jim felt Fisk’s hand waving in front of his face in the sudden silence. It took him a second to realize Fisk would have a cell phone that wouldn’t be traceable back to the station. Marty snickered as Jim held up his hand. Jim clasped the small phone, glad it was a flip phone so he wouldn’t have to ask Fisk which button he would need to press. “Next time you could just set it down on the desk,” Jim said quietly.

“Right.”

Jim set the phone in front of him while Fisk moved back toward the windows. “We’ll have Marty and Tom take care of the actual deal.”

Jim nodded. He was relieved when the phone rang a second later. Fisk lunged forward and grabbed it just before Jim’s hand landed on it.

“They’re calling from a pay phone,” he said.

Jim heard him set the phone back as it rang again. He resituated it so it was facing the right way, then flipped it open. “Yeah?”

The squad room grew silent.

“You called?” a male asked. Jim estimated him to be about fifty, a big guy from the sound of his voice.

“Yeah.”

“You want some?”

“Yeah.”

“What for?”

Jim remembered what the guy in the bar had asked so he said, “It’s for a good cause.”

“How much?”

“Enough for one.”

“Where?”

“Bertrice’s Diner.”

“Fine. You be alone?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you look like?”

Jim looked over at Marty quickly. “What do I look like?” he asked. Marty would be the most likely one to pose as the buyer, the closest in height and weight and probably in looks, though Jim didn’t know what he looked like.

The man on the phone started explaining using very small words, saying that if he didn’t have a description, how were they going to find each other. Marty had laughed at the same time and said something about if you don’t know what you look like—

Jim waved him off and pointed at Marty, mouthing “you.”

“Me? I’m five-ten, dark hair…”

Jim passed on that information to the guy on the phone.

“Are you a big guy?”

“Not big…” Jim said.

“Can’t you be more specific?” the man asked.

Jim thought quickly. “How about a little poetic justice, to make it really easy—I’ll be wearing a red flower on my coat, how’s that?”

“What kind?”

Jim forced a laugh. “Do you prefer roses or carnations?” he asked the man.

“Carnations.”

“Then a bright red carnation it is.”

“We’ll meet at 5:30. What are you going to use it for?”

“You don’t need to know that. You supply, I pay you what it’s worth—”

“It’s free, so to speak. I would never charge money. 5:30.” He hung up.

Jim flipped the phone shut. “5:30,” he told the other detectives. “It’s free. Marty, you need a red carnation and no, I don’t know what you look like.” He handed the phone over his shoulder to where Fisk was standing.


* * *


Marty was quiet. He’d been quiet all day. Jim did his work and tried not to think about what could be bothering the other detective, but it seemed strange that neither Tom nor Karen had seemed to notice anything unusual. Maybe he’d ask Karen later to keep an eye on Marty. If he said anything himself, it would probably go over badly.

“Does Marty seem quiet to you?” Jim asked Karen as they were walking back to the car after checking out a lead that had gone nowhere.

Jim felt her shrug. “No.”

He mused over that, staring toward the window on the ride back to the precinct. He rubbed his hand over his mouth.

Come on, Karen’s not that unobservant, he said to himself. Maybe something happened at home and Marty just wanted to keep it to himself. Marty wasn’t a personal-type guy—he kept to himself. Just like Jim tried to do.

But when Hank led him into the squad room, Jim heard Tom and Marty laughing in the locker room. The sound chilled him and he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like evil laughter…

“Hey, Jim,” Tom said when he walked back into the squad room.

“Hey,” Jim said, looking up from his computer.

He heard Marty sit down at his desk and he heard silence.

“Hey, Marty,” Jim said and busied himself at his own desk.

“Oh,” Marty said. “Uh, hey.” Jim heard Marty’s chair slide back. “Just leaving.” He pushed in the chair and walked away.

“Did you and Marty get into a fight again?” Tom asked after a few minutes.

“Not while I was there.” Jim imagined Tom nodding or shrugging in the silence. “He okay with you?”

“Yeah, no problems,” Tom said.

Jim tried to shrug casually, but he could feel his face squinching distastefully. “Then it’s just me.”

Tom came over and pulled out Karen’s chair. Jim turned. That was uncharacteristic. “S’up with you two?”

“Believe me, Tom, I have no idea.”

“’Cause, you know, it’s really awkward trying to work with the two of you. I thought you’d worked everything out.”

“So’d I.” Jim bit his lip. He put his elbows up on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. Finally he shook his head. “Nothing. I can’t think of anything.”

“You didn’t park in his spot again, did you?”

Jim grinned. “Maybe that’s it.”

Tom stood up. “Got some leg work to do.”

Jim nodded. “Don’t worry. We’ll work it out again. I’ll figure it out.”

“Promises, promises,” Tom said as he walked away.

It didn’t make sense. Marty and him had been doing so well. Jim turned his chair back around and stared into space, rubbing his hand over his mouth. In fact, they’d been doing better than well. Marty hadn’t been questioning his ability to do his job, even going so far as to invite him on their excursion to the bar.

Karen walked up, sneezing.

“Bless you,” Jim said absently.

“You wanna go see DeLana?” she asked.

“But we—”

“That Mulhaney guy’s gone. I’ll make sure we’re not being followed.”

Jim sat up straighter. “Why, bless your heart.” He put on his sunglasses and stood up, suddenly excited, forgetting all about Marty. “I’ve been wanting to do this for days.” Hank jumped up and Jim headed out of the squad room.

“Wait for me!” Karen said.

Jim turned back and laughed.

“I didn’t think you’d be that gung-ho,” she muttered as she joined him, pulling her coat on.

They headed for a small house outside the city. They’d been told it was rundown, but still had enough amenities for DeLana and the kids for a few days. Jim settled into the car, thinking Karen was kind of quiet, but then again, he didn’t break the silence, either.


* * *


Marty stopped at the corner by Fisk’s office and glanced into the room. Jim and Karen weren’t there, so he proceeded. He had work to do, though he’d been avoiding his desk most of the day.

He was sticking to his promise—he wasn’t going to let Jim get away with anything. The way the cocky bastard had taken over the phone call… but Marty was relieved at least he wouldn’t be in on the drop. At least then he’d have nothing to be smug about.

Marty hadn’t said anything when Jim walked in that morning. He’d watched the other detective walk in with Hank, pull out his laptop, sit down and get right to work. He’d stared at him a minute, trying to figure him out. Before he met Anne, he’d been thinking the same thing Jim had told him at the bar: that they were all coming together as a squad. Yeah, sometimes Jim needed a little help, but he was a team player and they were working together pretty well. That’s why Marty’d invited him out to the bar that night. It was a harmless little sting operation, something Jim could partake in.

Marty had found he was glaring at Jim. They’d almost been friends or something.

It was humbling, seeing a detective ask for help. Marty was self-sufficient, and he knew Jim always had been. He’d seen the look on Jim’s face when he asked what Marty looked like, how even that little bit killed him. And Marty had almost felt compassion.

But he knew Jim wouldn’t change. A guy like that, someone who’d willingly cheat on his wife. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness. And even though right now he’d accept help from the other detectives in the squad and he’d stay back, Marty knew it was only a matter of time before he was back in his old habits. Like when he’d drawn his gun on the street—Marty’d heard the gossip from some other cops about that one, how Jim had gotten reamed for following his instincts. It was only a matter of time, but Marty was going to be prepared.

“What’d Dunbar do to you now?” Tom asked.

Marty looked up from where he’d been hunched over his computer, staring at nothing. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m just keeping an eye on him.”

“I thought you two were over all that,” Tom said.

“I told you—”

“And I don’t buy it.”

“Let’s just say I learned something about our good friend Jim and I’m—I don’t trust him.”

“What’d he do?” Tom leaned forward. “He on the take or something?”

Marty just shook his head.

“Look, Marty, get over it. We were working better together. Don’t screw that up, okay?”

“I’m just making sure we keep working well together.”

Tom sort of snorted.

Marty turned back to his computer and ignored him. He was looking out for all of them; they’d see that soon enough. It was only a matter of time.


* * *

[greenbeing]

* * *


“Where’ve you been, detective? I thought you forgot about us.”

“I could never forget you, DeLana, believe me.”

She laughed at him. “Because you think I’m a pain in the ass?”

Jim grinned. “Even if I thought that, I’d never tell you.”

“Hmph,” she snorted. “See, that’s where you’re different from Detective Russo. He doesn’t pretend he’s a nice guy.”

Jim frowned. “I wouldn’t pretend something like that.”

“Sure you would. You’re all nice to everyone. You might think you like everyone, but I don’t think you do.”

“No?” Jim shrugged. “Which do you prefer?”

“I’d prefer it if people just were nice.”

Jim nodded. “And you know what I want? I’d like to be able to help you. I like to help people.”

“Because it makes you feel good or because you like to make other people feel good?”

“Is it bad to do both?” Jim asked. He did like to feel useful, to be busy.

She was quiet for a minute. Jim waited. “I shrugged,” she finally said.

“Oh.” Jim looked away.

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“Not yours, either.”

Jim turned back and smiled. “A lot of people think it is.”

“You really want to help?”

“I would. Are you going to let me?”

“I don’t see what you can help me with.”

Jim was quiet, waiting. DeLana didn’t continue and he sighed. “It’s okay, I’ve got all day.”

“Fine. So do I.”

“There a chair around here somewhere?”

“Across the room. There’s a coffee table in front of the couch, though.”

Jim took Hank’s harness and nudged him that direction. When he was seated he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a jar of grape jelly. He’d gotten Karen to stop on the way out. “Here. I thought you might be running low.” He felt for the coffee table she’d told him about and set it down.

Jim asked her about the kids, trying to get her to open up. She told him a few funny, inconsequential stories. He asked about her friends and family and she shut down. He asked about her mom and she refused to talk. He asked about her job and she gushed about how much fun she’d had, ordering these big execs around and making their plans for them. She’d been able to dictate their lives, even tell them what to have for dinner, and they’d listen, not like her kids.

“Your girlfriend’s asleep,” Tamika said.

“Tamika, don’t hover,” DeLana said.

Tamika came closer and sat on the floor.

“She’s not my girlfriend, she’s my partner,” Jim said.

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

Jim shook his head. “Colleagues. We work together. Co-workers. Business associates.”

“Isn’t that the same thing? You spend all your time together.”

“And then I go home to my wife,” he said. He stood up and stretched. “Where is she? We’d probably better be heading back.”

“Come back and visit sometime, detective,” DeLana said.

Tamika stood up. “I’ll take you.” She took Jim’s hand.

“Thanks,” he said and put his hand on the little girl’s shoulder.

“DeWanda smeared lipstick on her face,” she whispered when they reached the hallway. The sound bounced off the walls, belying the emptiness of the house. Jim reached out and touched a wall, sliding his hand along it, counting doorways. “Don’t tell her.”

Jim laughed. “Don’t tell her she has lipstick on her face, or don’t tell her your little sister did it?”

“Yeah, don’t tell her who did it.”

Tamika stopped and Jim knocked on the half-closed door. He heard someone move a little.

“Did’n do’t,” a little voice yelled and brushed past Jim into the hall.

He laughed again. “Morning, sleepy head,” he said, listening for signs of life from Karen.

“She’s curled up on the bed,” Tamika said. “We all got our own rooms here, you know? It’s cool.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Jim said. “Hey, Tamika, have you ever met your grandma?”

She pulled away from his hand. “No. She’s mean.”

“How do you know?”

“Momma told me she had to leave and we couldn’t talk to her anymore.” It sounded like Tamika was almost pouting, angry, but near tears.

“Okay,” Jim said, dropping it. “Thanks.” He moved forward slowly, a hand outstretched. His shin hit the low bed first and he felt around a little, hearing Karen breathing now. He found her body and shook it lightly, careful of where he touched. “Karen,” he said. “You want to spend the night here?”

“Yeah!” Tamika said. “You should have a sleepover! We’ll curl her hair and you can make popcorn. We don’t get popcorn ‘cept when Uncle Rico makes it, ‘cause I guess only guys make popcorn.”

Jim sat on the corner of the bed, relieved she didn’t ask where her Uncle Rico was.

Karen stretched.

He pulled off his sunglasses and looked down at her.

“Jim?” she asked, sounding confused. She sat up and looked around.

“Tired?”

“No,” she said.

“Karen, you have a little lipstick on your face,” he said.

“Yeah, right, Jim. Tom told me about your little comments. I’m your partner; I’m not going to fall for it.”

Jim shrugged and stood up, holding his hand out to help her off the bed. Her hand was hot, but he just figured it was from sleeping in her coat in the stuffy bedroom.

“What the—” she started, then broke away. Jim guessed she’d raised a hand to her face to check, even if she didn’t believe him. “What is this?”

“Lipstick,” he said.

“What’d you do?” she accused from across the room. “It’s bright pink and it’s not coming off!”

“I didn’t, Karen, I swear. I’m not much of an artist.”

“So who—”

“No one. A little birdie told me.”

“Bathroom’s down the hall,” Tamika said, giggling.

Jim grinned when she brushed past, then laughed.

“This isn’t funny!” Karen yelled back.


* * *


Jim glanced over at Karen as they sat at their desks. “Karen? Are your teeth chattering?”

“Ha ha, very funny,” she snapped back.

“No, seriously,” he pushed.

“It’s cold in here. Aren’t you cold?”

“Not particularly…”

“Yeah, well you’re a guy, right? Guys are never cold.”

“Put your coat on.”

“It is,” she mumbled. She blew on a cup of coffee, sending the smell wafting over toward Jim.

Jim leaned back, looking toward her. “Are you okay?” She’d been sniffling lately, but she’d just complained of allergies. “Karen, if you’re dying, go home.”

“I’m not dying. I have a little cold, maybe, but I think it’s just hay fever.”

Jim slid his chair over to her and reached out, lightly touching her shoulder to get his bearings. He felt a little awkward, even after that night at the bar. If she wasn’t sick, she’d be sure to clobber him.

Jim reached carefully, making sure not to cross any boundaries. His hand touched her hair, just a few strands, then moved up to rest on her forehead.

“Come on, Jim, this is really embarrassing.”

Jim pulled back. “You’re burning up.”

“I’m freezing to death.”

“Go home, make some soup—”

“I’m fine!”

“Karen,” Marty butted in, walking up from the elevator. Jim pushed back to his desk. “You’re not going to do us any good if you catch pneumonia.”

“Don’t patronize me, Marty,” Karen snapped. “The way the case is going, we all need to be here. A day or two—”

“And it’ll still be here,” Marty said. “I don’t think we’re all that close.”

“I’m fine.”

Marty walked past Jim’s desk toward Karen.

“Marty!” Karen gasped. “Don’t—”

“It’s okay, I got a kid, I’m allowed to do this.” He paused. Jim figured Marty was taking Karen’s temperature. “You do realize you have a fever, right?”

“A small one, maybe.”

Marty moved back to his desk. “Go home, we’ll take care of things and you’ll be back in no time.”

“But Jim—”

Marty snorted.

Jim sat up straighter. He didn’t want Karen using him as an excuse not to take a day off sick.

“If Jim can’t take care of himself, he shouldn’t be here,” Marty snapped.

Jim turned away. He couldn’t help but feel that comment had been directed at him and not Karen. He quickly turned back to his report.

“Go home and pray you’re not contagious,” Marty said. He walked off, out of the squad.

Karen’s chair creaked as she turned. “I get the feeling, if he comes down with so much as a sniffle, he’ll throw me off the roof,” she said quietly.

“Nah,” Jim said, trying to make her feel better, “he’s just being Marty.”

“No,” Karen countered, “that definitely wasn’t normal Marty. You think he’s okay?”

Jim shrugged. “None of our business, I’m sure. Go home, Karen.”

“Uh, Jim…” she started, then hesitated, looking away. He heard her playing with something on her desk.

“Yeah?”

“Nothing. You’ll be okay?”

“No problem. Get well, then come back.”

“Keep me updated, okay? I don’t want to miss anything.”


* * *


“Hey, Doc,” Jim said.

There was no answer. Jim cocked his head first to one side, then the other. Galloway wouldn’t play some childish game of hide and seek. The office suddenly felt empty.

Jim checked his watch to make sure he was on time, then stood there in the doorway, one hand against the wall to help keep his bearings. Before, he would have walked around, checked out the art work, checked on the diploma and given Galloway a hard time about wherever he’d gone to school, looked at the books in the room. Once when he was a rookie he’d been left in a lawyer’s office for an interview, the lawyer hadn’t been there, so he’d gone through the guy’s trash and searched the cushions of the couch, playing detective. He’d done that at Christie’s parents’ house once—she’d caught him and he’d been sure she’d call their engagement off.

Now he wondered what dirt he could dig up on Galloway. Paper was useless to him without his scanner and software, so the only things he’d be liable to find stuffed in the cushions of the big chairs would be loose change. Nothing much that would tell him anything about the big guy. Here he was, surrounded by Galloway’s personal things and he knew next to nothing about the guy.

No, they weren’t really his personal things, Jim reminded himself. An easy fallacy for a rookie to fall pretty to. This was Galloway’s office. It would be filled with things the doctor wanted people to see to get an impression of him. Jim wondered what sort of guy Galloway wanted to be perceived as. He also wondered, without those visual stimuli, if he saw Galloway the same way sighted people did, or if it was possible for him to pick up nuances the doctor tried to hide.

Yeah, Jim scoffed, like Galloway’s neurotic or something. That would be the day—the neurotic leading the neurotic.

Jim left his post at the door and moved to his usual seat. It was uncomfortable, being there alone, like he was trespassing. But he sat down to wait. He never used to be this patient, he mused.

He still wasn’t. He smiled when he realized he was antsily changing position every few seconds. Wasting time. Being a homicide detective, he hated wasting time. He could save lives if they figured the case out quickly enough. So many people didn’t have time to wait.

“Jim! Sorry I’m late.”

“Don’t worry about it. I started without you.”

“You did? What did you learn?”

“Nothing much.”

“What were you analyzing?”

“You.”

“And how are things on your end?”

“Things have been going pretty good at home. I thought we had it all under control, but…”

“But?”

“I don’t know how to explain it, there’s just something not right.” He went on and told Galloway about the fight and how Christie had come back to forgive him in that strange way, telling him about the therapist and how odd that all sounded.

“Jim, I’m not about to critique another therapist’s recommendations,” Galloway said. “I don’t know what your wife told her. I’ve only talked to your wife the one time.”

Jim leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Doc, I just don’t get it. It sounds like mumbo jumbo. Crazy, you know. That wasn’t Christie. This lady’s given her permission to not talk.”

“Maybe that’s what she needed. Or maybe Christie’s misinterpreted what the doctor said. Jim, therapy is very subjective. Maybe this is the only way she can see to keep your marriage together.”

Jim let his head fall to one side, looking toward Galloway with an eyebrow half-cocked. “By not talking to me?” he asked skeptically.

“You told me you haven’t seen her lately, you’ve been fighting more often. If things kept going the way they were, do you think you two could stay together?”

“I don’t know.”

“You asked her once not to leave. Maybe she’s trying not to.”

“So I trapped her? This is Christie we’re talking about. She’s a very strong person—”

“Then why hasn’t she ever left you?”

Jim couldn’t fathom. Christie—not strong? Christie—weak? Was it possible he’d misjudged her all those years?

“Doc? Is it possible for people to need to be divorced?”

“If they’ll be healthier, yes. Marriage isn’t a cure-all.”

Jim nodded. If they were trying too hard to save something that really shouldn’t be saved, maybe they’d destroy themselves in the process.

Then again, things really had seemed better between them, even if it was only at the suggestion of some therapist.

“How are things at work?”

Jim shook his head. “I’ve done something to piss of Marty.”

“Again?”

Jim almost laughed at the surprise in the doctor’s voice. “Doc, am I really such a jerk?” He knew why Christie got mad with him: the affair, and him so often thinking about work that he would forget about her. But Marty? He had no idea what he’d done to Marty.

A moment of silence, then, “You have a strong personality, but I don’t think you’re a jerk.”

“I just wish I knew what I did.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth, looking up, running through everything he and Marty had talked about recently.

“You could ask.”

Jim closed his eyes a second. He wasn’t ready for another fight. He was still drained from the one with Christie, even though the weekend had gone well. It had been relaxing, yet every time he thought of the fight, he tensed back up. How could Christie have just gotten over it? He wondered if she had cried herself to sleep after their fight, before he’d come to bed. He knew there had to be something else she wanted to say. And then they’d gone and had a nice weekend, comfortable, quiet, spending time together. Just like before.


* * *


Tom stayed out front in the car. He’d dropped Marty off a couple blocks away, then parked across the street from the diner. Marty barely glanced at the car as he walked up to the diner, not wanting to call attention to it.

Marty stalked in, the damn carnation smooshed into a button hole on his black leather coat. He frowned as he looked around and saw only one table open, back against the wall by the one where they’d found Reg Schmidt pretending to be Brian Mulhaney. He threaded his way through, bumping into someone on their way out, momentarily distracted. He looked back up at the table and saw a small box sitting there, gift wrapped with a bow. He spun back, but the guy he’d run into was nowhere to be seen, and his carnation was gone.

Marty paused and looked around, trying to focus on what had happened. Had the guy been waiting, seen him headed for the only table, dumped it and left? That seemed the most likely explanation. He grabbed the box and saw a little gift card. “Five-ten, dark hair, red carnation,” it read. He swore to himself, then headed out of the diner. He looked up and down the street, but it was too crowded, so all he could do was walk off to the spot where he was to meet Tom.

A single pill that looked suspiciously like aspirin lay nestled in a bed of cotton. Not a single print could be lifted from the box.