Maintaining Justice

by

JP Kraft

 

If we do not maintain Justice, Justice will not maintain us

                             -Francis Bacon

 

          Ben Carter glanced into his rearview mirror and smiled.  In the time since

he started driving cabs, he'd seen it all, but the couple in the back seat

was something new.  They were making out like they were newlyweds.  Heck,

he thought, maybe they were.

          "Hey, you two," he said.  "We got laws about public displays of affection."

          The woman blushed, resting her head against her companion's shoulder.

          "Sorry," the man said.  "But I'm so crazy about this woman that I don't

know if I can wait until we get to the hotel."

          Carter laughed heartily at the remark.  "How long you folks been together?"

          "We're celebrating our fortieth wedding anniversary on Monday."

          "Forty years?  That's terrific.  So you're here on a second honeymoon, huh?"

          "Partly," the woman said. "Our son lives here, and we're visiting him."

          "But not until Monday."  The man put his arm around his wife, drawing her

into a tight hug.  "We decided to treat ourselves to a weekend in a fancy

Palm Beach hotel first."

          "And you didn't tell your son you were getting in early, right?"

          "Right," they answered in unison.

          Carter smiled, turning his attention to the road.  The two in the back

deserved their privacy.  Forty years together and still in love.

Maneuvering the taxi through the heavy afternoon traffic, he soon delivered

the couple to their destination.

          "Here we are," he said, pulling up the winding driveway of the luxury

hotel. 

          Unloading their baggage into the bell cart, he held the door open for the

two, following them into the plush lobby and heading for the bar.  He

watched as they checked in, holding hands as they walked to the elevator.

"Happy second honeymoon, folks."

 

          ***********

 

          "I think you're as beautiful now as the day we got married."

          "And you're every bit as handsome."

          "Rubbish," he scoffed, reaching into the pocket of his robe.  "Here.

Happy anniversary, darling."  He held out a rectangular box.

          She took it with a trembling hand.  "I thought this weekend was our gift

to each other."

          "I couldn't resist.  Besides," he grinned, "business is going great.  We

can afford it."

          "I know."  She moved into his arms.  "Can you believe two years ago we

were thinking our marriage was over?"

          "I was such an idiot.  Thank God we have such a smart son."

          "He's a wonderful man," she said, "just like his father."  She kissed him

passionately.

          "Mmmm, open your present."

          Quickly, she pulled off the fancy wrap, revealing a velvet box.  Opening

the lid, she gasped seeing the sparkling contents.  It was a bracelet, a

slim chain of diamonds set in platinum, and dangling off a loop was a tiny

number forty set with diamond chips.  "Oh my…."  Her eyes filled.

          "Here now," he chided, "no tears."

          She laughed, wiping at the drops sliding down her cheeks.  "You know I

always cry when I'm happy."

          His smile matched hers, and he pulled his wife into a tender embrace.  As

their lips met, there was a knock at the door.  "Damn," he muttered softly.

 "Who's there?"

          "It's Ben Carter, sir, your cabbie this afternoon.  You wife dropped," the

voice became indistinct, "in my cab.  I figured she'd want it back."

          "Oh, thanks."  Releasing his wife, he opened the door to death.

 

          *************

 

          "I hate working on Saturday," Tom Ryan grumbled.  "Especially when it's a

Saturday I was supposed to have off.   Tell me again why you called me to

come in."

          "Because we're doing a favor for friends," Cassy smiled sweetly.

          "Since when are Ballard and Burmeister friends?"

          "Since they sided with Harry and refused to file against you despite what

the commissioner told them to do."  Cassy picked up another file, flipping

it open.  "Besides, it's not like you had any special plans for today."

          "You didn't know that."

          "Yes, I did.  I checked your calendar."

          He glared at her.  "Unlike you, Ms. Franklin Planner, I do not notate

every minute of my day."  He leaned back in his chair, swinging his long

legs up so his heels rested on the desk.  "I still don't like doing favors

for those two."

          "It's been six months, Tom, and they've done everything possible to make

it up to you.  When are you going to let it go?"

          He ignored the question.  Picking up a folder, he feigned interest in the

contents while letting his mind drift.

          Cassy had a point.  Ballard and Burmeister, once they heard Mundson's

story, corroborated by the bullets the forensics team finally found, and

the irrefutable fingerprint evidence that Harry collected, stood their

ground against the police commissioner's orders.  They listened to the tape

he'd made that night in Harry's office and bent over backwards to prove

that Tom was as much a victim of the scheme as Archer.

          They'd both come to see him while he was on leave and offered him sincere

apologies.  And while outward relations were cordial on the job, he went

out of his way to avoid them socially.

          He wanted to let it go.  Once upon a time he would have, as he'd let so

many other unpleasant things in his life pass.  But he wasn't the same man

he'd been six months ago.  Virginia had left a mark on his soul as

indelible as the bullet scar he carried on his right arm.

          He'd changed that day at the casino, into someone new.  Someone who struck

out at his best friend in a deliberate attempt to hurt her as badly as he'd

been hurt.  And for what?  For a woman who lied to him from the first

moment they'd met.  A woman who set him up, deliberately planned to destroy

him so that she could get what she wanted.

She even told him that she'd chosen him because he was reliable—meaning

vulnerable, wide open for someone like her.  Boy, she must have really been

laughing, probably thought God was smiling down on her when she met him.

Poor dumb Tom Ryan, so desperate to be loved that he believed her lies,

even after she told him about her husband.

          But no more.  He'd changed in the last six months, grew a hard shell around his heart and stopped dreaming about the future.  He lived in the now.  No more dreams of picket fences and 3.2 children.  He took companionship where

he could find it.  He'd open his wallet, and his bed, but not his heart.

He'd been hurt badly, twice.  He wasn't going to be stupid enough to go for

that third strike.

          He looked across his desk at Cassy, thinking he'd used up his last piece

of luck when she forgave him and agreed to work with him.  But their

relationship had changed.

          They'd made their peace in the weeks following his shooting.  The mayor

himself had forced Harry to return to the department, and Harry had forced

Tom and Cassy to work together.  But this wasn't like the first time he

pushed them back into a partnership.

          There was a wall between them, one that he'd built with his hateful words.

 And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.  Only Cassy could tear

down the barrier, and she wasn't about to.

          "Heads up, you two."  Harry's voice cut into Tom's thoughts.  "We've got

another one."

          The partners exchanged pained glances.

          "Same M.O.?" Cassy asked.

          Harry frowned.  "Looks that way."  He glanced down at a slip of paper in

his hand.  "The Palm Plaza, room 502."

 

          ************

          A uniform met them as they left the elevator.  "Same as before, Sergeants.

 Older couple, checked in last night, maid came in to clean and found them.

 From the bruises on the bodies, it looks as if they tried to put up a fight."

          "That's more than the others did," Cassy noted.

          This was the third case in as many months.  All the same.  An older couple

from out of town checks into a luxury hotel and are found murdered the next

morning.

          Tom started pulling on a pair of latex gloves, preparing to enter the

crime scene.  "Got an I.D. on them?"

          The officer shook his head.  "No wallets or luggage tags.  There was some

kind of computer glitch with the hotel's system.  The room's shown as

occupied, but they can't find the couple's name."

          "Well, maybe Morton's group can find something we can use to identify

them," Tom said, walking into the room and nodding greetings to the

forensics team.  He did a quick visual scan of the surroundings and then

turned his attention to the bodies on the floor.  "No," he whispered, his

heart hammering against his ribs.  "Oh, God, no.  No."

          He took a step backward, bumping into Cassy.

          "Hey, watch it," she grumbled.  Stepping around him, she got her first

look at the crime scene.  "Oh my God.  Get Harry down here now!" 

          "Cassy—what?" Morton gaped.

          "Just do it!"

          Grabbing Tom's arm, she pulled him into the hall.  Pushing him against the

wall, she looked up into his ashen face.  His expression frightened her.

Never had she seen such raw pain on anyone's face.  "Tom?"

          He looked at her.  His mouth opened, but no words came forth.  Then his

legs gave out and he slipped down the wall to the floor.  She knelt beside

him, taking one of his hands in hers.  "Tom, can you hear me?"  His eyes

looked right through her.  He was still back in that room.

          Morton came out, concern etching his face as he saw them.  "Harry's on his

way."  He looked at Tom.  "Cassy, what happened?"

          She looked at him, tears sliding down her face.  "Oh, God, Sterling.  The

victims—they're Tom's parents

 

 

          Harry Lipschitz walked out of the hotel room and looked at his Homicide

team.  They hadn't moved from their positions on the floor since he'd

gotten off the elevator ten minutes earlier. Cassy sat holding Tom's hand,

talking softly to him.  Tom didn't respond.

           Shaking his head, he knelt down beside them.  "I'm so sorry, Tom," he

said softly.  "If there's anything Frannie or I can do…."

          Tom nodded.  "Thanks, Harry."  It was the first time he'd spoken since

Cassy pulled him from the room.

          Lipschitz gave Tom's shoulder a compassionate squeeze before rising and

moving down the corridor.  With a quick jerk of his head, he motioned for

Cassy to join him.

          "What is it?" she asked, her eyes never leaving her partner's face.

          "I've put out a call for Ballard and Burmeister.  I'm assigning this case

to them."

          "No!"  Tom pushed up to his feet.  "You are not taking this case away from

us."

          "Tom," Harry began, "listen to me."

          "No!"  Tom's eyes were wild, his nostrils flaring.  "This is our case.

Some bastard murdered six defenseless people and we're going to get him

before he can kill anyone else."

          Cassy stepped forward, resting her palm against his chest.  "Maybe Harry's

right."

          He shook his head.  "I have to do this, Cassy."  His voice dropped to a

whisper.  "Please, help me."

          She turned to their captain.  "We're going to do this.  With or without

your help."

          "Harry," Tom said quietly.  "I know I have no right to ask after

everything you've done for me, but please, let me do this."

          Lipschitz shook his head.  "Tom-"

          "I know it's against regulations, but-"  He swallowed down the tears and

pulled himself up straighter.  "It's the last thing I can do for them."

          The elevator doors slid open.  Two teams from the coroner's office stepped

off, pulling empty gurneys between them and walking swiftly into the room.

          Cassy held Tom's hand again, adding her own plea to his.  "Please,

Captain, don't take this one away from us."  She felt Tom squeezing her

hand as they waited.

          Morton stepped out of the room.  "Tom, we're ready to transport.  I

thought, maybe you'd…."

          Tom stood like a statue, his eyes locked on Harry's face.

          "Okay," Lipschitz nodded.  "Okay, but you two do this exactly by the book,

understand?"

          "We promise," Cassy said quickly.

          Tom nodded.  "By the book, all the way.  I want justice, not revenge."  He

turned, stepping back to let the crime team leave, and then walked alone

into room 502.

 

 

          The bodies had been bagged and placed on gurneys for transport.  The

zippers weren't fully closed, leaving the victims' faces exposed.

          Tom bent over his mother, tears falling from his eyes onto her lifeless

face.  The detective noticed the bruise on her jaw and the bloodstains

spreading across the back collar of her robe.  The son saw the woman who

gave him life, bandaged his torn knees, cheered herself hoarse at his

football games, and kissed him, wishing him good dreams, every night he

slept under her roof.  He placed a tender kiss on her forehead, as she'd

done to him more times than he could begin to count.  As she would never do

again.  "I love you, Mom."

          He turned to his father.  Ugly bruises purpled Lyam Ryan's face.

Mercifully, the bag was zipped high enough to cover the bullet holes ripped

through his chest.

Lifting a trembling hand, Tom touched his father's hair, stroking the thick

waves.  He looked at his mother, seeing the silver strands encroaching on

the chestnut brown of her hair.  When did his parents get old?  But they

weren't old.  They should have had many more years.  They deserved to grow

old together, to play with their grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

They didn't deserve to spend their last moments together in pain and terror.

          "I'll get him, Dad.  I promise.  If it's the last thing I do on this

earth, I'll get the sonofabitch who did this."  He bent, kissing his

father's bruised cheek.  "I love you."

          Then he knelt on the floor and for the first time in years, crossed himself and prayed.

 

 

          When he walked back into the hotel corridor, Tom's voice was firm, and his

eyes were dry.  He nodded to the coroner's teams.  "You can take them now."

 Then he turned to Morton.  "I want a complete inventory of everything in

that room."

          Cassy stepped forward, resting her hand against his arm.  "Most of the

contents is standard hotel room stuff."

          "I said everything."  He shrugged off her hand.  "Do you want to drive

back to the station or should I?"

 

          **********

 

          Cassy looked across the desks at her partner.  He'd spent the last two

hours going through the files from the other two cases while she'd looked

at the initial background checks on the hotel employees.  Outwardly, he was

the picture of the perfect detective.  Inwardly, she didn't even want to

think about how he was feeling.

          It was odd, seeing him so still, methodically going through the files.

She was usually the one who stuck to procedure, looking at everything

through coolly logical eyes.  But not now.  Their roles had somehow

reversed, and she was the one feeling twitchy and thinking about cop hunches.

          Morton walked in carrying a manila folder.  "Here's the list of everything

in the room."  He looked uncomfortable as Tom snatched the folder and

started scanning the pages. 

          "Go ahead," Cassy said.  "Give us the highlights." She'd decided that the

only way she could get through this investigation, the only way to help her

partner get through it, was to be exactly what he expected her to be:  a

damn good detective.

          Morton pulled in a deep breath and began.  "She was killed by a blow to

the back of the head.  We found blood and tissue samples on the corner of

the dresser.  Add that to the bruise on her jaw, and I'd say the blow threw

her into the furniture."

          Cassy looked at Tom.  His whole attention was focused on what Morton was

saying.

          "Cause of death to your father was two bullets to the chest.  One went

right through his heart.  Death was almost instantaneous."

          Tom nodded.  His eyes were fixed on the list in his hands.

          Cassy could see the muscles clench along his jaw before he spoke.

          "Are you sure this is everything?"  He held out the paper he'd been studying.

          Morton nodded.  "I did the inventory myself."

          "Something's missing," Tom muttered.

          "What?" Cassy asked.

          "I'm not sure."  He shook his head.  "I just know something's missing.

We've got to go back there."  He pushed away from his desk and stood to leave.

          "Tom," Morton protested, "my team scoured every inch of that room."

          Lipschitz stood in his office doorway.  "Tom, can I see you for a minute?"

          The tall detective nodded.  "When I'm done with Harry," he said to Cassy,

"I want to have another look at the crime scene."

          "Okay."  Slowly she straightened her desk and pulled out her purse.

          "Pull up the background checks on the employees again." He checked his

watch.  "Maybe we missed something."

          "Sure."  She didn't think they'd get any more information than they

already had.

          At this stage, the last thing she wanted to do was argue with Tom.  They'd

play it his way for awhile.

 

 

          Harry stepped back, allowing Tom to walk past him into the office then

closed the door.  "How are you holding up?"

          "I'm fine.  Cassy and I were about to go back to the scene."

          Harry peered over the top of his glasses.  "You sure you're okay?"

          "Stop looking at me like that," Tom snapped.  Sighing, he ran a hand over

his face and through his hair.  "Sorry.  Look, I'm not okay.   I walked in

on the crime scene and lost it for a minute."

          "You walked in?  You didn't know?"

          "There was a glitch in the reservation system.  They didn't have an I.D.

on the victims when I got there."

          Harry paled, leaning back in his chair.  "Jeez, I didn't know that."  He

rubbed tiredly at the bridge of his nose.  "What were they doing at The

Palm Plaza?  I thought they usually stayed with you when they were in town."

          "They do—did.  But I wasn't expecting them until Monday."

          "So why come two days early and not tell you?"

          Tom shrugged.  "I don't—their anniversary.  It's their anniversary."

          "And they decided to spend the weekend in a fancy hotel and then show up

at your place on Monday as if they'd just arrived."

          Tom snatched up the phone, punching in an extension.  "Morton?  That

inventory list, you mentioned some crumbled pieces of gift wrap.  Do you

have the paper? … Good, can you bring it down?"

          Harry leaned forward, he'd seen Tom like this before.  Something had

clicked in that smart detective brain.  "What is it?"

          Tom didn't answer.  He just ran through the bullpen, meeting Morton at the

stairs.  Without a word, he snatched the paper from the man's hands and

examined it carefully. 

"That's it!"

          "What?" Cassy asked, coming up to him.

          "Look at it."  He thrust the paper into her hand.

          Talking it back to her desk, Cassy examined the crumpled wrap.  It was a

dull silver color with the words Barrows of Boston printed in small raised

letters.  "Barrows," she said, looking up at Tom.  "That's a jewelers,

isn't it?"

          "Yes."

          "So there's wrap from a jewelry store," Harry said.  "How does that help?"

          "Where's the box?" Tom asked.  "Where's what was in the box?"

          Morton shrugged.   "We inventoried several pieces of jewelry.  It was

probably in with those."

          "No."  Tom ran an impatient hand through his hair.  "I know what it was.

My Dad-"  He stopped, needing to swallow down the lump in his throat.

"He-he told me he was having something special made.  A bracelet."  He

turned to Cassy, his voice picking up speed and strength.  "It was a

diamond chain.  What do they call those?"

          "A tennis bracelet?"

          "Yes, that's it."  His eyes filled with tears at the memory of his

father's excited voice describing the special gift over the phone.  "A

tennis bracelet with a tiny charm, the number forty set with diamond chips."

          "So," Harry said, "find the bracelet and we find the killer."

          Cassy picked up her purse.  "So we go walk the fences."

          "Tom, wait," Harry called as the team hurried out.

          "What is it?"  He was annoyed at being stopped just when they figured out

an important lead.

          Harry walked up to them, not wanting to talk across the room.  "Nobody's

been notified yet.  Is there someone you want me to call?"

          Tom shook his head.  "No, thanks.  I'll call my brother tonight."  He

tried to force a small smile.  "Maybe I'll have something positive to be

able to tell him.  Let's go, Cass."

 

          *********

 

          Four hours later, the two detectives walked into Tom's apartment.

          "Nothing," he spat, throwing his keys on the breakfast bar.  "We must've

talked to every fence in the city and nothing."  Reaching into the

refrigerator, he pulled out a beer for himself and bottled water for Cassy.

          "I'll take a beer, too."

          His eyebrows lifted.  "That's a switch.  Since when do you drink beer?"

          "I have the occasional bottle every now and again."

          "Okay."  He switched the water for beer and took the two bottles over to

the couch.

          She was sitting on the sofa, looking up at him expectantly.  Handing her a

beer, he deliberately sat in a chair.  He recognized the look on her face.

The last time he saw it was five years ago when he was sick with the flu.

She'd been so overprotective and smothering that he'd wanted to kill her.

Cassy had a compassionate side.  She didn't often show it.  It didn't go

with the tough, Jane Wayne image she usually projected.  It was tempting,

he thought, to just let go.  To give in to the anger and the grief, but he

couldn't afford to do that yet.

          He'd learned that anger gave him an edge.  As long as he kept it under

control, he could use his fury to stay focused.  He'd done it before, with

Tremayne, used his rage to overcome his fear when Jason attacked.  He'd

done the same at Key Nuevo when he fought Sidney.  Now, he was going to use

it to catch a killer.

          He had to keep the edge, and he knew he'd lose it if he let Cassy get

close.  Staying focused on the case was the only thing he could do.  He

took a long pull at the beer bottle before setting it down on the coffee

table.  "I still want to go back to the scene."

          "Why?  Morton's collected all the evidence."

          "Maybe his team missed something.  I want to see for myself."

          "Tom-"  The telephone cut her off.

          Two long strides brought him to the instrument.  "Ryan. … Hey, Sean, how

you doing?"  Sean, his older brother, Sean who'd set the example for him to

follow throughout their years of growing up together, Sean who decided to

stay in Boston and look after their parents so Tom could pursue his dream

of a pro football career at FSU.  It was Sean who backed him up when he

told their folks he was going to stay in Florida and become a cop.  And it

was Sean who married his high school sweetheart and produced four children

in ten years thereby relieving Tom of the responsibility of providing

grandchildren.

          "No," Tom responded to his brother's question.  "I didn't forget that

Monday's their anniversary."  Funny, he never realized how much his brother

sounded like his dad on the telephone.  His throat started to close up, and

he knew if he didn't end the conversation he'd beak down.  "Look, Sean, I'm

not ten years old."  He let the anger bleed over into his voice.  "I won't

forget. … Yes, I promise to do something special for them. … Okay… Okay.

Look, I'm sorry, but I've got to go.  Cassy's here and we're working on a

case.  I'll call you soon.  Bye."  He punched the disconnect button before

his brother could say another word.

          "You didn't tell him."

          He felt the anger begin to rise again.  "No, I didn't tell him."

          "Why the hell not?"  She crossed swiftly to where he stood.  "He has to be

told."

          "Not now."

          "When?"  Snatching the phone from him, she hit *69 to redial the number.

          "No!"  Tom slapped the phone out of her hands.

          She lunged after it, pushing him out of her way.  Grabbing up the

receiver, she started dialing, then turned back to him and froze.  **Oh,

God.**

          Tom was bent forward, his arms folded across his middle as if he were

trying to stop himself from breaking apart.  "Please, Cassy," he whispered.

 "Please don't call him.  Please."

          He was begging.  Never in all the years they'd known each other, not even

that terrible night in Harry's office when he stood bleeding in front of

her, desperate for her forgiveness, had he begged.  He needed her, as his

friend, but even more importantly as his partner.

          Their relationship these days was tenuous.  She'd said she'd forgiven him

for what he'd said in Key Nuevo, but she hadn't.  Not really.  And he knew it.

He knew it, but he never pressed, never even tried to make things the way

they'd been.  He saw her reticence and respected it.  He'd never asked her

for anything—until now.

          They'd reached a fork in the road of their lives together, and it was up to her to choose the direction.  She could tear down the wall between them and

welcome him back into her heart or she could complete the call and end

their personal relationship forever.

          "Tell me why you didn't tell Sean."

          Tom straightened and walked to the window near his bed, gazing out into

the early evening sky.  When he spoke, Cassy had to strain to hear.  "I

couldn't tell him."  He turned back to look at her.   "What could I say?

That our parents were brutally murdered, and I don't know who did it?

          "For godsakes, Cassy, I'm a cop.  I'm supposed to catch the bad guys.

This bastard's killed before.  We should've caught him then."  His voice

rose with his fury.  "But because I fucked up and didn't do my job, our

parents are dead!"

          "Stop it!  This isn't your fault!"

          "Yes, it is!"  He spun on her, his eyes blazing cold fire.  "And it's

yours, too."

          "What?"

          "We're supposed to be partners, work as a team.  But that hasn't been

happening lately, has it?"

          Cassy took a step back, her arms folded across her chest.  "And whose

fault is that?"

          "Oh, it's my fault," he sneered at her.  "It's always my fault because we

both know how goddamned perfect you are.   You never make a mistake."

          "That's where you're wrong."  She picked up her purse, reaching inside for

her car keys.  "I've made lots of mistakes.  And you know what?  The

biggest one I ever made was getting involved with you!"

          "So," Tom's voice was low, "that's what this is really about."  He shook

his head slowly, moving to the living area.  "You can't forgive, can you?"

He dropped into a chair, looking up at her.  "You can't let go.  No matter

what I say, no matter what I do, you're gonna hold that over my head every

second we spend together."

          "You hurt me," she said.

          "Yeah?  Well, I guess that makes us even for all the times you stuck a

knife into me and twisted the blade."

          She clutched her purse to her side, turning to the door.  "I don't have to

listen to this."

          Springing from the chair, he grabbed her wrist, tightening his hand as she

tried to twist away.

          "Let go of me."

          "No.  Not this time.  I'm sick of being the one who's always backing down.

 That's not gonna happen again."  His eyes turned steel gray, all traces of

warmth and color were gone.  "Whether you like it or not, we've got a

killer to catch.  We messed up on the first two cases and because of

that…."  He paused, releasing the grip he had on her wrist.  "Two more

people are dead."

          He backed away.  "The killings have to stop, Cassy.  We have to stop this

monster before anyone else dies.

          "I stood-"  He stopped, needing to swallow down the grief rising in his

throat.  "I stood over my parents' bodies and swore to get the guy who

killed them.

          "We're cops.  You swore the same oath I did, to serve and protect.  It's

too late to  protect the victims, but we still have the chance to stop

others from becoming victims, too."

          She stood silently, glaring daggers at him.

          **Fine,** he thought.  **You like to twist the knife; well, so can I.**

"You said you'd help me.  My parents are dead, and you said you'd help me.

So what's it going to be?  You gonna run out on me again because I said

something that hurt your precious feelings or are you going to do your

share of the work and help me catch a killer?"

          "You bastard."

          "Damn right."  He walked to the breakfast bar and snatched up the car

keys.  "Maybe if I'd been one sooner, my life would have been a hell of a

lot easier."  Brushing past her, he flung open the outside door.  "You

coming or not?"

          She pushed past him without a word.

 

 

          The ride to the hotel was made in relative silence.  Tom drove, giving him

the opportunity to ignore Cassy most of the time.  The few glances he'd

spared in her direction showed her completely closed off to him.  She sat

staring straight ahead, only speaking to make some disparaging remark or

other about his driving.

          He wasn't surprised.  Whenever they'd had disagreements in the past, he'd

always been the peacemaker, giving in or giving up, whatever it took to put

Cassy in a good mood.  He'd been her lap dog for years, and he was sick of it.

          From now on, Tom was taking back control of his life.  If Cassy wanted a

partner she could boss around then that was fine with him, because it

wasn't going to be him.

          That's when his troubles really started, when he partnered with Cassandra

St. John again.  Damn Harry for forcing him to work with her.  And it was

force, too.  But not all.

Tom couldn't lie to himself.  He should have held Harry to the original

terms and forced the captain to reassign him at the end of that month.

Instead, he'd been the good sport, the true team player, and let the two of

them, his captain and his partner, manipulate him.

          He thought if he gave in, he'd have a second chance to get Cassy back.

He'd been an idiot.  She wanted him all right, but as a neutered pet,

someone to take all the crap she dished out, provide a good meal and a

shoulder to cry on, and not make any personal demands.  And that's exactly

what he'd done.

          He stopped for a red light, sparing another glance for the woman beside him.

          She was beautiful, no question.  Blonde hair brushed lightly tanned

shoulders as she turned to look briefly at him.  She crossed well-toned

legs as her slender body shifted slightly against the seat.

          Tom felt his heart beat slightly faster as his eyes skimmed her curves.

Even now, after everything that had passed between them, he was still

attracted to her.  It was something he'd never understood, the way he could

almost hate her in his head and still want her with all his heart.

          He'd been following his heart all his life and what had it gotten him?

Nothing but pain.  It was time to stop.

          "Go."

          Cassy's irritated voice pulled him out of his head.  He glared at her.

"Unlike you, I don't feel it's necessary to always be the first car away

after the light turns green."

          "I know that."  She folded her arms across her chest.  "Maybe that's why

you always finish last."

          Tom turned his full attention back to the road, and they finished the

drive in silence.

 

          **********

 

 

          They stood quietly outside the door to room 502.  Cassy opened her purse

and pulled out a handful of latex.  "You have gloves?"

          "Right here," Tom said, pulling them from inside his jacket.  Slowly,

deliberately, he pulled them on, adjusting the fit on each finger until

they felt like another layer of skin.

          Reaching back into her bag, Cassy pulled out a small notebook and made

sure she had a collection bag, just in case.  She didn't really think

they'd find anything new.  Morton and the forensics team were very

thorough; still, it wouldn't hurt to be prepared.  Using her nail file, she

slit the tape sealing the door before turning to her partner.  "You ready?"

          "Yes."

          She looked at him.  Tom was pale, his mouth pulled into a tight line.  His

hands clenched and unclenched while he shifted his weight from side to

side.  **He's afraid to walk into the room.**

          He caught her look.  Anger rose in him again.  **Why don't you say it,

Cassy?  You think I'm gonna fold, don't you?  Well, to hell with you!**

Pushing past her, Tom walked into the room.

          **Oh, God,** he thought.  **It's real.**  He stood in the small entryway,

his eyes taking in the details he'd missed before.

          There was dried blood on the corner of the dresser.  **That's where Mom

hit her head.**  He took another step forward, his eyes drawn to the

outline on the floor at his feet and the bloodstains on the rug.  **Dad.

Oh, God, Dad.**

          Tears welled in his eyes and he brushed them quickly away.  He wouldn't

fall apart now; he had a job to do.  "Let's get to work."

          Cassy heard the harsh tone in his voice.  She could only imagine how he

was feeling.  Psychobabble buzz words flashed through her mind:

repressing, denial, fixating.  She dismissed them just as quickly.

          She still stung from the words he'd attacked her with at his apartment.

She refused to deny her right to anger, but now wasn't the time to call him

on them.  Instead, she set her feelings aside.  Like her partner, she'd

concentrate on the case.  But when it was over, she and Ryan were going to

have it out once and for all.

          Cassy moved briskly through the room, taking in the scene and elaborating

on a possible scenario.  "There's no sign of forced entry," she noted.  "So

whoever it was either had a passkey or—"

          "Or they just let him in."  Tom paced the room.  "Here's where she fell."

He indicated the heavy piece of bloodstained furniture.  "But his body was

closer to the door, which means the killer probably fired almost as soon as

he walked in.

          "Damn it!  How could he be so goddamned stupid?  I told them, told them

both, always, ALWAYS make sure before opening the door!"  He pounded his

fist against his thigh.  "Why didn't you listen?  You goddamned stubborn

Irishman, why the hell didn't you listen?!"

          "Maybe he did."

          Cassy's quiet voice broke through the red curtain of rage descending over

him.  "What?"

          "Maybe he did check before he opened the door." She started flipping

through her notebook, checking the pages.  "Look."  She passed Tom the

notes.  "The only prints on the outside of the handle belonged to the maid

who cleaned the room earlier in the day, the bellhop who carried their bags

up, and Lyam.  The hotel employees are both alibied, so we know it wasn't

either of them.  If the killer'd worn gloves and opened the door, then the

other prints would have been smudged."

          "Which means," Tom said, picking up the thread of her reasoning, "it was

someone they knew."

          "So who, other than us and Harry and Frannie, do they know here?"

          He frowned, thinking back over past visits.  They'd done all the touristy

things, seen the sights, ate at some of the famous restaurants, but other

than Tom's friends and coworkers, they didn't know anyone in Palm.  "No

one."  He shook his head.  "No one that I know of."

          "Okay.  So you're a tourist, coming into town for a few days of fun.  Who

would you meet, talk to?"

          "They would have talked with the desk clerk, maybe the bell man on the way

up here."

          Cassy flipped through the notebook.  "Interviewed and alibied."

          "Everybody?"

          "Everybody.  The hotel gave us a complete list of all their employees."

          He started pacing again, coming to an abrupt stop when his foot grazed a

body outline on the floor.  He looked down at the dark stain spread through

the rug.  "Oh, God."   Blood, there was so much blood.  He closed his eyes

and saw the bodies again as he'd first seen them, sprawled in the ugly

tableau of violent death.  He swayed for a second as his vision receded.

          A firm hand caught his elbow, pulling him back, pushing him down to sit on

the bed.

          "Stay there a minute," Cassy ordered.

          Tom closed his eyes again as the room began to tilt around him.

          "Oh, no you don't."

          Cassy's voice sounded far away.  He started to look up to see where she

was  when a firm hand pushed his head down toward his knees.

          "Just stay like that a minute."

          He obeyed, waiting until the world righted itself.  The room stopped

spinning, but his world would never be right again.

          Something cold was pushed into his hand.

          "Here, Tom, drink this."

          Water.  Cassy had given him a glass of water.  He took a few small sips,

feeling it work its way down his tight throat.  He looked up, managing a

weak smile.  "Thanks, Cass."

          The corner of her mouth quirked up in a half smile.  "You were looking a

little shaky there, partner."

          "I guess I was."  He returned the smile.

          "When did you last eat?  Breakfast?"

          "Yeah.  I gabbed a banana on my way out the door after you called."  He

looked at his watch, hard to believe that was only twelve hours ago.

Twelve hours, a tiny span of time over the years of his life, yet twelve

hours in which his life changed irrevocably.

          Twelve hours ago he'd been planning his weekend schedule, everything he

needed to do before his parents' arrival on Monday.  He had a huge pile of

laundry to sort through, plus the place needed a floor-to-ceiling cleaning.

 He had to go to the supermarket so there'd be food in the house.  The car

needed washing, and he had to put fresh linens on the bed.

          There was so much to do, twelve hours ago.  Now, there was only one thing

to do: catch a killer.

          Tom rubbed a tired hand across his face.  "I'm okay now.  Let's go."  He

stood, taking one last look around the room.  "There's nothing else to see

here."

 

 

          Cassy finished resealing the tape just as the elevator doors opened and a

middle-aged man bustled out.

          "Excuse me," he called, hurrying toward them.  "You are from the police,

aren't you?"

          "Yes," she said, exchanging a look with Tom.  "I'm Sergeant St. John, this

is my partner."

          "Good," the man said, smoothing a few stray hairs over his balding head.

"I'm the manager, Mr. Daniels, and I'd like to know where to send the bill."

          "What bill?"

          "For the cleaning."

          She shook her head.  "What cleaning?"

          "The carpet, of course," Daniels snapped.  "It's bad enough that the

adverse publicity caused some cancellations, but it's going to cost a small

fortune to get the stains out of the carpet."

          Cassy clutched her purse, wanting desperately to swing it at the man.

Instead, she started to push past him when she felt a hand on her shoulder,

and Tom stepped between them.

          "Two people," he began, "died in that room.  They were murdered in cold

blood by a killer who got past your security."

          Cassy shivered at the cold tone in her partner's voice.

          "Now see here, Officer," Daniels blustered.  "That's a very expensive

carpet."

          Tom's hand shot out, grabbing the man's lapel and pulling him closer until

their eyes were inches apart.  "It's Sergeant, Sergeant Ryan."

          Daniels' eyes widened in recognition at the name.

          "I don't give a rat's ass about your carpet or your hotel."  Tom's eyes

narrowed dangerously.  "But if you do, I'd suggest you pay the damn bill

and shut up.  Otherwise, I can guarantee the victims' family will make

several statements to the press about the treatment you've been giving this

whole affair."

          Daniels bristled.  "Are you threatening me, Sergeant?"

          "Oh, no," Cassy cut in.  "Just stating a fact, a fact the police

department will back up."

          "Humpf."  Daniels turned up his nose and walked away.

          "Let's go, Tom"

          He couldn't stand it.   That officious little prick was bitching about a

carpet while his parents were lying in refrigerated drawers in the morgue.

Spinning swiftly, Tom slammed his fist into the nearest wall, welcoming the

pain radiating form his hand.

          Cassy took his wrist, turning his hand to examine the damage.

          Angrily, he pulled away, lifting his eyes, challenging her to make one of

her smart remarks.  Their eyes met, but instead of the expected scorn, all

Tom could read was compassion in her deep blue gaze.

          She took his wrist again, looking over his scraped swelling knuckles.  She

gave him a weak smile.  "Feeling better?"

          "Dumb move, huh?"

          "No."  She stroked his arm gently.  "Considering that I was ready to pull

out my gun and shoot that jerk, your… distraction probably saved his life.

And our jobs."

          "Yeah.  Ow!"  He flinched as Cassy slowly manipulated his fingers.

          "I don't think anything's broken."  Pulling a towel off a nearby maid's

cart, she dabbed at the blood welling from the scrapes.  "Let's go get some

ice before the swelling gets too bad."

          Tom nodded, the hand was starting to throb.  "I don't remember passing an

ice machine when we came down the hall."

          "There aren't any.  A place like this offers twenty-four hour room

service.  You want ice for your Dom Perignon at 2:00 a.m., you just pick up

the phone."

          "How would you know?"

          "I might have spent a night or two here."

          "Not with me, you didn't."

          "Oh, no, Tom.  Not with you."  Her smile lasted all the way down in the

elevator.

 

 

          The hotel desk was busy.  Nobody seemed too inclined to pay much attention

to them.  Finally, a clerk turned their way.

          "Do you want something?"  Her eyes slid over them, judging instantly that

they weren't guests.

          Cassy slipped her badge from her purse, holding it carefully so the people

checking in didn't see.  "We've just come down from the murder scene."  She

smiled inwardly at he clerk's wide-eyed response.  Obviously word had

spread quickly through the staff.

          "Those poor people.  It must have been awful.  Was there much blood?"

          Tom looked away in disgust.  He'd always had disdain for the spectators at

a crime scene, not really understanding how people could get off on others'

misfortunes.  The idea that this woman was getting some sick thrill from

his parents' deaths was turning his stomach.

          "Enough," Cassy said, answering the question.  "Look," she squinted to

read the plain woman's name badge.  "Linda.  My partner hurt his hand.  Do

you think we could get some ice?"

          The woman's gaze flickered from the bloody towel wrapped around Tom's

knuckles to his pale face.  "Is he okay?  Do you want me to call a doctor?"

          "No, thanks.  I just need to take care of that hand and get a little food

into him."

          "Go through that door."  She pointed to an unlabeled door at the end of

the long counter.  "Second door on the right's an employees' break room.

There're vending machines.  I'll go get some ice and meet you there."

          "Thanks."  Cassy turned to her partner.  He was staring unfocused at the

wall.  "Tom?"

          His eyes refocused on her.  "Oh, sorry.  Guess I zoned out there for a

minute."

          "It's understandable.  Let's go get that ice for your hand."

          "Sure."  He started following her though the door.  "Cass, wait a minute."

          "What is it?"

          He was looking at his injured hand, slowly flexing the fingers open and

shut.  "Our perp."  Tom's eyes stayed locked on his hand.  "His hands will

be bruised, too."

          "What do you mean?"

          "I got a good look at the bodies." His voice grew softer as he spoke.

"They were bruised, both of them.  It wasn't enough to just shoot.  He hit

them, too." His voice broke, and Cassy felt hot tears rising in her eyes.

          Tom wasn't the only one who'd lost loved ones.  In some ways, the Ryans

were the mother and father she'd always dreamed of having.  From the first

day they'd met, back when she was Tom's new partner, they welcomed her into

their lives.  Never once did they question her ability to do her job and

protect her partner.  They treated her like a daughter even before they new

she and Tom had become lovers.  And nothing really changed after the divorce.

          There were a few awkward moments the first time she'd run into them at the

station after the marriage ended.  She'd retreated to the Ladies' room, but

Tom's mother followed and made sure that Cassy knew they didn't blame her.

They didn't blame anyone.  They were just sorry that the two younger people

couldn't resolve their differences.

          "I loved them, too," she said, looking up at Tom.

          "I know."

          A single tear escaped her eyes.  Tom held out his arms and Cassy moved

into his embrace.  "I'm sorry, Tom," she murmured against his chest.  "I'm

so sorry."

          "I know, Cass.  I know you are."

          She felt him kiss the top of her head, and she pushed away.  Wiping her

tears with the back of her hand, she moved past him into the break room.

"Let's get that hand iced before you won't be able to use it."

          Tom stood still.   There was no mistaking the tone in Cassy's voice.  She

was sorry for what happened to his parents, but that was all.  She wasn't

sorry for their argument back in his apartment, or the way she'd been

treating him these past six months.  Nothing had really changed between

them a moment ago.  Nothing ever would.  He'd been a fool to think anything

had.

          Flexing his hand again, he welcomed the pain.  It was his reminder to stay

focused, to let nothing distract him from his job.  He'd find the murdering

bastard and deal with him.   Then, when this case was over, he'd deal with

Cassy.

 

 

          The break room was a startling contrast to the hotel's opulence.  A few

card chairs ringed tables that had seen better days.  The walls were

painted a dirty beige, and nondescript linoleum covered the floor.

          "Boy, things sure are different for the hired help," Tom murmured,

lowering himself into a chair.

          Cassy ignored him, digging around in her purse.  "There it is."  She

pulled out her wallet and moved to one of the vending machines.  Nothing

looked particularly appetizing, still they needed the calories.  Tom was

already running on empty, and the cereal bar she'd eaten on the drive over

wouldn't hold her much longer.  Opening the wallet, she fed money into the

machine and made her selections.

          "Here."

          Tom looked up as something thumped onto the table in front of him.  He'd

been lost in the past, momentarily finding escape from the pain in his

memories.  He nudged the plastic wrapped lump.  "What's this?"

          "Cheese sandwich," Cassy said, pulling the top off her carton of yogurt.

          "Doesn't look like any cheese sandwich I've ever seen," Tom grumbled,

turning the item over in his hands.

          "Just eat it," she snapped.  "Where's that clerk with the ice?"

          "Did she strike you as a bit odd?" He unwrapped the sandwich and took a

bite.  "Ugh!  This is terrible."  He took a long swallow from the bottle of

water Cassy bought.

          "What do you mean, odd?" she asked.

          Tom paused a moment, trying to put his impressions into words.  "All the

other women at the front desk were younger, attractive-"

          "So you're saying that because she's not twenty-something and pretty she

shouldn't be working that position?"

          "No!  Jeez, Cassy, do you have to jump on everything I say?"

          "Not everything, just the stupid chauvinistic bits."

          He glared at her.  "What I'm saying, Ms. Know-it-all, is that she doesn't

seem to fit the pattern."

          "That's because there is no pattern."

          The break room door opened, cutting off Tom's retort.

          "Sorry it took me so long," Linda apologized.  "I had a little trouble

getting a bowl."

          "That's okay."  Cassy smiled at her.  "My partner needed a lesson in

patience."

          Linda smiled timidly, sitting at the table between the two detectives.

Dipping a washcloth into the bowl, she wrung it out and started dabbing at

the scrapes on Tom's hand.

          "Ow."  He flinched as the icy water penetrated his broken skin.

          "I'm sorry," Linda said, biting her lip.  "But these scrapes need to be

cleaned.  Then you can soak that hand."

          "Sounds like you've done this before."  Tom smiled at her, hoping to set

her more at ease.  She was clearly nervous, but that wasn't unusual.  He'd

found that a lot of people were nervous around cops.

          She nodded in response to his words.  "Just last night, as a matter of

fact.  My boyfriend was almost robbed."

          "He was mugged?" Cassy asked.

          Linda shook her head.  "The guy didn't get anything." She finished dabbing

at Tom's knuckles and pressed his hand into the bowl, wincing at his sudden

sharp intake of breath. "I'm sorry."

          "It's okay."  Tom smiled at her again.  Maybe changing the topic would

make her less nervous.  "So, how long have you been working here?"

          "Oh, I don't really work here.  I'm a temp," she explained, seeing their

confused expressions.  "I worked the hotel desk at a YMCA in New York for

several years.  When I came down here, I tried to get a job at some of the

better hotels, but no one seemed to be hiring."  She pushed her glasses

back up on her nose.  "One of the HR people I talked with suggested I sign

on with a temp agency.  So now, whenever someone goes on vacation and they

can't find anyone to cover, they call the agency, and I come to fill in."

          Tom nodded.  Something was niggling at the back of his mind.  Maybe if he

could keep her talking, it would come to him.  "How long have you been here

this time?"

          Oh, I've ever worked The Palm Plaza before.  This is my first week.  I

just started last Wednesday."

          Were you working last night?"

          Lnda shook her head.  "I got off at four."

          So you were here when the Ryans checked in at three," Cassy said.

          I guess so; I don't really remember.  It was awfully busy."

          Tm stood abruptly.  "Excuse me."

          Cassy reacted instantly, rising to meet him.  "Are you okay?"

          H nodded, gesturing toward the exit.  "Men's room.  I'll be right back."

He paused at the door, turning back to Cassy.  "I'll check in with Harry

while I'm gone."

 

 

Tom avoided the Men's room, heading instead for the main desk and a

pompous little man named Daniels.  A quick flash of the badge on his belt

and the gun on his hip, and he was ushered into the manager's office.

          "What is it now, Sergeant?"

          Tom grinned, Daniels clearly wasn't pleased to see him again.  "You have a

temporary employee working at your front desk.  Linda something."

          Daniels frowned.  "Miss Black.  Yes."

          "She's certainly different from the other women working that station."

          "Different?" Daniels rolled his eyes.  "You've seen her.  She's something

appalling.  I cringe every time I see her behind the desk."

          Tom smiled in sympathy.  "I know what you mean."

          "Still, she is competent, and we did need her on very short notice."

          "I don't recall seeing her name on the list of hotel employees you gave to

our office."

          "She's a temp; we gave your people the list of full-time and part-time

employees."

          "Why wasn't Miss Black on the list?"

          Daniels looked like he'd just eaten something distasteful.  "She is not an

employee of The Palm Plaza."

          Tom swallowed back his annoyance.  Daniels could give Cassy a run in the

anal retentive category.  "Can you give me the name of the temp agency and

their phone number?"

          "Why?"

          He shifted his weight, allowing his jacket to fall open, revealing the gun

and the badge.

          Daniels took the hint, hurriedly pulling up a file on his computer and

then scribbling a name and phone number on a piece of paper. "Here."

          "Thanks."  Tom nodded.  "You've been very… helpful."  He moved to the

door.  "Oh, one quick question.  Who checked the Ryans in?"

          A few quick keystrokes, and Daniels had the information.  "Miss Black."

          "Thank you." 

          Exiting the office, Tom walked swiftly down the corridor and ducked into

an empty stairwell.  Pulling out his cell phone, he punched in a number.

"Hi, Marnie, it's Tom Ryan. … Thanks, I appreciate it.  I need you to do a

quick background check.  Here's the information…."

 

 

          Cassy scraped the last half-spoonful of yogurt from the container and

swallowed it down.  "Yuck."

          "Something wrong?" Linda asked, looking up from her scrutiny of the tabletop.

          Cassy held up the carton.  "Not a favorite of mine, and I think somebody

was playing fast-and-loose with the expiration date."

          "Most of these places cut corners when it comes to the staff."  She

indicated the half-eaten cheese sandwich.  "Maybe your partner left to

avoid the rest of it."

          "He probably did, but I won't let him avoid it.  He hasn't eaten since

breakfast and it's almost nine.  Damn!"

          "What's wrong?"

          "My sleeve snagged on my bracelet again."  She held out her wrist so Linda

could see the silver bracelets she wore with her wristwatch.

          "I know how you feel."  Linda smiled in sympathy, pulling up her blazer

sleeve.  "My boyfriend gave me this last night.  It's gorgeous, but the

charm keeps catching on the material, see?"

          Cassy's eyes widened.  The bracelet was a slender chain of diamonds and

the offending charm, the number forty set with tiny stones.  "It's—it's

beautiful."

          "I never dreamed Bennie could be so romantic.  We've only been together a

little over three months."

          "I like that charm."  **Where the hell is Tom?**  Does it have some meaning?"

          "He said it was to commemorate my birthday.  Isn't that sweet?  He said he

thinks I'm more beautiful at forty than I was at thirty-nine."

          "He sure sounds like the romantic type."  **Yeah, He robs defenseless

older people, kills them, and gives their valuables to his girlfriend.**

"A real prince."

          The door opened, and Tom walked in.  He looked straight at Linda, his face

grim.

          "Tom, come and see this gorgeous bracelet Linda's boyfriend gave her last

night."

          He said nothing, standing over them at the table, staring down at the

sparkling band.

          "Isn't it beautiful?" Cassy asked.  "How come you never brought me

something like that?"

          "Maybe if we'd been married for forty years, I would have."  His eyes

stayed on the dark haired woman.

          "Oh," Linda stammered, "we're not married.  He gave it to me-"

          "He gave it to you," Tom said, cutting her off, "as your reward for

helping him."

          "Helping him?"

          "Helping him rob and murder six people over the last three months."

          "You're crazy!"  She stood abruptly, tipping the chair over in her haste.

          His hand shot out, locking around her wrist.  "Three murders in three

months at three different hotels.  And each murder coincides with a date

you were working at the hotel in question."

          "It's a coincidence," she protested, trying to pull out of his grasp.  She

looked imploringly at Cassy.  "He's hurting me."

          "He's a little upset.  The last set of victims was his parents."  Cassy

stood slowly, her eyes on the other woman.  "Tom, do you want me to leave?"

          "Not right now."  He tightened his grip.  "Unless she's resisting arrest,

and then you might have to go and call for help."

          "I want my lawyer," Linda said.

          "Why?  Have you done something that needs a lawyer?  We just want to ask

you a few simple questions."

          The mousy woman looked from Tom to Cassy who was leaning casually against

the door.  He made me do it," she whined, trying to pull away.

          "Who?"  Tom asked.

          "Bennie.  Ben Carter, my boyfriend."

          Cassy moved from the door.  Picking up the toppled chair, she set it

behind the woman.  "Tell us."

          "Will you make a deal?"

          Cassy glanced at Tom.  His face was set, his eyes a hard flat gray.  She

chose her words carefully.  "We can't deal, but we can tell the D.A. you

cooperated willingly and make recommendations regarding your sentencing."

          "Sentencing?"  Linda grew paler under her pasty complexion.

          "If you did anything to aid your boyfriend, then you're an accomplice."

          "But he forced me."  Her eyes darted wildly from Cassy to Tom's hand still

locked around her wrist.

          "Sure he did," Tom said.  "That's why he gave you the bracelet.  We're

wasting our time here, Cass.  Let's take her back to the station." 

          She yanked her wrist away, hugging it tightly to her chest and rubbing at

the reddened flesh.  "You hurt me."

          "Your boyfriend killed his parents."  Cassy said.  "Consider yourself

lucky.  Now, tell us where to find him."

          "West Palm, 523 Blue Moon Drive, apartment 4A."

          Cassy opened her purse and tossed a set of handcuffs to Tom.  "You can do

the honors.  I'll call for a plain wrap."

          "I already did."  He raised his voice.  "You can come in, now."  Pulling

Linda's hands behind her back, he snapped the metal cuffs into place, then

turned her over to the other cops.  "Make sure she understands every word

of the Miranda."

          "Don't worry, Sergeant Ryan.  We know what's at stake here.  Everything

goes down exactly by the book."

          Cassy watched them take the woman out then turned to Tom.  "I'll call

Harry, let him know we're on our way to pick up Carter."

          Tom shook his head.  "Don't call him until we get there.  And then stay

out of my way."  He picked up the bloodied towel, wadding it in his fist.

"Carter's mine."

 

          *********

 

 

          Ben Carter looked out his front window at the darkened street four floors

below.  He hated the neighborhood.  It was full of working class people who

spent their days grubbing for bucks and their nights in front of the

television with a six pack.

          This was where the servants lived, the gardeners, and the cooks, and the

maids, and all the other faceless bodies who served the wealthy of Palm Beach.

          He despised them all, especially the creature he was living with.  But

that would soon end.  It was time to move on, find another place where the

rich were catered to and stalk new prey.

          A cold smile crossed his thin lips.  Linda would be coming home soon,

eager to please. She was stupid enough to believe the lies he told her

about a future for the two of them. The pathetic little bitch simpered and

fawned all over him then laid back and opened her legs, letting him do

whatever he wanted.  He'd given her the diamond bracelet from his last job,

it would keep her quiet until he left.  He wouldn't have taken it

otherwise, knowing it was distinctive enough that the cops would be shaking

down the fences looking for it.  That was partly why he was so successful.

He never took anything that was traceable, only cash and things that were

easily fenced.  Besides, he wasn't doing it for the money, but for the

pleasure of killing.

          And it was pleasure, hearing them beg for their lives.  It was power, pure

and simple, the ultimate power.  Doing this last couple had been

particularly good.  His lip curled in a sneer as he remembered the two

necking in his cab.  So lovey-dovey, they made him want to puke.  Here to

surprise their son, they'd said.  He'd be surprised all right.  Some

snot-nosed county club type, he'd be all in tears at what happened to his

mommy and daddy.  Too bad he didn't have any info on sonny.  It might have

been fun to look him up, offer sincere condolences on his tragic loss, and

then cut his throat.

          Movement on the street below caught his attention.  A late model car

pulled up to the curb behind his cab.  He'd have to remember to clean out

the taxi before he returned it.  Thanks to the Discovery Channel, he'd

learned enough about forensics to know exactly how to eliminate all traces

of his existence at a crime scene and get rid of incriminating evidence in

the cabs.  Cops, they were so fucking stupid.

          He continued to watch out the window as a couple got out of the car.  They

stood on the sidewalk, and from their body language, it looked like they

were arguing.

          "Hey, buddy," Carter said.  "Do me a favor and smack her.  That's what

they all need to get them in line."  Turning away from the window, he

rubbed his crotch, planning the night ahead.  Linda would be home soon,

then he'd fuck her once more, kill her, and move on.

 

 

          "Tom, it's too dangerous.  Wait for backup."

          "Backup?"  He laughed, a harsh ugly sound.  "That's a new concept for you."

          He brushed past her.  She grabbed his arm, using the momentum to push him

against the car.  "You're not thinking clearly.  There's a killer up there."

          Tom's eyes were cold as he pulled free from her grasp.  "What's the

matter, worried you might get stuck behind a desk while Harry finds you a

new partner?"  He pushed past her again.  "Don't worry, I'm sure there're

dozens of other guys just waiting to get their balls cut off by super-cop

St. John."

          "Shut up!  Just shut up!"  Grabbing his jacket, she pulled him back.  "Do

you think I want to see you get killed up there?"

          "Do you care?!  What difference does it make?!"

          She stepped back, shocked at his vehemence.  "I don't want to lose you!  I

love you, goddamnit!"  The words tumbled out before she could think.

          Her confession stopped him cold.  "What?"

          She shrugged, looking down at her hands.  "I love you.  I know it's

irrational after everything that's happened between us, but I love you.  I

never stopped.  And if you go roaring up there, he'll kill you."  She

looked up at him.  "And I don't think I could survive after that."

          Tom stood still.  He didn't know what to do, what to think.  Cassy had

torn down the barrier he'd erected between them six months ago.   She'd

opened her heart to him.  It was what he wanted, what he hoped for, but not

now.

          A wistful smile played across his lips.  "Your timing stinks."

          "I know."  She matched his look.  "So what do we do now?"

          Tom looked up, counting the floors of the building.  "There's a light on

in the apartment.  I go in."

          "Not without backup."

          "I've got backup."  He looked at her, holding her eyes with his.  "I've

got you."

          Cassy nodded, following him into the building.  They'd do this Tom's way

for now.  She'd deal with the fallout later.

 

 

 

          Soundlessly, Tom walked into the apartment, stepping aside for Cassy to

walk in, then closing the door and pocketing the keys Linda Black had

provided.  She'd given them in the hope that Tom and Cassy would intercede

on her behalf with the D.A.  Tom didn't know what Cassy would do, but as

for himself, he hoped the bitch would fry for her part in the murders.

          He moved cautiously, gun at the ready.  A small lamp in the living room

was his only source of light.  He knew Cassy was watching his back, but

that left the apartment's rear door unguarded, a possible escape route for

the killer.

          A sound came to them from the rear of the flat.  Carter was in the

kitchen.  Tom signaled Cassy to stay back.  Adrenaline flooded through him,

sharpening his senses.  He could almost see the man, puttering around the

kitchen, never dreaming he was about to get caught.

          A single move took him into the room.  "Police, freeze!"

          Carter whirled, throwing the pot he held.  It struck true, knocking the

gun from Tom's hands.  Grabbing a butcher knife, he advanced on the cop.

"Come and get me."

          Cassy ran into the room, knocking Tom off balance.  "Freeze!"

          Carter laughed, slashing at Tom with the knife.

          She couldn't fire; they were too close together, moving too fast.  She was

afraid of hitting her partner.

          Tom grabbed the blade, ignoring the tearing pain in his hand.  "Back off,

Cassy!"  He kicked out, catching Carter in the leg.  The man dropped the

knife, scrambling for the door.  Tom sprang into a tackle, bringing him

down in a heap.

          Carter struck again, punching Tom and lunging for the fallen gun.

          Tom was faster, flinging himself on the weapon then following with a hard

kick to the man's groin.  Carter doubled in pain, and it was all over.

          Tom stood over him, panting hard.  The gun in his hand was slippery with

his blood.  "Get up.  On your knees."  Carter moaned, unmoving.  "Now!"

          Painfully, Carter pushed up to his knees.  He sneered at the cop standing

over him, gun pointed.  "Whatcha gonna do?  Pull the trigger?  Shoot me

down in cold blood?  We both know that ain't gonna happen."

          Slowly, Tom brought the gun up, its barrel pointed between the kneeling

man's eyes.  "No, we don't know that."  He was peripherally aware of Cassy

standing behind him.  "Get out, Cass.  I don't want you to be a part of this."

          "Tom, don't."

          "Why?  I've got nothing left to lose."  He pulled back the safety, smiling

coldly as he watched the fear rising in Carter's eyes.  "My career doesn't

mean shit anymore.  All I want to do is blow this bastard away."

          "You can't let him kill me."  Carter said, looking at Cassy. 

          "Tom."

          "It's okay Cass."  He stepped back, keeping his gun aimed between the

killer's eyes.  With his free hand, he pulled the handcuffs off his belt,

tossing them lightly to her. "Cuff him."

          Cassy put her gun away, following Tom's lead, handcuffing Green's hands

behind his back.  Then she stepped back, turning away and opening the

kitchen door.  "Let's go."

          Carter stumbled to his feet, lurching in her direction. 

          Tom lunged, yanking Carter back into the room and pushing Cassy out the

door, slamming it shut in her face.

          "Tom!" 

          He could hear her pounding at the door, as he grabbed Carter by the collar

and threw him down to the floor.  "Go away, Cassy.  I don't want you to be

a part of this." 

          "Tom, don't do this!"

          "Leave!"  The pounding stopped, followed by the sound of footsteps

retreating down the back stairs.  Tom smiled, a slow mirthless grin.  "You

know what's worse than killing a cop, Carter?" he asked softly.  "Killing a

cop's family." 

          Carter's eyes widened as he moved up on one knee.  "You're the son in Palm

Beach."  He laughed.  "They were laughing at you, at how they tricked you,

sneaking into town early." 

          "Shut up!" 

          A brutal backhand, sent the man to the floor.  He looked up at Tom,

spitting out a mouthful of blood.  "You'll never get away with it."

          Tom smiled.  "Sure I will.  You attacked me in front of my partner.  You

slashed me with a knife, conveniently leaving your prints on the handle.

The cuffs' lock was faulty.  You pushed my partner out and slammed the

door, locking us in. We struggled for the gun and it went off.  A righteous

shoot.  Hell, they'll probably give me a commendation for saving them the

cost of a trial."

          "That's bullshit."

          "Okay."  Tom shrugged.  "So maybe it is.  Maybe I just blow you away

because you killed my parents in cold blood.  Do you have any idea what it

felt like, walking into that crime scene and seeing them lying there?

There isn't a jury in the world that'd convict me.  At the worst, temporary

insanity, a few months in a padded room getting my head together again, and

I walk out into the sunshine while you're rotting in the ground.

          "Get on your knees."  He waited, watching intently as the man struggled

up.  Then he put the gun against Carter's forehead.  "You're sweating.

What's the matter, you scared?  Is that what you get off on?  The fear?

You get a hard-on killing defenseless older people?  How does it feel,

Carter?  How does it feel to see your death in someone's eyes?"

          His finger tightened on the trigger.  "They were good people.  The best.

They came down here because they wanted to share their anniversary with me.

 Forty years together and they were still in love."  He readjusted his

grip, watching Carter's eyes widen in terror.  He moved the pistol, sliding

it down one side of the man's face and up the other, as a lover would

caress his mate.  "But they're not gonna get to do that now.  You made sure

of that."  He brought the gun back up, stepping back and taking careful aim

squarely between Carter's eyes.  "I'll see you in Hell."

          "NO!"

       *BANG!*

 

 

 

          Cassy looked at the apartment building door.  The second she'd heard the

shot she was on the radio calling for help.  She didn't have the keys to

the building; she couldn't get back inside.  She was helpless.  Slowly she

pulled the gun from her purse.  If Carter came out, she'd kill him herself.

 If Tom came out, she'd arrest him.  Whatever happened, she knew Tom's life

was over, and so was any chance of a reconciliation between them.

          A squad car pulled up just as the building's door opened.  Instinctively,

she brought the gun up to firing position, her eyes locked on the door.

Ben Carter stumbled out, Tom Ryan behind him.

          Tom didn't speak, just pushed his handcuffed prisoner towards the two

uniforms.

          Cassy grabbed her radio.  "Officer injured, 523 Blue Moon."  Tossing the

receiver onto the seat, she ran to her partner.  "Tom?"

          He didn't look at her.  His eyes were fixed on the other cops as they read

the prisoner his rights and shoved him into the back of the squad.  It was

over.  They got the killer.  So why did he feel like it didn't make any

difference?  Nothing had changed.  His parents were still dead.

          "I know what you're thinking.  You're wrong."

          Cassy's soft words penetrated his wall of grief.  "What?"

          "It does make a difference.  You couldn't save your folks, but you saved

the next victims.  It's not the same, but it matters.  There are people

walking around out there who owe you their lives and don't even know it."

          "I couldn't do it."  His voice was bitter, full of recrimination and

self-loathing.  "I couldn't pull the trigger.  I wanted to.  As God is my

witness, I wanted to.  But I couldn't."  He looked at her, pain and

confusion in his eyes.  "What kind of son does that make me?"

          "The kind your parents wanted you to be.  The kind who believes in justice

and the law, and honoring his oath.  The kind your parents would be proud of."

 

          ***********

 

It was long past midnight by the time Tom and Cassy finally returned to

his apartment.  Harry had arrived at the scene moments after the ambulance

and insisted that Tom go to the hospital to have his hand treated.  By the

time the doctors finished stitching and dressing the wound, Lipschitz

appeared to take their statements and give them an update.  Carter was

safely tucked in a cell, and the D.A. sent assurances that given the

evidence uncovered at the apartment, plus Linda Black's sworn statement,

neither the killer nor his accomplice would escape punishment.

 

 

          Tom took a long swallow of the bottled water he'd gotten just before

leaving the hospital, hoping the cool water would wash away the choking

feeling in his throat.

       **Beep**

          He ignored the answering machine's call.  Moving to the bookshelves, he

stood in front of a picture of his parents.  It had been taken the day

they'd opened the restaurant.  His mother was looking up at his father,

pride and adoration on her face.  His father was smiling, that wide-open

smile he showed when he was particularly happy. 

          He pulled another picture off the shelf.  It was smaller, tucked back

behind other mementos.  It had been taken on their wedding day.  Lyam was

wearing a suit and looking a little uncomfortable, as if his tie was too

tight.  **Funny, that's the same expression on my face in the wedding

pictures with Cassy.**  His mother was beautiful.  She stood proudly at her

husband's side, her arm linked in his.  She was wearing a pale blue suit,

and her dark hair was hanging free over her shoulders.

          "They were a handsome couple." 

          Cassy was standing behind him.  Slipping her arms around his waist, she

leaned against his back.  "Your mom was so beautiful."

          He bit his lip, fighting back the tears that wanted so desperately to

fall.  "Yeah, she was."

          "I remember the first time I saw that picture of her as a young woman, the

one you were carrying in your wallet.  I was so jealous," she chuckled.  "I

was sure you were feeding me a line about that being your mom.  I figured

you just wanted to get me into the sack, and you made the whole thing up

because I found that picture of your girlfriend."

          "And it took my father, swearing on a stack of Bibles, to get you to

believe the truth."

          "I didn't know you very well then."  She moved to the sofa, curling up on

the soft leather with a pillow in her lap. 

          He watched her for a moment before turning back to the pictures.  **Do you

know me now, Cassy?**

          Silence descended on the apartment as each was still, lost in thought or

memories.

       **Beep** 

          "You can't ignore it, Tom."

          "I know."  He walked to the answering machine, stabbing at the playback

button and sitting on the bed.

       **Beep**

          "Tom?  It's Morton.  I just wanted to let you know the bodies are ready

for release.  Give me a call and let me know who you want me to contact

about transporting them."

       **Beep**

          "Sergeant Ryan, it's Officer Tracy.  One of your collars just tried to

kill herself, but we got to her in time.  Don't worry, Sir.  We'll make

sure this one goes to trial.  Thought you'd like to know."

       **Beep**

          "Tommy, it's Sean.  I think something's wrong with Mom and Dad.  I can't

reach them, and nobody's seen them since they closed the restaurant

Thursday night.  Call me as soon as you get this message; I don't care what

time it is."

       **Beep**

          "Oh, God, Cass.  What am I going to say to him?"

          "Tell him the truth.  It's the best way."

          She came to him, sitting beside him on the bed.

          His hands shook as he punched in the number.  "Sean, it's me. … I know.

Sean, just listen to me.  I've got—I've got bad news.  It's about Mom and

Dad…."

         

 

          Tom disconnected the phone.  He couldn't remember a single word he just

said to his brother.  "Did I forget anything?"

          "No."  Cassy sat beside him, rubbing his back, trying to convey her

feelings through the touch.  "I'll call Harry in the morning.  He can cut

through some of the red tape in getting them back to Boston.  The funeral

will be there, won't it?"

          "Yeah."  He swallowed.  It was getting harder and harder to think, to

speak, to act.

          "You should lie down, try and sleep."

          "I can't.  Every time I close my eyes, I see them.  They way they looked

in that room.  I can't make that image go away."

          "It'll take time."

          "I don't want time.  I want them!"  He pushed off the bed and began pacing

the length of the apartment.  "I want them back.  I want her telling me to

get a haircut and asking if I'm dating anyone new.   I want him in the

kitchen, cooking and dispensing Irish wisdom.  I want to play another

stupid game of Ryanball."

          The agony he'd been holding inside clawed up through his throat.  "Why?

Why did it have to happen to them?"

          "I don't know."  She came to him, blocking his path.  "Only God knows."

          "God?  Don't give me that shit about a higher power and God's plan."  He

raked his hands through his hair, clawing at the strands in his rage.

"There's no reason for what happened.  No reason at all except that some

animal decided to slaughter them for the hell of it!"

          "Tom."  She tried to take him in her arms.

          "Don't.  Don't touch me."  He backed away.  "I don't want your sympathy.

I want my parents back!"  He dropped to the couch, all the strength

suddenly drained out of him.  He looked up at her, a frightened, lost

child.  "I want my parents.   Please…."

          There was nothing she could do except hold him, allowing him the release

of tears until all the pain and anger washed away, and he was left drained

of everything but the gnawing ache of loss.

 

          ***********

 

Cassy stood biting her nails, a nervous habit she hadn't quite broken.

Tom's flight back from Boston had just landed, and she'd promised to meet

him and drive him home.  It was a month since she'd last seen him.  They'd

parted at the Boston airport, she on her way back to Palm and he to spend

time with his brother closing up their parents' house and making

arrangements for the sale of the property and the restaurant.  They'd

talked on the phone a few times, but Tom had always been distant, as if

their lives were no longer in sync.

          "Cassy."

          He was there, suddenly standing in front of her.  She looked him over with

a critical eye.  He was thin, too thin.  Fine lines appeared around his

eyes and mouth, and some of the sparkle was gone from the hazel gaze.

          "How are you?"

          Hitching his carry-on higher on his shoulder, he started walking toward

the baggage claim area.  "I'm fine."  He stopped moving a few yards farther

on.  "No.  I'm not fine.  It's been rough, cleaning out their things,

dealing with the lawyer, answering all the calls and cards.  I'm tired, but

I'll be okay."

          He continued walking, collecting his bags in short order and then moving

out of the terminal into the warm Florida sun.  Cassy walked silently

beside him, not knowing what to say.

          "It feels good to be back."  He stopped by his car, lifting his face to

the sun.  "Boston was cold and damp.  Or maybe it was just me."  He patted

the car affectionately.  "Thanks for taking care of it for me."

          "That's what friends are for," she said simply.

          "Friends."  He was quiet for a moment, looking out across the landscape.

"Is that what we are, Cassy?"

          She frowned.  "I'm not sure what you mean."

          "You said you loved me.  Back then, outside the building.  You said you

didn't want to lose me."

          "I meant it.  Every word."

          He smiled, the first real smile she'd seen since they'd walked into room

502 at The Palm Plaza over a month ago.  "I'm glad.  I love you, too."  He

took her into his arms, kissing her softly.

          Cassy pulled back slightly, tipping her chin up to look at him.  "So,

where do we go from here?"

          "I don't know."  He winked.  "But wherever it is, we'll go together."

 

~finis~

 

 

 

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