CHAPTER ONE

"Kind of an eclectic little neighborhood," Cassy commented quietly as Tom made the left turn onto Roton Point Avenue. The small marina at the end of the road was nearly empty, the day too perfect for any of the boat owners to pass up.

"Strange little neighborhood, actually," Tom corrected his partner. "Couple of years back I investigated a homicide a few streets over. Turned out to be a ritual killing."

The blonde detective turned to him. "Ritual as in cult?" she asked.

Ryan nodded, putting the sedan in park in front of the small white cottage. "You dont remember?"

Cassy slipped out of the passenger seat, replacing her sunglasses on her face, and waited for her ex to join her before walking down the short driveway. "I didnt work that case."

"No, but we were married at the time, and Im sure I told you about it...." he muttered disparagingly.

Cassy rolled her eyes, the action hidden by her sunglasses, yet none-the-less caught by her ex-husband, who was walking ahead of her. "Nice, roll your eyes at me..."

"I did not!" she laughed, reaching a hand into the center of his back to give him a playful push.

**********

"What do we have?" Cassy asked the medical examiner as he exited the upstairs bedroom.

"Single victim, white male, approximately 35 years old, throat cut, murder weapon left on the scene. Looks like he went pretty quick, no signs of a struggle. Id put the time of death around 2 or 3 this morning," he told her on his way out.

Tom joined her upstairs moments later. "Got the victims roommate downstairs. She came home from house-sitting this morning, and the door was unlocked. No signs of forced entry. Shes the one who called it in."

"Lovely. You talk to her yet?"

He shook his head. "Was just about to. Shes not going anywhere. The uniforms that responded to the call barely got *that* much out of her between the crying and the running to the bathroom."

Cassys nose wrinkled. "Okay... well give her a few. God, what a mess..." she scowled, looking around the small bedroom. Half empty beer bottles littered the nightstand and filthy windowsill, cigarette butts floating in the warm, stale brew. A few dirty plates stuck out from beneath the bed, and silverware glittered dully from their scattered resting places. Both detectives snapped on their gloves, and in this case were both more than willing to do so not only to prevent themselves from contaminating any evidence.

Tom Ryan kicked aside a few small piles of laundry which covered the floor, and stooped down when something caught his eye. Cassy watched curiously as he retrieved the object, then nodded knowingly when she also identified it. A rolled up twenty dollar bill was held between her partners fingers. He unrolled it unnecessarily, to find the inside coated with flaky white residue. "People never learn."

"Lets go talk to the roommate," Cassy suggested, peeling off her gloves as they left the room.

The last of the uniformed officers departed as the case was turned over to Ryan and St. John, leaving a still shaking young woman in their care.

Mark Chases roommate sat huddled in the corner of the white sofa, a soft afghan pulled over her lap. Her face was streaked with drying tears and her breathing hitched in unevenly. One shaking hand reached for the near-empty pack of Newports on the cushion beside her, the other hand for the lighter. Her eyes landed on the pair of detectives as they approached, tears began to well up once again. "...hi..." she stammered uncertainly.

Cassy lowered herself gently onto the sofa next to the young woman and flipped open her notebook, as Tom leaned over to help her guide the lighter to the tip of the cigarette shed been attempting to light.

"Thanks..." she whispered gratefully, taking a long drag.

"Im Sergeant St. John and this is my partner, Tom Ryan. Were with the Palm Beach PD, and wed like to ask you a few questions."

"Kari, Kari Strouse," the you woman finally introduced herself to the detectives.

"All right, Kari," Cassy nodded, uncapping her pen and beginning her questions in a soft voice. "You live here?"

"Yes, I do," she nodded. Her green eyes seemed pulled back to the stairs again and again, each time bring a fresh batch of tears to wipe away.

"Were you and Mr. Chase living as a couple?"

The barest glimmer of humor showed on Kari's face for the first time. "Me and Mark? No. He had his bedroom and I have mine, and never the twain shall meet."

Cassy nodded, and made a note. "I see. And where is your room in relation to his?"

The young woman took another long drag of the cigarette in her hand and exhaled the smoke away from the detectives. "Directly beneath his. The upstairs is pretty much... *was* pretty much his. His bedroom and a small office and a bathroom. My bedroom is downstairs in the back."

"I see. Where were you last night, Kari? Between midnight and this morning?"

The cigarette in her hand trembled slightly as she answered. "House-siting. I do that to earn some extra cash. I was there all weekend. I wouldn't have even come by here today except that I forgot clothes for work."

"Can anyone verify that?"

"No. I was alone. I went out for dinner with some friends, and got to the house around ten o'clock. I watched some T.V., walked the dog, then went to bed around eleven."

Tom sat in the chair opposite the couch, remaining silent for the time being as his partner spoke with the woman. Cassy always had an angle, it was just a matter of time before the pattern emerged.

"So, you came home this morning... and went up to your roommate's bedroom? Is that something you would normally do?"

Kari drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. "When I came down the driveway I noticed his van was still here. I knew he was starting on a new job today, and I thought he was oversleeping. He's a contractor, painting and re-modeling..." she explained. Taking a deep breath and stabbing out her cigarette, she continued quietly. "I put my key in the lock, but the door just swung up when I started to twist it. So, I figured he was up. But, then I didn't see him down here... and he never leaves the door unlocked at night or anything... so I yelled upstairs that he was gonna be late... and he didn't answer." Kari's voice began to break, the tears starting afresh. "So, I went upstairs to see if he was up, and..." Her hands went to her face, covering her eyes as short breathless, sobs wracked her body.

Cassy looked to Tom, and moved aside. "Kari..." Tom's comforting voice cut in. "Kari, we need to know anything that might help us catch who did that to Mark. Okay? Is there anyone else who has a key to the house? Did he have any enemies?"

Kari rose from the couch and made her way towards to bathroom. The sound of her blowing her nose repeatedly could be heard for several long moments before she re-emerged with a box of tissues in her hand. "I told him. I told him, and I told him, and I told him..." she choked out, angrily.

"Told him what, Kari?" Cassy asked.

"Told him to quit the drug shit. I always knew that one morning I was gonna go up there and find him dead, I just always figured it would be from an overdose." The young blonde's voice rose more angrily with each word.

"So, you were pretty well aware of Mark's habit?" Tom asked, needlessly.

"How could I not be?" she laughed bitterly. "Sometimes he'd go so long without eating he started to look like someone just coming out of a concentration camp. He kept taking my makeup to cover up the dark circles under his eyes. My bedroom is directly below his, I could hear him walking around all night up there sometimes..." Kari's eyes filled with tears once more as though realizing her roommate would never do any of those things again. "He was my best friend," she whispered miserably. "We tried everything. Threats and bribes and reasoning and even an intervention last year, but nothing worked." Slowly she sank back down onto the sofa, and drew the afghan back up over her lap. "I'm sorry. Ask your questions. I want whoever did this caught, too."

Tom cast a glance at Cassy, who nodded for him to continue. "Is there anyone else who has a key to the house?"

"Our landlord. He's Mark's father. We get a real break on the rent here from the old man, or we wouldn't be able to afford to live here at all," she confessed. "Other than him, I don't think anyone else has a key. Though Mark does have a habit of leaving windows on the first floor open. Especially when he's high."

"Any enemies?" Tom asked.

"None that I can think of. He's a pretty easy-going guy. Everybody likes Mark. Or, they *did*... You might want to talk to some of the guys that worked for him. They might be more helpful. I mean, I have no idea how he spent his days."

Cassy turned to a clean page in her notebook, and pushed it across the couch to Kari, with her pen. "We'll need names and addresses, or phone numbers if you have them."

"Any idea who his dealer was?" Tom asked as Kari began writing names on the pad.

The young woman shook her head. "Not really, I know he got them from a couple different people. He stopped talking to me about any of it after the intervention we tried. I think one of the guys who worked for him got them for him sometimes." Having something to do, a task to perform, seemed to calm the woman's nerves considerably, Tom noted. She was younger than her late roommate, perhaps by a decade, and looked as though she spent a good deal of time in the gym, and on the beach. Her hair was sunstreaked in places, and her tan a deep gold. Her green eyes came up to meet his. "Are you guys gonna tell me not to leave town, or whatever? Because, I don't think I can sleep here."

Tom read the plea in those eyes, and reached out to take the pad from her. "Do you have a friend you can stay with? Someone local?"

Kari nodded. "Yeah. I know just about everyone in the neighborhood. I'll go stay with a friend of mine, around the corner."

Cassy watched the interaction between her partner and the victim's roommate and groaned inwardly. She'd seen the puppy dog eyes Tom was training on her. "We'll be going, but we'd appreciate you staying available. Chances are, we'll need to speak with you again," she stated as she stood and picked up her bag.

"Sure..." Kari nodded, taking the pen back from Tom for a moment to scribble an additional phone number on the pad he held. "You can reach me at that number. I'll pack a bag and head over there in a few minutes. I doubt I'll be going to work for a few days."

"Thanks for your cooperation," Tom smiled before following his partner outside.

Tom remained silent as he and Cassy walked down the driveway to the sedan. Reaching the car, the detective leaned against the roof on folded arms, pinning his partner with an amused stare. "What?" he asked.

"What, what?" she repeated, her face a study in innocence.

"Oh, please - not the innocent look," he groaned.

Cassy laughed. "Better the innocent look than the big puppy dog eyes!"

"What puppy dog eyes?" Ryan shot back defensively.

"The puppy dog eyes you give every woman your anatomy responds to!"

The look of feigned indignation on his face sent Cassy into a fit of laughter. "Do you want to take the neighbor on the right or the neighbor on the left?" she finally choked out, wiping her eyes.

"The one on the left, unless you want to come with me, to make sure that my anatomy doesn't run wild."

***********

Tom grimaced at the sound of the plastic upholstery cover crinkling as he sat on the sofa opposite the middle aged neighbor. Tim Burkhead lowered his bulky, pear- shaped frame into the delicate wing chair facing Tom and cleared his throat. "What can I do for you, Sergeant?" he asked. His hand absentmindedly prodded the stuffed bird on the table at his side. "I can only assume it's about the trouble next door this morning."

Tom attempted to shift into a more comfortable position, and suceeded only in producing more crinkling sounds from the sofa cover. The eyes of the small stuffed animals which occupied the room seem to follow his every movement. Squirrels and birds, a red fox, a racoon, all seeming to stalk him from the tabletops. "Yes. It is. Your neighbor, Mark Chase was killed last night."

"Oh, my!" Tim exclaimed in surprise. "Oh, that poor, poor man! How did it happen? Do you have any witnesses? Any suspects?" he asked hurriedly, leaning forward in anticipation.

"We're talking to all your neighbors to see if anyone heard or saw anything last night, sometime between midnight and five this morning. Or if you've seen anything out of the ordinary going on next door recently."

"Well. I certainly don't know about last night, I make it a habit of retiring no later than 10:00 P.M. Never have been much of a nightowl. Mother always encouraged turning in early," he explained, running a nervous hand through his thinning red hair.

"I see. How about the past few days? Have you noticed anything unusual next door?"

Tim laughed, a curiously high pitched titter. "Unusual? They were an unusual couple..." he whispered confidentially.

Tom's interest began to pique. "Unusual in what way?"

The neighbor continued to whisper. "She would bring home other men. Dates." He nodded as he sat back.

Tom Ryan aborted his note-taking. "According to Ms. Strouse, she and Mr. Chase weren't a couple."

With a wink, Tim shook his head. "That isn't what Mother says. Mother sees things..."

"Your mother? Does she live here as well? Mr. Burkhead, may I ask your mother a few questions?" Tom asked.

A brief look of panic crossed Burkhead's face. "Mother isn't well. She's resting and can't be disturbed."

The detective nodded, but was not yet deterred. "I could come back, or maybe she could just give me a call when it's convenient," he replied, fishing a card out of his shirt pocket and extending it to the man.

The nieghbor reached forward cautiously to take the card from his fingers, small beads of perspiration standing out at the edge of his receding hairline. "She's not well," he repeated. "She old, and frail, and not well. She can't be disturbed. I take care of her, you see. In fact, that's her calling me now..." Tim Burkhead rose from his chair with a glazed look in his eyes. "You'll have to go now, Sergeant."

Cassy was fairing little better with the other neighbor. The air in the house was redolent with pot, the middle-aged hippie sat on the sofa in the living room, one leg slung over the arm. *If he was any more relaxed he'd be comatose...* Cassy grumbled inwardly. Doug Profitt's long, shaggy blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, his manner relaxed as he'd opened the door to her and invited her in *to rap*.

"Mr. Profitt, how well did you know Mr. Chase?"

"Pretty well, I guess..." he answered, popping another clump of alf-alfa sprouts into his mouth. "Can't believe somebody croaked him. Bummer."

Cassy raised one eyebrow almost imperceptibly. "Yeah, bummer. So, you knew him pretty well. Can you think of anyone who might have had a grudge against him?"

"Against Mark? Naw.... Mark never hassled nobody. He was cool, worked out in the yard a lot."

"Anything usual go on over there lately? Any unusual people hanging around the house?" she asked, stifling back the sneeze she felt tickling her sinuses.

Doug shook his head, seeming to drift off for a moment, head moving in time to a tune only he could hear. His attention snapped back to Cassy as she finally released the sneeze. "Nope, nobody hangin' around I haven't seen before. You might wanna talk to Steve across the street though, he knew Mark better than I did."

Cassy nodded and stood, handing the man one of her cards as she passed him. "Call me if you think of anything."

Once out in the clean air again, she took in great gulps, feeling her lungs clear. Making her way passed the organic vegetable garden in the front yard, glanced towards the sedan on the street. Her partner had yet to make his appearance.

Cassy crossed the street alone, and knocked at the door to the small beige cottage. *Lotta people home in the middle of a weekday,* she griped silently as she heard the answering footsteps from within the dwelling.

*****

Steve Palinkos pulled an extra chair out to the deck, and handed Cassy the cup of coffee he'd retrieved from his kitchen. Dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his feet bare, he looked as though he'd just gotten out of bed.

"I just can't believe someone killed Mark..." he sighed, easing himself down onto the wicker chair. His face was a study in disbelief. "I mean, that sort of thing doesn't happen around here much. This is one of those neighborhoods where you can still leave you door unlocked. Most of the time anyway. At least, I thought it was..." he mused.

"People around here are in a habit of leaving their doors unlocked?" Cassy asked, slightly surprised.

Steve shrugged. "Sure. It's not unusual. People in this neighborhood are friendly, pretty much everyone knows everyone. See that dog there? Out on the street?" Steve pointed and the detective turned her eyes to the black lab wandering happily down the road, tongue lolling, not a care in the world. "That's Shadow, belongs to the lady shrink and her husband, two doors down. We know each other's dogs, and kids, and routines... it's a peaceful neighborhood. I can't imagine someone getting killed right across the street."

She nodded, a kind of understanding settling in. "Mr. Palinkos, there was nothing taken from the house, this wasn't a robbery gone wrong. No apparent signs of forced entry..."

"Is Kari all right?" he asked, leaning forward, concern etched on his face.

"She's fine. Apparently she wasn't home last night when it happened."

Steve sat back with a brief sigh of relief. "That makes sense... I haven't seen her around for a few days. She does that a lot."

"What about Mark? Has he been around the house this weekend?"

Steve sat silently for a few moments. "Yeah. It's pretty hard to miss that big van of his coming and going. It's been in the driveway for the past couple of days."

"Any other cars come or go?"

The murdered man's neighbor took a sip of his own coffee as he cast his mind back over the last several days. "A green Saab, but I'm pretty sure that's his father. He usually comes down once a week to have dinner with Mark, check up on him..."

Cassy looked at the young man over her coffee cup. "Check up on him?"

"Yeah..." Shy, hazel eyes sought out hers. "I don't like to tell tales, especially about the uh... the dead... but, Mark had some sort of drug problem."

"This was common knowledge?" Cassy asked, her interest piqued.

"Pretty much. It's a quiet neighborhood, it's hard to miss the screaming fights. He and Kari really went at it for a while."

Bright blue eyes shone in interest. "Went at it in what way?"

"Fights. Real screamers. Her screamin' at him that he was wasting his life, making her nuts, putting his life savings up his nose... Him yelling at her to mind her own business and to move out if she didn't like it. Fights wouldn't have been quite so noticeable if they hadn't been in the middle of the night. These houses are so close that in the summer with the windows open, if someone sneezes, the neighbors say, 'Bless you'." He smiled briefly before polishing off his coffee. "Those stopped kind of suddenly last year. The fights. But I don't think it was because he gave up the drug, I think she just stopped banging her head against a brick wall."

"Was he dealing?" Cassy asked.

"No. Absolutely not." Steve's reply was immediate and adamant. "Nothing like that. He was definitely a user, but he never dealt. There would have been a whole lot more traffic in and out of that house if he had been. Mark Chase kept to himself. Had a few visitors here and there, but that was it. We been neighbors for about ten years, and there was only time I can remember any trouble over there at all. You want another cup?" he asked, half rising from his chair before Cassy shook her head in refusal. Settling back down, he continued, "The cops were down here once, about a month ago, to break up a brawl between him and some guy who had been working for him. Don't know what it was about, but the cops came and hauled the other guy off. Kari was home that night. I remember hearing her screaming at Mark that this was the last straw, and if he didn't fire that jerk after this, she wasn't responsible for her actions if he showed up at the house again."

Cassy's eyes wandered to the house across the street. Kari's car was no longer in the driveway. "Sounds like Ms. Strouse has a bit of a temper."

Steve laughed sharply. "That's putting it lightly. On the other hand, she's also the first one to jump in and help out a sick friend, or someone in trouble. On the holidays she works down at the soup kitchen, she goes to church every Sunday, sings in the choir..." he shrugged. "I guess it all balances out."

The sound of a screen door snapping shut caught their attention. A wide grin spread across Steve's face as he looked across the street. "Looks like Timmy had a visitor," he chuckled.

"Ah, that's my partner," the detective told him. "We're questioning all your neighbors."

"And he got Timmy," the man laughed softly. To Cassy's glance of askance he continued, "Timmy Burkhead is the only reason any of lock our doors. He has a habit of letting himself in, and once he's in, it's tough to get him out."

Tom wandered back into the bullpen, reading the report in his hand as he unerringly skirted trashcans and desks on his way.

"Anything?" Cassy asked, casting her eyes to him as he sat.

"Could be..." he nodded as he finished reading. "One of Chases employees, guy by the name of Larry Eldridge, showed up at the house, drunk. Apparently he was refused entry into the house, and when Chase went out to talk to him the altercation started. Kari called 911, and Eldridge reportedly left without resistance when asked to. Says here he left on foot, leaving his car parked on the street. No charges were filed. The guy lives on the outskirts of the city, and it looks like hes pretty well known around there..." Tom glanced back at the file. "Arrests for B&E, possession of narcotics, possession of stolen goods, assault..."

Cassy sat back and listened to her partners summary, then shook her head slightly. "Worth a ride over there to talk to him, but... I dont think hes who were looking for. Thats all small time, and the assaults were probably spur of the moment, bar brawls or something. Does that sound like the kind of person capable of nice, clean killing? Or someone who would leave the TV, the VCR, the stereo, all that stuff in the house?"

"Nope, not really..." Ryan reluctantly agreed. "But I think we should go have a talk with him anyway. We dont have a lot else to go on yet."

"I want to spend a little more time out at that house tomorrow, really go through Chases room. I also think we should talk to his father, and the rest of the people on the list Kari gave us."

Tom stood and searched his desk for his car keys. "You take the father, Ill take the former employee," he offered.

"Works for me," she agreed. "We should also hit the morgue tomorrow and see if Sterlings come up with anything useful." Cassy grabbed her keys and started away from her desk, then turned back. "That should take us through the end of the day, do you have plans tonight?" she asked casually.

Her partner looked up from his key-search. "Date," he replied with a grin. "You?"

"Oh." The slightly surprised look on her face was quickly covered. "No, but Im still really tired. I think a long soak in the tub and then an early night for me."

"Alone?" he teased.

"Alone," she replied with a scowl.

Hazel eyes softened slightly as they recognized familiar defensive posturing. "Youre sure you dont want to talk about what happened with you and whats-his-name?"

"Im sure," she insisted with a forced smile. "Nothing to talk about. Have fun tonight and Ill see you in the morning. Just call me if you find anything useful, Ill have my cell phone on." She turned and made a quick exit, waving back over her shoulder.

********

Ned Chase ushered Cassy into the large living room, offering her a cool drink as she sat. Politely refusing, she watched the distinguished looking 80 year old gentleman settle himself into a comfortably worn leather chair. The sunlight streaming through the open window glinted off his silver hair.

"So, youd like to know something about my son, I imagine," he offered quietly.

"I know this must be a difficult time for you, and I promise this wont take long," she apologized.

The elderly man smiled softly at her. "That all right. We all lived with the knowledge that Mark was not going to be with us for long. We didnt expect his life to end in quite this fashion, but there has been some emotional preparation going on for some time now. Such a waste..." he added quietly.

Cassy nodded in sympathy. "I understand you were also his landlord."

"Yes. Mark moved into that house almost 15 years ago. He wasnt working much at that time, and needed a place to live for a little while where he wouldnt get evicted if he couldnt pay the rent now and then. It was supposed to be a temporary measure until he got on his feet, and established a customer base."

"Painting and remodeling, wasnt it?" she prompted him.

A slight look of disapproval lurked in the mans eyes. "Yes. He had his masters degree in psychology, then chose to pursue a career as a manual laborer instead."

The picture didnt mesh in the detectives mind, and Ned Chase nodded in agreement. "None of us really understood the decision, but there was no talking him out of throwing away years of education. He lived alone for the first six or seven years, and then decided to rent out the small downstairs bedroom. Though I didnt realize it at the time, he was doing it so that he might have more money each month free to support his habit. Kari turned out to be a God-send, for the most part. Shes the one who brought the addiction to our attention. Though we were never able to get him to stop, at least we knew, and were able to try."

"She mentioned you had had an intervention for him last year."

"Yes. We did. I believe it did the people involved more good than it did my son, but some good did come out of it. We were all able to openly express our concern, and to say the things we needed to say to him for our own peace of mind. For a while it seemed as though he might stop, but the draw of the drug was simply too great for him to resist. Do you think his death was somehow drug related?"

Cassy gazed at him for a moment before answering. "Were not sure yet. Nothing was taken from the house, and that doesnt exactly fit with a drug related death. But, were not ruling anything out yet. Did your son have any enemies, that you know of? Anyone who would want him out of the way for some reason?"

Ned Chase shook his head. "Not that I know of, no. Hes always been well liked by most. I visited with him over this last weekend, and everything seemed fairly normal, even improved."

"Improved how?"

"Well, for one thing, he gave me his rent money on time. Hes been doing that for the last two months, actually, though Im not sure how. From everything else hes told me, business has slowed down the last few months, and I know hes been at home more than he has been at work.... yet hes seemed to have a little more money than usual. I had hoped it was because he wasnt putting it up his nose, but... he looked like he had been doing more cocaine than usual. His weight was down, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. Yes, Id say I wondered where he had been getting the extra money."

"I asked one of his neighbors if he thought Mark has been dealing, and he was pretty certain that he hadnt been."

"Check with Kari," Ned suggested. "She would know for certain."

Tom knocked once more on the door to the apartment, the metal number "8" rattling against the wood with each knock. Inside, he could hear an infant crying, a long hoarse cry. He stood out in the dingy, dimly lit hallway for another moment, poised to knock one last time, when a young woman opened the door, the crying infant in her arms. "What?" she asked, sharply.

Tom flashed his badge briefly. "Sergeant Ryan, Palm Beach PD. Im looking for Larry Eldridge."

"Yeah, you and me both," she scowled. "Hes not here."

"Any idea when hell be back?" Tom asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine. What did he do this time?" she asked, shifting the quieting infant in her arms.

"We just need to ask him a few questions. Is he still employed by Mark Chase, do you know?"

The woman shook her head. "No, he got fired a while back. The idiot finally gets steady work and he goes and steals from the guy."

"Do you know if hes had any recent communication of any kind with Mr. Chase?" Tom asked, glancing at his watch.

Eldridges girlfriend shifted the now sleeping infant to her other shoulder and sighed impatiently. "I dont know. I doubt it. Look, if you want to talk to him youll have to come back."

The detectives mouth opened in reply when the phone in his pocket began ringing. Retrieving it, he answered. "Ryan... Hi, thanks for calling me back so quickly...", and the door in front of his face closed firmly.

**************

It was nearly six oclock before Cassy arrived at home. The dwelling was silent. Her shoes came off before shed even closed the front door behind her, her weary sigh seeming to echo in the stillness. Aching feet moved her to the kitchen, where she dropped her purse on top of the counter, and placed her shoes neatly beneath. A glass came down from the rack, and a bottle from the refrigerator. Sipping the chilled wine, she hit the "Play" button on her answering machine, and leaned back against the wall.

"Cassy, its Kevin. If youre there, pick up. Please?.... All right. Look, Im really sorry about last night..." the voice on the tape continued. "Can we talk about it?"

"No, we cant talk about it..." Cassy snapped, hitting the "Erase" button before the message even finished. The machine beeped, there were no more. The remaining wine in the glass disappeared quickly.

*************

The Starbucks downtown was nearly empty. Tom sat alone at the small table, sipping a cup of fresh coffee, and waiting. Hed called Kari Strouse at the temporary number shed given him, hoping to speak with her, and arrange to go through the house in the morning, and had been surprised when shed called back and suggested meeting him. At exactly 6:00, as promised, she walked in the door.

Dressed in a faded pair of jeans, and a sweater which had seen better days, Kari waved in acknowledgement to him, and walked quickly to the counter to purchase a large cappuccino for herself before joining him.

Tom offered her a smile as she sat, and noticed the heavy makeup she was wearing. Makeup which didnt do much to conceal the puffiness of her eyes. "I was surprised you wanted to come out," he ventured.

The young blonde returned his smile. "Im staying with the minister and his wife. Theyre really great people, and theyve been just terrific about letting me crash with them, but... They were hovering. I know they mean well, but I just needed to get out of there for a little while."

Ryan nodded in understanding. "My partner and I would like to go back into the house tomorrow morning and take a really good look around Marks room. Forensics has been through there already, but we thought it might be a good idea."

Green eyes casually brushed over the detective like a light touch. "Not a problem. Ill give you my key, and you can go through anything in the house you want. In fact, if you get hungry while youre there, help yourself to anything in the fridge. I doubt Ill be back in that house before it all goes bad. Might as well not waste anything."

"Thanks," Tom laughed softly. She seemed to be pulling herself together pretty well, all things considered. "I also wanted to ask you about Larry Eldridge," he continued as he reached across the table to take the key from her hand.

A look of distaste appeared on her face. "What about him?"

"What happened the day he and Mark had the fight?"

Kari took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Larry was a guy who worked for Mark for like a year. He was trouble from the first day, but Mark refused to see it. Probably because he was also a coke-head and was sharing with Mark. He was always coming to the house, all fucked up and asking Mark for money. And Mark would just give it to him, like a jerk. The guy was stealing equipment from his truck... I mean, I cant prove it was him, its just a gut instinct. He also used to come over, drunk or high or stoned, whenever he and that girl he lives with would have a fight. He beat the Hell out of her a couple of times, and she just wont leave him. Theyve even got a kid now, how scary is that?" she asked, her voice rising a little in anger. "Some people should just be sterilized, not allowed to reproduce."

Tom glanced at her in surprise at her harsh tone. "I agree, some people shouldnt be parents..." he nodded. He agreed with the sentiment, yet there was something unsettling about the delivery. "So, the day of the fight..." he prompted.

"Oh, right..." She shook her head as though to clear an errant thought. "He came over and wanted money. Mark was upstairs, sleeping off his activities of the night before... and I wouldnt let Larry in. He was drunk, and insistent, and I just didnt want him in the house. I told him Mark was asleep and hed have to call him later. Then I closed the door in his face. He stood out in the yard, and started yelling for Mark to get up... and he wouldnt stop. I called the cops to come get him, and just as I was hanging up, Mark came down. He was in a mood, he was pissed at having been woken up, and he went outside, and he and Larry got into it. Tempers were flying, and fists followed, and by then the cops had shown up. Mark didnt want to press charges. I think he realized that if he had Larry arrested, Larry would roll over and give them something on *him* and it would just get ugly. Larry left, walked off. I assume he retrieved the piece of junk he drives at some point the next day, and I havent seen or heard from him since." She took a sip of her coffee, her eyes following Toms hand as he made a few notes. "Never know about a guy like Larry... who knows how long he might hold a grudge..." she added, almost as an afterthought.

"All right. He wasnt home when I went over there to talk to him, but Ill try again tomorrow. We spoke with your neighbors, but I dont think we got much from them. Im still waiting to hear back from Mrs. Burkhead."

A brief look of confusion crossed Karis features. "Mrs... Oh! You mean Timmys mother... Did you see her?" she asked curiously.

"No," Tom answered, shaking his head. "She was sleeping."

"Huh... You know, in all the years Ive lived there, I dont think Ive ever seen her. Just Timmy. And *him* we saw a bit too much of."

Cassy climbed from the large tub and toweled off, feeling more relaxed than she had all day. The wine had been a help, certainly. The half drained bottle sat next to the tub, alongside her empty glass. Slipping into a large, fluffy robe, she picked up the bottle and the glass, and made her way into the living room.

Lights dimmed, volume on the TV low, the weary detective settled down on the sofa, hugging one of the large throw pillows to her chest. Blue eyes wandered to the phone, and pulled away, time and time again. She sighed inwardly and gave herself a quick mental kick. "*Stupid, stupid, stupid...* she chastised herself over and over. A wave of guilt washed over her as she heard again in her head the sound of Kevins voice on the answering machine. So understanding, so willing to talk it out and move on. However, even if he was willing to put the incident in the past, she wasnt sure she could. And certainly, if the roles in the situation were reversed, she didnt think she could be quite so understanding. What shed done, in that brief flash of a moment.... She shook her head to clear the thought. *It didnt mean anything. Nothing at all. It was a slip of the tongue, thats all. Just a... really, really embarrassing slip of the tongue.*

Her eyes turned back to the TV, and she realized she hadnt been paying attention to the movie at all. Halfway through already, she picked up the remote and hit Rewind. Her stomach growled a muted reminder she had not eaten, and Cassy cast a tired glance towards the kitchen.

No sooner had she gotten up, when a knock came at the front door, startling her from her private mental beating. She glanced quickly at the clock, and went to open the door, sending up a silent prayer it wasnt Kevin. There was no way she could face him yet.

The smell of pizza greeted her nose as she looked up into the hopelessly cheerful eyes of her partner. "Tom? What are you doing here?" she asked, stepping aside automatically to allow him entry.

"Thought you might be hungry," he smiled, passing her and heading into the kitchen, assuming invitation... as always.

Cassy followed, her stomach growling once again, in response to the promise of food. "Its 9:00..."

"...and you havent eaten yet," Tom finished the sentence for her. He placed the box on the counter and took down two plates from the cabinet, sliding two pieces of pepperoni pizza onto each. He turned and handed her one before she could protest further. Grabbing a napkin from the counter, and a soda from the fridge, he wandered out into the living room and deposited himself of the couch, leaving his partner standing in the kitchen with a plate of pizza in her hand, and a confused look on her face.

Cassy surrendered to the fact that he, for whatever reason, was there, and not leaving, and followed suit. She placed her dish on the coffee table, and slipped a coaster beneath his soda can. "Thought you had a date tonight," she ventured, taking a bite of her dinner and trying not to look as ravenous as shed suddenly realized she was. "What happened, did she stand you up?"

A sheepish look crossed the face of her ex-husband. "Actually, I was the one doing the standing up tonight..." he admitted.

"You?" she asked in surprise.

Tom nodded. "I got a call back from Kari Strouse. I went to meet her at Starbucks, and we got caught up talking... and before I realized it..." he shrugged. "I called Trisha to try to explain, but she was plenty pissed about sitting in a restaurant waiting for me for two hours. So... when I went to pick up this pizza, I realized Id ordered a large and... something told me from the tone of your voice when you left this afternoon that youd be sitting here with your stomach growling..."

Cassy started to laugh despite herself. "A nice piece of detective work," she granted him. "What were you talking to Kari Strouse about for such a long time?" she asked.

"Well... I got the scoop on that incident with Larry Eldridge," he began, filling her in on the conversation while polishing off his two slices.

"Im telling you, that Eldridge guy doesnt have anything to do with this. I just know it. Whoever did it is methodical, cold, calculating..."

"I agree," Tom called back over his shoulder as he went to the kitchen for more pizza. "I got the key to the house, and tomorrow well follow Harrys advice and get to know our victim."

Cassys eyes followed his movements as he came back to join her on the couch. No matter where he was, he looked comfortable. Pushing her then empty plate away from her, she filled him in on her conversation with Ned Chase. "He wants to put the house on the market when weve closed the case."

Ryan nodded. "Nice place, good location... it should sell pretty quickly, if the real estate agent can keep those neighbors out of sight while showing it," he laughed. "So... Ive told you why Im dateless tonight... you want to tell me why you are?" he asked tentatively.

A long silence followed the question. "Not really. No," she finally replied.

"It might help," he prodded gently.

"No, somehow I dont think it would..." Cassy replied with a forced smile. "Lets just say that something happened the other night thats making me re-evaluate some things... and leave it at that. Okay?"

Tom read the near plea in her blue eyes and nodded in consent. "Consider it dropped. For now. But if you want to talk about it later, just say so." Tom had been aware of Kevin for quite some time, hed lasted longer than any of the other men his ex had dated since the divorce. Though he wasnt exactly thrilled with the prospect of her getting serious with anyone, he couldnt deny shed seemed happy enough with the guy.

"Ill keep that in mind," she assured him. "So, why dont you meet me at Chases house tomorrow morning? We can go through the place, then take a trip downtown to see Sterling?"

Her partner noted the hasty shift in subject, and complied. "Sounds like a plan. Have to admit, slob that I can be sometimes, Im not looking forward to going back into that bedroom again..." he laughed.

Cassy winced. "Ewww, thanks for reminding me. Ill remember to wear long pants and long sleeves. I dont see how anyone could live in that filth, especially when the rest of the house is so spotless."

Morning dawned, bright and clear, lending credence to the popular assumption that the residents of Palm Beach could afford to buy flawless weather.

Tom was halfway out the door of his tiny apartment, when the phone rang. Doubling back he snatched up the receiver, keys in hand. "Ryan."

"Its me," Cassys voice greeted him. "Change of plans. Meet me downtown first, Sterling has something for us already."

"What does he have?"

"I dont know, hence the trip downtown..." she replied with just the barest touch of exasperation. She had hardly slept at all, despite the bath and the wine. After Tom had left, shed finished watching the rented movie, cleaned the kitchen, and finally laid down in bed. However, sleep had remained elusive.

"All right," Tom sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Ill see you in a few." He hung up the phone and headed out the door again. He knew full well what her tone of voice had meant. A bad day for him.

**********

"Obviously a long term cocaine user..." the M.E. nodded in agreement. "Damage to the heart, severe damage to the sinuses, and the beginnings of ulcers. No evidence of IV drug use. I got residual traces in his blood, he probably hadnt used for the last 24 hours of his life."

"Okay, his drug habit we were aware of," Tom nodded. "What else?"

"The cause of death was the wound to the neck. From the wound itself we can tell that the killer is most likely right handed. And, its a nice, clean cut. There were no signs of hesitation. When we see stabbing victims come in, most of the time the wound is more of a gash, ragged, made in anger or passion. This wound was a clean, decisive stab. The killer aimed for the artery, sunk the knife in, quick and deep, and pulled it out."

Cassy felt a slight chill up the back of her spine. It had been a cold-blooded, calculated act, performed without hesitation or conscience. "Anything else?"

Sterling nodded. "Blue, plastic fibers were buried in the wound, like he had something over his neck, and the fibers were driven into him with the knife."

***********

Roton Point Avenue was alive with bikers and bladers. Tom drove slowly as the fitness conscious neighborhood residents wove their way around his car. As he climbed from the sedan in the driveway, he could feel eyes upon him. Watching. "Curious people around here..." he muttered to Cassy as she joined him, heading towards the house. His gaze wandered to the Burkheads house, next door. A curtain in an upstairs window dropped back into place.

"Nosy," she corrected with a slight smile.

"Okay, I was being nice," he conceded with a laugh. Tom took the key out of his pocket and unlocked the front door. The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the house. "Upstairs?" he asked in an unnecessarily hushed tone, heading towards the staircase at the far end of the living room.

Cassy nodded, moving to follow. Her eyes briefly wandered over the photos which covered the mantle. Mark with two other men, all sporting the same cheesy mustaches. Brothers, she guessed. Another photo showed Kari in her choir robes, standing on the steps of the church, several other robed members flanking her. The detective stopped, and backed up, coming to stand in front of the fireplace.

Tom halted on the first stair and looked back. "What?" he asked.

A shake of the head was the only response he received from his partner for several long moments. She continued to study the photos, one by one. Mark with his father. Mark with his brothers again. Mark and several friends in costumes at Halloween. Kari standing in front of a new car, a proud look on her face. Kari in front of the church again.... "None of them together," she finally spoke her observation.

Tom came back down and walked to her side, glancing over the photos quickly. "None," he agreed. "None in frames on the mantle anyway."

"After so many years of living together?" Blue eyes turned briefly up to him, something sparkling behind them for an instant. "Upstairs," she sighed, unable to put off the unpleasant task ahead any longer.

"Ewwww..." Cassy groaned, wrinkling her nose as she snapped on a pair of gloves. "How could anyone live in this?"

Even Tom, who was not known for his fastidious housekeeping habits, wore a look of distaste. "I dont ever want to hear that I was the biggest slob in the world because I left my socks on the floor by the bed."

"By the bed?" Cassy repeated, looking at him in reproach. "Thomas Ryan, some of those gym socks were so ripe they crawled *under* the bed all by themselves."

"Oh, they did not..." he scowled.

"They growled at me when I tried to get them to come out!" his ex-wife insisted indignantly.

Toms eyes frantically searched the floor. "Ah-hah!" he exclaimed, pointing to a lump on a plate, half hidden by the sheets. "I bet that used to be cheese, so dont talk about my socks..."

"Ewwwwww....."

Over the next hour, the partners searched through the room of the murdered man, looking not only for evidence of his death, but evidence of his life. Cassy opened an army footlocker in Mark Chases closet and pulled a photo album from the top of the pile inside. Finding a relatively clean area of the bed, she cautiously sat down and began to flip through it.

Tom watched for a moment, then tagged a shoebox full of miscellaneous receipts, placing it out in the hall, to be taken down to the station for later. "Anything else in here?" he asked, kneeling down in front of the trunk.

"Take a look for yourself," Cassy replied distractedly. The Mark Chase she saw in the older photos bore little or no resemblance to the man theyd seen in the morgue that morning. A decade or so earlier, hed been a robust, healthy, attractive man with a good natured smile and a gleam in his eyes.

While she took a visual tour of his life, her partner dug into the footlocker. "What the...?" he mumbled to himself.

Cassy looked up from the book. "What?" she asked. Her ex had a look of distaste on his face which matched hers upon entering the room.

Tom reached back in again, then withdrew his hand quickly. He held in his fingers a long brunette wig. "Im not even touching the rest of the stuff in here. Not even with gloves."

Intrigued, the blonde rose from the bed, setting the album aside and went to stand at his side. "What are you..." she began, then stopped short. "Ewww... Okay..." She took a deep breath, mildly amused by the look on his face. "Maybe they belonged to a girlfriend?" she asked, pointing to the objects in the trunk.

Tom glanced up at her. "Kari said he hadnt really been seeing anybody. And if he had been, and these are hers, then their sex life couldnt have been very satisfying."

"Whats that?" Cassy asked, pointing into the trunk again. "That book."

Hazel eyes traveled reluctantly back into the footlocker. There was a leather bound book beneath the paraphernalia. He sighed in resignation. "Gimme a pair of gloves..."

Moments later, his gloved hand held the thick book, the gold letters across the front read, "Journal".

"Now *this* should be interesting. Lets take that back to the station with the box of receipts and take a look at it there," Cassy suggested, eager to be out of that room.

Tom nodded, rising to his feet. "Were out of here..."

Locking the front door behind them, he followed his partner down the short, slate walkway towards the drive. And stopped.

"What?" she asked, turning to face him.

Toms eyes had been caught by a flash of blue from the corner of the cottage. The edge of a blue boat tarp, which had come loose, was flapping in the mild breeze. "What did Sterling say those fibers he found in the wound were?" he asked, moving across the lawn.

"Plastic," Cassy replied, following close behind.

Tom dropped the box in his hand on the ground beside the small, covered sailboat. He began to pull at the tarp, straightening the folds, making his way around the boat as he walked, until he found what he suspected he might. A hole. A neat puncture, the blue plastic strands unraveling around it. "Looks like we may have found the source of those fibers..."

Tom turned left at the end of the street instead of right, which would have headed them back to the freeway. "Taking a scenic route?" Cassy inquired as she began to flip through the pages of Chase's journal.

"No. I wanted to stop at the church for a minute. Kari's staying with the minister and his family up in the Parsonage. I wanted to ask her about the boat around the side of the house - and just see how she's doing today."

Cassy rolled her eyes as she turned away for a moment. "She's a little young for you, don't you think?"

Spotting the small, surprisingly contemporary church on the corner, Tom pulled into the parking lot. The Parsonage was a house in back of the main church building where the minister's family resided. "I wasn't thinking about her that way, Cass. She's just lost her best friend, and she doesn't have any family in Florida, and now you tell me that her landlord is going to sell the house she lives in. I just feel sorry for her - that's all."

"Great. You feel sorry for her. Did you even run her name to see if she's got a record?"

"I did," he confirmed. "I pulled up her records, but there wasn't much there. She purchased a handgun five years ago but never got a permit to carry it. Then about a two years ago she turned it in to the PD."

"Turned it in? Don't people usually sell old handguns back to the gun stores when they don't want them anymore? Especially people who look like they're strapped for cash?" his partner questioned.

Tom nodded. "Usually. But the records showed that the gun was destroyed. It was completely useless - rusted solid."

"Rusted?"

"That's what it said in the supplemental notes. That house is right down by the water. Kari mentioned that the house floods a lot and that's why she was glad she just rented. Maybe it got damaged in one of the floods two years ago. Other than that she's never gotten so much as a parking ticket." Pulling into the lot behind the church, Ryan climbed out. "I'll just be a minute."

St. John watched her partner as he jogged up the driveway to the Parsonage, and shook her head. Her eyes returned to the open journal as she waited.

*****

"Sorry, but Kari's not here," the minister's wife explained with an apologetic smile. "She left before any of us got up this morning. Maybe she went back to work already."

Tom shook his head. "I wouldn't think she'd be up for that. She was so still pretty shaky when I talked to her last night. Is there any place else you can think of where she might have gone?"

"I'm sorry, Sergeant, but I just don't know. She knows just about everyone in this neighborhood so she could have gone visiting anyone. She could be down at the beach or at Gold's Gym - I know she works out there quite frequently. I'll have her call you if I hear from her though."

The detective thanked the older woman and turned to leave.

"Such a shame, really," she called to him. "Mark was like family to her - and now she has no family at all. Except for us, of course. This neighborhood is like one big family. Kari's very well-liked around here, despite the fact that she doesn't economically fit in."

The remark brought Tom up short as he turned back to her, recalling a piece of his conversation with Kari the evening before. "I thought her parents lived up north."

"I believe that's where she's originally from, yes. But, her parents have been deceased for a year now. An auto accident I believe. They weren't very close, in fact I don't think they spoke much at all. Poor thing was beside herself when she got the news."

His next question was cut short by the sound of his partner's voice. Glancing down to the parking lot, he saw Cassy standing outside the car, cell phone in her hand, waving him to come down.

"Thank you for your time," he called back to the minister's wife as he hurried back down. "What's up?" he asked, climbing back into the car.

"That was Harry, he wants us to get back out to Mark's father's house right away."

Tom started the car and pulled out of the parking space. "Has he got something for us?"

"No. He's dead."

*************

The pajama-clad body of the elderly man lay in a crumpled heap at the foot of the steep slate stairs which led down to the driveway.

"One of the neighbors come by for a swim around lunchtime every day," the uniformed officer on the scene explained, pointing to a clearly shaken gentleman in swimtrunks who sat on a stone bench nearby. "He found Mr. Chase."

Sterling Morton knelt at the side of the body, looking up at the detectives with a curious look in his eyes. "He's been dead for at least eight hours from the amount of lividity."

Tom looked up the steep flight of stairs to the large house. "It was dark eight hours ago. What was the old guy doing on the stairs in his pajamas before dawn?" Another look at the M.E. gave him pause. "What is it, Sterling?"

"I don't know. Not exactly, anyway - but I'd say that he was already dead before he got anywhere near that staircase. I'll have to examine the body to confirm my suspicions. Why don't the two of your check back with me in a few hours?"

"Wait," Cassy interjected, stepping forward. "Are you saying he didn't fall down the stairs? That you suspect foul play?"

"That's what I'm saying. Look - I'll need to confirm all of this but... it looks as though the cause of death may have been a blow to the head, yet I don't see any blood on the stairs, and it's not pooled beneath the body nearly as much as I would expect. If he fell down these stairs to his death, then there will be other bodily damage - contusions, cuts, lacerations from the slate stairs. I'll let you know once I examine him."

"Thanks, Sterling." Cassy turned to comment to her partner, but he was already climbing the stairs towards the open front door of the house.

After speaking briefly with the neighbor who'd found the body, and watching as Ned Chase's remains were loaded into the wagon she followed her ex.

"Tom?" she called into the silent house.

The answer came from a room at the back of the house. "In here."

Following the direction of his voice, Cassy wound her way through the rooms of the rambling house and found him in what must have been the master bedroom. He stood staring at the bed.

"Anything?" she asked.

Ryan shook his head. "I'm not sure."

"The first cop who responded to the call said the front door was wide open. The neighbor confirmed that," she informed him, glancing about the room. The bedroom was large and airy. A picture window looked out onto the back yard, and the pool. An antique secretaries desk sat in one corner of the room, its wood polished to a high gloss. The hardwood floor shone as well. The fabric of the armchair in the opposite corner matched the draperies hanging at the side of the windows. When she looked back at her partner, he was still staring at the unmade bed.

"Something's not right," he said quietly, moving closer to the bed.

"Cass, look at the pillowcases."

"Ugly," she commented. "But so are the drapes. And the sheets."

"Right, they are ugly," Tom agreed offhandedly. "The pillowcases and the sheets are both ugly. But they're a different KIND of ugly."

"What's that supposed..." she began to question impatiently, until her eyes saw the same thing his did. "The sheets are an ugly floral print. The pillowcases are a different ugly floral pattern."

Tom nodded, smiling just a little as she caught on. "Right. And Morton doesn't think the man died on the stairs, but from a blow to the head elsewhere." Taking hold of the corner of one of the pillowcases, he shook the pillow out. The pillow was dark with dried blood.

"Think we can find a washer and dryer in this place?" Cassy asked, backing out of the room.

************

"Definitely already dead before he got anywhere near that staircase,"

Sterling Morton confirmed as he turned away from the body.

"The blow to the head was the cause of death. I don't seen any other bruising, no broken or cracked ribs - just a few scrapes which would be consistent with being dragged over a rough surface on his back."

Retrieving the sealed plastic bag from her partner, Cassy handed it to the M.E. "The pillowcase that matched the sheets on the bed were in the washer. Whoever killed him got into the house without leaving any signs of forced entry, delivered the fatal blow - and then cleaned up. He or she took the bloodstained pillowcase off and tossed it in the wash and put a clean case on."

"So, why wasn't there any blood-trail from the bedroom to the front door?" Tom asked quietly.

Cassy looked back at him, considering her answer. "If the killer wrapped his head with something there would have been no trail."

Ryan nodded distractedly as a thought in the back of his head nagged at him. "Let's get back, Cass. There's something I need to check."

**************

"Did you get the sense that the old man was holding back anything from you when you talked to him the other day?" Tom continued to question his partner as they returned to their desks. "Like, maybe there was someone with a grudge against him? Someone who might have killed his son first as a warning to him, and then gone after the old man himself?"

Cassy shook her head. "No, I wasn't getting anything like that from him at all. My impression is that he was being completely forthcoming. I didn't sense anything secretive."

Tom only heard part of her answer as he sat at his desk, rapidly typing something into his computer.

"What is it?" she asked. She'd seen the expression on his face before and knew he sorting something out.

"Just... I don't know. Call it a hunch." A few moments later he sat back, reading the information on his screen. He shook his head, but the expression remained on his face. "She said her parents lived up north and that she didn't speak to them," he mumbled as he read, and then typed. "Social Security number starts with 046 and that's Connecticut..."

Cassy could practically hear the wheels turning and grew more irritated with every moment that passed.

"...but the minister's wife said they were dead. Killed in an accident or something..." Leaning back in his chair, the detective waited for the further information requested to appear.

"For crying out loud what are you talking about?" Cassy finally blurted out.

Tom stared at his monitor for a moment longer before swiveling it for his partner to read. "I'm talking about an unsolved murder in Connecticut. I want to go back out to the house and look for something.

"For what?"

"Keys, Cass. Keys. There was no sign of forced entry at Ned Chase's house. He was killed after Mark. I think whoever killed Mark must have taken his keys - Mark probably had a key to his father's house," he explained. "I also want to take a closer look at the rest of that house."

None too anxious to set foot in the deceased's bedroom again, Cassy picked up the phone instead. "You go to the house, I want to stay here and make some calls."

*********

With a disgusted groan, Tom donned his gloves before beginning to paw through the debris in the late Mark Chase' bedroom. More cocaine-coated dollar bills turned up from beneath the bed. Dirty laundry was shaken, piece by piece for the telltale jangle of keys before landing in two piles again outside the door in the hall. To his grim amusement, Tom noticed after a while that he'd been piling the darks separate from the whites as though for the wash.

"Probably the cleanest this room has been in years," he grumbled to himself after an hour of searching. No keys had turned up and he was sure his suspicions had been correct. "That's it. No keys," he concluded as he took off his gloves and moved towards the door. The ring of his cell phone brought him up short. "Ryan," he answered.

The voice of his partner came back to him "It's me. Listen, I made a few phone calls to the police in Connecticut. Kari's parent's were murdered just over a year ago - August 16th. They were shot to death in their beds with a .38. There were no signs of forced entry, no one could ever find a single print or witness or motive. The case is still open."

"A .38?" he repeated. "That's the same kind of gun Kari had. But, she turned that in a long time ago. That gun was destroyed."

"It just seemed like too much of a coincidence," she said urgently. "So, I called the bookstore Kari works in, and get this - the only time she ever took any amount of time off was when she had to go out of state for her parents' funeral. She told her boss that they'd been killed in a car crash."

"Maybe she wasn't comfortable telling anyone that they were murdered," he offered, not believing it himself, but waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Fine - if she didn't kill them then she's psychic. She told her boss about needing time off for the funeral two days *before* they were killed."

"I'll call the Parsonage and see if she's turned up there," he answered.

"Call me if you hear anything." Breaking the connection, Tom tucked his phone back into his pocket and hurried out the door into the hallway - and found himself looking down the barrel of a revolver.

"I can't catch a break lately," Kari laughed.

Tom backed up away from the gun which was pointed directly at his face.

"Take your gun out real slow," she said calmly. "And toss it back into the pigpen."

"Kari, you don't want to do this," he coaxed, his hand moving slowly to his gun to follow her directions. One thing he'd learned in his years as a cop was that if an assailant was pointing the gun at the victim's body they might not shoot unless seriously provoked or cornered. If, however, the assailant was pointing the weapon at the intended victim's face it was a whole different ballgame. This was an angry, irrational person who meant business.

"Goddamnit, don't you start too. My whole life people have been telling me what I want to do and what I don't want to do!" she snapped irritably.

She watched as his weapon landed on the bed in Mark's room, then backed him away the staircase.

"Is that why you killed your parents?" he asked.

"Noooooooo, that's not why," Kari whined. "I shot them because they deserved it. I hated those people. They never did anything to help me out, and do you want to know what they left me in their will? NOTHING!!! My son-of-a-bitch father pissed away everything and all I would have gotten was a whole mess of overdue BILLS!!!"

Tom flinched as her voice escalated.

"Kari, let me help you," he implored, reaching out a hand to her.

"Damnit, you know I'm not gonna give you this gun. I'm not stupid, you know." Her voice dropped to a careful whisper. "Now all I have to do is figure out what to do with you. Something really creative..."

A sound from the first floor captured Tom's attention. Looking into Kari's eyes he realized he was the only one who heard it. "Why did you kill Mark?" he asked quickly, trying to distract her from her thoughts of what to 'do' with him.

"He found out about my parents. He knew the gun I turned into the cops wasn't MY gun. You know, if you soak a revolver in a bucket of salt water long enough, it just becomes one big piece of rust and you can't read the serial numbers. Did you know that, Detective Ryan? Mark found out. And he was making me give him money every week - the son-of-a-bitch drug addict was making ME pay for HIS drugs."

Another sound from the first floor reached the cop's ears. It was closer to the bottom of the stairs that time. He raised his voice slightly. "What about Mark's father. What did he do to you?"

Kari's voice rose in a plaintive wail. "He was gonna sell the house out from under me. I can't afford anyplace else, and that rich old bastard was going to sell this house!"

"Yooooo-hoooooo, Kari!" Tim Burkhead's voice came from halfway up the staircase.

Kari spun around, rage flashing on her face as her nosy neighbor's head appeared. In the instant she was distracted, Tom lunged, tackling the woman to the ground. Tim shrieked at the sight of the gun which flew from Kari's hand, and fainted, collapsing onto the stairs.

*******

"You certainly do have a way with women," Cassy teased uneasily as she sat facing her partner at his desk. Kari Strouse had been taken into custody hours earlier, and the two detectives had been attempting to wrap up the loose ends on the case before calling it a day.

Tom shook his head slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I still feel sorry for her."

"How can you say that? She almost killed you!"

"Cass, she was abused as a kid. She was taken out of her parent's home and placed into foster care when she was in her early teens. She was... disturbed."

"She was NUTS," the blonde countered.

"All right. She was... nuts," he conceded. "But I still feel a little sorry for her. Part of her was really trying to make a normal life for herself - it's just that when things started to go wrong for her she started to unravel." Further discussion was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of the man Cassy had been avoiding for days. Tom's eyes landed on him as he walked in the door and approached. "Don't look now..." he muttered, turning back to his paperwork.

Cassy looked up and knew it was too late to make a run for it. She rose to greet him and hopefully excuse herself from the room quickly. "Kevin. Hi. What are you doing here?"

The tall blonde man smiled hopefully at her. "I came by to see if we could grab some dinner, and talk. I've been leaving you messages and you haven't been returning my calls."

Shifting from foot to foot and edging towards Harry's office, Cassy tried to make her getaway. "Tonight's not really good for me, Kevin. Tom and I are just trying to wrap something up and who knows how late we'll be here," she said, gesturing towards her partner.

Kevin's expression fell as he glanced at over at the other man, and something inside his head finally clicked. "So. You're Tom."

Tom's eyes moved quickly from his ex-wife to the man she'd been dating. "That's right. And you're Kevin. I've heard a lot about you." He extended a hand which the other man made no move to shake.

"And your name has come up once or twice," he said stiffly.

"And not exactly at an appropriate time," he added under his breath.

"Cassy, sorry to have bothered you. You two have fun."

Tom watched the man retreat and looked back at his partner. "What was that all about? And what did he mean he's heard my name mentioned at inappropriate..." Hazel eyes shot wide open in surprise.

"Cassy! You didn't!" he laughed.

FIN