Brooklyn wasn't the only place in New York City where trees grew.

I stood in front of 852 East 14th Street, the three-story brownstone where Jim lived. The tree that grew in front hadn't started to bud yet. It was early in the season, but in a couple of weeks it would begin to leaf out.

I looked up and thought I saw a shadow on the window of what was no doubt the third floor hallway.

The shadow vanished.

I looked at the front door. It was probably locked. This time of night, I was crazy to even climb the steps and try it.

I climbed the steps. My hand was on the doorknob... turning it...

The door opened, and Jim stood there.

****

"Chief!" His left hand grabbed the front of my coat and yanked me in. The door was closed, and then I found myself pressed back against it, and his body was flush against mine. "I've been wanting to kiss you since ..."

"Then shut up and kiss me!"

His mouth slammed onto mine. There was no finesse in the kiss, just want and desperate need. I tasted copper as a lip split and began to bleed slightly from the roughness of the kiss. I didn't know if it was my lip or his. I didn't care.

He pulled back for a second, took the gum that had gotten transferred from my mouth to his in the heat of passion, laughed, and stuck it on the doorframe, and we went back to kissing.

His hands were all over me - inside my coat, yanking my shirt free, stroking the hair that covered my chest. Mine were buried in his hair, trying to hold his head still so I could plunder his mouth.

"Not long enough," I panted into his mouth as the short strands escaped my fingers, and he laughed hoarsely.

"I'm due for a haircut. I'll skip it." He took my hands from his hair and put them on his ass.

I slid my knee between his thighs, squeezed the firm cheeks, and urged him to ride me.

Jim moaned and leaned his forehead against mine. His breath was warm on my mouth. "We can't stay here. This is a public place."

"Haven't you ever done it in public?" I meant it to be teasing, but Jim froze. His erection deflated. He dropped his arms and straightened away from me. "Jim... "

"I did whatever I was paid to do."

"Jim... "

He backed another step, his eyes skittering off mine. "I'm sorry. I should have told you before... before I let it go so far. I used to... "

"Jim," I cupped his cheek, bringing his face around so I could look into his eyes, "I know."

"You know? How? Oh, what am I thinking? The Dick Man." He threw my hand away. "What else did he tell you?"

"Jim... "

"Did he tell you he likes... liked to fuck without using lubricant, just ram it in? He tore one of the boys so badly... He has... had to go out of state to find someone unaware of his tastes! He...he wanted Randy to share me with him, and Randy... " His breath hitched.

"Jim. It doesn't matter."

His expression became bitter. "Why? You want to have a taste of experience? That was what Randy wanted, only it turned out it wasn't what he wanted." His eyes narrowed. "Or is it because you think I'm a sentinel?"

"It doesn't matter because it doesn't matter. I swear to you, Jim... " I ran my fingertips over his cheeks and took a breath, about to tell him I'd been in the same business. "It doesn't matter because... "

Jim didn't give me a chance to say it. "Fuck it, I don't care!"

"Neither the fuck do I!"

You must stay! The voice was too late; I wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm not letting you go." I grabbed for Jim at the same time he yanked me against him, and we kissed again. He was hard, again. I would have laughed with relief, but my mouth was full.

"Come on." He dragged me after him into the central hallway, then pulled up short. "Uh... Hi, Richie."

"Hi, Jim. I was just lockin' up." The little, rotund man was swathed in a plaid bathrobe.

"Oh. Okay. Chief, this is Richie, my landlord." I noticed that Jim's nose twitched. "This is Blair."

"Hi, Blair."

"Hi."

"It's nice to see Jim with a friend."

"Uh... thanks."

"Well, I won't keep you. G'night."

"'Night." We made it to the third floor in silence. Jim sighed as he led me down the hallway. "Well, that killed the mood. I'm sorry, Chief."

The door to his apartment was standing wide open, and I looked at him curiously.

"I... uh... I heard you. I went to the front window," he pointed toward the end of the hall, "and saw you standing down on the street, and... "

"I wasn't sure if the front door was unlocked. I was sizing up that tree to see if I could climb it to the third floor."

"You were going to climb it? My own Douglas Fairbanks. Ah, Chief. That's so romantic. Come in. Please." For a second I wondered if he was going to scoop me up and carry me across the threshold, but he placed his palm on my lower back and urged me forward.

His apartment was small and spotlessly clean - a place for everything, and everything in its place - and lit by the flickering glow of scentless candles.

"This is romantic."

"I was hoping you'd come."

I took off my overcoat and then my suit jacket, and when Jim extended his hand, handed them to him. My tie was unknotted and buttons had been torn off my shirt.

I shivered in arousal. No one... no one... had ever wanted me that badly.

"Can I... uh... Can I get you anything, Chief?"

"Just you, Jim."

****

I didn't bother with buttons, although by the time I pulled my shirt off over my head the remaining few had popped off. I toed off my shoes and skinned out of my trousers and shorts.

Jim was already lying naked on his bed.

His chest was smooth and almost hairless, his pectoral muscles were beautifully defined, and his nipples were a dark beige. One was pierced, and a silver ring with a single bead was threaded through it. His legs were spread, his cock was hard and glistening with precome, and in his hand was a jar of KY jelly.

I walked toward him and knelt on the bed. "Nice sheets." They were cool and silky.

He grinned. "They cost me a week's pay." He ran a hand over them. "They're worth it."

I stroked my fingertips over his chest, caught the nipple ring with a finger, and tugged gently, watching his eyes. There was nothing but trust in them.

"I put it in for you. Randy never knew I had the ring; usually I just wore a barbell." He licked his lips. "How do you want me, Chief?"

"Just the way you are, Jim."

"I mean... "

"I know what you mean." I took the jar from him - there was a fine tremor in his hand - and I unscrewed the top.

He hooked his arms under his knees and pulled them back, exposing his puckered opening. For a second I pictured the black jaguar. I smiled at the fanciful notion and took a dollop of KY on my finger. As I smeared it over his hole, I leaned forward and mouthed his balls.

"Chief?"

I slid a finger into him and licked his cock.

"Chief!"

I pulled my finger out, added more lubricant, and eased two fingers into him while I blew across the tip of his cock. Then I swallowed as much of it as I could.

"Chief!"

Diverted by the finger-fucking and the blow job I was giving him, he was unaware when I removed my fingers and lined up my slicked cock with his hole.

I ran my palms up the backs of his thighs, then pressed his legs back, and we both groaned as my cock slid past the tight ring of muscle and sank deep inside him.

"Move, Chief! Please!" He gripped my hips in an effort to get me to set up a pounding rhythm.

"Who's... who's on top?"

"No, Who's on first."

"Wise guy." I reached down and pinched his ass, and he growled.

He locked his ankles behind my back and bucked up. I twined my fingers with his and brought his arms over his head, then started a slow, undulating movement that had me constantly assaulting his sweet spot.

"Chief! Chief!" It was a litany on his lips.

I ran my teeth up and down his neck, then drew in a patch of skin and began to suck in earnest.

"That's... that's gonna leave a mark."

"You're mine. I want the world to know it!" I released my hold on his fingers, cupped his face with both palms, and took his mouth in a bruising kiss. "You're mine!"

He opened his eyes. The sight of them, unfocused, clouded with passion, drove me wild. I braced my weight on my knees, slid my arms around him, and levered him up until he sat impaled on my cock.

"Fuck yourself on me, baby." I stroked my palm over his torso and tweaked a nipple, thrusting up with shallow, contained movements.

He made a small sound deep in his throat and began to raise and lower himself on me. His cock was trapped between our bodies, and I leaned back far enough to free it. "No!" he whimpered.

I wrapped my hand around it and jerked him off.

"I wish I were limber enough to suck you as I fuck you, Jim."

His eyes widened, his cock quivered, and he came, shooting hot, milky streamers of fluid over his chest.

I licked my palm clean, eased him down onto his back, and drove into him twice more. I could feel my balls tighten and draw up, and then, his eyes on mine, he ran a finger through the come on his chest and painted my lips with it. Before I could lick it off, he arched up and kissed it from my mouth, and I groaned and came.

****

Jim's head was pillowed on my chest and a leg was thrown over both of mine. He traced designs in the hair that covered my chest, followed it down to my groin, circled the base of my flaccid cock.

"Can you stay, Blair?"

"I have to go home on Sunday... "

His arms tightened around me, and I could feel his body shaking.

"Jim?"

"I'm sorry. I thought... I guess I'm used to most guys leaving as soon as they got their rocks off."

"Jim, I'm not most guys." I ran my hand over his hair. "I'm not gonna leave twenty bucks on the dresser as I let myself out."

"Actually, fifty would have been more like it."

"Yeah? That's a pretty high-scale clientele. I... uh... I always got that myself." I held my breath, waiting to see how he would react to the fact that I'd been in the same business as he.

He leaned back and met my eyes. "Chief? What are you telling me?"

"I worked as an escort. For a time. Are you... are you disappointed, Jim?"

"Why did you do it?" He didn't sound accusatory, just curious.

"I needed the money for a field trip."

"A field trip? What, like to the Bronx Zoo?"

"Asshole. No. This was in college."

"That's right. You... you went to college."

"Jim?"

"My grades weren't good enough for a scholarship."

And he'd told me his father refused to pay the tuition. I stroked his hair. "Y'know something, Jim? You've got a brilliant mind."

"I do?"

"Mmm hmm."

"And you got hung up on me because of my mind?"

"Yes. And you know something else? You work as a security guard, and according to Simon, you're good at what you do. That's what's important."

"You really think so?"

"Yeah, I really think so."

"Did you like it?"

"College? Yeah, I did, but then... "

"Now who's being an asshole? Hustling. Did you like it?"

"Jim, I was 17. There were all these guys who paid me to fuck them. I loved it. Of course, I only did it for six months."

"Did someone hurt you?" There was anger in his voice.

"No. Why would you think... Jim, were you hurt?"

"It can be a hazard of the trade."

But he hadn't answered me. "Jim."

"What happened after six months?"

"I went to Peru. Jim..."

"You were in Peru?"

"Yeah. Back in '57. Jim... "

"I was there a year or so before that with a friend. He went into the rainforest, and I never saw him again." He frowned. "At least I don't think I did."

I went very still. "What was your friend's name?"

"Jack Pendergrast."

I stared into Jim's eyes. In my mind, I heard shouts of triumph. "Jim, does the name Enqueri mean anything to you?"

"Nnn... yes! Now that you mention it, the name does sounds familiar. I think... I know I went looking for Jack, and I seem to remember him calling me that before I... " He sighed and shook his head. "I have a tattoo of a jaguar on my shoulder and no real memory of what happened. What about you?"

"I got lost in the rainforest. I don't know what happened in the time between then and when I - regained consciousness? became aware of my surroundings again? All I remember is coming to in a Chopec hut with the world's worst headache. Jim, Jack Pendergrast was there. He offered me something that cured my headache, and before I left, he told me that when I found you... "

"And you did find me." He smiled.

"... I was to tell you that he was well and thinks fondly of you."

"Of me?"

"Well, of Enqueri, and since I'm assuming you're Enqueri, you."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think that just gave me Excedrin headache number 273."

"Let me kiss it and make it better."

"That'll work for me, Chief."

And whether it was the kiss or the lovemaking that followed, afterwards, the headache seemed to have vanished.

****

I limped out of the bathroom and bumped into Jim, who was making an omelet on the small stove. "Sorry."

"You okay, Chief?"

"I think I pulled something."

He grinned. "Was it worth it?"

"Hell, yes!" I kissed him. "What can I do to help."

"Pour the coffee, sit down, and talk to me more."

"What do you want me to tell you about now?" Since he had both hands full, I raised his cup to his mouth so he could take a sip, then set it aside, took my own cup, and got out of his way.

"How about that wolf on your left shoulder?"

"Okay. How about it?"

"You don't strike me as a tattoo kind of guy. How long have you had it?"

"A little more than ten years."

"Then you got it when you were in Peru?"

"Yes."

"Chief, are you gonna make me drag every detail out of you?"

"Yes." I grinned at him.

"Okay, Sandburg. Talk!" He got me in a headlock and rubbed his knuckles against my head.

"Kidding, babe! I'm just kidding!"

He smoothed my hair, tipped up my chin for a kiss, then went back to rescue the omelet before it burned.

"Kind of like you, I came out of the jungle with that tattoo and no memory of how I got it."

He brought breakfast to the table, and while we ate, I told him the whole story of the field trip to Peru, even about Toby.

"Toby was a fool. If you had been my first, nothing could have made me let you go."

"Yeah, but you know teenagers, Jim."

"Nothing!"

I blushed.

"Professor Stoddard seems to have been awfully casual about the fact that you were gone for so long. I don't think I like him."

"The whole thing was weird, now that I think of it, but at the time it seemed to make sense." I finished my last bite of toast. "You're a good cook, Jim."

"Thanks. You're an appreciative cook-ee. For a second there I was afraid you were going to scrape the pattern off the plate." He winked, gathered the plates, and went to the sink. "Do you think we were meant to find each other, Chief?"

In talking, we'd learned of how many times we'd come 'thisclose' to meeting. There was more than one occasion at Banks, as well as parades up 5th Avenue when I'd been pounding the drum and he'd been standing right at the curb. The visor of my hat had disguised my features, and my concentration on swinging the mallets and keeping the beat had kept me from paying more than cursory attention to the crowd.

'That was you, Chief?'

'Yeah.'

'You do have a way with those sticks.'

'Mallets, Jim! Mallets!'

'Mallets,' he'd corrected, the corner of his mouth kicked up in a grin. 'Still, it would have been nice if you were in the bagpipe band and wore kilts.'

'Couldn't have been in that band, Jim. I'm not Irish. I wouldn't have been accepted, not even if I'd promised to change my name to O'Sandburg.'

'Well, I think it's too bad.' He'd looked pensive. 'You do have cute legs.'

I'd kissed him.

Then there had been New Year's Eve.

'I was in Times Square that night, Jim.'

'I thought I caught your scent, but when I tried to find you, you were gone.'

'Gunshots. Once a cop, always a cop, even on my night off. I went to check it out. False alarm,' I'd assured him. 'So I went home.'

And it had been him across the subway tracks.

'What would have happened, Chief?' he'd asked when I'd told him I'd been about to call across to him. 'If my train hadn't come? If we'd seen each other?'

'I'd have crossed the tracks to get to you, Jim - I'd have been too afraid to lose you and wouldn't have taken the chance of running upstairs and over to the Downtown side. I'd have stood there with my hand on your arm, looking into your eyes and probably grinning like a dope, and when the train finally came, I'd have gone home with you, and we would have rung in the New Year making love.'

'Um... Technically, the New Year had already been rung in.'

'You are a romantic, aren't you?' I'd laughed, then sobered. It scared me that except for this murder, we could have missed each other one more time.

"We've found each other now, Jim."

"You're right. We have." He poured himself another cup of coffee. "Do you really have to go home tomorrow morning?"

"Yeah. I'm marching in the Parade."

"I wish I could see you. I've got work though."

"Well, there's always next year."

He put his cup down, pulled me onto his lap, and kissed me.

"Uh... Jim?" When I finally caught my breath.

His arms were a band around me, and his cheek was damp against mine. "You're thinking of the future."

****

"What's in your wallet, Chief?"

"Oh... you know. The usual. Library card, gun permit, PBA membership card, some singles."

"Any pictures?"

"A couple."

"Can I see?"

"Sure. But I want to see yours too."

"There's nothing... "

"Come on, Jim. Fair's fair."

For a minute I thought he was going to refuse. Then, "Okay." He got up to get his wallet.

"Mine's in my right front pocket." I gave him a winning smile. "Since you're already up."

He leaned down and kissed me.

I settled myself against the wall - Jim's bed had no headboard - my legs splayed, and my lover comfortably between them.

Jim carried a gun permit and ID, but the only photo in his wallet was of a young man in a cap and gown, who bore a slight resemblance to him.

"Is this your brother, Jim?"

"Yeah." He didn't even bother turning to see. Well, it was the only picture in there.

"I always wanted a brother. I guess you must miss him."

"Family is highly overrated."

I eased the picture out and turned it over.

Thank you for the graduation gift, James. Your brother, Steven

It wasn't much of a thank-you, and on the back of a photograph to boot.

"Is this Mrs. Sandburg?" I was glad to hear the smile in his voice.

"Yes."

"She's very pretty."

"Thanks, Jim. I love that picture." We'd been in Macy's one Christmas, and in a moment of whimsy, we'd posed on Santa's lap, each turning to kiss his cheek.

"Who's this, Chief?" He angled back to show me the picture he had found.

"That's Butch. He was my best friend when I was younger." It was from one of those booths in the 5 & 10.

"Oh? How much younger?" There was a bite to his voice.

"The last time I saw Butch was... We must have been about 15."

"You sound sad." He ran his palm along my thigh.

"He and his mother just left one day. He left a note, promised to be in touch, but he never kept that promise."

"Did you care about him?"

"Yes, I did. He was the first boy I ... "

"Loved?"

"I was going to say kissed, but... " He started to pull away from me, but I yanked him back. "Are you jealous, Jim?"

"No. Of course not."

"You are!" I hugged him. "You don't have to be, babe. It was a long time ago." I took the wallet from him and dropped both of them over the side of the bed. "And I have you now."

I slid out from behind him, so he fell backward onto the bed, and proceeded to show him exactly how I had him.

****

We were sprawled - which consisted of a lot of close-body contact, considering how small it was - on Jim's bed

"Want to go do something?" He caressed my ass.

I peeled open an eye. "We just did something."

"Something that involves getting out of bed and getting dressed."

"Is the building on fire?" I grinned into the pillow. "Is there a holdup in the Bronx? Has Brooklyn broken out in fights?"

"No." The caress turned to a gentle whack. "And there isn't a traffic jam in Harlem that's backed up to Jackson Heights. I just thought you might want to go out."

"What time is it?"

"Almost 4."

"In the afternoon?"

"Yes."

"Everything's closed. Take a nap."

"Chief... " He nuzzled the spot under my ear that turned me to putty.

"I don't want to share you yet, Jim. Next week, I promise."

"Okay, Chief." And he fell asleep with his nose pressed to where my arm and torso joined.

His warm breath tickled the hairs of my underarm. My cock twitched, but I was too sated to do anything but smile and fall asleep too.

****

Jim stood in front of what he had told me was his pantry, naked. He looked over his shoulder, caught me ogling his ass, and grinned. "Looks like the cupboard is bare, Chief. I missed my weekly shopping."

"I'm sorry, Jim. That was my fault."

"Yes, it was."

"Hey, you didn't have to agree so quickly."

"I didn't, did I? So tell me, how do you figure it was your fault I'm out of food?"

"Well, you said something about Friday being your usual day to go grocery shopping. I asked you to come down to the Precinct, and then we had a date... "

"In that case, it is your fault. You gonna make it up to me?"

"I'd ask you to come over so I could cook dinner for you, but I'm out of groceries too... "

"What night, Chief?"

"... and with this maniac running around loose, I have no idea what time I'll be getting home." I leaned against his back and held him, stroking his torso. "I'd want you to come to dinner every night, Jim."

"Really?"

"Yeah." I pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade.

"Cool!" He turned around to face me, and we stood in a loose embrace.

"I was hoping you'd think so."

He tightened the embrace and ran his cheek along the side of my neck to my hair, inhaling deeply. His cock nudged mine, and I hummed in pleasure.

There was a tap on the door. I looked at Jim, but he shrugged. "Just a second," he called and let me go. He pulled on his jeans and tee shirt.

"Get dressed. Chief. I don't want you hiding in the bathroom." He waited while I hurriedly pulled on my clothes. Then he went to open the door. "Albie. Hi."

"Hi, Jim. I'm sorry to bother you. Richie made lasagna, and you know him, he went all Italian and there's an awful lot of it. Would you and your friend like to come down and join us?"

Jim looked at me, and this time I was the one to shrug.

"Sure. Give us a few minutes, okay?"

"Okay, Jim. I'll tell Richie. Don't be too long, or he'll come up and get you himself." He grinned and left.

"Jim, are you going to have a problem because I spent the night?"

"I don't think so." But he worried his lip. "You'll like them, Chief. You met Richie, and Albie is his friend. They're good together. Albie was with him last night; I could smell him on Richie." So that was why his nose had twitched. "Let's have a quick wash and we can get going."

"Uh..."

"What is it?"

I held out my arms and my shirt fell open. "No buttons." I could get away with it for a few minutes, but not for a dinner.

"No problem. You can borrow one of my sweaters."

"It's not gonna swim on me?"

"It'll look cute on you. Trust me, Chief."

"Okay, but if anyone says anything, I'm gonna give you such a hit."

"You'll see." He grinned.

We washed up, and he dug a black sweater out of a tiny dresser. I pulled it on over my head.

"Sexy." He licked his lips. "Makes you look like a cat burglar."

I felt myself blush. Cops weren't supposed to look like cat burglars, but I couldn't object. He also thought I looked sexy.

We hurried down to the first floor. Jim had a bottle of red wine with him. "One of the customers at the bank gave it to me for Christmas."

"Handy."

"Yeah." He knocked on his landlord's door, and the young man who'd come up earlier answered.

"Hi, Jim! Hello," he said to me. "We weren't introduced before. I'm Albie."

"I'm Blair." I shook his hand.

"Come on in."

The apartment was much larger than Jim's. Through an arched doorway I could see a living room almost the size of Jim's studio. On the wall was a framed, embroidered depiction of St. Francis of Assisi with all the little animals around him, birds sitting on a nearby tree, a black panther leaning against his leg, and a wolf curled at his feet.

"Oh, Jim, wine! This is great. Thank you!"

We followed Albie into the dining room. The table was set for four, although it could probably seat six.

There was a china cabinet in a corner, and a buffet against a wall. Above it was a large copy of The Last Supper.

"Richie, look! Jim brought wine!"

"I never say 'no' to wine." He looked me up and down. "I met you last night."

"Yes, sir. You have a wonderful apartment, Mr... I'm sorry, I don't know your last name."

"Delvecchio. Thanks."

"It's so Italian!"

"Excuse me?"

Jim quickly changed a laugh into a cough, and I gave him a reproachful look, which hid my own amusement. Behave! I mouthed, knowing he would hear me. "Oh, yeah." I smiled at Richie. "My mother and I lived for a while in Little Italy, and I'd go over my friends' houses all the time. They had all these religious statues, you know, St. Anthony of Padua, The Infant of Prague, St. Therese, the Little Flower... "

"The Pieta?"

"No. At least, not in my friends' homes. That didn't really become popular until the World's Fair in '64. Now you... You've got one of the most beautiful things I've seen. I noticed the embroidered St. Francis in your living room."

"You know St. Francis? Are you Italian?"

"On my father's side. He was killed in the War."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said in Italian.

"I always regretted I never knew him." I answered in the same language.

"What about his people?" He resumed the conversation in English.

"No. They didn't approve when he married Naomi, my mother. And after he was killed, she was too proud to go to them."

"I understand." He patted my hand. "Family can be a blessing, and it can be... " He gazed at Albie sadly, and I wondered what had happened. "Have you known Jim long?"

"No. But I've been looking for him all my life."

"Jim is very special."

"Yes, he is, Signore Delvecchio." I turned my head to smile at Jim.

"Listen," the landlord said, "call me 'Richie'."

"Thank you, Richie."

"Sit, sit." He pointed out the seats we were to take. "Your friend has a good head on his shoulders, Jim."

"I think so." Jim flushed, and I had a feeling he was thinking about when I'd slid to my knees in the bathroom and given him head.

A casserole dish with the lasagna was in the center of the table. At one end was a bowl filled with meatballs, sausages, and gravy meat. Beside it was a gravy boat filled with rich, chunky sauce. On the other end was the salad, a basket filled with sliced Italian bread, and grated cheese.

Richie spooned up a huge portion of lasagna and waited until Jim put his plate under it. He served me, then Albie, then helped himself.

"Okay, everybody. Mangia. Mangia."

I waited for a few seconds. Most of the nationalities I'd grown up with said some form of grace. None was said in this house. I glanced at Jim.

His mouth tightened, and he gave a small shake of his head.

I picked up my fork and started eating.

"So. Blair. What do you do for a living?" Richie asked.

"I'm a detective."

"What, like Mike Hammer?"

"No, more like Joe Friday."

"Oh, you're a cop."

"Richie, pass the meatballs, please." It seemed to me that Albie was a little nervous, but that was the way some people reacted to meeting a cop, and I didn't think anything of it.

"Okay, but make sure you take a sausage an' a bracciole too, Albie. He's just gettin' over a bad cold."

"It's been a rough winter. I had to send my mother out to San Francisco to stay with my cousin. Her health isn't good, you see - I nearly lost her when I was 17."

"You live with your mama?"

"She took care of me while I was growing up, so it's only fair I take care of her now."

"You're a good boy. Have some wine. Jim, you ready for a little more?"

"No, Richie. Thanks. I'm good."

"Yeah, you are. Jim, you know what I said when you first moved in? About no overnight guests?"

"Uh... Yeah." We both held our breaths to see if this was going to be a problem.

"If I recall correctly, I said no guests of the opposite sex."

"Yes."

Richie nodded. "Seein' as how your friend ain't of the opposite sex, I got not beef."

"I'm glad." Jim relaxed and smiled. "Pass me the bread, Chief?"

****

By the time dinner was over and we'd had dessert - espresso coffee and anisette toast - we were stuffed.

Albie was lying on the sofa watching The Carol Burnett Show.

"He's gotta take it easy still. You understand?"

"I understand. I'll help with the dishes," I told Richie. I pushed up the sleeves of Jim's sweater.

Richie filled the sink with soapy water. I washed, Jim dried, and Richie put the dishes away. Between the three of us, it didn't take long.

"I know that fridge of yours don't hold much, Jim. You run out, you come on down, an' I give you more. Gravy meat makes a good sandwich."

"Thanks, Richie." Jim had enough leftovers to carry him through a few days.

"So, what're you two doin' tomorrow?"

"I'll be marching in the Parade."

"And I've got work, so I can't see him."

"Albie an' I can go, if it ain't too cold for him. I know a good spot on 86th an' 3rd."

"That would be great. I hope you can make it. I'll look for you."

"We'd better go, Chief."

"Okay, Jim."

We said goodnight and went back up to Jim's apartment. Between kisses, the leftovers were stored in the fridge, and once that was done, we stripped off our clothes and tumbled onto the bed.

It really was small, and if Jim hadn't reached out and grabbed me, I would have rolled off.

I wondered how Naomi would feel if I moved Jim in with me.

****

Sunday morning came too soon. Jim had to go to work, and I had to get home, change into my dress uniform, and head for 44th and 5th, where the Parade would start.

We rode the subway up to 50th Street and walked to 53rd. "I'll try to meet you as soon as the Parade is over."

"Okay, Chief. The Museum closes at 5:30."

"Okay." I lowered my voice, knowing only he would be able to hear me. "I want to kiss you. You know that, don't you?"

"I know," he said softly. "Me too."

I pursed my lips together in an almost motionless kiss. Unless someone was looking for it, it would have gone unseen.

Jim was looking for it. He squeezed my arm.

"I'll see you later." We smiled at each other and went our separate ways.

In the time I was home, my phone didn't ring, and I breathed out a sigh of relief that no one had been strangled. I folded Jim's sweater and tucked it in a bottom drawer.

Richie and Albie were standing where he'd said they'd be, and when I saw them, I swung the mallet above my head and pointed it at them. Albie grinned and gave a little bounce. Once the parade was over, I dropped off my bass drum and caught a bus to The Museum of Modern Art, and watched Jim at work. He stood very alert and erect.

He wasn't the only thing that was erect. I knew he could tell. I'd stroll past him, and his nostrils would flare and his cheeks would flush.

When his shift was over, we returned to his place. He stripped out of his uniform, and I undid my fly and took him up against the wall, sucking on the mark I'd put on his collarbone the day before, making it darker.

Afterwards, I worried about irritating his skin, but his expression was happily sated. He grabbed some clean clothes and went into the bathroom. While I waited for him to change, I looked around for my shirt, but I couldn't find it.

And then Jim came out of the bathroom, wearing a fisherman knit sweater that molded across his torso, and I forgot all about it.

We went out to an Irish bar.

Jim hesitated in the doorway, and I went back for him.

"Are you okay, big guy?"

"Yeah. I am!" He seemed surprised. "It's been a long time since I've been able to set foot in a bar."

We had corned beef on rye and green beer. We listened to a trio of pipers play until the free drinks they were plied with started affecting them.

"C'mon, Jim. You may be able to dial down your hearing so these sour notes don't split your eardrums, but I can't."

He laughed and slung an arm over my shoulders - no one paid any attention because it was St. Patrick's Day, and we were probably drunk - and we left. I walked him up to his door, kissed him thoroughly, and then headed home.

I wasn't able to sleep until I got Jim's sweater out of the drawer, stuffed a pillow into it, and held it in my arms.

****

My alarm went off on Monday morning, and I padded into the kitchen to start the coffee. I felt wonderful.

I turned on the radio, and the song that was playing was Monday, Monday. It was unusual - the station rarely played songs more than six months old - but I didn't give it any thought. I should have.

It must have been a fucking omen.

Entr'acte II

Mother's locket was gone. The last time I remembered seeing it was on Sunday. Randolph must have torn it free.

Goddamn you, Randolph! Goddamn your miserable, black, homosexual soul to the deepest pit of hell!

I rubbed the back of my neck. There was the roughness of a long, thin scab there.

I could not return to his penthouse, not yet. The police were swarming all over it.

No matter. They would not know to whom it belonged. In a few days it would be safer. I nodded to myself. I would return then.

But perhaps a diversion would encourage them to leave sooner.

****

"Oh, Mother, you vere so very wrong vhen you said I could not act," I murmured, using the same German accent as when I had spoken to Detective Sandburg.

I was at home, indulging in a warm bath, a glass of champagne beside the tub.

Norbert Himmel had been so easy.

I lounged at his door, a negligent hand on my hip. "I have to pound," I told him, "so you get hot vater."

"Oh!" His eyes - they were the wrong color, but wearing those blue pajamas, they were close enough. They ran over my body, took in the tool chest at my feet, and rose to my face. He flushed. "Oh, yes!"

And he had let me in. He had been sent away because he liked men, most especially men who did manual labor, not that he told me that. Mostly he spoke of how much he missed his family.

I spoke of geugle hoops and obsttorte, and how I had not had any since I left my home in the old country. "My mama, she vas a goot cook."

"I'm a good cook too," he announced. "My grandmother taught me, and she was the best cook I know. Would you like a cup of coffee and a piece of my Black Forest Cake?"

"Schwarzwaelder Kirschtorte? Ya, I vould like zat very much."

"I apologize for wearing pajamas." He went into the kitchen and prepared a pot of coffee. "I called in sick this morning. This flu that's going around."

I shied away. The last thing I needed was to catch something from him. "Perhaps it be better I come back some other time, ya?"

"Oh, no, please!" He was so pathetically eager. "I'm not really sick. It's just a little tickle at the back of my throat."

He came out carrying a wooden tray. On it were two steaming cups of coffee, a creamer and sugar bowl filled with cubes of sugar instead of the granulated kind, and two large slices of cake. He set the tray down on a small table.

"Ah, zis looks goot!" I gave him my most charming smile.

"Danke." He flushed. "I know a little German, you see. Sit here, please?"

I angled the table so it was between us. We drank coffee and ate cake, and he flirted gently with me. I almost regretted what I had to do.

"Hans, would you... would you like to see pictures of my family?"

"Sure. You sit here on the sofa, and I look over your shoulder."

He looked puzzled, but as well as being a young plumber, I was a voice that reminded him of home.

"All right." He sat and turned the pages of the album he had brought to Manhattan with him. I leaned over the back of his sofa and trailed my fingers up the side of his neck. He blushed, but leaned into my touch.

Afterwards, with young Herr Himmel on the toilet and a kiss upon his brow, I made myself comfortable on his bed, picked up the phone on his night stand and dialed the police station, and for the first time, spoke to Detective Sandburg.

"This is Hans. Hans Schultz," I informed him, then made my accent flat and Midwestern, "although on Valentine's Day I was Aaron Fielding." I wasn't going to tell him the name I had used for Randolph. I was pleased with what he had said to the reporter, but I did not want to hand him all the information easily. "I like vhat you say in ze newspaper, Detective Sandburg, zat vhat I do is vell-planned, vell-organized. Detective Sandburg. Phah. Zat is so formal. I call you Blair. Vhen you come here, I zink you vill see zat I am up to my previous standards." I gave him the address, and when he tried to keep me on the phone longer, I scoffed. "I am smarter than you!" I knew he wanted time for the police to get there. "Auf Wiedersehen, Blair." I hung up, rose and stretched, paused in the bathroom doorway to blow a kiss to Norbert, and went home.

The next day, the policemen who had been assigned to Randolph's apartment were ordered elsewhere.

And the story of the unfortunate Norbert Himmel took up the entire page 3 of The Daily News. I called ce cher Detective Sandburg, complimenting him on his words, using my best Maurice Chevalier impersonation.

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

****

I stepped off the bus, slightly disturbed by the man I had seen walking through the rush hour crowd with Detective Sandburg. Surely the handsome detective was not one of those who liked men?

I needed to retrieve Mother's locket, so I dismissed it and strode to the theater. It was dark that night, having been closed to observe the anniversary of Mother's passing, and I entered through an alley door and made my way to Mother's dressing room.

She had received excellent reviews as the female lead in Sunrise at Campobello.

A matronly woman left the same way, dressed in an ankle-length dress that was only slightly out of date, gray kid gloves and a fur coat against the March chill, and sedate jewelry, pearl earrings, which were clip-on, a rope of pearls, and a broach watch pinned to her - my - breast.

The shoes, however, were killing my feet, and I hobbled along.

"Ma'am!" It was the doorman of a theater at the end of the street. "Let me call you a cab."

"Thank you, young man." I had passed him time out of mind, and yet he did not recognize me. Unable to act, Mother?

A cab appeared, and I got in.

My entrance into the lobby of Randolph's apartment building was timed perfectly. It was empty, no tenants, and the doormen were changing shifts, although neither would have recognized me - the day man because Randolph preferred to bring me to his apartment in the evening hours, and the night man because my disguise was that good.

I rode the elevator to the penthouse floor, walked in a stately manner across the foyer, and let myself into Randolph's apartment. Only then did I step out of character and out of those shoes.

Mother's locket should be in the informal living room. I went there straightaway and searched diligently, to no avail.

Before I could panic, I took myself in hand, sat down, and began to piece the puzzle together.

The body had been discovered too late on Monday for the item to be given adequate coverage for the next morning's edition of the newspaper.

The person who found the body could not have been Marc Addams, as had been printed in The Daily News. He tended to spend the weekends in Palm Beach and returned to Manhattan late on Monday afternoons.

That left Randolph's cleaning lady. I had no idea why she had not notified the authorities, but that was immaterial. She was a very thorough employee, despite Randolph's distain of her. More than once I had heard him mock her accent. If she found the locket, she would return it to where she thought it most likely belonged - the jewelry tray in Randolph's dresser.

I hurried into his bedroom, ostentatious beyond belief, and, barely restraining a shudder, I pushed away memories of what he had done to me in that room. He had never known, my ability as an actor had been so great.

I went to the dresser and opened it. As I had deduced, Mother's locket was lying on top of rings, cuff buttons, and tie clips.

But, oh! The chain was broken! I stared at it with tears in my eyes. Mother's lovely...

"Excuse me." The voice was harsh. "Who are you? What are you doing in Randy's apartment?"

I stiffened. How could I have let my guard down so? But then again, how could I know anyone would come into Randolph's apartment? I had locked the door; to unlock it, he must also have a key. I turned to face him.

"I am Mrs. Roosevelt. Randolph and my boy, Skippy, were such good chums. And you are?"

"I'm Richard Lee." He was a tall man, rather attractive if one appreciated that sort of flamboyant looks. "Randy was my best friend."

Of course.

"Skippy?"

"Ah, the names young boys give each other." I gave an indulgent laugh. "Skippy preferred that to his real name, Elliot."

"That doesn't surprise me."

I bristled on behalf of the imaginary Skippy but continued my performance as his mother. "My boy is out of the country and could not pay his respects. He is quite devastated, of course."

"But... but what are you doing here?"

"He asked me to retrieve a tie tack he had loaned Randolph."

He didn't seem to hear my excuse, however. "God, I miss him." He took a handkerchief from a pocket and blew his nose. "This has come as such an awful shock to everyone."

"Indeed."

"Just a second." His eyes narrowed. "That isn't a tie tack in your hand!"

The broken chain dangled from my hand, and I cursed myself for not having slipped it into the purse I carried as soon as I had removed it from Randolph's dresser. "This is mine," I said in all truthfulness.

"Oh. Sorry. That is a woman's necklace. This has just shaken me so much. I cared for Randy, more than any of his... I got rid of the whore he brought home. Oh, he was so proud of himself. 'Rich,' he said, 'think of all his experience! And it's mine!' Only when I tried to get Randy to share, the bastard didn't want to!"

"Dear, dear, Richard. It is not proper to speak ill of the dead."

"Not Randy. Randy would have loved to share his toy with me. We would have had such an unbelievable time." His face was flushed. "It was Jim Ellison who didn't want to."

Imagine that.

"Tsk, tsk. Such ingratitude."

"You said it. Oh, jesus! I'm so sorry, Mrs. Roosevelt! I forgot you're a lady! I never would have... " He dropped into a chair in the sitting area of Randolph's bedroom, his head in his hands.

"There, there. That is quite all right. You look so unhappy. Skippy always felt better when I rubbed his shoulders. Perhaps you would like a massage?"

"Thanks. I could use one."

I set down the purse and stood behind him. I dug my fingers into the muscles of his shoulders and worked them. He hummed with relief, and I stroked the sides of his neck.

"Wait a second!" He stiffened. "The last I heard, Skippy's real name was Errol!" Well, I knew it began with the same letter. "And his mother is taking the waters in Wiesbaden!"

"Is she? Oh, dear." That was what came of improvising. "My mistake." I wrapped the chain around his neck and pulled.

He scrabbled at my hands, but they were covered by the kid gloves.

When he was dead, I put Mother's locket in the purse, then positioned him on the toilet and drew a kiss on his forehead. "Give my regards to Randolph when you see him. I have no doubt you will both be in hell."

Horrid man, attempting to ruin my perfect plans.

I glanced around, but everything seemed to be in order. I settled the coat around my shoulders, locked the door behind me, and took the elevator to the lobby.

A block or so away, I found an isolated telephone booth and called the 15th Precinct.

"Good evening," I caroled in a falsetto. "I would like to speak with Detective Sandburg, if you please." He should have returned from dinner by this time.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. His shift ended at 4 PM. Can I switch you to someone else in Major Crimes?"

"Yes, please. Perhaps Detective Taggart?"

"Sorry. He's gone home too."

"Detective Brown?"

"No, ma'am."

"Does no one on the New York Police Department work after 4 PM?"

"I believe Lieutenant Dawson is here. I'll connect you with him." His voice was sober, but I could picture his amusement, and I frowned at the telephone.

There were a few seconds of silence, then, "This is Dawson."

"Lieutenant. How kind of you to take the time to speak with me," I said icily, knowing my displeasure would get through to him, "although I would have much preferred Detective Sandburg."

"He's off for the evening, ma'am."

"Yes, I am aware of that. Perhaps you know how to get in touch with him?"

"Well, of course, ma'am. We can contact all our men at any time, day or night."

"Splendid. Tell him that Mrs. Roosevelt called. I have been a very naughty... girl. I regret to say I have broken my promise to him, for which I deeply apologize. It was not my fault!" My voice was becoming strident, and I took a breath to bring myself under control. "I was going to tell him the location of my latest performance, but since he is not there... "

"Ma'am, I told you, he's off-shift."

"That is not my concern, I am afraid." I sniffed haughtily. "However, I want him to note that this is up to my previous standards. I believe he will be quite impressed. I do believe he will. Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Wait! Wait a second! Who is this? What did you do?"

"I told you. Mrs. Roosevelt. As for what I did, you will just have to discover that on your own." Wretched man. I disconnected the call, put another coin in the slot, and got the operator. "I would like the phone number of a building on 74th Street, please." I gave her the address of Randolph's building.

She found it and rattled it off. "Would you like me to connect you now?"

"Please."

The phone rang a number of times, and then the doorman answered, breathless. "Good evening."

"I say, old chap, I do believe there's a dead chap in the flat of that bloke what was found dead in his loo. Beastly thing, what? Better go have a look-see."

"What? What are you talking about? How do you know this? Who is this?"

"I also suggest you inform the authorities. Cheery-bye." I hung up and smoothed a hand over the mink. The back of the gray glove was mottled with specks of blood. Something jagged was stuck in the material. Richard Lee must have torn a fingernail and bled all over the gloves. I would need to dispose of them.

I stripped the gloves off my hands, tucked them into my purse beside the tube of Jungle Red lipstick, and stepped to the curb to hail a cab.

****

I was not pleased that I had broken my promise to Detective Sandburg. I would call him when I returned from out-of-town to apologize. After all, I did not want him to think I was the sort who valued his word lightly.

I had changed into my own clothes and left Mother's dressing room, making sure it was tidy.

I was feeling a trifle peckish and decided supper at Sardi's would be a perfect way to end this evening.

"Mr. Gill." The doorman at the end of the block nodded politely to me. He gave no indication that he recognized me from earlier. "May I call you a cab, sir?"

"No, thank you." Sardi's, on West 44th Street, was within walking distance. It was a chilly night, but perfect for walking. I smiled at him and went on my way.

There was a line waiting for a table, but when James, the maitre'd saw me, his face lit up. "Ah, Mr. Gill! What a pleasure to see you! Come, come, come! Your table is free."

He ignored the irritated grumbles, touched my elbow, and led me to the table that had first been Mother's and now was mine.

"What is good tonight, James?"

He recited the specials.

"They all sound delicious. Perhaps you would be so kind as to make the selections?"

He flushed, proud that I would trust him. "And the wine?"

"You may select that as well."

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Gill?"

"No. Thank you."

He gave a short bow from the waist, snapped his fingers to get the attention of Vincente, who would be my waiter, and hurried off to place the order. James had excellent taste, and I had little doubt that I would regret that I had let him choose.

While I waited for my wine to be brought, I gave some consideration to taking a vacation. It had been quite some time...

A couple strolled past my table, both male. The younger of the two, blond, and with innocent blue eyes, was bubbling with excitement. The older man, also fair, smiled at him indulgently. They took a table just across from me. The older one noticed me and gave a knowing smile. He leaned toward his companion and said something, and they both stared. How rude.

I felt myself flush, and I looked away. When I looked back, they were involved in their own conversation.

The wine steward brought me a flute of champagne and waited until I gave my approval.

Vincente brought the appetizer, smoked salmon with garniture, and I nodded and smiled and praised it, but afterwards, I ate absently, unable to prevent myself from stealing glances at that pair.

The young man would be better dead than to live the life to which he was about to be introduced.

I decided to cancel my plans to go out-of-town.

****

I had had a marvelous night's sleep in spite of the scratches on my leg. Abominable animals, cats. Why would anyone want to keep them?

I pushed the slight hurt out of my mind.

As for the damage to the trousers - that was inconsequential. They were cheap work pants purchased from a Woolworth's in a less than prosperous neighborhood, and they had already been disposed of.

After I had my breakfast, I decided, I would call Blair and tell him that although I had been a bad boy once again, I was going away on a vacation. Perhaps I would tease him, ask him to promise to be good until I got back.

Where should I go? The wine country of France, perhaps? Or possibly Wiesbaden, to take the waters as Skippy's mother had.

I laughed to myself and walked into the breakfast room.

I had always loved this room.

Fresh flowers scented it, and the bright morning sun shown through the windows. A classical FM radio station was playing Borodin.

The Times had already been folded beside my place. My latest accomplishment would not be on the front page of that prestigious paper, but surely it would be on page 2 or 3. I would wait until Mrs. FitzHerbert, my housekeeper, brought my breakfast before I looked. Delayed gratification was good for the soul.

I frowned. Father was the one had who always said that. I reached for the paper.

"Good morning, sir." Mrs. Fitz arrived with a rolling cart. She placed a fruit cup, two poached eggs, lightly buttered toast, and Brazilian coffee, sweetened and with a splash of cream before me.

"Good morning, Mrs. Fitz. Thank you."

Her smile beaming - it always paid to be courteous to the help - she left the room. I raised the coffee cup to my lips and took a sip. Almost trembling with excitement, I opened the newspaper.

In large, bold print it read, Fifth Strangler Victim, Killer a Sexual Pervert!

My hands began to tremble in earnest, and the cup dropped to the floor.

****

Monday, Monday, can't trust that day...

I walked into the squadroom whistling the song I'd heard on the radio. I hadn't been able to get it out of my mind.

"Someone's in a good mood." Monaghan grinned at H and Joel. "You can't tell me he hasn't got laid this time!"

"Someone's awfully interested in my love life. Let's leave it out of this, shall we? It's time to get to work." I hung up my overcoat and went to my desk. "Any word on that black hair?"

"It's human, but don't get your girdle in a bunch. It was traced to a company that manufactures wigs for theatrical productions."

"Of course. Why should it make our lives easier?" There was an envelope on my desk, and I slit it open and took out a typewritten page. "Joel, I want you to see if you can find out which theater ordered it."

"You know how many theaters there are in this city? On- and off- Broadway?"

H opened his mouth, and Joel scowled.

"No, man. Don't even try guessing."

"I won't, big guy. What've you got, Blair?"

I was scanning the paper. "This is from Dan. It's even better than the impression he thought he could lift off our victim's neck!" I tipped the envelope, and a short segment of links slid out.

"Wow. It takes some powerful hate to strangle someone so hard you break a necklace and leave parts of it behind." Joel's lip was curled in distaste.

"Yeah. Dan says Lee's nails were too badly damaged for him to find anything, but there were some gray fibers caught in the links. He's having them analyzed." I found a pen and poked gently at the links with it. "I know someone... " I pulled my phone to me and dialed a number.

"Hammerstein's."

"Is Mr. Hammerstein there?"

"Yes, he is. May I ask who's calling?"

"Blair Sandburg."

"One moment, please."

Within seconds, he was on the phone. "Blair, my boy! How are you?"

"Well, thank you. And you?"

"I'm doing well for an old man, but you didn't call to hear about my aches and pains. What can I do for you?"

"I have a segment of a necklace, and I need to know who made it."

"Of course. Do you want me to come to the Precinct?"

"No, I'll come down to see you, if that's okay?"

"Of course."

"I'm on my way."

"I look forward to seeing you, my boy."

"Thanks, Mr. Hammerstein. Bye." I hung up and looked at my men. "If anyone can tell us about this necklace, Herschel Hammerstein can. Joel... "

"I'll get right on that wig company."

"And I'll pay Marc Addams a visit." H checked his watch. "The doorman gave me a call last night to let me know he's back from Palm Beach."

"He's early, isn't he?"

"Yeah. Beats me why, but I'll see what I can get him to tell me."

"Okay, get going. I'll talk to you later. Hopefully one of us will catch some kind of break."

****

Hammerstein's was a small jeweler's shop tucked away in the Diamond District. It had been opened by Yaakov Hammerstein in the late 1880s, and was now run by his sole surviving son.

Hershel Hammerstein had been the rabbi who taught me to read Hebrew. He'd also had a discreet crush on Naomi.

He hmm'd and stroked his chin, then took out a jeweler's loupe and looked at the short segment of interlocking links through it.

"I believe this is the work of a craftsman whose peak period was the early 1920's. Sabatini. He was something of a romantic." He used a long, thin instrument to ease the links apart. "You notice the slender, elongated hearts?"

"That's what they are?"

He smiled and patted my shoulder. "That's what they are. If I recall correctly, there was something of a revival of his style a few years back."

"Who would sell these, Mr, Hammerstein?"

"Oh, I would say Tiffany's, my boy. Unless I miss my mark - and I never do - this is 24 carat gold. Definitely Tiffany's."

"Thanks, Mr. Hammerstein. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help." I put the links back in the small brown envelope and tucked it into a pocket.

"You're quite welcome. Tell me. How is your dear mother?"

"This winter was rough on her lungs. She's out in San Francisco visiting my cousin Franklin."

"Ah yes. Franklin. The lung surgeon who earns thousands in just a morning?"

"He's the one."

"Well, give her my best when you talk to her."

"I will. Thank you again."

He was gazing off into space, though, and his smile was tender. I had no doubt he was thinking of my mother.

I left his little shop and caught a bus up to 57th Street.

The clock above the door was just pointing to 10, and a woman dressed with quiet elegance was unlocking the doors.

She smiled at me. "Good morning, sir. You're here bright and early. May I help you?"

"I'd like to speak to the manager, please? My name is Sandburg."

"Of course. If you'll come in, Mr. Sandburg? I'll just be a moment."

While I waited, I browsed along the counter containing earrings. There was one pair, gold hoops inset with diamonds, that I thought were interesting. What would one look like in Jim's nipple?

A man in his early 30s approached and offered me a slight smile. "May I help you, sir?"

"I'm just looking."

"Of course." His gaze ran over me, and his smile broadened without showing his teeth. "Let me show you these earrings. They're one of a kind, something just created. The end unscrews, is threaded through the earlobe, and then screwed closed." He took the tray out of the display case. "A lovely choice, if I may say so. Your lady would be quite pleased. 18 carat gold, round diamonds whose total carat weight is .38. They're a steal at $2,000."

"Uh... "

"Of course, if you don't think she's worth it... "

"Mr. Sandburg?" It was the woman who'd opened the doors. "Mr. Williams will see you."

"Thank you."

"Shall I set these aside for you, sir?"

"No. I'm sorry. We just started dating, you see, and I'm not quite sure of... "

"I understand." His voice was chill, and I figured he'd realized he wasn't going to make a sale with me. He replaced the tray, and his eyes darted from me to the woman, and then to the back of the store. "I wish you good luck."

"Thanks." I followed the woman through the store, through a long, narrow corridor, to an office in the rear.

"Mr. Williams? Mr. Sandburg." She closed the door as she left.

"Blair? Oh, I had hoped it was you!" He engulfed me in a hug.

"Excuse me?" I eased myself out of his embrace.

"You don't remember me? Well, of course. I must have been just one of hundreds."

"Harry?"

"Oh, you do remember!" He hugged me again. "You were so kind to me!" His lips grazed over the side of my neck and began to nibble.

"Hey! Stop!" I tried to push him away, but he had my arms trapped against my body. I didn't remember him being this persistent.

"But you always let me... " He went back to nibbling on my neck.

"Dammit, Harry, that's gonna leave a mark!"

"You never minded before."

"Harry, don't make me... " I didn't want to hurt him. I eased out of his grip and stepped away.

"I tried to find you. You made my first time so wonderful... But no one could tell me where you had gone."

"I left the business."

It was as if he hadn't heard me. "But now you're here, just when... What are you doing tonight? I'd love to take you to dinner! And maybe afterwards... " He waggled his eyebrows.

"Harry. I told you. I don't do that any more."

"Oh, but surely? For me?"

"No. I'm a cop now... "

"Are you going to arrest me?" He flirted his lashes and reached for me. "Are you going to use your big night stick to make me behave?"

"Harry, sit down." I took out my badge and placed it on his desk. He turned pale and sank down into the client's chair. All playfulness left him.

"You really are a cop? Are you going to arrest me?"

"For what? Being glad to see me? No. Just don't jump all over me again." I raised him up and put him in his seat, then took the one he'd vacated.

"I'm sorry," he said in a small voice. "I was just so glad to see you."

"I could tell." I'd felt his erection against my hip. "I'm here on business." I removed the envelope with the segment of links. "I was told that Tiffany's might have handled something like this."

All business now, he reached for his jeweler's loupe and studied the links, then gently separated them. He drew in a hissed breath. "This is by Sabatini!"

"That's what I was told also."

"He had quite a following in the 20s, but then he fell out of favor. The fickleness of the buying public, plus the Depression... Even his smallest pieces - or perhaps I should say, especially his smallest pieces - were expensive. The exquisite attention to detail, you see. However, his son attempted to revive the style a number of years ago. The previous manager knew the elder Sabatini, and took a few of the son's necklaces on consignment, as a favor. If I recall correctly, we finally had to return them last year."

"None were sold?"

"I'd have to look into our records to ascertain... "

"I'm not going anywhere."

"If you're sure. I'll just... "

His door burst open. "Ah hah!" It was the salesman who had shown me the earrings. "I caught you, you cheater!"

"Excuse me?" I turned in the chair. For a second it felt like déjà vu, a repeat of my date with Gabe.

"You... You're not... " The salesman's face was bright red.

"What are you doing in here, Walter?"

"I... I thought... "

"You thought what?" Harry's words were icy.

I watched in surprise. I'd only been with Harry a few times, and he'd never taken that kind of attitude with me. Although this could just have been his 'manager' persona.

"That you would be... I'm sorry, sir. Obviously I misread the situation." He started to back out.

"Never mind. Since you're here, you can run an errand for me. I need the inventory file for... " He tugged on his lower lip, and the other man's eyes narrowed. "... 1965 will do for a start. We'll work forward from there."

"Yes, sir"

"And close the door, please."

He sniffed and yanked the door shut.

"I'm sorry, Blair. He can be so possessive sometimes."

"Your boyfriend?"

"Actually, my... er... husband."

"And you were going to cheat on him? Shame on you, Harry."

"Well, he was just so impossible this morning. Sometimes I need to... " He waved his hands, trying to find the right word.

"You need to be kind."

There was a tap on the door this time, and a woman entered, carrying a large cardboard box. "Mr. Travis has a customer."

I jumped up and took it from her, and put it on Harry's desk.

"Thank you, Mona. That will be all." Harry dismissed her with a smile and opened the box. "I think I remember... Yes, here it is." He took out a ledger labeled 'Necklaces, Gold,' and began to thumb through it. "Hmm." He paused a few times, "Very interesting," and finally he stopped. "One was sold."

"All right." Now we were getting somewhere. "Who bought it?"

"I'll need to find the receipts. Why don't I give you a call... ?"

"Sure." I fished a business card out of my pocket. "May I borrow a pen?"

"Of course." His smile was anticipatory.

"This is my extension. It will get you straight through to me."

"Your... your extension?"

"At the Precinct."

"Oh. But I thought... "

"Harry, you've got someone. So do I. Don't screw it up." I rubbed the side of my neck, then slid my card across the desk, and handed him his pen back. "I need this information as soon as possible, okay?"

He sighed. "Okay." He put the segment of links back into the envelope, and I took it from him and left.

****

It was almost noon by the time I got back to the squadroom. H was practically dancing with excitement.

"You were right, Sandman. Addams was stonewalling because of a woman. Maria Hernandez!"

"The cleaning woman? You found her? Did you talk to her?"

"No to both; he got her out of town."

"Dammit. We need her back."

"I told him that. It turns out she's in this country illegally, and he refused to tell me her whereabouts. And yeah, I mentioned that fact he could go to jail for obstructing the investigation."

I ran a hand through my hair. "And?"

"He said he would cooperate in every way he could - act as a go-between, whatever - but he won't tell us where she is."

"Okay. What did he tell you?"

"She found the body. Not right away. She did her job, cleaning the apartment. The master suite was done last. It always was; she never knew what she might find in there, right down to the latest playmate handcuffed to the bed. She noticed the smell coming from the master bath, and when she went to see about it, she found her employer. According to Addams, she crossed herself and picked up the phone to call the police."

"But she didn't."

"No. She's a wetback - the money she makes here supports her entire family back in Mexico - and she knew she'd be sent home. Instead she went running across the foyer to Addams' penthouse, told him, and brought him back. It only took one look for Addams to know the man was dead. He made her gather up her cleaning supplies and told her to stay in his apartment, and then he called us."

"And gave us that cock-and-bull story about being concerned himself and finding the body. Okay. What did she touch?"

"Everything."

"No wonder why Riley couldn't lift any prints. Dammit! I really need to question her."

"You think we can talk to Immigration, maybe work something out with them?"

"Good idea. I'll bring it up with the Captain and let him do it. That's what he gets paid the big bucks for."

"Oh, and Addams said next time, if there is a next time, he'll have his lawyer present."

"Damn right there'll be a next time," I grumbled. "Y'know, instead of taking classes in anthropology, maybe I should go to law school instead."

"We'd have to hang you then."

"Don't get all Shakespeare on me, H. Okay, Joel, what've you got?"

"That type of wig is pretty popular." He took a notebook out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. "Henry Miller, St. James, Amanda Gill, Imperial, Shubert, and Majestic - they've all had recent orders. And I'm gonna check with the theater managers of each one."

"Good man." My phone rang, and the room fell silent. We were not only trying to trace all calls that came to me, we were tape recording them as well. Joel waited until I pressed the key on the recorder and picked up the phone, then started the trace. "15th Precinct, Detective Sandburg."

"Detective, I saw your name in the newspaper. You're in charge of The Strangler Murders." Her tone capitalized the words.

"Yes, ma'am. What can I do for you?"

"You have to make them stop this!"

"Stop what, ma'am?"

"Their cats! I've complained to the management, but they ignore me! I'm at my wits' end!"

"That's really not my department, ma'am. You might want to call the ASPCA."

"Do you think I haven't? They just tell me those two aren't breaking any law, that the cats are well-taken care of. There's no smell, so the Department of Health won't do anything either!"

"Ma'am, I don't see... "

"Today was the last straw. I warned them I was going to call the authorities, and now I have."

"Yes, ma'am. What happened?"

"Those cats! They were howling! And on top of that the noise, the banging and... It was awful - it sounded like World War III was starting! I was terrified out of my wits!"

"All right, ma'am. Give me your address, and I'll have a patrolman come over and speak to them."

"You don't understand!" Her voice was shrill. "He saw me, Detective! He knows where I live!"

"Who saw you?"

"Haven't you been paying attention? It's The Strangler, I'm sure of it! After it had quieted down, I stuck my head out of the door just as this man came out of Mr. Richmond's apartment. It wasn't Mr. Richmond!"

"All right, ma'am. Try to calm down. Let me have your name and address." I wrote it down.

"And you'll come? Right away? I can describe him! I tell you, Detective, I'm so frightened."

"Yes, ma'am, out of your wits." I looked toward Joel. His smile was grim, and he nodded. "I'm on my way." I hung up.

"We've got the son-of-a-bitch!" He handed me the slip of paper with the address written on it.

"We do if his name is Pearl Menzel. This is the same address that she gave me. Let's go check it out."

****

Once again we had to track down the landlord to let us in. "Who lives in this apartment?"

"John Richmond and his younger brother. Paul. The kid goes to high school."

Joel, H, and I exchanged glances. We walked into the living room, and came to a dead halt.

The fireplace screen was leaning at an angle. Chairs were overturned, a lamp was broken, and the sofa was toppled. Rag rugs were bunched and scattered all over the wooden floor, and we could hear the claws of the cats as they skittered over it, hiding from us.

It was obvious the living room had again been the scene of the murder.

It didn't take too long to find the bathroom and Paul Richmond.

He had been strangled and posed, with a red kiss on his forehead. He was blond. His eyes hadn't clouded over yet, and it was easy to see they were a vivid blue. He had a pimple just above the darkening bruises on his neck.

Stephens was back at work. He finished dusting for prints and limped out of the bathroom, stone-faced.

Riley took the last pictures. "I'm done here." His mouth was in a tight line. "You want me to send in the coroner?" Dan was waiting out in the corridor.

"Yeah."

Dan walked in and looked at the boy. I'd never seen his expression so sad. "I'll need some room, gentlemen."

"Okay."

We left the bathroom. This was a bachelor's apartment, but aside from the wreck of the living room, it was a nice place, homey and well-kept. There were no dirty dishes in the sink, the table in the dining room was set with two places for the evening meal, the bed in the larger of the two bedrooms was made, and no clothes were lying around. On the dresser was a framed photograph of a young couple in wedding attire. I could tell by the style of their clothing and hair that this must be his parents' wedding photo.

I met H in the hall as he left our newest victim's bedroom. His normally dark complexion was almost gray. "Goddammit. He has an old set of Hardy Boys Mysteries in his bookshelf. There's a poster of Raquel Welsh in that fur bikini on the wall. He's got albums stacked around his record player - /The Beach Boys, The Righteous Brothers, The Small Faces. Fuck it. I found this in his schoolbag." He handed me his ID. "He's practically a baby, Blair!"

"Yeah."

Paul Richmond had just celebrated his sixteenth birthday.

We went into the living room. This time it looked as if our Strangler hadn't had an easy time of it.

"Good for you, Paul." Maybe Dan would find something more than threads under his fingernails.

The cats were calming down and regaining their natural curiosity. One sat on the fireplace mantel watching us. Another sat in the fireplace itself, fastidiously grooming its front paw. A third was on its back batting something.

"What have you got, puss?" I approached him carefully, crouching down and extending my hand, calling, "Psss psss psss."

"What is it, Blair?"

"Looks like a hairpiece. Black." I rescued it from the cat. It was wet and bedraggled.

"Is that blood?"

"No, cat spit."

"Ugh."

"I want this tested."

"You think the black hair you found at Norbert Himmel's was from this?"

"Maybe. We'll have to see."

A scuffle erupted in the corridor outside the front door.

"Wait! No! You can't go in there, sir!"

"Get out of my way!" A fair man burst into the room. He was big, tall and well-muscled. His suit jacket was buttoned haphazardly, as if he'd been in a rush. He glared at us. "Who are you? What are you doing in my apartment?" He looked around at his living room, and he turned white. "What's happened here? I'm calling the police!"

"We are the police. I'm Detective Sandburg." I took my badge from my inner pocket. "These are my colleagues, Detectives Taggart and Brown. Who are you?"

The wind seemed to be knocked from him. "I'm... I'm John Richmond. I live here. Where's Paul? Where's my baby brother?"

Involuntarily, we looked in the direction of the bathroom. He started toward it, and I stepped in front of him.

"I don't think you want to go in there, Mr. Richmond."

"Fuck you! Paul! Paulie!" He shoved me aside, and I found myself on my ass.

Joel reached down, took my hand, and pulled me back to my feet.

"We're not gonna charge him with assaulting a police officer, are we?"

A howl of anguish came from the bathroom.

"No."

"Paul." Richmond was crumpled beside his brother's body, rocking him in his arms. "Paulie," he sobbed.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr. Richmond." I took his arm. "Come inside. Let Dr. Wolf do his job." I helped him up, and he let me lead him into the living room.

****

"Why?" His eyes were blind. "Why would anyone do this to Paul? He's just a boy." Sobs shook his big body.

"What made you come home, Mr. Richmond?"

"What?" He scrubbed at his eyes. "Oh. Father Dugan, the principal of Paul's high school, called me at work. He told me Paul hadn't come to school. That's... Paulie doesn't do that. He loves school. It's his springboard to what he wants to do. He's going to be an actor... Oh, god!" He clapped a hand over his mouth, looked around in panic, then ran to the kitchen and threw up in the sink.

"Sorry." He accepted the hand towel I held out to him and wiped his face, then ran the faucet to wash out the sink.

"He wasn't in the habit of skipping class?"

"No. I told you. Paulie loves... loved school."

"Did you usually leave before he did in the morning?"

"Only on Mondays and Wednesdays. This term, Paulie's first classes don't start until 10 o'clock."

"Are you sure he's been going to class on those days?"

"Of course... Oh, no! Don't you try to make my brother out to be one of those no-good kids who... He goes to Catholic school! It's the school's policy to call the parents... guardians... if the kids don't show up. Paul... I was never called!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Richmond. I have to ask these questions. Was there anything different about today?"

He shook his head. "I left for work my usual time, about 8."

"Where do you work, Mr, Richmond?"

"I'm a CPA. I work for Braun and Carter and Associates, the accounting firm on 45th Street and Lexington. We handle the bookkeeping for a number of theaters."

"I see. What time would your brother leave for school?"

"On Monday and Wednesday, Paulie leaves about 9:40. He's a responsible boy. He gets up with me, has breakfast with me. He doesn't... " He covered his eyes with his hand, and his shoulders shook. "... didn't have to be in class until 10 - it's just a ten minute walk but he gives himself a little extra time. He cleans up his room, sorts the laundry, washes the breakfast dishes... I told him he didn't have to, that all I was concerned about was him keeping up his grades, but he said it was the least... " His voice cracked.

"Why did it take so long for you to be notified?" I looked at my watch. It was almost 2.

"Attendance is taken during homeroom. That's just after lunch. Father Dugan called as soon as... "

"All right, Mr. Richmond. I'm sorry I have to ask these questions," I repeated, "but we want to find the man who did this. When you left this morning, did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Was there someone in the elevator, in the lobby, outside the building, who drew your attention?"

"No. No one. I told you. It was just a regular Monday." He looked into my eyes. "What am I going to do? Paul is all that's left of the family. Our parents died when he was 8. I'm ten years older, so I took care of him. We had to move... "

"Why?"

"I couldn't afford to keep the house. Paulie had to leave behind his school and all his friends... I dropped out of college and got a job at Braun and Carter."

"That was very good of you. Not many eighteen-year-olds would be willing to take on that responsibility."

He waved it away. "Do you know, Paul never gave me a moment's worry? You'd think after losing our parents - But he was a good boy. He never got into trouble. He loved acting and was in every play and musical in every grade since he started school. He was talking about getting into the Drama Division of Julliard. Brother Anselm was so proud of him... "

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Richmond."

"Why did this happen? He's not supposed to... He just turned sixteen, for godssake! There's a piece of birthday cake in the refrigerator! I took him out to Sardi's for his birthday on Friday evening."

"That's rather an expensive dinner, isn't it?"

"I know, but one of his friends had gone there with his parents after seeing a play, and he kept talking about it. It was hard for a while, but things are pretty good now. I thought it would make a great surprise for him, and it was. He was so happy. The best birthday, he told me. It was even more so when I spotted Christopher Gill dining just across the room."

"Who?"

"He runs the Amanda Gill Theatre, one of the theaters we do the books for. Of course, he didn't have any idea who I was, so he didn't acknowledge me when I smiled at him. I didn't mind, he's an important... "

H came in and showed me a small swatch of cloth. There was blood on it. "I found it in the fireplace with that cat."

"Thanks, H. Get a small bag for it?"

"I'm on it." He walked out.

"I'm sorry." But the bereaved man scarcely noticed. "You have a number of cats, Mr. Richmond."

"What? Oh, yes. Paulie always loved cats. After we lost our parents, that was the only thing that helped him to sleep." A small white cat with startlingly blue eyes wandered in and wound around his legs. Richmond stooped and lifted the cat into his arms. He stroked the long hair.

"I didn't see this cat before."

"Blackie was probably under Paul's bed."

"Blackie?"

"Blackout." His smile was soft, as if the memory calmed him. "Paulie named him. He found him the day after the Big Blackout in '65. He begged me to let him keep the kitten. We already had Brigadoon, Bali H'ai, and Carousel, and the last thing we needed was another cat. I made him put up posters, and he used his own money from his job as a box boy in the local grocery to put an ad in The News. Blackie's a Persian, they're worth a little, let me tell you. But no one ever claimed him, so he became part of the family. The other cats look out for him. He's deaf, you see."

"I didn't realize."

"Yes. White, blue-eyed Persians usually are." His calm vanished abruptly. "Has that witch across the hall been complaining again? Our cats are well-fed and well-cared-for, and this apartment doesn't smell... "

"I'm aware of that, Mr. Richmond. I found a cat playing with this." I held up the wig.

"What is it?" He put the white cat down.

"A man's wig." I studied his hair.

"It was here? What was it doing here?"

"I was hoping you could tell me. Since you mentioned that your brother was interested in acting, and since this type of wig is used in theater productions, what are the odds he brought it home?"

"No. Costumes are not permitted to leave the school grounds."

"He couldn't have slipped it out in his schoolbag?"

"My brother would never do something like that."

"Then that leaves you."

"Excuse me?"

"Do you wear wigs, Mr. Richmond?"

"No." He ran a hand over his hair. It was very thick; there would be no reason for him to need a toupee, and he said as much.

"Maybe to please a lady friend? To add a certain fillip to the relationship?"

"No. My... my friend likes me just the way I am. We don't need anything to... That isn't mine! And it isn't his! I... I mean... "

"I know what you mean, Mr. Richmond. How did your brother feel about your... friend?"

"Paulie didn't know. I was always very... "

"So your friend might be resentful of this? Maybe he thought with your judgmental brother out of the way, you'd be able to spend more time together?"

"NO! My brother isn't judgmental! How dare you... " He flushed darkly, and his hands curled into fists.

"Take it easy, Mr. Richmond. I have to ask."

He took a deep breath, nodded, and the color in his face faded. "I was going to tell Paul. Now that he was sixteen, I felt he was old enough to understand. Reggie was supposed to meet us after dinner, but his show ran into encores. He called me to apologize. We were going to do it next weekend."

There was a touch on my arm. "Yes, Joel?"

"Dan's ready to take the... " He glanced at the distraught man, who had sunk onto a kitchen chair and buried his face in his hands. "He's ready to go."

"Tell him just a second, okay?"

"Got it."

"Thanks. Mr. Richmond, do you have someone you can stay with? Maybe your friend?"

He raised his head. "I can't stay here?" His eyes were wet and red.

"I'm afraid not. This is an active crime scene."

"Can I pack some clothes?" He rose.

"Of course." We left the kitchen. "H, would you go along with Mr. Richmond and make sure he takes everything he needs?" And wasn't in here when the body of his brother was taken out.

"Sure thing, Blair." He caught my eye and patted his pocket so I would know he had the piece of blood-stained material. The cats followed them.

While Mr. Richmond was packing, Dan's men wheeled the body out of the apartment. Dan was right behind them, his tread heavy.

"I want to know whatever you find, Dan."

"I'm making this a high priority." He shook his head. "That poor, poor boy." He left.

"We've got to stop this bastard!"

"Yeah. Joel, would you check with the managers of the theaters you mentioned and see if any of them is missing a wig?"

He took it gingerly between thumb and forefinger. "Do we have anything we can put this in?"

"Maybe Riley or Stephens have something in their cases." They were still dusting and photographing.

"I'll check with them."

"Excuse me!" A woman was standing stiffly in the doorway. She was dressed in a woolen suit comprised of a plain gray skirt and a jacket of yellow, pink, and orange flowers on a gray background. A pillbox hat with a matching pattern sat slightly askew on her head.

"Ma'am, you shouldn't be in here."

"I don't see why not! I'm the one who called you, after all! Why hasn't anyone come to talk to me? I'm sure I'm in very grave danger! This is the work of The Strangler, isn't it? I was certain of it!"

"Mrs. Menzel... "

"Ohhh! Look at all the damage done!" She was looking around avidly.

"Why don't we go to your apartment, and you can explain the whole thing to me." I exchanged looks with Joel, took her arm, and turned her around.

"I'll have to go under police protection, won't I?" There was a whiff of alcohol on her breath.

I urged her toward the door. "I'm pretty sure you'll need to, ma'am. I'm sorry."

"Oh, no, that will be wonder- ! Er... that is to say, I'm a very conscientious citizen, so for my safety's sake, it will be a good thing."

I was stunned to see reporters waiting in the corridor. Sam took one look at my face and backed off. Mrs. Menzel preened and wanted to give a statement.

"Well, you see, there was this... "

I tightened my grip on her arm. "No comment," I ground out as I urged her toward her door.

A reporter I didn't recognize grabbed me. "What about this killer, Detective?"

I wheeled to face him, jerking my arm free, and a light flashed in my eyes. The photographer who was with him grinned, his jaws working a wad of chewing gum. I took a step toward him, and he backed away quickly.

"Detective?"

"What about this sick bastard?" I growled at the reporter. "He's a pervert!"

I caught Mrs. Menzel's arm, whirled her around, and got her into her apartment before any pictures could be taken of her.

"Vultures," I spat under my breath.

"I wanted to talk to the nice gentlemen," she said, reproach in her words. "It would have been so nice to be in the newspapers. I could have sent clippings to my family. We could have had our picture taken together." She fluttered her lashes at me.

"When this is over, you can give all the interviews you want. For now my priority is keeping you safe." As I'd hopped, that appealed to her sense of vanity. "All right, Mrs. Menzel. Perhaps you'll tell me what happened?"

"Of course. Sit down. Now, may I get you a cup of tea? Something stronger, perhaps?"

"No, ma'am. It's against regulations to drink on duty. Just tell me what happened."

"Oh, no, no! What kind of hostess would I be?"

"Tea will be fine, ma'am." I surrendered and took out my note pad. This was going to be a long interview. "Er... do you have a pen?"

****

We were finally done. "Pack only what you'll need for a few days, Mrs. Menzel. I'll wait out in the hall." I was going to chase off the reporters if I had to do it with my gun.

Fortunately, they were gone.

Riley and Stephens passed as they left. "Man, you look like shit."

"Up yours."

"You wish. Listen, we'll have whatever we find on your desk ASAP, Sandman."

"Okay. Thanks, guys."

H came out of the Richmond apartment and fastened yellow crime scene tape across the door. "Waiting for me?"

"In your dreams. Has Joel left?"

"Yeah, a little while ago. The manager of the Shubert was the only one still at his theater when Joel called, so he's going there to talk to him."

I checked my watch and nodded. We were putting in a lot of overtime. "Where's Mr. Richmond?"

"He called a friend, who came right over. I have his address. It's on the other side of town. I sent them with a black and white."

"Good idea. What about the cats?"

"They've taken them too."

"So we don't need to worry about them."

"No. What are you up to?"

"Yoo hoo! Detective!" Mrs. Menzel had locked her door and was waiting by the elevator with a very large, very orange suitcase.

"I've arranged for Mrs. Menzel to go into protective custody. I'm bringing her down to the Precinct first to talk to George. Maybe we'll be lucky, and between her description and Jim's, we'll have something concrete to go on."

The three of us went down in the elevator, and the woman chattered nonstop. "Mr. Menzel only wanted me to have the best," referring to the suitcase at her feet. "I feel so safe with such a big, strong detective beside me!" She was talking about me. I gave a weak smile. "Are you married? No? I have a niece who would be perfect for you!"

H's expression became more and more wooden as he struggled to keep from bursting into laughter. As the doors opened, he leaned close.

"Better you than me, Sandman."

I curled my lip at him. He knew I couldn't flip him off because there was a woman present.

****

Mrs. Menzel was very proud of herself. She was certain the information she had provided would see the arrest of The Strangler and the end of his murderous spree, and she was busy assuring everyone she passed of this.

A policewoman ushered her out of George's office. She would accompany Mrs. Menzel to a house on the Queens-Nassau line where she would be safe.

George made approving sounds. He didn't tell Mrs. Menzel that going by her description we could have arrested Lyndon Johnson, John Wayne, or King Kong.

H looked me over carefully. "Look, it's getting late, and we're done. Why don't you go home? Have a drink, maybe?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea." I wouldn't go home though. There was no one there. I glanced at my watch. Jim should be home from work by now. We didn't have a date, but I didn't think he would mind too much if I turned up on his doorstep. I took a page from my note pad and wrote down his number. "If anything comes up and you can't reach me at home, try this number."

"All right. Go, Sandman!"

I cuffed his arm. "What about you?"

"I've got some paperwork that needs to be cleared up. Get out of here. We'll see you in the morning."

"Right. See ya."

Half an hour later, I entered 852 East 14th and climbed the stairs to Jim's apartment on the third floor.

I knocked on the door and waited, nervously smoothing my hair and then running a hand over my cheek and chin. I should have taken the time to shave.

"Richie? I have plenty of... " And there he stood. He was wearing the black jeans and turtleneck from Friday night, and I nearly swallowed my tongue.

"Hi, Jim." I smiled at him, feeling better for the first time since I'd looked down into the face of the dead teenager. "I know I should have called... "

The rest of what I would have said was cut off as he grabbed the front of my coat and dragged me into his apartment.

"Chief!" His eyes were bright, blue and very alive, and then I couldn't see anything because he was kissing me and my eyes were closed. "God, I ... " He inhaled. I loved when he got all Sentinel on me and breathed in my scent. He'd done that after the first time we'd made love, almost purring like a big cat, and I'd just lain there and wallowed in it.

Abruptly he shoved me away.

"What... ?"

He turned my head, hooked a finger in my shirt collar, and yanked it down. "A hickey?"

"No, I... " I remembered Harry nibbling on my neck this morning.

"You've got a hickey! Don't lie to me! It's unmistakable!"

I thought I had stopped him before he could leave a mark.

"I didn't mark you, Chief, because I didn't want you to be embarrassed when you went in to work today."

"No, Jim. You don't understand!"

"Don't I? I'm the one with Sentinel senses, remember? I can smell another man all over you!"

"Jim, will you let me explain?"

"There are some things that don't need an explanation!"

Somewhere in my mind I heard a frustrated howl. Jim's eyes widened, but then he shook his head and narrowed his eyes.

"Jim, please... "

"Because I used to peddle my ass, it's not supposed to matter when my lover comes to me stinking of another man?"

"Jim, I... Now, just a second! I do not stink!"

"You do, Ch... Sandburg. Get out." He opened the door and started crowding me back.

"No, Jim. Please... " I reached for him.

"Get out!"

I wasn't expecting him to hit me. Even if I had been, his move was so lightning-fast I wouldn't have been able to block it. I went staggering back into the hall and crashed into the opposite wall. My legs flew out from under me, and I landed on my ass. The jolt to my tailbone caused my teeth to snap down on my tongue, and my mouth flooded with the taste of copper.

For a second I thought he looked horrified by what he had done, but my bruised eye was swelling shut, and I must have been deceived.

He slammed the door shut. I didn't need Sentinel senses to hear the lock twist shut with a finality that told me this was the end.

I sat there, stunned by the turn of events. How could Jim throw away what we had, just like that? I could hear Naomi telling me, 'Butch is your friend... He can be so easily hurt. Don't hurt him.'

Only I'd been the one hurt then, and I was the one who was hurt now.

Between the murder of that boy and what had just happened, I felt older than Methuselah. I pulled myself to my feet.

A door opened, and a gray-haired lady poked her head out. "Do you belong here, young man?"

"No, ma'am. I guess I don't."

****

I drew cautious, curious glances on the way back home, and I didn't want to imagine what I must look like. My swollen eye had settled in to a dull ache, and the skin over my cheekbones felt tight..

When I finally got home and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, I winced. My eye was going to be a Technicolor beaut in the morning. While I was at it, I undid my collar and studied the hickey on my neck.

"Goddammit!" It was barely visible. I would have to fall... My shoulders slumped. There was no point in denying it. I was in love with Jim Ellison. For all the good it did me.

I stripped off my clothes and took a shower, then crushed some ice, filled a towel, and held it to my eye. I didn't have much of an appetite, but, I'll be damned if I pine over you, Jim Ellison!

All that was in the fridge was a six-pack of beer, three eggs, half a carton of milk, and a small chunk of Romano cheese.

I found a church key, removed the cap of a bottle of beer, and took a healthy swig. Then I set about making an omelet. As I cracked the eggs into a bowl, added some milk, and grated cheese into it, I thought of the omelet Jim had made for us Saturday morning. "Damn you!"

I wiped the moisture from my face with the back of my hand. It must have been from the impromptu icepack. I needed to buy a real one.

I pushed thoughts of my... former... lover out of my mind and poured the beaten mixture into the frying pan. While I waited for it to set, I put a Lettermen album on the record player.

I took another bottle of beer from the fridge.

When the omelet was done to a golden turn, I sat down to eat it. I had the hollow pleasure of knowing that my omelet was better than his.

Afterwards, I dumped everything into the sink, found the bottle of Dewars at the back of a cabinet, and had a few drinks. Well, more than a few. The level went down considerably.

I stretched out on the sofa and decided that once I finished this last drink, I'd go to bed.

When I fall In love, it will be forever... The Lettermen crooned.

My last conscious thought was that really wasn't much better than Monday, Monday.

The half-filled glass of Scotch slipped from lax fingers, and I fell asleep on the sofa.

****

The sound of ringing woke me up. At first I thought it was coming from within my head, a hangover the likes of which I hadn't had since I was a dumb teenager.

Then I realized it was the telephone.

I staggered into the kitchen. "'Lo?" I rubbed my face and flinched at the soreness of my eye.

"Sandburg? Where the fuck are you?"

"Obviously I'm home."

"Don't get cute with me, boy! Why aren't you here?"

"Joel?" I ran a hand through my hair and yawned. "What time is it?"

"It's 10 o'clock."

"Fuck." I looked down at myself, trying to figure how I came to have fallen asleep in my clothes. "Look, my alarm didn't go off." It wasn't really a fib. It hadn't gone off, because I hadn't set it. "I'll be in as soon as I can."

"Okay, but you might want to... "

"As soon as I can." I hung up. I never did this, turned up late for work without even calling, so I hoped that I'd get away with it.

I made my way to my bathroom on the other side of the apartment. The sight of my eye made me want to crawl into bed. Instead, I gulped down a handful of Excedrin, took another shower, shaved, finished the last of the box of Frosted Flakes, and dressed for work.

I was almost three hours late when I walked into the squadroom. H and Joel were the only ones there. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

There was a long, low whistle, and self-consciously I ducked my chin into the collar of my shirt and glared at H, but he was staring at my face. "What happened to your eye?"

"I walked into a door," I snapped.

He held up his palms and let it go. "Uh... I tried to reach you last night. At the number you gave me? You weren't there."

"No. And tear it up. I won't be going back there." I hung up my overcoat and went to my desk.

"Shit. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. What did you need to talk to me about?"

"Someone called Major Crimes; I was the only one still here."

I felt cold. "Was it... ?"

"No. It was someone named Harry. He sounded disappointed. Another boyfriend?"

"Fuck you. He's the manager of Tiffany's. What did he have?"

"He wouldn't tell me. I'm just passing on the message to you. Call him." He handed me a slip of paper with a number on it.

"Dammit." The last thing I needed was to get involved with Harry. "Okay." I pulled my phone toward me.

"Blair. Have you seen today's newspaper?"

"No."

"I think you'd better. Cap's not happy. He's in his office with the department shrink." He put The Post on my desk. The headline screamed, Fifth Strangler Victim, Killer a Sexual Pervert!

There was the picture of me, my eyes narrowed and my mouth in a hard line.

I blew out a breath. "That bastard."

"Who - The Strangler or the reporter?"

"Either. Both. Fuck it, let's get to work. Have we come up with any connections between our victims?"

"Tenuous," H said. Joel didn't grin and tease him about his $50 words, but I didn't wonder about it. There was lost time to be made up for.

"I've learned that when Norbert Himmel wore blue, his eyes became blue, so except for Richard Lee, they're all blond and have blue eyes."

"So what do we make of the fact that Lee was killed in the same manner?"

"Not quite the same manner," I interrupted, "although he was posed, and a kiss was placed on his forehead. According to Dan Wolf, we know that Lee was strangled with a necklace. It was purchased from Tiffany's. Harry - the manager - said he would call as soon as he found the store's copy of the receipt."

"Then that's why he called yesterday?"

"I hope."

"Hadn't you better call him now, then?"

"I guess." I dialed the number on the paper. "This is Detective Sandburg. I'm returning Mr. Williams' phone call."

"Just a second, sir. I've had instructions to put you right through."

"Blair, darling! Where were you last night? I had hoped... Never mind. I found the receipt. A Sabatini necklace was purchased for cash. There's something else... I'd like to come in and talk to you, if I may?"

"Harry, can't you... "

"Oh, no. I'll leave right now and be there before you can blink your gorgeous blue eyes."

"Harry... "

"Bye, sweets."

"Dammit!" I slammed down the receiver.

"Must be nice to be so irresistible."

"Shut up. What else have we got?"

"This thing with the necklace... It got me to thinking, Blair. That drawer in the master bedroom... "

"The one that Riley found open?"

"Yeah. It held a tray with tie clips, cufflinks, rings, gold, silver, and platinum chains and medallions. I called Addams earlier, and he confirmed that Maria Hernandez had found a woman's necklace with a locket in the... uh... I think it's called the informal living room. She thought it was strange, seeing the deceased's persuasion was what it was, but he could be a nasty son-of-a-bitch, and she'd leaned not to ask questions. She just put it in the drawer."

"So what are you thinking?"

H was getting excited. "Maybe it was another mistake? Didn't The Strangler say he was going to be good? Why would he lie? Maybe he went to that apartment just to retrieve the necklace."

"Why?" Joel wanted to know.

"It was a lucky charm? A souvenir? We'd have to ask him, Joel." H scowled at him. "I have no clue. Anyway. He goes there, only to find Richard Lee there."

"Why was Lee there?"

"He was treated as the bereaved at the funeral." The excitement was leaving him, but he still tried. "Maybe he wanted to say goodbye in his own way? Or maybe he wanted to take the opportunity of retrieving something he'd left behind."

"Some of those toys?" I tried to think if Jim had told me anything about Lee other than that he was into rough sex. The thought of Jim made my eye throb, and I pushed him out of my mind. It took a little doing, but I knew from my experience with Butch that eventually I'd succeed. I took a bottle of aspirin from my desk, swallowed two, and went to the water cooler in the corner of the squadroom.

The door opened, and I was surprised to see Lieutenant Dawson walk in. He looked rumpled, as if he'd just got out of bed, and it felt like a flashback of last Monday, when the Cap had called me in early.

"Lieutenant?"

He just nodded and removed his overcoat. "What happened to your eye?"

"I walked into a door."

"Hmmm." He tapped on the Captain's door and went in.

I turned back to my men. "Okay, so let's get our ducks all in a row. What've we got on the victims?"

"Number One worked as a maitre'd in a restaurant in the Theatre District." H scribbled it down. "He liked girls. Mistake number one."

"Yeah. We'll have to see what other mistakes he's made."

"Numbers Two and Four knew each other. They had money. They were queer." H gave me an apologetic glance. I waved it away. "And Four, because of his coloring, might have also been a mistake."

"Number Three was queer also. He worked for a company that manufacturers costumes for shows - on- and off- Broadway."

"And a hair from a wig used in Broadway shows was found on his pillow."

"Right." H wrote that down.

"Number Five was sixteen years old. Did he even know if he was homosexual or not?"

"Y'know, I heard the brother tell you he works for an accounting firm that handles the books of some Broadway theaters, Blair."

"That might be the connection between One, Three, and Five, but as you said, H - tenuous. We need something to tie all five of them together, unless we're looking at a maniac who chooses his victims at random - in which case we're up shit creek and the paddle has fallen in. Joel, will you... no, you still have to see those theater managers. What happened with the Shubert?"

He shook his head. "All the wigs purchased are accounted for. I took hair samples from them, just in case."

"Good thinking. Okay, H, I need you to look into the backgrounds of Richard Lee and Randy Beautiful."

"Randy who?"

"Uh... " I felt myself flush. Jim had called him that. "Our second victim."

"Got it."

They were about to leave when my phone rang. I pressed the button on the tape recorder, and Joel waited until I raised the receiver.

"Fifteenth Precinct, Detective Sandburg."

"Where have you been?" No accent at all this time, but I knew who it was.

"Excuse me?" I nodded to Joel, and he started the trace.

"I do not know that I will do that. I tried to call you earlier, only to be told you were not at your desk. Where were you?"

"What are you, my mother?"

"Are you mocking me?" I could hear temper in his voice. "Do not dare mock me, Detective Sandburg!"

"Or what? You'll spank me?"

He didn't respond to that, but his breath hitched. Did the idea of having his hands on me appeal to him?

"And I thought 'Detective Sandburg' was too formal for you, that you were going to call me 'Blair'."

"Do not change the subject. I am cross with you."

"Now that breaks my heart."

H gripped my shoulder, but I brushed his hand away. After yesterday, I wasn't about to handle this man with kid gloves.

"You're killing innocent men... " I glanced at Joel, and he held up five fingers and gave me the sign I should stretch out the conversation. "... propping them on the toilet, and kissing them on the forehead."

"I did not kiss them!"

"Well, you left a lipstick kiss behind, and that's as good as the same thing."

"It is not! Pah! Why do I argue with you? They are not innocent. They perform unnatural acts! How dare you... "

"You wanna know how I dare, sunshine? I dare because at least two of the men you've decided were guilty were innocent. Joseph Bishop was engaged to a very nice young lady... "

"You did not see the way he looked at me! When he let me into his house... " His voice was strident and his breath came in harsh pants over the phone.

"... and Paul Richmond..."

"You will not make me feel guilty! I am not guilty!"

"You are guilty," I snarled. "Your last victim, that boy?"

"He was living with an older man whose lust for him was palpable!"

"He was living with his brother!"

"Is that what that depraved debaucher of youth told you? He sat beside that angelic-looking young man, and yet he smiled at me! Oh, Detective Sandburg, you have so much to learn about the world."

"At least I'll be alive to learn. I'm gonna see to it that you aren't!"

"What are you saying? I am doing a service... "

"Is that what you tell yourself when you lie in bed at night, alone?"

"Who I do or do not share my bed with is no concern of yours!"

"Losing your grammar there, sunshine. That should be 'with whom.' What am I doing, talking to someone like you? I'm hanging up."

Joel shook his head frantically.

"Do not hang up, Detective Sandburg! Do not!" He was starting to lose it.

"Or what?" I bared my teeth in a feral grin, even though he couldn't see it. "You want to get your hands on me so badly you can taste it, can't you? Well, fine. Tell me where you are, and I'll be right there!"

"Oh, no, Detective Sandburg. I am not so easily fooled. I am smarter than you, remember?"

"I remember, you... You want to know what I think of you, sunshine? You're a ..."

"I read what you think of me." His words became more and more rapid. "It is in the newspaper, for the whole of the city to see. You disparage the memory of my mother! You disparage me!" Apparently I had pushed too hard. "I am not a pervert!" he screamed, and I had to hold the receiver away from my ear. "I am NOT!"

"Yeah, well, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it sounds like one perverted duck to me."

The men in the room with me looked taken aback by that. I shrugged. My caller was breathing heavily, and it took him some time to regain some control.

Maybe we'd luck out and be able to trace the call this time.

Finally, "You have made me lose my temper, Detective Sandburg. That is something I hate to do, because it is so common."

Like I cared a shit.

"So not one more word." He sighed. "Detective Sandburg." I didn't say anything. "Detective Sandburg!"

"Yeah?"

"Do you... Do you forgive me for shouting, Blair?" He had the gall to ask me?

"You're a putrid blight on the face of humanity, sunshine!" I spat. "Do I forgive you? Never in a million years! Not for shouting, and most especially not for killing those men!"

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I'd said the wrong thing.

"I see," he said, and the son-of-a-bitch had sorrow in his voice. "You are very volatile, are you not?" And he hung up.

I turned off the tape recorder and looked to where Joel stood. He shook his head, and I swore. H tapped my shoulder. "What?"

He nodded behind me.

The Captain stood in his doorway, his hands on his hips. "What happened to your eye? Did you walk into a door?"

"Yes, sir."

"Not funny, Sandburg." The scowl on his face was so fierce I wanted to duck under my desk.

"No, sir. Sorry." I sighed and slumped in my chair, and waited for him to tear a strip off my hide for losing it myself and screwing up so royally.

"My office now!"

"Yes, sir." I kept my relief hidden. The Cap didn't generally dress down his men in public, but I'd been around when he had, and it wasn't a pretty sight.

Lieutenant Dawson glanced at the Captain. "I'll wait outside."

"Yeah."

He touched my shoulder and left us, closing the door behind him.

A balding man wearing glasses sat in the chair beside the Captain's desk, writing something in a note pad. Dr. Schaefer. He looked up and studied me with interest.

"Nice shiner."

"Thanks. I... "

"... walked into a door. Interesting that you should say that. You know, that's the most common excuse given for a black eye?"

I opened my mouth, then shut it. What could I say to that?

The Captain took his seat and continued to glower at me. He didn't tell me to sit, so I didn't.

"So you're a psychiatrist now, Sandburg?"

"Excuse me?" I'd thought he was going to rip into me for not keeping The Strangler on the line long enough. "No, sir. You know I'm not."

"But you feel qualified to diagnose our killer." There was a copy of The Post on his desk, and he drummed his fingers on it. "Do you know it's in every paper in the City? Oh, your friend Sam tried to bury it in the very last line of his article, continued behind the Op Ed page, but even The News printed it. It's even in the goddammed Rolling Stone!"

"Captain... "

He overrode whatever I was going to say. "You'll be happy to know Dr. Schaefer agrees with you."

Dr. Schaefer crossed his legs, leaned back in his chair, and steepled his fingers under his chin. "An obvious paranoid exhibition of mother-hate."

"But why is he killing queers?"

"I would imagine he has latent homosexual tendencies. Perhaps his desires were directed at one point toward a boyish-looking woman. In that case he would be secure in his masculinity, because the object of his desire was still the correct sex."

"But his mother? That's sick."

"It's Oedipal." He shrugged.

"Are we supposed to look for a man whose mother looked like a boy? Do you have any idea what the population of Manhattan Island alone is?"

"Approximately 1,765,000," he told me, ignoring my scowl. "Cheer up. You can subtract the female population, boys under 13, and men over 60, as well as blacks, Orientals, and any Indians we might have in this city, I'd say. Serial killers tend to stay within their own race."

"That's one form of bigotry I never thought I'd object to." My mind boggled as I imagined the hundreds of thousands of men.

"If it helps narrow it down, I'd say she is most likely deceased, or for some reason no longer in his life." He chuckled at my expression. "I know. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack, but once you've found your man, I'll bet dollars to donuts," he grinned at the Captain, who had a well-known weakness for Hostess powdered donuts, "that a picture of his mother will reveal she had a very slender figure. So yes, I agree with you: he is perverted."

I didn't have a chance to feel relieved.

"What is it with you?" The Captain's glare raked over me. "Why does this sick bastard call you?"

"Cap... "

"I'm taking you off the case! Maybe that will placate this madman. Take the rest of the day off. Better still, take a few days off! And stay the fuck away from reporters!"

"Captain, you can't!"

"Oh, no? Why do you think Lieutenant Dawson is here? I've already talked to him about this. The case is his now." He stalked to his door, yanked it open, and strode into the squadroom.

I glanced at Dr. Schaefer. His expression was rueful, and he shrugged again. I followed after the Captain.

"Taggart! Brown! Lieutenant Dawson is replacing Sandburg. You're on this case with him!"

"Yes, sir." They looked miserable - they must have realized something was going on, and that was why Joel hadn't teased H about his $50 vocabulary - but there wasn't much else they could say.

"Cap... "

"Go home, Sandburg. Obviously we can't print a retraction of what you said, but I've scheduled a press conference. In fifteen minutes I'm going to announce to the City and The Strangler that Lieutenant Dawson is now in charge."

I felt brittle. I'd never been taken off a case before.

H and Joel touched my shoulder, squeezed my arm, but the others avoided my eyes.

I clocked out and went home.

The apartment felt strange at this time of day. Two weeks ago, I'd have been getting ready for work. Last week, I'd have been at work.

It was dim in the apartment. I hadn't taken the time to open the blinds.

When I give my heart, it will be completely...

I'd forgotten to shut off the record player.

I hung up my overcoat, turned off the record player, and opened the blinds.

I changed into jeans and an old NYU sweatshirt, and started cleaning. The bathroom first, washing out the tub and hanging up towels I'd left on the floor and in the sink in my rush to get ready just a couple of hours earlier.

The bed hadn't been slept in, but I noticed a pillow seemed lumpy. Jim's sweater was bunched up under it. I took it out, held it to my face, and inhaled. Jim's scent filled my nostrils, and my heart ached with regret.

Well, Sandburg. I guess you'll just have to accept the fact that when it comes to falling in love, you were born under an unlucky star.

I petted the sweater, then folded it and put it away in a bottom drawer that also held a baseball cap that Butch had left behind in the old apartment one day. There'd been no rush to return it to him, and then he was gone.

Once that was done, I went into the living room and mopped up the puddle of spilled Dewars. It was a good thing the floor was wood and the Scotch hadn't reached the area rug.

The last thing was the mess in the kitchen, the empty bottles of beer standing on the counter, the frying pan and dishes in the sink.

When I finally had the place looking decent enough that I wouldn't be mortified if Naomi walked unexpectedly in the front door, I sat down and made out a grocery list.

Because of the length of the list, I'd need to take Naomi's shopping cart with me. This was going to be more than two arms full.

****

The phone was ringing when I got home. To show how much I'd gotten over Jim already, my heart only skipped a beat once at the thought it might be him.

"Sandburg."

"Didn't I teach you to answer the phone better than that?"

"Yes, you did. Hi, Mama. I'm sorry."

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

I dropped down on a kitchen chair and told her about being taken off the case.

"Oh, Blair. You were fired? I'm so sorry, sweetheart!"

"No, Ma, not fired. Lots of guys get taken off cases."

"But it's bothering you."

"Yeah. But never mind that. How are you? How are you liking San Francisco?" I hoped to distract her, and it seemed to succeed.

"I'm fine. I haven't felt this good in... well, in a very long time." She talked about Franklin and his wife and new baby, about seeing the sights - the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, following the footsteps of Sam Spade as he tracked down The Maltese Falcon.

"Gee, that's great of Franklin to do when he must be so busy."

"Er... actually, it isn't your cousin who's showing me around."

"Oh?"

"I've... I've met a very nice gentleman, Blair. He's a colleague of Franklin's, and his name is Mitchell Parker. He's treating me so well, and I'm having a lovely time with him."

"That's... that's wonderful, Ma. It's gonna break Mr. Hammerstein's heart though."

She laughed softly. We both knew the elderly gentleman would never have made a move on her.

"What about you, sweetheart? Have you finally met that security guard who works for Simon?"

I cursed myself for ever mentioning him to her.

"Yeah, I did. It didn't work out."

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm so sorry."

"You know how it is. Easy come, easy go."

"I think they were talking about money when that phrase was coined, Blair."

I hunched a shoulder, even though she couldn't see me. "Look, Ma. I have to put away the groceries. The ice cream is melting all over the floor."

"All right. I understand, Blair. Take care of yourself."

"You too, Mama. I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart."

I felt a little better after I hung up. I hadn't heard her sound so excited about a man in a long time. It was good to think that at least one Sandburg might be lucky in love.

I put the groceries away. It was too late for lunch and too early for supper. I decided to make myself something to lift my spirits.

Two bananas, six scoops of ice cream, chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. I drizzled it with Bosco, then topped the chocolate syrup with chopped walnuts, crumbled toffee bits, M&Ms, colored sprinkles, and whipped cream. Lots of whipped cream. I splurged with the Maraschino cherries too, adding a handful.

I took the banana split into the living room and turned on Channel 2; I might as well see what Tom and Lisa were up to on As the World Turns. I kicked off my sneakers and got comfortable on the sofa.

****

I spent the rest of the afternoon eating the banana split and watching soap operas, including Dark Shadows, a supernatural soap Naomi was hooked on, which had me shaking my head, but then I guessed vampires must have problems in their love lives as much as we mere mortals.

By the time Mike Douglas was finishing, so was I. I scraped the last of the chocolate syrup, cherry juice and ice cream from the bottom of the bowl.

I'd learned my lesson and had taken my time. The last time I'd made a banana split this big had been the day I'd learned Butch had left. My stomach had churned and my head had ached, and Naomi had brought the Alka Seltzer from the bathroom. She'd torn open the packet and dropped the two big tablets into a glass of water. Barely waiting for the plop plop, fizz fizz, I'd gulped it down.

I took the bowl and spoon to the kitchen and put them in the sink, then filled up the tea kettle. Bay leaf tea would settle any possible disruptions to my stomach, just in case. A little old Italian g'madre had first dosed me with bay leaf tea when we'd lived in Little Italy. I'd eaten something that had given me the world's worst bellyache, and Naomi had been at her wits' end.

There was a rap on the front door. I put the cup and saucer on the table and went to see who was there.

My stomach rolled over, and it wasn't because of what I had eaten. It was Jim.

"You look awful! Are you all right?" he asked.

"You're in the wrong place." I started to shut the door. His hand shot out to prevent it from closing.

"Chief... "

"Oh, I'm 'Chief' again?" Did he think I'd miss going from a pet name to 'Sandburg'? And in a tone of voice that... "Look, I'm fine. Go away."

"Not until I'm sure... " He pushed his way past me.

"I'm a cop, you know. I can arrest you for breaking and entering."

"You opened the door."

"I didn't say you could come in."

"Look. I'm sorry I hit you. I didn't mean to, but you have to understand... "

"Why? Because I used to peddle my ass?"

He had the grace to flinch.

"Chief... Blair," he corrected when he saw my glare, "we had such a great weekend... "

"I thought so too."

"... and when you turned up outside my door, just when I'd been thinking about you, wondering how you'd feel if I turned up outside your door... That was one of the reasons why I wanted to see your wallet, Chief. To find out your address."

"You could have just asked."

"I didn't want to seem too... I don't know... needy? nosy? pathetic? This was the first time I've ever been in a... a... "

"Relationship? I told you that was what I wanted with you. Was I too subtle?" I sniped, although I was pleased that he didn't think of what he'd had with Randy Beautiful as a relationship.

"I just... I couldn't believe... And then I smelled another man on you and saw his mark on your neck... "

"He was an old client, one I hadn't seen in years, who was happy to see me. It was in the course of the investigation; I didn't look him up, and he... He's involved with someone. I don't play games, Jim."

"I should have let you explain."

"You should have. If we had undressed, you'd have discovered the smell was only on my clothes. And you're the only one who could see that mark. I made him get away from my neck right away."

"Yeah?" He offered a hopeful smile. "A cup of tea would be good right now, Chief." The tea kettle began whistling. He'd probably heard it as the steam went up the spout.

"Oh, all right." I hoped my seeming petulance would disguise the pleasure coursing through my body at the sight of him. "Take off your jacket and hang it over a chair." It was a leather jacket, black and - I just knew - buttery soft. This time he was wearing a pale blue turtleneck that brought out the blue of his eyes. I swallowed. "Once you're done with your tea, you're leaving."

"All right, Chief."

That wasn't the response that I wanted, fool that I was, but I went into the kitchen and took down another cup and saucer. I put the bay leaves in the blue and white ceramic tea pot Aunt Rebecca had bought for Naomi when she'd been discharged from the hospital, poured in the water and replaced the lid, and covered it with a cozy to let it steep.

"Did you have dinner?" I was making polite conversation. I could do that.

"Yeah. Some of Richie's leftovers. What about you?"

"I ... noshed."

"I'm... I am sorry I hit you, Chief. I've never... I've never hit anyone."

"What, never? And if you say, 'hardly ever,' I'll give you such a hit!"

He gave a soft huff of laughter, then asked, "Do you forgive me, Chief?"

Was there any doubt? "Yes, Jim." I poured the tea. "I hope you like this. It's guaranteed to cure what ails you."

"Is something ailing you?" He inhaled cautiously, his expression at first uncertain, but then it brightened. "It worked, Chief! The dial-thing worked!"

"Good."

"Is something ailing you?" he pressed.

Other than him almost breaking my heart? "No, but I wanted to make sure. I noshed on a banana split built for two."

"Greedy."

"I thought this past weekend would have made you aware of that. Are we... are we okay, Jim? I wouldn't cheat on you - I'm a one-man man."

He reached across the table and gripped my hand. "Next time I smell another man on you, I'll listen to what you have to say. And then I'll go hit him."

****

I could tell from Jim's expression he didn't care for the tea. "You don't have to drink it, babe. Would you like a beer instead, or maybe a Coke?"

"No, this is fine. Really." He took another sip. I didn't have to be a Sentinel to see the shudder he tried to suppress.

I went to the fridge and took out a bottle of Rheingold. "Here."

"Thanks, Chief. I... uh... I didn't come over here just to apologize. Exactly."

"No?" I sat down and crossed my legs. "What brought you here?"

"What was on television. Richie ran up to get me; I don't have one."

"I hadn't noticed."

"No." He smiled. We'd been too busy doing other things to think about watching the boob tube. "Anyway, he said there was something about you on the news."

"Oh, the news conference?"

"You knew? Of course, you'd know," he scoffed at himself. "I didn't realize... When you came over last night, it was after that boy was killed, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. I didn't handle it well. Adults make their choices and have to accept the consequences. But dammit, Jim. All Paul Richmond did was open the door to the wrong person. I'll bet the bastard told him he'd found a kitten on the street and needed help with it. The kid barely had time to enjoy being sixteen."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Chief." He rose, came around the table to stand behind me, and started to knead the knots out of the muscles of my neck and shoulders.

"Ohhh, that feels good. You've got magic fingers."

"I do, don't I?"

"And we could have been doing this last night."

"I'm sorry."

"You apologize too much, Jim. It's over, forget about it."

"'Just don't do it again?'" There was a smile in his voice.

"Yeah."

He leaned down and kissed my cheek. I pulled away slightly, turned my head, and this time the kiss landed on my mouth.

"Yeah." I didn't need to be a Sentinel to hear my beard rasp against his skin. I pulled away again. "Give me a minute to shave, okay? I don't want to irritate your skin."

"Don't be too long."

I rose, and he grabbed my ass and squeezed.

"Keep that up, big guy, and I won't get to shave, and you'll have razor burn. How will you explain that at work?"

"An allergic reaction to the detergent I used for my laundry?" I swatted his arm. "All right. I'll be good."

"But not too good." I kissed him carefully, then went into the bathroom just as the phone rang. "Get that, would you?" I reached for the electric razor and was about to plug it in when Jim appeared in the doorway. His expression was grim, and all I could think was something had happened to Naomi. "What is it?"

"I think it's him. The Strangler. There's something about his voice... "

I ran into the kitchen and grabbed up the phone. "Sandburg."

"You have a visitor, Blair?"

"Just the neighbor from across the hall. We swap recipes."

"Ah. I am glad it is nothing more. I would hate... "

"How did you get this number?"

"Now, now. You do not expect me to tell you all my little secrets, do you?"

"Why did you call?"

"That I will tell you. I was going to call to say I forgive you for your very hurtful comments in the newspapers. I am a very forgiving man, you see. However, now I want you to know that I am shocked and horrified to learn you have been taken off this case. Shocked and horrified! We are such good friends. Does your Captain think I am fickle, that I will speak with just anyone in Major Crimes? I think not. Tell him I want you reinstated."

"I can't... " I felt sick that he considered us friends.

"Yes, you can." His tone was suddenly vicious. "You can, or I will kill a hundred of those men!"

"Don't do that!"

"Orders? Perhaps I read your tone of voice wrong. Perhaps you are begging?"

"Sure." My gut churned. "Please don't kill anyone else."

"You sound very good doing that. Beg me more."

"Please. Please don't kill anyone else."

"I cannot promise that. You will talk to your Captain." It wasn't a question.

"Yes. All right, yes. I'll talk to him. I promise."

"Good. Oh, by the way, do you like limericks, Blair?"

"What?"

"Pay attention." He fell into an English accent. "There was a detective from Kent, Who got so involved in his case that he bent. He had so much trouble, He bent over double, Instead of going to the scene of the crime - He went. Cheery-bye, Blair!"

The dial tone hummed in my ear.

"Goddammit!" I started dialing Major Crimes.

"Chief... I recognize that voice!"

"You do? Hold on a second. Lieutenant, it's... "

"Sandburg?"

"Yeah, it's me. What are you doing still there?"

"Cleaning up some details on one of my own cases. What's going on?"

"He just called me."

"Who? The Strangler? What, at home?"

"Yeah, here at home. He said if I'm not reinstated he's gonna kill again."

"Dammit. I'll contact the Captain and let him know. Oh, and I might as well tell you, the manager from Tiffany's came by."

"Oh. Well, that's great. Whose name was on the receipt?"

"We don't know. When he learned you weren't on the case any more, he walked out in a huff. It's a good thing the Captain had left for the day."

"Dammit!"

"Yeah. He gave me his home phone number, said I should give it to you."

"What is it? I'll call him and get this straightened out right away."

He recited it, and I jotted it down on the message board beside the phone.

"Okay, I'll let you know what he's got."

"I'll talk to you later, then." We hung up.

"What is it, Chief?"

"Harry... " I touched my neck, and his eyes narrowed. "Yeah. He has some evidence, but he wouldn't turn it over to Lieutenant Dawson." I dialed the number. "I'll see if I can maybe go to his place and pick it up... "

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't want you going there, Chief."

"Jim, it's my job."

"Yeah, but you were taken off the case."

"Jim, you can't... " I held up my hand as someone answered the phone.

"Travis-Williams residence," a voice said in my ear.

"Is Harry there?"

"Who's calling?" There was suspicion in his tone.

"This is Detective Sandburg."

"Oh. You. Well, Harry brought the receipt to the Precinct. You weren't there."

"No. I was... "

"Taken off the case." Now there was gloating in his voice. "I saw on TV."

"Yeah, well, I need that receipt. Let me talk to Harry."

"He's out at the moment. I'll tell him you called."

"No, don't... "

He hung up.

"Little shit. He's pissed off because I didn't buy those earrings."

"You were gonna buy earrings, Chief?" He moved the hair away from my ears. "That would be an interesting look for you. Would the Police Department allow it?"

"For you, you ass. I thought one might look good in your nipple. And you'd have a spare."

"Thanks for the thought. You're calling him back?"

"Yeah. Harry doesn't have this number. He wanted it, but I gave his my work number. That's odd. It just rings." I hung up, and this time I dialed the operator. "This is Detective Sandburg of Major Crimes in the 15th Precinct." I gave her my badge number. "I need the address for this phone number." I reeled it off. It took her a few minutes, but she came back with the address. "Thank you very much. Oh, and would you try ringing the number again?"

"How did you do that?" Jim demanded, looking curious.

"It's my natural charm."

"Yes, it is."

I kissed him.

"Detective Sandburg? I'm sorry... "

"Busy signal?"

"No, no one answers, it just rings. And I verified that there is nothing wrong with the line."

"Okay. Thank you." I hung up. "I don't like this, Jim. Look, I'd better go check it out. I'm sorry... "

"I'm going with you, Chief."

"That's not a good idea."

"I'm going."

"I could tie you up."

"Kinky. But I'd get loose and follow you. You know I can."

"Yeah, you can. All right, but... "

"I know. 'Don't touch anything.' Get your shoes on."

I laced up my sneakers, put my wallet in one pocket and my badge in another, made sure my gun was loaded and the safety on, then slid into my shoulder holster. Jim already had his jacket on. I pulled mine out of the closet - black, butter-soft leather - and he whistled.

"Okay." I grinned at him. "Let's go."

****

The front door to the apartment building was unlocked. There were a bank of elevators in the lobby.

"Harry's apartment is on 4. Let's take the stairs. It'll be quicker."

"Chief, this elevator is almost down."

"Oh. Okay."

The doors opened, and we stepped inside.

"Chief."

"What is it?"

"He was in here. The one who was in the elevator in Randy's building. I recognize his scent - excitement and... some cologne I'm not familiar with."

"Oh, shit." I jabbed the button for 4, as if that would make it go faster. I could picture the scene when we got there: Harry cradling his strangled lover on the bathroom floor, and a red smear on the dead man's forehead where Harry had tried to remove the taunting kiss.

I had my gun out and the safety off. When the door opened, I looked at the numbers of the apartments across from it. "417 should be down this way."

In the end, it was easy to find the right apartment. A uniformed officer stood in front. He became tense, then relaxed and smiled. "Hi, Sandman. I didn't expect to see you here."

"Hi, Andy. I could say the same." I holstered my gun. "What happened?"

"We got a call of a disturbance at this address. Who's this?"

"Jim Ellison. He works security."

"Nice to meet you." It was obvious Andy had no idea why a security man would be accompanying me, but he didn't question it.

"Can you let us in?"

"Sure." He stepped aside.

Before we could enter, two men came out. They were dressed in white uniforms, and one carried a medical bag. Ambulance attendants.

They shook their heads and rolled the empty stretcher between them down the corridor toward the elevators.

"Shouldn't the coroner have been called?"

"Why? This wasn't a murder. Though it is a little odd."

"Maybe we'd better check it out, Chief."

"Uh... yeah."

Inside, the apartment was surprisingly quiet except for the sounds of a muted conversation. I followed it into the kitchen, and I felt the knot in my stomach unravel.

Harry was sitting at the table, holding an icepack to his eye. Beside him on his knees was Travis, petting his arm. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry. You know how I get."

Another uniformed cop was taking notes.

"What's going on?"

Harry looked around and broke into a happy smile when he saw me. "Blair!" His mouth dropped open. "What happened to your eye?" He put the icepack on the table and revealed his eye. In the morning, he was going to have a beaut of a shiner, but it wouldn't hold a candle to mine.

"I walked into a door." I didn't have to see Jim's expression to know it held remorse and regret. "It's okay," I murmured so softly only he would be able to hear, and he squeezed my shoulder.

Harry rose to come toward me, and Jim stepped between us. Travis glowered up at Harry from where he knelt.

"Sit!"

Harry sat.

The cop was staring at me. "Who are you?"

"I'm Detective Sandburg." I dug my badge out of my pocket. "This is Jim Ellison. I was attempting to reach Mr. Williams by phone. He has some information that he was supposed to pass on to me."

"Yes, sir. Sorry. I didn't recognize you in civilian clothes. I'm Officer Davidson."

"Can you tell me what happened, Officer?"

"I was just taking down their statements."

"Go ahead."

"Mr. Williams, if you'll continue?"

"Oh, er... " Harry blushed and looked away.

"It was nothing more than he deserved, tramp that he is! Imagine, opening the door without looking to see who it might be."

"But he said I'd won a contest!"

"You never win contests! And where did you enter one?"

"Well, he said it was at the Baths."

"The Baths never have contests. Not like that. You've lived in New York too long to do something so stupid, Harry."

"I know. You're right. I'm sorry. I deserved to have you hit me, Wally."

"This was a domestic?" I asked, still wondering why neither had bothered to answer the phone.

"Not exactly."

"If you'll let me explain, Officer?" Travis rose to his feet and stood with his arms akimbo. "After I hung up on you, Detective, I was put out with Harry, as you can imagine. He was out in the courtyard, having a cigarette. Filthy habit - the smell gets in the drapes and in the slipcovers. It's bad enough that kissing him can be like kissing an ashtray... "

"Mr. Travis?"

"Sorry. Anyway, I knew if I saw him then, I'd say something horrid, so I decided to take the garbage down to the incinerator in the basement. There's a garbage chute just down the hall, but... "

"I understand. You needed some time away."

"Exactly! Well, I wasn't gone more than five minutes." Davidson arched a brow at him. "Well, ten at the most. I did stop to chat with that divine vision from just down the hall... "

"And you call me a tramp!"

"Chat, I said!"

"Gentlemen, please?"

Travis gave a sniff and continued. "And when I came back, he had a man in the apartment with him!"

"He said I'd won ... um..." Harry turned even redder. "... something he was sure I'd be interested in."

If I recalled correctly, Harry had been intrigued by butt plugs, ball gags, and paddles. Was that what had been used to lure him to open the door?

"And it required him to put his hands on you? You're just a tramp, Harry!"

"Yes, you said that before." Harry sounded resentful.

"Who was this man?" Officer Davidson asked.

"He said his name was Dorian Smith."

He wrote it down. "Had you ever seen him before?"

"No."

"And you just let him in? I'm sorry, sir. That really wasn't too... That wasn't a good idea."

"But he was so sad! He said someone he'd trusted had proved to not be the man he'd thought him to be, and he'd had to ask him to move out. That was why he was working late, to soothe his breaking heart."

"A likely story," Travis hissed, and Harry scowled at him.

"Can you describe this Dorian Smith, Mr. Williams?"

"Of course! I'm very observant." He ticked the items off on his fingers. "He was about six feet tall. He had a very nice body. He had platinum blond hair. I don't know what color his eyes were because I couldn't see them; he was wearing sunglasses."

"And that didn't make you hesitate to let him in?" Travis smacked the back of his head.

"Ow!" Harry rubbed his head. I found the dynamics of their relationship interesting. While Harry was the boss at work, it seemed at home his subordinate was in charge. "I thought it was because he didn't want anyone to see how red his eyes were. You do that sometimes."

"All right."

"Besides, I can take care of myself!"

"Yeah, right." The two glared at each other.

"What happened then?" Officer Davidson tapped his pad with his pen. It looked like a nice pen. I wondered where he'd gotten it.

Travis took up the tale. "I walked into our home to see the person who was supposed to love me body and soul about to share that body and soul with another man."

"No, I wasn't!"

Travis ignored that. "I lost my temper. Well, wouldn't you? My intention was to punch that interloper."

"But you hit me!"

"I said I was sorry! That Smith person had his hands around your neck... "

"He was just giving me a massage! It felt good, too! Maybe you should learn how to do that."

"Wait a second," I interrupted. "Were you sitting on the sofa in the living room?"

"Why, yes, I was."

"May I continue?" Travis tapped his foot until he saw he had our attention. "Anyway, once Smith saw me, he started babbling about Harry and me trying out the... " He blushed. "... you know... and if we liked them, it would be just twelve easy payments of $100."

"And I said, 'Wait a second, you said I'd won a contest.' And he said, 'You won a free advanced viewing of these items, is what you won!'"

"I ask you! That's $1200! For... you know! We could get a cucumber for a nickel in the grocery store!" Travis fumed. "He must have realized what I was going to do, because he ducked in the nick of time."

"And you hit me!"

Travis turned up his nose. "And Smith picked up his sample case and ran out."

"Apparently there was some noise, and one of the neighbors called us," Officer Davidson told me in a quiet aside.

"But he left this behind!" Harry crowed, and he displayed a life-like rubber penis, complete with a thick vein and two nice-sized balls.

"They make stuff like this?" Officer Davidson looked a little taken aback.

"Well... "

The officer shook himself out of his reverie. "Okay, Mr. Williams, do you want to press charges?"

"Against who? Wally? I should say not! I love Wally!"

"Yes, sir." Davidson ducked his head, but I could see his smile. It was easy, with no trace of malice or condescension in it.

I'd have to remember his name. There weren't many cops who weren't homophobic. And if he was a 'member of my church' so to speak, he might need a friend one day.

"I'll file this report and notify the other officers who patrol this area to be aware and on the look out for this man. It sounds like a scam to me, but I strongly advise you to look before you open the door next time. Detective Sandburg. Mr. Ellison." He left.

"He's right, Harry," I said. "You shouldn't have answered that door. I was afraid I was going to find you on the john with a lipstick kiss on your forehead!"

"Oh, my god! Was he the... Oooo!" he moaned. "Wally! I feel faint!"

Travis put his hand on the back of Harry's neck and pushed his head between his knees. "Deep breaths, sweetheart! Slow, deep breaths!" He glared at me as if affronted to find me still in the apartment. "Can I help you?"

"I'm sorry, but I need to see that receipt."

"Would you get it, sweets? It's in my wallet on the dresser."

"Am I going to find a slew of phone numbers in there as well?"

"No. I promised you I wouldn't do that any more."

"Yes, well... " Travis stormed out of the room.

"You really shouldn't tease him like that, Harry."

"It's all right." He sat back and smiled complacently. "I'll make it up to him. He knows that. I like your look. It's so butch." He ran his palm over my cheek, and I remembered I hadn't had time to shave. Jim growled, drawing Harry's attention to him. "Who's your friend?"

"Don't touch." Jim took his hand and threw it away from me.

"Ooo, he's so forceful!"

"He's mine, and we don't play games."

"Oh. Still new, hmmm?" Harry looked Jim over and fluttered his lashes, and this time I growled. "All right. I'll be good."

****

"Here you are, Detective." Travis held out the receipt, and I sighed and wondered how many people's fingerprints were on it.

I took it by the corner. "Do you have something I can put it in?" I glanced over the receipt.

"Oh, yes. Will a wax paper bag do?"

"Yeah, that'll be fine. Thanks." I put it in the opaque bag and then into a pocket.

"Now if you'll leave? Harry needs to recover from this horrible experience!"

"Okay, but I'm serious. Don't open the door to someone you don't know, either of you."

"Will he come back?"

"I don't know. He's returned to the scene of one crime, so why take chances? I'll get this receipt back to you as soon as I can."

"No rush, sweets. Ow!"

Travis had pinched Harry's arm.

"Let's go, Jim. Goodnight, you two."

Travis followed us to the front door. "Thank you, Detective Sandburg. I'm sorry if I seemed like a witch, but Harry can be so... "

"I understand."

"Do you?" He studied my eyes. "Maybe you do."

"Be careful. This guy isn't playing around."

"Harry really was in danger?" He turned pale. "We'll be careful."

I waited until I heard the locks engage before linking my arm with Jim's and walking away.

It wasn't until we were riding down in the elevator that Jim asked, "What do you think?"

"I think Harry had a really close call."

"Blair. Your friend Harry is blond."

"Yeah. And I don't know if this was The Strangler's objective, or if he went after Harry because this receipt may be linked back to him."

"That makes my brain hurt. I'm glad I'm not a cop."

"You could be a great cop, if you wanted." I pretended I didn't see the expression on his face. He was a smart man. Hadn't anyone ever told him so? "Anyway, I'll call Lieutenant Dawson from a phone booth and fill him in. He may want to put a cop on their door."

"Chief, I'm going with you."

"What are you talking about? After I talk to Dawson, I'll see you home, and then I'm going home myself."

"Sure you are."

"Look." I shrugged. "I screwed up, Jim. It's not my case any more."

"Of course not. Are you going to the address on the receipt?"

"How did you know there was an address on the receipt?"

"I saw it."

Of course. Sentinels and their Sentinel vision. Well, at least he wasn't Superman and could see through my clothes. Although, come to think of it, I wouldn't mind that too much.

"Yeah," I conceded. "I'm going to that address."

"I'm going with you."

"All right. Let's find a phone booth."

****

No one answered at Major Crimes, which was a little unusual for a Tuesday night. I left a message with the switchboard: I'd turn the receipt in to Lieutenant Dawson in the morning.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Jim? It's a lot of running around, and it will probably be for nothing."

"Don't you want me to see you at work?"

"When you put it that way... "

We arrived at the address on the receipt, to find it was a hotel in the Murray Hill District. A forest green canopy shielded the door, which was frosted glass with gold lettering, Bonheur, and curlicue trim. The doorman bounded forward to open it.

"Thanks."

"My pleasure, Detective."

"Do I know you?"

"Not personally, no. My nephew - he called to let us know your picture was in the newspaper, and that's how I recognized you. Anyway, Mike got in with a bad crowd. Kids can be so dumb sometimes. He ran away from home. You found him in the course of another case and talked to him, talked him into coming home."

"Mike Long?"

"You remember him? Yes! That's my brother's boy!"

"Sure I remember Mike. How is he?"

"He's good. He's a junior in college now."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"He's majoring in anthropology, because of something you said."

"Wow. I'm flattered."

He smiled, then shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you standing out here in the cold."

"That's okay. Give him my best, okay?"

"I will. Thank you."

We walked into the elegant lobby. There were comfortable-looking armchairs in a seating arrangement in front of a fireplace. Newspapers and magazines were stacked neatly on occasional tables, and a large vase of fresh flowers was on one long, low coffee table, flanked by lead crystal ashtrays.

"You're a nice guy, Chief." He rubbed my back.

"Glad you think so. Come on." I led him to the registration desk and reached for my badge.

The young woman behind the desk had been watching us, and she smiled. "Good evening, gentlemen."

"Miss." I placed my badge on the counter. "I'm Detective Sandburg of Major Crimes."

"How may I help you, Detective?"

"I have reason to believe that a Robert Jameson stayed in your hotel. I need whatever information you may have about him."

"I'm sorry," she said, real regret in her voice, "I'm not permitted to give out that information."

Jim touched my shoulder and leaned down to murmur, "Someone's watching from the back office, Chief."

"Got it," I breathed as I shot a glance in that direction. I recognized the man lounging in the doorway. I said in a normal tone of voice, "I'll need a court order?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Okay." I sighed. "It was worth a shot. I'll get that court order first thing in the morning." I looked toward the interior of the hotel, where there was an etched glass door. "Is that the hotel's lounge?"

"Yes. That's the Moonlight Lounge."

"It's not reserved just for hotel guests, is it?" She shook her head. "Cool. Come on, Jim. I'll buy you a drink."

"Enjoy, gentlemen."

I smiled at her and led Jim into the small room. It was dark and smoky, with tables scattered around a postage-stamp-sized dance floor. It could accommodate maybe twenty people not counting those seated at the bar, but right then there was only one couple dancing and another cuddling in a booth in a corner. Off to the side, a trio - piano, drums, and bass - was playing a jazz set.

"What would you like to drink?"

"It's a work day tomorrow, Chief. I'd better stick to beer, and just one."

"Okay. Two beers, please?"

"I've got Bush Amber, Maredsous, and Beck's on tap."

"No Rheingold?"

"Sorry," he laughed, "no."

"Let me have one of each."

"Okay, pal." He set them up on the bar before me.

I took a sip of each one, then gave one to Jim. "This should be okay for you. What do I owe you?" I asked the bartender.

"$5 will cover it."

"Ouch," Jim muttered.

"Thanks." I took a five and a couple of singles from my wallet and placed them on the bar. "Let's take a seat over there, okay, Jim?"

"Sure." He shrugged and followed me. "You're not gonna finish both of those, are you Chief?"

I just smiled. We slid into a curved booth.

About five minutes later, the door to the lobby opened, and a figure sauntered in. He was about 6'3" and although it wasn't discernible in the dimness of the Lounge, I knew he had ink-black hair and green eyes. He went to the bar, said something to the bartender who pointed in our direction, then skirted the dance floor to join us.

"Hello, Firecracker. It's been a long time."

"Neil. How have you been?"

"Good. And you?"

"I can't complain."

"It doesn't matter if you do; no one will care." Our customary greeting.

We grinned and shook hands.

"Neil, this is Jim. Jim, Neil ran the escort service I used to work for." I could feel Jim tense up and squeezed his knee under the table.

"Neil." His body language was very possessive. He reached the table, extending his hand, but his other hand was around me, gripping my shoulder.

"It's okay," I murmured almost soundlessly and turned toward him, covering his hand with mine. He gave Neil a smug grin.

Neil shook his head and sat down beside me.

"So, what are you doing here? Slumming?" I pushed the third glass toward Neil.

"No. Good luck." He raised the glass in a toast and took a swallow, then set it down. "I own this place. Can you believe it? One of my clients left it to me. Boy, talk about one burned-up family! There are more luxurious hotels on Park Avenue, but this one has a nice, steady clientele."

"The family give you a hard time?"

"They wanted to, but the old man had his will tied up so tight, if they tried to break it, everything would go to the Greta Garbo Home for Wayward Boys and Girls. They'd stand to lose it all. And really, this place is just a drop in the bucket compared to all the other properties he owned."

"Well, good for you. How are the other boys doing?"

He grinned. "Good. I always had good boys."

"You treated us well." Not like some of the services that rented their boys out to anyone with the price of a lay. They wound up doing drugs to numb their emotional pain.

"Gray is running the business now." He raised the glass to his lips, paused, then set it down. "I saw your picture in the newspaper."

"Oh, geez! Don't remind me. I'm off the case because of that."

"I saw the press conference on the news. I'm sorry; you're a good detective."

"And how would you know that?"

"I haff my vays," he said in a patently fake German accent, pretending to twirl a mustache.

"Right."

"So. What can I do for you, Blair?"

"I need information." He nodded, and I gave him the Reader's Digest version. "Someone named Robert Jameson gave your hotel's address as place of residence for a purchase at Tiffany's. It was made in the fall of '65. I can get a court order, but it will take some time."

He waved that aside. "Give me half an hour. I'll need to dig up the records for that year. And have another beer. It's on the house."

"Thanks, Neil." He left us, his beer barely touched. "You want another one, Jim?"

"Yeah. This isn't what I was expecting. It doesn't have a kick at all."

"Okay." I finished mine and took the two empty glasses to the bar. "Hit us again, please." He looked a little surprised, and I wondered about that, but before I could ask, the door burst open, and a gaggle of women entered. They were noisy, and they were bombed.

"Shit. Sorry. I thought they'd turned in for the night. They're a bridal party, from Rhode Island, staying here while they have their fittings."

I studied them while the bartender built the beers. They wore knee-length skirts and sensible black pumps. Their blouses half-hung out of their waistbands and were unbuttoned, revealing lacy slips beneath. Around their necks were strings of luminous pearls.

One climbed up on a table and attempted to Frug to Satin Doll. Another lost her shoe as she clambered onto the piano and crooned along off-key.

The bartender shook his head and reached beneath the bar for the switch that would summon security. "Neil isn't gonna be happy." He nodded toward where Jim was sitting. "I don't think your friend is either."

"No." I could read the distress in Jim's posture. Three of the women had descended on him and were yanking on his arms, trying to get him up to dance. "Can you bring those to our table when they're ready?"

"Sure thing."

"Thanks." I returned to the table, tempted to pull my gun on the women who thought they could poach on my territory. The odor of their perfumes clashed and was almost overwhelming for me. What must it be like for Jim? "Excuse me, ladies. This is my table."

"Ooo!" One of them shrieked. "Fresh meat!"

Jim flinched, and I put my hand on his shoulder. "Dial it down."

He gripped my hand.

"Wassa matter? You guys queer 'r somethin'?"

"Ladies... " Four big, burly men walked in. "Cavalry to the rescue," I breathed, and Jim sighed in relief.

The men split up. One caught the woman who was dancing on the table just as she tipped it over. She hung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, giggling inanely and groping his ass.

Another man scooped the would-be chanteuse off the piano, to the relief of the black man playing. He'd been trying to dodge her expansive hand gestures and succeeding only part of the time.

Two approached our table. "Ladies, I'm afraid we'll have to ask you to leave."

"Why?" Their expressions were sullen.

"You're disturbing the other patrons."

"Well, fuck 'em. We've got every right to... right to... " The woman speaking seemed unable to recall what she and her friends had a right to do. "Um... " She wound a lock of hair around her finger and giggled up at the security men, batting her eyelashes.

"No, I don't think you do. Let's go, shall we?"

The other two women traded what were no doubt supposed to be sly glances, then made a break for the door.

"We're not getting paid enough for this."

"Yeah. Come along, Miss. Sorry for the inconvenience, everyone. Don, a round of drinks on the house."

"Got it, Sal."

They left.

"Well. That was exciting."

"Are you okay, Jim?"

"Uh... " He squinted at me, blinked, and smiled. "Yeah. Were you really gonna shoot 'em?"

"Huh? Oh, you saw me start to go for my gun? I wanted to, believe me."

"I like that." He pulled me down into the booth, leaned against me, and rubbed his cheek against my shoulder.

"Uh... " I was right at the edge of the booth, and I was about to ask him to shove over when the bartender arrived with a tray bearing our beers. "Thanks, Don."

"Welcome."

"Y'know, this is really good beer, Chief."

I blinked. "You want to take it easy with that, Jim?" He'd practically inhaled that glass.

"Didn't they say we could have another one?" He licked the foam off his upper lip. I didn't moan out loud, but I must have made some sound. He grinned and reached under the table, humming as he rubbed the front of my jeans and found me half-hard.

"I thought you just wanted one?"

He pouted. The man actually pouted. He looked kind of cute, and I kind of melted.

"Okay, Jim. But this is the last one."

I had just returned from the bar when Neil strode in. "I've got the information you wanted, Firecracker. Or rather - lack of it."

That didn't sound promising. "What do you mean, 'lack of it'?" I went to the other side of the booth and slid in, but before I could move over and make some room for Neil to sit beside me, Jim had scooted next to me.

Neil had been watching with a grin. He shook his head and sat down on Jim's other side.

Jim looked inordinately pleased.

He took his glass and knocked it back.

"Uh, Jim? You want to take it easy, big guy?"

He grinned and waggled his brows, licked his lips, and set his glass back down, then started drawing designs on the water stains on the table, humming along with the trio, who were now playing Mona Lisa.

"Okay, hit me with it." I kept an eye on Jim. I'd almost swear he was drunk, but the beer I'd chosen for him hadn't tasted that alcoholic.

"No one by that name stayed here. I checked for the entire year of 1965. No one."

"Damn. I was afraid it might be a phony address. Oh, well, it was worth a shot."

"'Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa, men have named you... '" Jim started nuzzling my neck.

"Uh... Neil, I don't want to drink and run, but I think I'd better get Jim home."

"What did he have to drink?"

"Bush Amber."

"That's 12% alcohol!"

"It didn't taste it!"

"It doesn't. It creeps up on you."

"He's never gonna trust me again."

Neil reached across and patted my shoulder. "Sure, he will."

"Sure, I will, Chief," Jim said at the same time, and knocked Neil's hand away. He gave me a lopsided grin, rested his head on my shoulder, and sang, "'Do you smile to tempt a lover, Mona Lisa... '"

"How are you getting home?"

"We were gonna take the bus, but... "

"I'd better call you a cab."

"Why're you callin' me a cab? I'm not a cab. I'm a Sss... "

"Security guard! You're a security guard, Jim!" I jumped in before he could announce to all and sundry that he was a Sentinel.

He smiled sweetly. "That's right."

Neil chuckled. "I'll call that cab."

"Thanks, man. I owe you. Come on, Jim. Time to go home."

He slung an arm over my shoulder and kissed my cheek.

I paused at the bar to leave some singles for the bartender.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. And you never saw us here." I was kidding, but he took me seriously.

"Nope, I never did."

The cab was waiting at the curb. "I paid him, Blair."

"Thanks, Neil. You didn't have to do that... "

"You can send me a check." He frowned abruptly and tipped my head to the side so the light from the streetlamp shown on it. "What happened to your eye?"

"I walked into a door."

"Yeah, right." He cut a look toward Jim.

Jim was trying to walk along a sidewalk crack. He muttered to himself, "If I can walk a straight line, I can't be drunk!"

"Do you know what you're doing?"

"Didn't I always?"

"I hate when people answer a question with a question."

"I'm a big boy, Neil. I can take care of myself."

"All right." He hugged me. "I hope you get that Strangler soon."

"So do I." I poured Jim into the cab and followed him in. "852 East 14th Street."

"Got it."

The driver eased away from the curb, and I waved to Neil out the rear window. He was looking thoughtful.

"'Are you warm, are you real, Mona Lisa...'"

"I guess your friend had a little too much to drink." The cabbie grinned at me through the rear-view mirror.

"Yeah."

"'... or just a cold and lonely, lovely work of art?' Are you cold and lonely, Chief?"

"Uh... He's getting' a little grabby back there. You okay?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Okay. But you let me know it he gets fresh, an' I'll pull over."

"That won't be necessary."

Fortunately, the lights were mostly in our favor, and it wasn't too long before the cabbie turned into East 14th Street.

I got Jim out of the cab.

"Hey! No tip?"

"You mean to tell me the gentleman didn't tip you?"

"No, he didn't."

"He's lying, Chief. I can tell by his breathing. Plus I could hear Neil tell him to keep the change. And he's blushing. I can feel the heat of his skin from here."

"What the fuck? What is he, Superman or something?"

"He's just very astute. I suggest you leave now."

"'Astute,' my ass," he grumbled but put the cab in gear and left.

"Whoa!" Jim stumbled, and I caught him. "I don't feel too good, Chief."

"Hang in there, babe. I'll get you up to your place and make sure you're okay."

We made our way into the building and up the stairs, swaying and weaving back and forth as I attempted to keep Jim upright.

"I'm really sorry, Chief." Jim's voice was watery.

"Geez, Jim. Don't tell me you're a maudlin drunk!"

He sniffed hard. "No. I never get drunk. I mean I'm sorry I didn't trust you. I'm a bastard. I hit you, I hurt your feelings, and... "

"Jim, where's your key?"

"Oh, it's in my back pocket."

"It's not a good idea to keep it in there, you know. Your pocket can be picked." He snickered. "Right, what am I talking about? You're a Sentinel - you'd feel it."

"Yep." His smile was sunny, and I shook my head at his rapidly shifting emotions. He looped his arms around my neck. "Get my key, Firecracker?" He snickered more. "Firecracker, Chief? I want to hear the story about how you got that name."

"Another time, all right? It's getting late, and... " I fished the key out of his pocket, not an easy task with him gyrating under my touch. I unlocked the door and pushed it open. The light switch was just inside, and I pressed it. "Okay, come on, tough guy. Let me get you undressed and into bed."

"Chief." He was suddenly sober. "Will you stay with me?"

"I really should go home."

"Please?"

"Sure, Jim. Now let's get you ready for bed."

"Okay." He reached for the hem of his blue turtleneck and yanked it off, then shoved down his jeans and shorts. In ten seconds flat he was naked.

"Jim... "

"You're not leaving, are you?"

" I told you I'd stay. I'm just gonna get you something for that headache you'll have in the morning."

"Thanks, Chief." He frowned in concentration. "There's some Bufferin in the medicine chest."

When I came back, the spread had been stripped off the bed, and he was sitting there with a sotted smile on his face.

"Hi, Chief." He patted the spot beside him.

"Here."

Jim took the Bufferin and finished the glass of water I held to his lips. A confused expression crossed his face, his eyelids drooped, and he tipped over. He was out cold before his head hit the pillow.

I set the glass down, hoisted his legs onto the bed, and pulled the covers over him.

"Promised... " he mumbled.

"I know, babe." I picked up his clothes and folded them, removed mine and put them beside his, then turned out the light and climbed into bed next to him. The pillow was a little lumpy, and when I raised it, I found the shirt I'd worn to work on Friday. I tossed it on the floor. We'd both have the real thing tonight. I stroked his hair back off his forehead and kissed him.

"Chief... "

"I'm here." I curled up around him. "You gotta share these covers, Jim. I'll put up with a lot... " I tugged some of them free. "... but being cold isn't one of them."

****

The fragrance of freshly brewed coffee tickled my nostrils, luring me out of the cocoon of warmth that was the bed.

"Are you awake enough to hold this, Chief, or do you want me to hold it for you?"

"Weren't you looped last night?" I blinked and rubbed my hair.

"I've got a fast metabolism. Thank you for taking care of me. I'm... I'm really sorry."

"For what?" I took the cup and sipped, being careful not to burn my mouth.

"I made a fool of myself last night."

"No, you didn't."

"I acted like a jealous... "

"I didn't mind."

"You didn't."

"No. In fact, I kind of... It felt good, Jim. To be wanted that much."

"Chief!" He took my cup and set it aside, wrapped his arms around me and just held on, whispering in my ear in Quechua, the language of the Chopecs.

"Jim!"

He let me go and retrieved my coffee.

"I drank too much."

"Three beers, Jim. And it wasn't your fault. According to Neil, you were ambushed."

"Did I hear him say there was 12% alcohol in... "

"Yeah. And how do you think I feel? I gave that beer to you, thinking it was safe."

"Well, I sang 'Mona Lisa.'"

"No, you... Yes, you did."

"I'm sorry."

"Jim... "

"I know. I say that too much. I'm sorry."

I threw a pillow at him.

"How come you're dressed?"

"Work, Chief. I have to go in. I didn't want to leave while you were still sleeping."

I looked at my watch. "Geez! You should have woke me earlier! You're gonna be late!"

"No, but I do have to leave now. Would you... Blair, would you mind locking up for me?" He held out a key.

"Sure. But just give me a minute to get dressed, and we can leave together. I'll shower, shave... " I ran a hand over my check and gave a rueful smile. I had a pretty good beard starting. "...and have breakfast once I get home."

"Okay, but... Chief?"

I paused in pulling on my jeans. He was still holding out the key.

"This is yours. If you want it."

I pulled him into my arms and kissed him, then took the key and put it on my key ring.

"But Jim, we've gotta get a bigger bed."

****

The squadroom was empty, but I could hear voices coming from the Captain's office. Shit. I should have stopped at home to shower and change into clean clothes. I sniffed discreetly.

Oh well. I wasn't too whiff. And fortunately, none of my coworkers had a Sentinel sense of smell.

I went to the door, knocked, and opened it.

"Excuse me, Captain?"

"Sandburg? What are you doing here?"

"I had to come in, Cap." I figured I'd better talk fast - I had about thirty seconds to tell him what had happened the night before. "Last night I received a phone call at home. From The Strangler. He said I should tell you to reinstate me. Since this is no longer my case, I called Major Crimes hoping to speak to Lieutenant Dawson, which I did. He said he'd get in touch with you?"

"He did. Go on. I'm listening."

I let out a surreptitious breath. "Lieutenant Dawson mentioned that the manager from Tiffany's wanted to talk to me, so I tried to contact him."

"Could you?"

"No, sir, he was out. I spoke to his roommate, who agreed to have Mr. Williams call me back. He hung up before I could give him my home phone number." The Captain didn't need to hear about Travis' jealous snit. "I tried calling back. However, no one picked up, and I decided it might be a good idea if I went to see him in person."

"You decided."

"Yes, sir. According to Lieutenant Dawson, Mr. Williams left in a... er... He wasn't happy because I wasn't available. Anyway, I found an officer at his door. A disturbance at that apartment had been called in. As a domestic dispute, sir."

"Just a second, Sandburg. These are two men who are... " He made finger quotes in the air. "... living together?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right. As long as I have that straight. Go on."

"The story was that Travis, the roommate, returned from throwing out the garbage to find his partner sitting on the sofa. A man who had introduced himself as Dorian Smith stood behind Mr. Williams, ostensibly to massage his neck. That was when the... er... altercation occurred. Dorian Smith was gone by the time Officers Andrews and Davidson arrived."

"So you're thinking... what?"

"I think Dorian Smith is another persona of The Strangler. I think Harry Williams, the manager, was going to be targeted by him. If his partner hadn't walked in when he had, Harry would have been found on the john with a lipstick kiss on his forehead."

The Captain's face grew dark, and he gestured to his desk. I finally got to see what all the others had been looking at, and I felt myself turn pale.

A bathroom mirror had been removed from a medicine chest. Scrawled across it in red lipstick were the words, Reinstate Blair!

My stomach twisted. I wished it was two hours earlier, and I was still in bed with Jim. "Who was killed?"

"Noah Treadwell."

"Blond, blue eyes?"

"Oddly enough, this time, no. Tell me something, Sandburg. What is it about you? He calls you here, he calls you at home, he does something like this... How does that make you feel?"

"Lousy, Captain." What did he think?

He nodded. "If you didn't, I'd wonder about you. All right. I'll call another press conference. Dammit, I'll call the Commissioner and see if he'll talk to the networks. You'll be back on the case. But get this, Sandburg. You are riding your desk. This is still Dawson's case. Is that clear?"

"But Cap... "

"Is. That. Clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"What were you doing here anyway?"

"I have the receipt from Tiffany's." I took the wax paper bag from an inner pocket. "We can have it dusted for prints, but it's at least two and a half years old, and so many people have touched it... "

"Dawson, this is yours." He waited until I handed the bag to the Lieutenant. "Now, all of you! Out of my office!" He stared at the mirror and glowered. If he'd been Simon Banks, I'd have expected him to start chewing his cigar. He picked up his phone. "Get Riley up here!"

Out in the squadroom, Lieutenant Dawson went to his desk and started checking off items. "Okay, Taggart, are you done checking out the theaters for that wig?"

"All except the Amanda Gill. I'm having a bit of trouble meeting with that manager. Both times I've been there, it turns out he's been called away."

"All right. Try again. If he's still stalling, tell whoever is there we'll get a court order and shut down the theater."

"Can we do that?"

"No, but they don't know that. Brown, how about you?"

"I'm following another lead on Maria Hernandez, Lieutenant. I need to go out to JFK... "

"Okay, okay. Take a black and white and go. I'll check out this address myself, and then see if I can backtrack Noah Treadwell's last hours."

Joel and H sent me a sympathetic look, grabbed their overcoats, and left.

"Lieutenant? I already checked the address. Last night. It's the Bonheur, a hotel on Park Avenue. I spoke with the owner. He was kind enough to pull out his records. No one by that name was registered at the time the necklace was purchased."

"Dammit!" He didn't look happy. "And of course, after two and a half years, no one would remember what he looked like anyway."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry about this, Sandburg. About you having to ride a desk."

"What do you want me to do, Lieutenant?"

"Nothing. There's nothing you can do about it."

"No, I mean... at my desk. What do you want me to do?"

"Oh. Right. Okay. Do me a favor and get started on the paperwork for Treadwell."

"Got it." I watched as the squadroom emptied out, then hung up my overcoat and gathered up the forms I would need. I put the first page in my typewriter and began filling in the blanks.

Noah Treadwell. Age 39. Date of Death 3/19/68. Brown hair, brown eyes. Height and weight would have to wait until I got the autopsy report. Address...

I read it twice, then reached for my phone and called the coroner's office. "Dr. Wolf, please. This is Detective Sandburg."

"He's finishing an autopsy right now, Detective."

"Noah Treadwell?"

"Yes."

"All right. Would you have him call me as soon as he's done? I'm at my desk, and he has my number."

"I'll give him the message."

"Okay. Thanks." I rose, went to the Captain's office, and knocked.

"What is it, Sandburg?"

"The address where last night's murder occurred?"

"Yeah?"

"It's the same building Harry Williams lives in. I've got a call in to Dan Wolf. I want to know when Noah Treadwell was killed. I'd also like to request protection for Harry and his partner, or else get them out of the building for the time being. Harry is a blue-eyed blond. We don't know if he was targeted for that reason, or because he had the receipt for that necklace."

He opened his mouth. Was he going to tell me I was overreaching my responsibilities? "All right. Let me know as soon as you hear from Dr. Wolf." He reached for his phone, and I went back into the squadroom.

Riley was just walking in the door. "I hate this guy, Sandman."

"You and me both." I could see him considering my eye. "I walked into a door," I told him, forestalling the question. "Where's Stephens?"

"Idiot broke his ankle this time. Can you believe it? He tripped over that mutt of his. Damn dog was lying across the doorway to the kitchen." He shook his head and went into the Captain's office.

I sat down and got back to the paperwork. I didn't realize I was waiting for the phone to ring until it did.

I pressed a button that wasn't flashing. "This is Sandburg. I've got a call on line 2."

"Got it, Sandman. We'll start the trace as soon as you pick up. By the way, glad you're back on the case."

"Thanks." I waited a second, then pressed 2. "15th Precinct. Detective Sandburg." And held my breath.

"Hey! Firecracker! I'm glad I caught you."

"Neil! Hold on a second, okay?" I didn't wait for him to agree, just put him on hold and switched lines. "This is Sandburg again. False alarm. Kill that trace, okay?"

"Okay." The cop on the other end chuckled, and I wondered how long it would be before this nickname made the rounds of the Precinct.

"Sorry, Neil. What's up?"

"I tried to reach you at home, and when you weren't there, I thought maybe you'd be at the Precinct. I felt bad that I couldn't help you last night, so I went looking through earlier records, just on the off-chance he might have stayed with us before."

"You wouldn't call me if you hadn't found anything."

"No, I wouldn't. Robert Jameson stayed here in February of '64. And... " There was an expectant pause.

"Don't make me beg, Neil. It wouldn't be pretty."

"Okay." There was a satisfied smile in his voice. "You won't believe this! I've got his home address! Can you meet me for lunch?"

"You can't tell me over the phone?"

"Sure I can, but what would be the fun in that? Besides, you have to eat sometime."

"True. Where and when?"

"Suppose you come to the Bonheur? The restaurant here is excellent, if I say so myself. Around noon?"

I looked up at the clock. It was almost 11. "Sounds good. I'll see you then." I hung up and got back to work.

****

Riley had left, Monaghan and McGaffney came back from investigating a stabbing, and then went back out to answer a call of shots fired.

I took the last page out of the typewriter and stacked it with the others. I'd have to go over them again when I got the rest of the information from the coroner.

As if conjured by that thought, the door to the squadroom opened, and Dan Wolf walked in. He looked exhausted.

"Dan. Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

"Who made it?"

"I did.

"In that case, sure." He removed his overcoat and unwound a scarf from his neck. "I really wish the groundhog hadn't seen his shadow this year. I could use an early spring."

"We all could. Milk and sugar, right?"

"Yeah. Thanks." He sat in the chair beside my desk. He looked into my face, but didn't say anything about my shiner, so neither did I. "You wanted to know about Noah Treadwell."

"The time of death. I need to know if he was murdered before or after an incident at the same address."

He placed the results of his autopsy on my desk, picked up the cup, and took a sip. "Ahhh." He smiled, then set the cup down and grew serious. "11:45 PM."

So it was after the encounter with Harry Williams.

"This is one for the books, Blair. Treadwell was incapacitated by a blow to the head, and then strangled. The bruising indicates that he was facing his attacker."

"Fuck."

"I also found bruising on his chest, suggesting ... "

"What? The Strangler may have knelt on him?"

"Possibly. Also, Noah had a thick neck." Dan spread his hands as if to encircle a neck, demonstrating his point. "There are other differences, as well. He was older than the other victims. He was shorter, about 5' 6", and not at all in good physical shape, approximately seventy-five to a hundred pounds overweight. He smoked, had a heart condition, a bleeding ulcer, and at the rate he was going, it would have been just a matter of time before he became an insulin-dependent diabetic."

"That's really different. All the others were basically healthy."

"Yes, according to my findings. Do you think our Strangler is changing his MO?"

"I don't know. Cap won't let me touch this case."

"I thought I heard that you were back on it. Through the grapevine."

"Officially I am. Unofficially, Dawson is still in charge, and I'm stuck here in the squadroom."

"I'm sorry."

"I hate not... Well, never mind. That's my problem, not yours. I'd take into consideration the fact that this might be a copycat killer... "

"I can tell you the brand of lipstick is the same."

"That's reaching, Dan."

"And it matches the lipstick on the other victims. Still think I'm reaching? Plus there was that message he left on the bathroom mirror."

"Oh, you got to see that?" I itched to get to the scene of the crime and try to piece together this puzzle, but I knew the Cap wouldn't let me anywhere near it. "Okay, so where does Dorian Smith fit in?"

"Who?"

"That's who The Strangler apparently was earlier last night."

"I've got no idea, Sandman. This case gets more twisted with every murder."

"You're right. And the only reason why the public isn't screaming for it to be solved is because most of the victims are homosexual."

"Unfortunately, I think you're right." He tapped his report.

"What?"

"His date of birth."

"March 19, 1929... Fuck. Yesterday was his birthday."

"Yes. What a fucking birthday present."

His use of profanity surprised me, and then it didn't. This case was getting to all of us.

He sighed and rose to his feet. "Would you mind giving this to Captain Haines? I'm going home now. I've been on the clock since almost this time yesterday."

"When is Santini coming back?"

"Damned if I know. His flu cha cha'd into pneumonia. He's out for the rest of the month at least. Thanks for the coffee, Blair."

"Thank you, Dan. Take it easy." I checked the time. I'd need to hustle if I wanted to get to the hotel for noon. I tapped on the Captain's door. "I have the autopsy report on Noah Treadwell, sir." I lowered my voice. He was on the phone. I placed the report on his desk. "And I'm going to lunch now."

"Yes, yes." He waved me out.

****

I was a few minutes late. "Sorry, Neil." I checked my coat, and Neil let out a low whistle.

"Is the Police Department advocating a new line of uniforms?"

I looked down at the jeans and fisherman knit sweater I wore. "I was supposed to be off today," I obfuscated, "but I needed to come in to catch up on some paperwork." That was kind of the truth.

"There was something on the noon news about you being back on the case." He ushered me into his hotel's five star restaurant.

Over a lunch of Seafood Newburg, Neil told me that Robert Jameson had stayed at his hotel the week of February 9th to the 16th.

"Here's the address he gave, Firecracker." He slid a piece of paper across the table.

"Thanks. Y'know, I wish you wouldn't call me that. It's bad enough everyone calls me Sandman... "

His expression became an exaggeration of disbelief. His jaw dropped, his eyes widened, and he pressed a hand to his chest. "You're Sandman?"

"Oh, please. As if you'd heard that before now."

He laughed. "Sorry, Fire... Blair. I couldn't resist. How'd you get that nickname?"

"You don't want to know. It isn't salacious."

"Let me be the judge of that. Come on. Tell Papa."

"I fell asleep during a speech the mayor gave when my class was graduating from the Academy. Okay?"

"You're right. I didn't want to know." He laughed and shook his head. "What are you going to do with that information?"

"I'll... " No one was supposed to know I wasn't really in charge of this case. "I'll check it out as soon as I can."

He nodded. "Let me know what you find? This maniac is bad for the business. Gray stopped by for a drink the other night, and he told me the clients are afraid."

"We're doing our best, Neil."

"You mean you're doing your best. The City couldn't care less that queers are getting strangled."

He had a point. "He always seems just one step ahead of us. But he's getting sloppy, as little as he's likely to admit it."

"You'll get him. You were always very thorough. Now that we've that out of the way, tell me about this guy you've got yourself involved with. Is this black eye you're sporting a one-off thing, or does he like to show the guy in charge who's really in charge?"

"Neil, Jim isn't like that. He... he's... " I couldn't tell Neil that Jim was a Sentinel, and for him to hurt me - the man who was guiding him through the use and control of his senses - would be worse than sticking his hand in a fire and leaving it there, although something in the back of my mind insisted that this was so.

"You haven't become one of those men who thinks that what happens at night between two people makes everything else okay?"

"No."

"He's bigger than you are."

"Neil. I'm not 17 any more. I can defend myself."

"But will you? You didn't do a very good job of it the other night. And I saw the way you looked at him."

"What do you mean? How did I look at him?"

"Like the sun rose and set on him. I think you'd let him get away with murder..."

"No." He looked startled at how cold my voice had grown. "Not murder, Neil. I'm a cop. Now, let's finish lunch. Why don't you bring me up to date with what's going on in your life?"

"All right. If you're sure." He began talking about what it was like to own a hotel on Park Avenue, and how the lawyer who'd handled probate had wound up handling more than that. "As soon as we could, without there being a conflict of interest for him, he moved into the owner's suite with me."

"I'm glad you found someone to settle down with, Neil."

"Yeah. Who would have thought? Are you sure you don't want a beer, or a glass of wine?"

"Not while I'm on duty. I will have a cup of coffee, and then I have to get back to the Precinct."

"No dessert?"

"No, much as I'd love it. I'll be pressed for time as it is."

"Okay, Firecracker. But if you ever need any help, send up a flare, and I'll be there."

"Thanks, Neil. I appreciate it. More than I can tell you."

He reached over and squeezed my forearm, then signaled to a waiter and ordered coffee for the two of us.

****

The autopsy report was back on my desk when I returned from lunch. I settled in to fill in the blanks in the police report, and the more I learned about Noah Treadwell, the more certain I became that he hadn't been last night's original target.

I wanted to be in the field, discovering why there had been a single Martini in his stomach. Why had he been hit over the head before he'd been strangled? As overweight and out-of-shape as he'd been, had he proved something of a match for Hans?

One by one, the members of what was ostensibly my team came back in.

"I gotta call the Palm Beach County Sheriff's Department," H said. "When did this get to be so hard?"

"Can you believe that theater manager lost the friggin' key to the wardrobe department?" Joel complained. "I have to go back again tomorrow. Maybe he'll have found it by then."

"The bartender at Moe's isn't on duty until later. I'll go back and talk to him then." Lieutenant Dawson commented. "Sandburg, is that paperwork done yet?"

"Yes, sir."

He took it and glanced over it. "Nice typing."

"Thank you. Lieutenant, can't you tell me what you've found so far?"

"Sandburg... "

"If I could just see his apartment... "

"Look, Sandman, if I could let you get out into the field, I would. Don't think I wouldn't. But the Captain took a lot of flack from the Commissioner over this."

"Jesus. Because I called the bastard a pervert?" He shrugged, and I slumped in my chair. "Damn."

"However, I can't stop you from listening in while I discuss the findings with Taggart and Brown. Just keep your mouth shut."

"Yes, sir, Lieutenant!" I snapped him a salute and folded my lips together.

Joel and H gathered around my desk, and I waited expectantly.

"We found lipstick on Noah's collar," H said. "The same color as on his forehead and the writing on the mirror."

I scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to him.

"Hmmm. 'That might indicate The Strangler was wearing it. He hasn't done that before, to our knowledge. Maybe that ties in with the Martini Dan found in Treadwell's stomach. If he went to Moe's to pick up a woman... ?'"

"We don't know that," the Lieutenant observed.

"No, we don't, sir."

He paused in his perusal of the report and looked up, his eyebrow raised. "No food was found in his stomach?"

Again, I wrote something down, and H took it.

"'Just an olive. Maybe he skipped dinner entirely, in an attempt to lose weight?'"

"One drink could hit him pretty hard then."

I wrote, H read. "'Maybe, maybe not. He weighed 230.'"

The Lieutenant gazed at me. "Yeah, but there's still the fact your boy beaned him with a lamp."

I handed a note to H, "'Oh, is that what knocked him out?'" and started writing another one.

"All right, Sandburg. You're carrying this too far. Just spit it out, okay?"

"Okay. It just seems to me that if Dorian followed his normal pattern, the lamp thing was overkill. Why would he feel the need to do that?"

"Where are you going with this?"

"Maybe nowhere, but Dan said Noah had bruises on his chest." I looked from Joel to H, then gestured for H to stand with his back to me. I encircled his neck with my fingers. "Not much trouble here." I pointed to the floor. "Joel, if you wouldn't mind being the demonstration dummy?"

He shrugged and lay down. I balanced a careful knee on his solar plexus, and he looked up into my eyes, batting his lashes. "You will be gentle with me, won't you?" he asked in falsetto.

"Asshole." I shifted until my knee was on his breast bone, then fit my hands around his throat. "Okay, Joel's a big man, but he isn't overweight."

"Wait a second. You're face to face."

"Yes. According to Dan, that's what Dorian did."

"Oh, man, you're giving me a headache!" Lieutenant Dawson rubbed his forehead.

"But can you see where I'm going with this?"

"You'd have a problem choking a guy with a bigger neck, so... "

A door opened, and we looked around to see the Captain standing there, his expression inscrutable. "I assume there's a reason for this?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do I want to know? What am I saying? Sandburg is involved. Dawson, when you're done, I want to see you." He shut his door.

"You want to get off me now, Sandman?"

"Yeah. Sorry, Joel." I gave him a hand up. "But you do see what I'm driving at?"

"Yeah. He'd need to bean him in order to successfully strangle him. I've got it."

"Of course... " I paused.

"You've brought us this far, Sandburg. Don't stop now."

"Our boy could just have been pissed he'd missed his original target. He likes to plan things out, and when he doesn't, when something happens to interfere with his preparations, things go wrong. Like with Richard Lee."

"You're grabbing at straws."

"Maybe, but... "

The Lieutenant sighed. "But I'll talk to the bartender."

"Cool. Oh, I have Robert Jameson's address."

"Who? Oh, the name on the receipt."

"Yeah. Do you want me to go check it out?"

"No." He held out his hand, and I gave him a piece of paper with the address on it. I had the original. "This is in Midtown. My dogs are barking, and I have to go across town... I hate switching shifts."

"I'm going down to the break room." Joel scrubbed his face. "I could use a Snickers."

"Me too." H and Joel left, weariness in their steps. We needed to get this case wrapped up. Wrapped up, hell. We needed to find some viable clues.

"I'd better go see what the Cap wants." The door closed behind Lieutenant Dawson. I sighed and put another page into my typewriter.

****

On to Part 4