Disclaimer: NBC, MCA/Universal and Wolf Films owns them.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Part 5. The investigation continues. Some agreements are made with full knowledge, while others are implied.
Author's Note: Many thanks to LindaK, for her patient and considered feedback.
Copyright September 2002 Cassatt
Jack sank incrementally deeper into the bed, his cheek pushed against the soft cotton of the sheet, and moaned low in his throat. Ed was thrusting still, but the movements had slowed, and he'd draped himself almost completely over Jack's back. He felt every inch of his skin covered save his legs, and his lover buried inside of him, and he wanted to stay like this, just like this, for as long as he could. Ed nuzzled the back of his neck, then his ear, then his cheek. Soft, amazing lips caressed him, entranced him, sent currents of pleasure down his spine. He arched his neck and Ed murmured, 'oh, yes,' in response, finding more skin to kiss, and lick.
Jack kept his eyes shut while Ed thrust slowly, barely moving in and out, gently rotating his hips and clutching Jack's hands. This was different, he knew it; this was so sweetly intense, so overwhelmingly intimate, so complete. Jack gave over to it. Thoroughly. He was barely moving himself, but his climax was approaching nonetheless. Ed's murmured words of love, the heat of his skin, the slight push of his hips all carried him up the spiral. Each small movement was a wave of bliss. He wanted to say 'don't stop, don't leave me, stay right there,' but words wouldn't form. He wanted to tell Ed that he loved him.
His climax was almost upon him; he was so close, that when Ed increased the rotation of his hips Jack moaned. His skin was alight with fire. He felt Ed's fingers twined with his. He saw Ed's face, smiling so beautifully after he'd given him the keys. Smiling so beautifully. He was so close. Ed pulled back slowly and Jack's heart jumped. So close. One long, deep thrust, and he leapt over the edge, coming, contracting, thrusting himself against the sheets, pulling Ed with him. They pulsated together. Suspended in a place where no humans really exist, Jack floated again.
They were lying on their sides, facing each other, but Ed had his head on the pillow, while Jack had propped himself on a hand, his hair falling over his forehead. To Ed, the silver of it still shone brightly, even in the near darkness. Their free hands were linked together, their fingers never quite still, caressing, resting on one hip, then the other. Sleep was being put off for a little while yet, in favor of talking. This wasn't Ed's usual pattern with past lovers. Make love, then crash until morning. But these times with Jack of just being in bed, talking, even eating, were as much a part of the afterglow as sleeping entwined in each other's arms. He loved both. He loved him.
"...she'd set me up," Jack was saying. "Checking out my intentions."
"What did you tell her?" Ed grinned. He still couldn't believe that Lieutenant Van Buren had done it.
Jack hesitated. "I told her that if anyone on the force did anything to you, I'd come after them, and her, or words to that effect," he stated.
Ed's heart skipped a beat. "That would be career suicide, Jack," he said quietly.
"Well, I already have a reputation for giving cops a very bad time." Jack winked, and grinned.
"I've heard," he replied with a smile. He brought their joined hands to his mouth and kissed Jack's. "So. When you told her that you'd be my own personal prosecutor, what did she say?"
"She gloated. I'd given her exactly what she'd wanted," Jack said lightly. "Proof that I was serious about you. How did she put it - that I wasn't just taking a short trip to the other side." He chuckled, then his voice dropped. "Then she told me that she'd already learned that you were serious about me, too."
"You knew that."
"Hearing it from your boss was just a bit overwhelming."
Ed didn't know what to say to that, feeling slightly overwhelmed himself. "What did you think of her being, well, protective? Of me. With you. You know..."
Jack looked at him closely. "Got my hackles up a bit. Why?"
Ed sighed. "Because I had my own experience with a coworker and I'm almost ashamed to admit what my reaction was. Seems sort of ridiculous, in hindsight."
"Oh - Serena," Jack said, nodding. "She left me a note."
Ed's stomach fluttered. "A note? What did she say in it?"
"Just that you'd been there, pawing through my clothes," Jack teased.
Ed snorted. "Yeah, she would say that. Asked me if I had a warrant, for pete's sake. I came this close, this close to ..." He was beginning to wave their joined hands in the air when Jack stopped him.
"Ed."
"What?"
"I get the feeling that she was a bit overprotective?" Jack stated the obvious. "And, so, back to your reaction?"
He said through slightly gritted teeth, "I was jealous." Then he watched Jack smile, and it wasn't a snide smile, or an I know something you don't want me to know smile. It was a sincere smile, an almost shy smile. It made Ed's heart skip again.
This time it was Jack who moved their joined hands - to his mouth, where he kissed Ed's fingers slowly. "That's nice," Jack finally said.
Ed laughed gently. "I guess you could look at it that way," he conceded. "However, if she continues with the proprietary air where you're concerned, I'm going to be biting my tongue right and left. It won't be pretty." His breath caught as Jack sucked one of his fingers. Then Jack shifted, and pushed Ed onto his back, and loomed over him.
"Don't bite that tongue. I count on it," Jack said in a low rumble. His head dropped, and he kissed Ed deeply, and deliberately, sweeping the inside of Ed's mouth, sending a rush of exquisite sensation surging through Ed's body.
Ed didn't fight when both of his hands were pinned to the bed. He was hardening rapidly, and aching for more body contact, beginning to thrust in the air, ready to beg if necessary. Then Jack rolled on top of him and he moaned down his throat in response. He managed to separate their lips enough to say what he absolutely had to say. "I love you, Jack."
Jack's eyes bore into his in the semi-darkness. "I love you, too, Ed," he replied quietly.
Ed's throat constricted, and as he was kissed again, and his hands were released, he immediately wrapped his arms around the man and spread his legs, settling Jack between them. Overcome, again. Needing him, wanting him so badly. Again.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Jack woke up. He refused to look at the clock or even open his eyes. It might have been a dream that woke him, he wasn't sure. He felt the puff of Ed's breathing against the back of his neck, and listened to the man's soft snoring. Sirens were wailing in the distance. The thrum of traffic was muted, yet obvious in the relative quiet of the night. He shifted back a little until he could feel full body contact. He pulled the sleeping man's arm more tightly to his chest and sighed. Good, this was good, he thought. More than good. Much, much more. He drifted back to sleep.
Ed ran a hand over his face, checking for errant stubble, then reached for the aftershave. Meeting his eyes in the mirror he studied himself for a minute. He didn't look any different. Deep brown eyes still in the same place, nose still lined up perfectly. Would anyone be able to tell by looking at him? Could they see the sparkle in his irises? Could they discern the intensity of his emotions? Could they perceive the places where Jack's lips had been? He could still feel them. Warm places, hot spots - one on the side of his neck, one on his cheek, one on his throat. On his mouth. He could still taste him.
He didn't think he looked any different, and he thought he looked completely changed. Jack loved him. The man had said the words to him, out loud. He loved him. Surely that had to be noticed. Ed's heart did cartwheels, whenever he remembered Jack's voice, in his ear. Surely someone could see that, as he could.
The ringing of Ed's cell phone broke his reverie, and as he walked quickly to the bedroom, his stomach turned over at the thought of what this call might be about. The screen indicated it was a private, unknown number, so he answered formally.
"Detective Green."
"Yes, Detective, this is Anthony Cabot. Crymson's partner. I hope I'm not calling you too early." The strain in the man's voice was clear.
Ed sat heavily on the bed. Wearing just a towel, he felt exposed, and unprofessional. He glanced at the clock - it was seven. "No, Mr. Cabot, it's no problem. We have some questions for you, at your convenience, of course. But the sooner the better."
"I'm here, so whenever..."
Ed's heart caught, and he took a deep breath. "Eight-thirty then. We'll be there at eight-thirty."
"Thank you."
He wasn't sure how to respond to that, what he was being thanked for, so he just promised the man that he and Lennie wouldn't be late and ended the call. He dropped the phone on the bed and his head into his hands. Reality came crashing down on him and for a moment he was disoriented enough to be confused when the bed dipped next to him. The scent of coffee made him lift his head. Jack handed him a mug of it, a look of concern settling on his face as their eyes met.
"Don't tell me there's another vic," Jack said, his harsh tone indicative of his level of worry.
"No," he answered, "that was Crymson's partner, Anthony. He's ready to meet with us." Ed thought he was covering his emotional state fairly well, but Jack's arm went around his shoulders, then his hand rested on the back of Ed's neck. Ed sipped his coffee and relaxed into the gentle massage. How much he just wanted to lie down, crawl under the covers again, hold his lover, and forget everything that didn't make sense, in favor of that which did. "Doesn't seem fair, Jack," he said softly.
"It is, though. We have the right to happiness. And the best you can do, and the best I can do is try to give Anthony some justice."
"Keep telling me that over the next few days, okay?"
"Deal," Jack answered, kissing his shoulder. "Come have breakfast."
Ed nodded, and sighed deeply, reaching for his phone. Jack got up as Ed called Lennie, making rendezvous arrangements. On his way to the kitchen, he realized he'd forgotten his helmet. His life would really be in Jack's hands now, something that only made him love the man more. He touched the side of his neck, fingertips pressing the skin as Jack's lips had, in the heat of their passion, and smiled.
When Anthony let Ed and Lennie into his apartment, Ed saw recognition in the other man's eyes. Anthony led them to couches, offering them coffee, which they both declined.
"Robert told me that you were a regular at the Tide," Anthony said to Ed, "but I couldn't place you. I do now. I'm glad you're doing the investigating, Detective."
The strain which had been so obvious on the phone was now only apparent on the man's face, and in his body language. Deep, dark circles under his eyes were accentuated by his overall pallor, and short, black hair. His shoulders sagged, and his hands never stopped moving. Yet, his voice was steady, and sure. Ed met Lennie's glance, both clearly reading that this man was holding himself together with the greatest of effort. Ed tried not to think about it.
"We'll do what ever we can to catch the person who did this, Mr. Cabot," Ed replied sincerely.
"Please, call me Anthony. You're a brother. I'm only Mr. Cabot to my shareholders. Now - what can I do to help?" His hands started to work together in earnest.
Lennie had agreed to let Ed lead the questioning, so he jumped right in, hoping to keep this man focused for as long as possible. "From our look around last night, it appeared that there was a computer missing from the desk. Did you have it with you on your trip?"
"No, it was Crymson's. A laptop. He had all of his committee work on it, personal correspondence, club accounts, family documents, that kind of thing. Nothing worth anything to anyone else, I'd think."
Lennie stood, walked a few yards away and called the precinct.
Ed continued, "We'll need to have a crime scene unit come and dust for prints then. It looks as though the killer, if he was the one to take the laptop, used keys to get in, since there were none found on Crymson. You know about the CPU being stolen from the club?"
Anthony nodded. "That's a dinosaur of a machine. Absolutely nothing of interest on it."
"Is there anything else missing from the apartment?"
"No, I checked - liked you asked in your note. Can I have the locks changed today?"
"Yes, you should do it as soon as possible. As soon as we're through." Ed steeled himself. "Of course we need to know if there was anyone at all who had a grudge against Crymson. Anything, no matter how small."
"But I thought there were other victims, that this was a hate crime. That's what Robert said."
"We don't know what kind of crime this was, other than the murder of three people by the same person. So can you think of anyone who you'd consider an enemy of Crymson? Has he received any threats recently?" Ed asked, thinking about the man's questions from Saturday night. Lennie returned, sitting next to him again.
Anthony looked perplexed. "No. I mean, he's fairly involved and open in the community, but he's never received any personal threats. Public insults, letters to the editor, that kind of thing. I think he had the most heated debate with the Irish Sons of Liberty, over the St. Pat's Day parade. Couple of guys threatened him, but it was just the usual shit."
Lennie asked, "Were there witnesses to these threats?"
"Yes, actually, it was in front of a news crew, though they didn't use the audio of the confrontation. Channel four, last spring. You don't really think they could be the ones who did this, do you?"
Lennie smiled. "We're just covering all the bases. What about the letters to the editor that you mentioned. Did Crymson keep copies of those?"
Anthony said, "Yes, he did, do you want me to get them? They're in the files."
"Let's wait until the lab guys are finished," Lennie answered.
Ed hesitated, then leaned on his knees and spoke openly. "It looks as if the three victims are connected somehow, but we don't know that it's because of being gay. The killer deliberately marked them. One victim was another patron of the Tide, though no one ever saw Crymson speaking to him other than to take an order. I need you to look at photos of him, and the woman, see if you can identify them, but it might be disturbing to you. Can you do this for me?"
"Disturbing because Crymson was marked, too?" Anthony's voice was losing it's strength.
"Yes."
After a small hesitation, Anthony nodded. Ed pulled out the photo of Tom, and of the woman victim. The man's breathing hitched sharply, and he absently ran a finger down Tom's forehead. "The bastard did this to him? Cut his face? Like this?"
"Yes, he did. Do you recognize them?"
"No... No, I don't. I'm sorry, I don't. I've never seen either of them before. I mean, I may have seen this man around the club, but I can't really be sure. Crym is the one who knows everyone by sight ..." His voice caught.
Ed took the photos back quickly, and tried to quell his reaction. His mind was hanging again, just as it had done in the club the day before. He was about to nudge Lennie.
"Detective Green - the man you drove up with, on the motorcycle - is he your lover?" Anthony asked quietly.
Ed's stomach fluttered. "Excuse me?"
"I apologize. I was looking out the window and I saw you arrive. And Detective Briscoe. I was just wondering if you're in a relationship, that's all."
"I am. Yes, with the man on the bike. Now..."
"Are you out at work? On the police force? Aside from your partner?"
"No. Only with him, and my direct supervisor."
"I'll be careful then, thank you for telling me." Anthony sighed. "You know, we've been together almost ten years," he said, almost in awe. "We thought we'd grow old together. When everything is new, and it all seems so possible, being together forever is sort of like a given. I can't seem to get myself to believe that he's really gone..."
Ed was beginning to seriously lose it and looked to Lennie for help. As if on cue, the buzzer for the front door sounded, and Lennie motioned with his head toward the front door. Ed got up to let the technicians in, feeling slightly guilty that he was unable to handle sitting there with a man who needed all the support he could find. He opened the door to the apartment, listening to the elevator. Anthony's words were ringing in his ears.
The CSU people trooped out, and Ed led them to the office area. One person worked on the front door and two others did the desk and filing cabinets. Three others started a check of the rest of the apartment for blood; there had been no evidence of it seen the night before. As Ed returned to the couches, Lennie was still letting Anthony talk about his life with Crymson. Ed's respect for his partner deepened. He nodded to the man as he sat, to let him know that he was fine.
Lennie pulled the handheld computer out of his pocket. "We found this under the mattress. Was it Crymson's?"
Anthony nodded. "Under the mattress? He never kept it there..."
Ed asked, "Do you know the password? We need to see his appointments, phone book, and I can't get in." Lennie opened the plastic bag, and Ed put gloves on. Fingerprints didn't seem an issue, considering where they'd found it, but Ed was not about to take any chances.
"The password is namath."
"Namath as in Joe?" Lennie asked, surprised.
"Yes. He was a Bama alumnus." Anthony smiled for the first time. "Crym couldn't live there, but he was loyal to his home state." The smiled disappeared.
Ed was busy accessing the information on the handheld. "There's nothing in the address book. I don't get it." He continued to the calendar.
Anthony answered, "He kept that information on the laptop - didn't see the need to duplicate. Oh!"
Both Ed and Lennie looked up from the handheld.
Anthony stood. "I didn't check to see if the backups were still here." He left for the desk, and as Ed heard him talking with the technicians, he returned his attention to his task.
"Backups mean what I think they might?" Lennie asked. "As in copies of stuff from the computer?"
"Yes, and so cross your fingers," Ed muttered. He scrolled through the dates. "Bingo," he said quietly. "Here's the weekend, Lennie. He had an appointment with a Karen on Saturday afternoon, at two o'clock. No notation of where. Nothing else. We'll have to talk to Robert again, see what he has to say about that day."
"And get the LUDs. At least we've got the name of someone," Lennie said with a touch of sarcasm.
Anthony returned. "They're gone, too. I'm sorry I missed that before. I was thinking of valuables, that kind of thing. Not CD-ROM's. I just don't understand."
Ed met Lennie's eyes. Neither did they. "Anthony - do you know anyone named Karen?"
He looked at them blankly, and Ed could see the circles under the man's eyes had darkened. "Karen? No. I don't know a Karen. Who the hell is she?"
"Crymson had an appointment with her on Saturday afternoon," Ed answered gently.
Anthony sank back into the couch and covered his face. His body started to quiver.
Lennie leaned forward. "Is there someone we can call?"
Anthony wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. "Yeah," he said shakily, "my sister. She knows. I'm sorry..."
Ed pulled out his phone.
Jack climbed onto his leather couch to reach the volume he needed from the bookshelf. As he grabbed it, the door opened.
"Do you have a few minutes?" Serena asked, entering, but going no further than five feet inside the doorway.
He checked to make sure the book contained the case he was looking for, People v. Zeck. It did. "Sure," he answered, looking at her directly for the first time. He got comfortable on the couch again, putting his feet up, moving some papers off the other end. "Have a seat," he offered. "What's up?"
Serena perched rather stiffly, with her hands folded in her lap. "Thank you for telling Nora that you believed I could handle the serial case. I believe I'm ready for it, too."
Feeling like a bit of a heel, he made sure his face was devoid of expression. "You're welcome. Now let's just hope they find a suspect."
"We didn't get much of a chance to talk about it, but I'd like to discuss the second chair position. Who did you have in mind for it?"
Jack had thought about this at some length, and had discussed it with Nora. "Roger. He has a few murder cases under his belt. He's been wanting something a little more meaty."
Serena nodded. "Okay." She didn't say anything further, nor did she make a move to leave.
"Was there something else?"
"Jack - I guess I just don't completely understand why you're not taking it yourself. From what you both told me, it sounds like it could be a hate crime. That's something you're quite passionate about and, frankly, are quite good at prosecuting. Why not this one?"
He mentally kicked himself. He knew Serena well enough that he could have reasonably inferred she'd not be satisfied with the complete lack of any explanation from him or from Nora. Yet, he hadn't thought of any response, hadn't prepared himself. Protecting Ed was his most important consideration. He didn't know Serena well enough to completely trust her, and that was his bottom line.
"There are reasons I can't divulge, personal reasons. They're not important. You'll be first chair. I'll be closely supervising you. We'll put the son-of-a-bitch away," he finished with more vehemence than he'd planned.
She looked at him closely for a brief moment, then pursed her lips and nodded. Still, she didn't get up.
He raised his eyebrows at her. "And?" he asked.
Her face relaxed, and she chuckled. "I was curious about something else, but it's probably best to forget it." She started to rise, but he stopped her.
"It's okay, go ahead and ask me." Deliberately making himself relax, too, he smiled at her in what was hopefully an encouraging way.
"Well, I was just wondering how your date went," she said. "I've got an ulterior motive."
It took him a moment to recall that she'd been in the room when he'd asked Ed to dinner. What felt like a lifetime ago was actually only four days. The second half of her question registered, and his heart started to pound. "Ulterior motive?" he asked, evading.
"A friend of mine wanted me to make an introduction," she answered. "She's a nice woman, a professor of history." Serena blushed.
He wondered why the women he worked with liked to set him up with their friends. Was he that pathetic in their eyes? Or was this his reputation preceding him again? Find a friend before he made a move on Serena herself? She was nowhere near the type of woman he found attractive. He knew she was waiting for an answer. Three weeks ago he would have seriously considered the possibility of her friend. Again, a lifetime ago. Before running into Ed had changed everything.
"Thank you, but I'm really not interested," he said sincerely. "I'm sure your friend is very nice, and I appreciate the thought."
"So it sounds as though the date went well, then," she said with a smile.
He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "It did. I had a good time." He was about to suggest that she return to work when she nodded once and stood. He made no move to stop her this time, breathing a sigh of relief when the door closed behind her. How in the world did Ed stand it day in and day out? Lying, playing word games, fending off interest?
He was also immensely relieved that there'd been no temptation to take Serena up on her offer. None at all. Soft curves couldn't compare with hard muscles, at least not the hard muscles of the man to whom he'd given his heart. The man he slept with each night. Held each night. Kissed, and tasted. He closed his eyes and let his head rest on the back of the couch, remembering.
From across her desk, Lieutenant Van Buren handed Lennie two folders. "Don Marsh has not been located," she said. Lennie opened one report while Ed looked over his shoulder, reading about the man they suspected had broken into the Tide. "According to his associates, and his brother, Mr. Marsh was last seen on Saturday night. Playing pool at his neighborhood drinking establishment," she continued. "Following up on the theory that he was hired professionally, Reina pulled his banking records. As you can see, there are no deposits of any substantial amount, though there is one in the amount of two thousand dollars dated last week."
Lennie snorted. "Maybe he just doesn't have good business sense."
Ed caught Lieu's eyebrows quirking and suppressed a smile of his own. "If he was paid in cash," he said, "he'd sure be flashing it around, I'd think. Did they ask his associates about that?"
"Like did he lose a lot at the pool table?" Lennie added.
Van Buren nodded. "They did. No one volunteered any information."
"Big surprise," Lennie muttered.
"Was anyone worried," Ed asked, "that they hadn't seen Marsh in two days? Is this normal for him?"
Van Buren lifted her hands and shrugged. "They wouldn't say. I'm keeping his apartment under surveillance, for at least the next forty-eight hours. The bank has been notified to let us know if any withdrawals are made."
Ed took the other folder from Lennie's lap and opened it, seeing an arrest report of Crymson's dated five years before. He'd been arrested during a demonstration to mark an anniversary of the Stonewall riots - the turning point of the modern gay rights movement. Ed knew that the march had also been specifically directed against the NYPD. He looked up sharply from the report. "What does this have to do with anything?" he asked pointedly. "Disorderly conduct? It looks like it was a demonstration - or is this here because he was arrested outside of the Stonewall Inn?"
"Ed," his boss replied, again lifting her hands, but this time to forestall any further protest, "it's just Latent being thorough. The man was arrested, his prints were found in the office. We'll only consider it as a factual record of the victim's history. Nothing more."
He stopped himself from saying anything further, though many replies were racing through his mind. He scanned the actual fingerprint analysis report, noting that there were, not unexpectedly, many prints found, but only the owner of the club had had a criminal record. His heart started to thud, as he thought of something for the first time. On any other weekend, Jack's prints might have been found on the back door. The man usually parked in the alley, and he and Jack had left by that door that very first night. Too many others had done the same since then, and they'd lucked out. Both his and Jack's prints were on file. How could he have forgotten? But what would he have done if he'd remembered?
"Hey," Lennie said to him. "You want to share with us?"
He met his partner's eyes and shook his head. "It's nothing, sorry - just spaced out for a second." He looked at the lieutenant. She was studying him.
"Very well," she said slowly. "Keep working to identify the first vic. Find that bank. In the meantime, Reina will get LUDs for Crymson's apartment, the club, and Don Marsh's apartment. I'll call the DA's office and have them get a copy of that news footage."
"Why them?" Lennie asked, as the three of them stood.
"I'd prefer to keep the news coverage of these three homicides as nonexistent as possible. There might be a way for the DA to wield a little power, obtaining a video tape, and keep the news hounds at bay. Media coverage is the last thing we need," she stated.
Ed couldn't agree more, in this instance, and he hoped his community felt the same. "Lieu, you want me to talk with Anthony, and Robert, ask them to pass the word to keep things quiet?"
"No - I'll take care of it," she said with a small smile.
They left, in search of a sidewalk cafe, and hopefully Tom's place of employment.
There were actually two cafes in the block they'd been directed to, and one a little further down. They asked the waiting staff at each if they recognized Tom, but none did, which wasn't that much of a surprise to either Ed or Lennie. The volume of patrons the restaurants fed combined with a morgue photo had gotten them nothing. The detectives were left going down the list of banks and other financial institutions in the immediate area.
They finally found the right institution in number six. The head of Human Resources took one look at Tom's photo, blanched, and nodded her head.
"Yes, that's Thomas Ryerson. He works in Financial Services," she said.
"And what's Financial Services?" asked Lennie.
"It's the department that handles customers' mutual funds and other investments. Mr. Ryerson is... was a fund manager."
Ed said, "We'd like a copy of his employment application. And we need to speak to his direct supervisor."
"Certainly," she replied, getting up and going to her file cabinets.
Once again they were sitting in an office high above the pavement. The occupant of this one, however, had windows that overlooked Manhattan and the harbor beyond. Ed could see that the man across the desk was agitated, though he wasn't sure what the source of his agitation was, exactly. He'd been told his employee had been murdered.
"Did you call Mr. Ryerson at home to see why he hadn't shown up for work?" Lennie asked.
"I did, I did, of course. I left messages on his machine." The man folded his hands on the desk. Ed wondered if it was a conscious decision to keep them from tapping the arms of his chair.
"And when he didn't show for three days, you just assumed he'd quit or something?" Lennie's sarcasm was clear. "Why didn't you report it to the police? It's now day four even."
The man glared at them both. "We assumed he'd taken an unexpected vacation. We checked. He hadn't touched the fund's assets," he answered imperiously.
Ed stopped himself from rolling his eyes just in time. He asked, "How did Mr. Ryerson get along with his coworkers? Did anyone make any complaints about him? Disagree with the way he managed the fund? Anything like that?"
"Nothing official, mind you, but he didn't really get along too well with everyone else here. He shunned our office parties, rarely went to lunch with his colleagues. His lifestyle, you know."
Wanting to jump across the desk and punch the man, Ed instead gnashed his teeth in silence. Lennie kept the interview going, making brief eye contact with Ed, just enough for him to make a more concerted effort to reign in his temper, though it wasn't easy.
They spent another twenty minutes speaking with coworkers, and it appeared that the department head was, in fact, correct. Tom Ryerson had very little contact with people there. His secretary was the only one with anything to offer. Mr. Ryerson had been distracted during the few days before he disappeared, and no, she'd never seen the other two victims. She was also the only one to show any emotional reaction to his death.
While waiting for the elevator, the department head came up to them.
"Will you be informing the public that Mr. Ryerson worked for this institution?"
Ed did punch something, the down button, repeatedly. Again, Lennie handled the banker, assuring him that they had no intention of informing the public of anything. The man merely looked down his nose at them and walked away.
As they left the building, Ed could contain himself no longer. "Fucking prick," he muttered loudly. "His lifestyle, you know," he imitated the man on the thirtieth floor. "Fucking prick."
Lennie was silent for a minute. "Ed, we've run into intolerance before. The guy's an idiot, okay?"
"He's a prick of an idiot," Ed retorted.
Lennie sighed. "Just be glad that we don't work for someone like that. Great place, huh? Guy doesn't show up for work for four days and they only check to see that he hasn't taken the money and skipped? Makes me almost wish Mr. Institution did it. Then we could sic McCoy on him."
Ed looked at his partner sideways. Lennie was grinning, as only he could. Ed started to laugh, and thanked the world in general, again, for his good fortune at being paired up with Lennie Briscoe.
Jack hung up the phone and tried to stop smiling. If anyone were to walk through the door, he knew it wouldn't look good for him to be smiling in quite this way. He knew his usual expression of concentration, or his frown, or stressed appearance was nowhere to be found at that moment. He wouldn't want to explain it. Ed had just called. He needed to go to his apartment to pick up emails from his pink wall group, and was going to grab some lunch while he was there. He'd asked Jack if he was free to join him. Jack was. Free and clear for at least two hours. He knew Ed didn't have two hours to spare, but that didn't matter. Complete and total privacy in the middle of the day. A very pleasant, unexpected, gift. Jack hurriedly changed into his jeans, left the loosened tie on, switched jackets, grabbed his helmet and briefcase, and walked out. After locking the door behind him, he realized he'd have to leave some number, since he wasn't going to tell anyone where he was heading. He told the office secretary he would be out and only in an emergency could anyone reach him at the number he'd just given her. He emphasized emergency only. Then, smiling once more, he rode the elevator down, his heart thudding gently in his chest.
Ed was just finishing turkey sandwich preparations when he heard a key enter the lock in his front door. A skipping heartbeat was his physical reaction. His emotional reaction was even more visceral. He wiped his hands and turned, in time to see a broadly smiling Jack enter the kitchen. The man's cheeks were flushed, his hair was slightly disheveled, and his eyes bore into Ed's. Ed smiled, too. Jack dropped his helmet and briefcase on the counter, and in three steps, Ed was there, his hands on Jack's waist and moving quickly to his back. With his eyes locked firmly, Jack pulled off his jacket and dropped it on the counter as well.
Ed drew the man closer, wrapping his arms around him, finally breaking eye contact because he could no longer focus, covering Jack's mouth with his own. He sighed into the kiss when Jack held him, too, and moved his lips across Ed's, and stroked his shoulders. It was a gentle, intense, heady kiss, but body memories hit Ed full force and in a surge of pure lust he deepened the kiss all at once. Taking Jack's mouth, hearing that moan of his, that throaty, rumbly moan that made his stomach dip, and his knees weak.
As he always did, Ed was falling into Jack, and fast, and he knew he'd have to stop, and fast. Or he'd drag this man, whose tongue was doing incredible things to the inside of his mouth, down the hallway and throw him on the bed. Throw himself down immediately after. He tore his mouth away and rested his head against the side of Jack's.
"Not enough time," he murmured. "Don't want a quickie... not with you," he admitted.
Jack nodded slowly. "No, not with you," he said in a ragged voice.
They held each other tightly, eventually relaxing into the embrace, as their breathing slowed along with their pulses. Ed had had a moment's queasiness after admitting that a quick fuck wouldn't be enough, but his heart had soared at Jack's response. He knew one other thing. He felt grounded, for the first time since he'd gotten off the motorcycle outside of Anthony's apartment building. Grounded, and sure.
Jack relaxed on the couch, and watched Ed intently studying his laptop a foot or two away. Ostensibly reading the motorcycle magazine he'd brought, he was instead sorting out his thoughts, and attempting to sort out his feelings yet again. They'd identified Tom, his last name was Ryerson. Jack knew now where the man had worked, and a little of what his life had been like there. He was no longer the anonymous sex partner, the body that Jack had needed for release of his own pent-up frustrations. He'd fucked Tom Ryerson because he'd wanted to, and the other man had wanted him to. He'd never considered that he was using anyone, before, during, or after any of his encounters, so why did he feel that way now? Because he had to admit, to himself at least, that he did feel extremely uncomfortable about Tom Ryerson. And by extension, therefore, the rest of them.
Ed chuckled to himself, and Jack smiled. Was it merely due to this man on the other end of the couch? Because now he knew what it was like to make love with a man, when he'd always thought that all he'd ever needed was some occasional hot and hard sexual release? Was it really that simple? He wasn't sure. Had Tom Ryerson wanted more from him? He hadn't cared at the time, hadn't even thought about it. The man seemed to have had a somewhat superficial life. People at the club knew a bit more about him than Jack did, but not much. People at his job didn't know much about him at all. Jack found that depressing. Even though he understood he really only had responsibility for himself, and his choices, he couldn't help but feel that he'd contributed to Tom Ryerson's somewhat bleak life.
Jack turned and laid back, rested his shoulders on the arm of the couch, raised his knees and poked Ed's thigh with his toes. Ed turned to him and smiled, and Jack's heart fluttered. This reaction was a continual source of amazement to him. "Anything helpful from your friends?" he asked.
"Nothing much, though the women want to see the photo. I'm asking them to meet me here tonight. A few people have horror stories about coming out to their partners, one I'd heard before. Everyone is telling me to be careful. People are upset about Crymson, worried about another Andrew Cunanen. I've sent them an update on the case." Ed checked his watch. "Lennie'll be here in fifteen minutes. Wanna make out until then?" He grinned.
Again, Jack's heart reacted. He grinned in return. "Five minutes, that'll give me ten minutes to calm down before I have to face him."
"Good point," Ed said quickly. He shut down his laptop and put it on the coffee table, while Jack tossed his magazine there, too. Then Ed crawled toward him and Jack's heart completely took off.
Lennie approached Jack, who was in the kitchen putting on his jacket. Ed had left them to use the bathroom, but Lennie still leaned in close enough to speak in a low voice.
"Listen," he said, "about what you said yesterday. Ed having a hard time. I think he might be." He hesitated.
"How so?" Jack asked quietly.
"He's sort of overreacting to things. Little things, stupid stuff. Ryerson's boss making a derogatory comment, for one. Normally, he'd let that roll off his back. I thought he was going to hit the guy. Just wanted you to know." Again the other man hesitated, looking slightly uncomfortable.
Jack picked up his briefcase. "I appreciate it. I'll talk to him tonight." He gave the detective a small grin. "Don't let him punch anyone, okay?"
Lennie snorted. "Like I could stop him."
Jack grinned more fully. "Well I could tell you where he's ticklish, that might work," he teased.
The look in the other man's eyes was priceless. "No thanks - too much information," Lennie stated.
He touched his forearm. "Just kidding. He listens to you, you can calm him down."
Lennie set his lips in a line and nodded. Ed came back into the room and Jack wished the third man was absent, so he could give his lover another hug. A tighter one, a more secure one. One that might keep him for the rest of the day. Their eyes locked and he instead sent him every bit of love he felt. It would have to be enough.
The manager of Tom Ryerson's very upscale apartment building let them in to the victim's home. The very first thing that struck Ed was the opulence. He walked down the short hallway, noting the original artwork on the walls - what appeared to be limited edition prints. He gently fingered a bronze sculpture on the hall table. If this was what the man had in his hallway, Ed thought, what did he have in the apartment proper?
"Jesus," Lennie muttered, ten paces ahead of him.
Ed understood the sentiment as soon as he reached the living room. More artwork adorned the room, all of it tastefully lit from recessed lighting. Antique furniture upholstered in brocades of subtle hues, all of it looking quite expensive. The view was worth a few thousand dollars a month alone, much less the wood paneling, the ornate fireplace, the expansive kitchen that could be seen past the dining area.
"I didn't realize that fund managers made this much money," Ed said.
"Don't think they do," Lennie answered. "Let's see if we can find the office. He's got to have an office somewhere in here."
They did find it, in one of two bedrooms. One look at the desk and Ed knew precisely what was missing. Another computer. He looked at the layout of the cords that were left, coming up through a hole in the surface of the large, roll top, designer computer desk. He opened the cabinet below the surface, following the cords, and found a state of the art scanner and printer. No CPU and no room for one, either. Mr. Ryerson had had a laptop, just like Crymson's, and his own. As he closed the cabinet he noticed something. An empty phone jack. Next to one with a phone cord in it. He followed the phone line, which went into the phone on the desk.
His gloved fingers suddenly tingled, and his stomach jumped, as a synapse fired in his brain. "Lennie," he said excitedly to the man across the room, "I think I might know why the computers are missing." Lennie's head shot up. "Email. The killer communicated with them by email." He was also kicking himself, for a phone line had been on Crymson's desk, too. This one, however, was probably a dedicated line. He hadn't checked to see if Crymson had a second jack.
Lennie came to him quickly, and Ed explained his reasoning. Lennie asked, "Why steal the computers? Why not just do that erasing thing?"
Ed shrugged. "Don't know. It's hard to delete just the email files. I tried to find mine once, so I could export it specifically." He saw Lennie's face go blank. "Never mind - trust me, it's very hard to delete just the email files. Maybe he thought it would be more suspicious to wipe the hard drive completely, maybe he was worried about how much time he was taking here, maybe he hired Marsh to get them all, maybe he wanted time to read the other emails, I don't know. I'm going to call Anthony, though, and ask him if Crymson had email on that laptop." He pulled out his phone and his notebook, looking for the number.
While he called, Lennie listened to the messages on Tom's answering machine. Ed tuned out the banker's smarmy voice as he spoke with Anthony, who confirmed that his partner had used email both personally and professionally. Ed asked him to check the file cabinets carefully, and look for hard copies of any electronic correspondence. The man readily agreed. Then he called Reina, and asked her to get the LUDs for both of Tom's phone lines. He also spoke with Van Buren, requesting another CSU team. Then he went through the desk again, looking for back-ups, but found nothing.
Lennie replayed the part of the message tape that sounded the most interesting. It was a woman's voice; the call was dated Thursday night, the day Tom's body had been found.
"Tom, are you there? Please -- pick up! Tom?! Damn it..."
Lennie said, "She called twice more that night, and once Friday night, sounding more and more upset each time." He popped the tape out of the machine and bagged it.
"The woman vic?" Ed suggested. "Let's see what he's got in the way of an address book."
After searching through the desk and other furniture in the office and finding nothing, they went to the bedroom. It was there that Lennie discovered the one thing that Ed hadn't even considered Tom Ryerson would own. A diary. Ed's stomach fell to his knees when Lennie made the exclamation, flipping through the book, reading parts, making it clear that this was Mr. Ryerson's account of all of the sexual partners he'd had, among other things. Ed froze, fifteen feet away from the man, who was searching the book for some clue to the woman, or a connection with Crymson. He wanted to lunge and grab it right out of Lennie's hands. His mind was spinning, but he finally spoke.
"Lennie," he said, sounding extraordinarily calm to his own ears, "can I have a look at that for a minute?" He took a few steps and held out his hand.
Lennie looked at him briefly, then agreed and gave Ed the diary.
Ed turned his back to his partner and tried to remember what Jack had said. Eight months, his lover had told him. He thumbed the book rapidly, scanning the pages as fast as he could. Then he found what he'd dreaded, and the thundering in his chest almost made him choke. Oh, fuck, he said to himself. Tom Ryerson had recognized Jack McCoy. The entry was graphic, and lengthy, and filled with comments about how Jack's position of relative power in the criminal justice system was such a turn-on. Ed wanted to throw up.
He was startled when Lennie touched his arm, and he turned to the other man, hoping his face was placid.
"What's going on, Ed?" Lennie asked in a low voice. "Tell me. I'll find out, so why don't you just tell me yourself?"
He knew there was probably nothing he could do, but he still held on to the belief that somehow he could fix this. Somehow, Jack wouldn't have to deal with people reading what was in this damned book. He trusted Lennie, without qualification. But with this?
"I'm going to take that book out of your hands," Lennie continued, "if you don't let me in on the big secret here. What - did the vic write something about a friend of yours?" His voice got more strident. "Tell me."
"Fuck," he muttered, half to himself. "Worse than that. He wrote about Jack," he finally admitted. He didn't let go of the diary, but kept his finger on the page and clutched it to his chest.
Lennie's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Let me get this straight - McCoy knew Ryerson?! Like in the biblical sense? How long have you known this, partner?"
Ed didn't miss the implication of Lennie's tone, he'd been on the receiving end of it before. There was even a part of him that felt he deserved it. But then again, this was different, he thought. He huffed in frustration. "Jack didn't really know the vic, he... he had sex with him once. Just once. He recognized the morgue photo. Yesterday morning." He watched his partner get even angrier and kept talking to stop the tirade. "What was I going to do, Lennie?! Jack knew his first name. That's it. Was I supposed to sit back and let that man's reputation go down the tubes because some guy he had sex with eight months ago was murdered? He's recused himself. And I'll be damned if I let anyone see the pages in this book!"
"You're not thinking clearly! This is evidence!"
"This is not evidence and you know it - what - you think Jack did him?! That's the only evidence that matters here."
Lennie was the one to turn away this time. He stalked ten paces and then returned, pointing his finger. "Is there anything else you haven't told me?"
Ed breathed. "No. Nothing else. And I'm sorry."
Lennie put his hands on his hips. "Well I don't get why you're willing to put your career on the line, but I get how this could damage McCoy's. Anonymous sex isn't exactly something a DA wants her star employees to be known for."
"You really don't understand why I'm trying to protect him?" Ed knew that this man was cynical, but he hadn't realized the full extent of it. "I love him, Lennie." He felt no shame or embarrassment to say it, only calm.
Lennie studied him for a minute, then sighed dramatically, dropping his hands down. "I always suspected you were a romantic, deep down." He sighed again. "So. I'm going to go in the other room, because I've got something I want to look for. When I come back, we'll talk about what we're going to do next." With that, he turned and walked out.
In the aftermath of the adrenaline rush, Ed's legs were beginning to get shaky. He sat on the edge of the bed and opened the victim's diary. Without thinking about it twice, he tore out the offending passages, folded them up and stuffed them into his inside jacket pocket. He cleaned out the loose fragments of paper still in the binding as best he could, shut the book and squeezed tightly on the spine. When he opened it again, there was very little evidence that pages were missing. "Thank you, Lennie," he whispered.
After CSU finished not only collecting prints, but checking both the bathroom and kitchen for blood, Ed and Lennie closed up the apartment. They'd taken financial records, the diary, and the victim's address book that they'd finally found stuck in one of the files. There'd been no Karen listed, but perhaps there was a family member in it for Lieu to contact.
In the lobby, they spoke with the doorman. He explained that the building didn't have a doorman during the overnight hours; the other employee would be coming on at four-thirty and would work until midnight. Shifts were rotated. They asked this man, since he'd worked the later shift the week before, if he recognized Don Marsh, Crymson, or the woman victim. They lucked out. The doorman recognized the woman. She'd come into the building on an evening the week before, but he couldn't pin it down closer than the last half of the week as opposed to the first half. He'd never seen her before that time. The building didn't use a sign-in book, so they couldn't look for a name. But they had their first real connection between the victims, even if it was nebulous.
They'd both agreed that the sheer opulence of the apartment was suspicious, and planned to look carefully at the statements from Ryerson's bank. It appeared as if the victim had handled his own investments, so unless the information was on the papers they'd found, records of the man's money had died with him, or had been stolen with the computer. They headed back to the precinct, to start pouring over LUDs, and bank statements, and the diary.
Jack had just finished outlining his final argument for the Perry appeal when Serena walked in. He was glad to see her, since she'd been working on obtaining the video tape of Crymson from the television station.
"So," he said without preamble, "how did it go?"
She dropped her briefcase on the T-table and pulled off her coat. "Good. I got the tape, they didn't ask too many questions, and I took it to Lieutenant Van Buren. We watched it. It seems pretty innocuous. I'd agree with the victim's partner - it looked as though the Sons of Liberty were playing to the cameras."
Jack's feelings about his own ethnic group giving such a hard time to Ed's community were mixed. And mixed up, which he willingly admitted to himself. But there were other things to check for on that tape. "Did Van Buren look to see if Ryerson was there?"
Serena appeared confused. "How did you know the first victim's name was Ryerson? I haven't told you that, yet."
His stomach turned over as he watched her. Years of experience kicked in. "I ran into Briscoe and Green at lunch." He offered nothing more, letting her supply the missing pieces.
She still looked confused, but she finally nodded once. "Well then, I don't need to fill you in on some of it. They'd just returned from Ryerson's apartment as I was leaving..."
Jack listened intently to what she was saying, pushing his emotional reaction down very, very deep. Ignoring it completely. He'd just lied, again, to his coworker. She was now telling him what his lover had found out about a former sexual acquaintance of his. He shoved it very, very deep.
Ed looked up from his copy of the LUD of Ryerson's second phone line. "I think it is a valid, working assumption," he said, giving his partner a small smile when the man snorted. "We've got the woman victim showing up at Ryerson's building close to the date he was killed. We've got a woman named Karen who was supposed to meet with Crymson on Saturday. From what Robert just told us, the man was agitated when he returned to the club at three o'clock. So he either met with her, or he didn't and was worried that she hadn't shown. Mr. Cabot's never heard of a Karen, and Crymson has no relatives by that name. There is no Karen in Ryerson's address book. I say the woman victim's name is Karen."
Lennie snorted again. "And I say we keep checking these lists." He turned to Reina, who was helping them.
Ed smiled more fully, relieved that things were mostly normal between he and his partner. He dialed one of the three numbers that were consistently on Ryerson's LUD, and sure enough it was a computer that answered, with the familiar high note, followed by static, followed by what he always characterized as a guitar string being plucked. "Now," he muttered to himself, "Let's find the ISP." He pulled out the bank statements, but there was no automatic withdrawal for an internet service provider. He shuffled through the file and found the man's credit card statements. On the third statement, there was the charge. But there was only a tax identification number, no indication where the provider was located.
He pulled his work laptop close and logged on to the internet. Within ten minutes, he had the location. California. Not surprising, he thought. He took down all of the information, and picking up what Anthony had given them about Crymson's provider, he stood.
"I've got both internet connections, Lennie, but it'll probably take until tomorrow to get the information. Both are out of state. I'll be in Lieu's office."
Lennie met his eyes and gave him a fake grin. "And I'll be here."
He felt good as he walked the short distance to Van Buren's office. They were finally getting somewhere. He was studiously ignoring the folded papers inside the breast pocket of his shirt, having casually moved them when he'd draped his jacket over the chair. They were safe, and he wasn't thinking about them. About how much he wanted to read them, and how much he dreaded reading them, too.
"What have you got?" the lieutenant asked as he entered.
"Anthony tried to download emails for the past week, but copies hadn't been kept on the server." He handed her the two sheets of paper with his notes. "The top one is Crymson's provider - they're in New Jersey. The next is Ryerson's. His is in California. If they both keep logs, we'll have a list of everyone who sent or received email from both victims."
"And if there's no log, then we can't access the information," she said, confirming her understanding of what the computer specialists had told them earlier.
"Yup," he replied.
"Very well, I'll contact our friends in Jersey to get a warrant. I'll check with McCoy and see if he can get the," she glanced at the paper, "San Mateo county DA's office to help us with that one."
"It's getting late," he said, "I suspect the service providers shut their doors at five."
"More than likely," she agreed. "You'll probably be taking a ride across the river first thing in the morning." She smiled. "So -- are you doing okay?"
He sat down, so he could look at her levelly. "Yes. Glad we're making some progress."
"You're proving me wrong, Ed. From where I'm sitting, you're handling the investigation as professionally as you always do."
There was no trace of sarcasm in her voice, so he assumed she'd meant that as a compliment. As he and Lennie hadn't had a chance to push a suspect too far, or stretch the directives of a search, he believed her. What was in his pocket, again, was ignored. He smiled. "Thank you."
She waved her hand. "Go see if your partner's made a match, while I call the DA's office. I hope McCoy is still there."
He got up and left, having stopped himself from answering her question. He was very aware that Jack could likely be found at his desk. He'd had no court appearances scheduled, and no meetings that he'd mentioned.
It was still a bit of a odd thing to hear Jack's name, which in itself was odd. Ed had been hearing it for a long time, with various inflections from various other cops. He'd come close to spitting it out himself a few times, but hadn't. He'd understood that the man merely fought like a dog to get some measure of justice for victims. Even when he'd been on the receiving end of some of that growl and bite, he'd ultimately let it go. His admiration had superseded his hurt. But now - he just didn't know how to react. That other Jack wasn't his Jack. His Jack loved him.
Lennie looked up as Ed sat in his desk chair. Reina was no longer around.
The other man grinned. "Guess what? Found a Karen Abbott on both LUDs. Phone call made the night before Ryerson was killed, and phone calls on Saturday afternoon and evening from the club, and on Sunday from Crymson's apartment."
Ed tried not to gloat. "What about during the week before the murders?"
"That's what's strange. Nothing."
"So maybe they used email with her, too..."
"And," Lennie continued, "there's nothing from Ryerson to Crymson, or the other way around. So either email, or they really didn't know each other."
He could see Crymson's face, inches away from his, from behind the bar at the Tide. He thought he knew, now, what had been troubling the man. "Lennie, Crymson knew Karen had been murdered," he said in a low voice so no one else would hear. "He had to - why ask me about criminal law? He must have known who killed her."
"Why didn't he report her missing, then? Try to find out if her body had been discovered?"
Ed didn't want to consider the answer to that one, because he flat out didn't believe Crymson could have been involved in anything illegal. They'd found no evidence of it, and it just seemed so totally out of character for him. For anyone in the forefront of the community.
"I'll tell you why," Lennie answered for him, "because he couldn't. He was in it up to his eyeballs..."
Ed interrupted him harshly. "NO. He wasn't. No way. There's no way Crymson was a murderer, or involved in the murders." Belatedly, he looked around, but no one seemed to be paying them much attention amidst the general din of the precinct.
Lennie studied him for a very long minute, then stood, and took his jacket off the back of his chair. "We'll just keep an open mind, shall we?"
Ed stood, too, mimicking his partner's actions, preparing to leave. He kept quiet, however, on the topic of victim number three. "I need to be home by seven o'clock. There are some cops coming over to look at the morgue photo of the person I assume is Karen Abbott," he said.
Lennie clapped him on the shoulder as they walked to the coat rack. "No problem, Eddie, this shouldn't take long," he replied gently. "Her computer will probably be gone, so maybe we should just call CSU right now, huh?"
"Good idea." He'd keep an open mind, but at the same time he felt certain that he was right about Crymson. However, he was very aware that he'd already pushed things far enough for one day.
Ed arrived home with thirty minutes to spare before his pink wall comrades were due. He'd left Lennie at the apartment of Karen Abbott, who'd been positively identified by the resident manager of her building. The police technicians hadn't been quite finished with the place, having dusted for prints in the same areas that they had earlier in the day at Ryerson's. Her computer was also missing, and from what Ed could see, there were no backups around. Pay stubs showed them she'd worked for a high end art gallery in Soho. The art on her walls confirmed this but, again, Ed was suspicious about how much money she was investing in art compared to how much money she made. Another thing to follow up on in the morning, along with speaking with her employers, determining her email provider and discovering whether or not they kept logs of her email traffic.
What Ed really needed, he'd decided, was a quick, hot shower. He began undressing as he walked into the bedroom, heading straight for the closet to hang up his suit. After removing shoes, he started unbuttoning the shirt and his fingers brushed over the breast pocket. The stab in his stomach reminded him of the pocket's contents. He pulled the papers out, but didn't unfold them right away. He tossed them on the bed and finished taking off his clothes. The hamper was overflowing, so he pulled it out, intent on starting some laundry as soon as his shower was finished.
On his way to the bathroom, he picked up the pages of Ryerson's diary. He knew he should burn them, or flush them, but he couldn't seem to make the move to do it. Instead, he unfolded them, and standing in the open doorway of his bathroom with nothing on, he began to read what the man he loved had done with someone else. Eight months before. When Jack McCoy had been little more to Ed than the definition of their professional roles. Eight months before they'd fallen into bed together. Before they'd fallen, period. Before a man, whose words were dancing in front of Ed's eyes, had been brutally murdered. Coldly marked as victim number one.
Jack sat at the bar of the Orleans and sipped his scotch. He'd noticed a few colleagues around the room, but he was not in the mood to chat. He was in the mood to sit. Not even to think too deeply. So when he looked in the mirror and saw Lennie Briscoe enter and head straight for him, his mind interpreted it as an intrusion. Then it leapt to a different conclusion altogether - something bad had happened to Ed, and his pulse started to race. Before the other man sat down, Jack took a healthy swig of his drink.
"Hey," Lennie said.
"What can I do for you," Jack said lightly -- deliberately so, in direct contrast to the trickle of dread that was beginning to crawl up his spine. Studying the detective's face, however, he considered revising his assumption. The man looked uneasy, but not upset.
"Can we find a table with more privacy?" Lennie stood again.
Jack picked up his glass and his personal possessions and followed, not bothering to answer because Lennie had already headed off. They found a place to sit against the wall and got settled.
"So, again," Jack said, "what can I do for you?"
"I need to talk to you. About Ed. You asked me to watch out for him, make sure he doesn't hit anyone. I'd do that no matter what. Whether you'd asked me to or not," Lennie said. The sharpness of his tone was clear.
Jack was taken aback. "I understand," was all he could think to say.
"Well, I think Ed's doing better on the anger management front, but I'm still pretty worried about him. The decisions he's making aren't like him."
Jack felt relief on a very deep level, and he sipped the scotch to give him a moment to process it. The vision of Ed with his head blown open that had skirted his imagination vanished. "What do you mean by the decisions he's making? What decisions?" Lennie was looking at him so intently, Jack felt like he was in the interrogation room.
Lennie said, "I want to know something, and I hope that we go back far enough that you'll answer me honestly. How do you see yourself and Ed? How does Ed fit into your idea of men, and casual sex, anonymous sex, even? How do you feel about my partner?" The man's tone had not softened.
Jack's emotional reaction was strong, visceral, and overwhelming. "That's none of your business," he answered harshly. "Ed knows where I stand."
Again, the man across the table studied him, the lines on his face deepening as his jaw tightened. "Does he? You'd better not be using Eddie, McCoy. After what he's doing for you? Putting his job on the line? Even I'm not that cynical," he spat out. He hit the tabletop once, then stood and walked out.
Stunned, Jack watched the door close. He automatically downed more of his drink and tried to figure out what had just happened. Once again, he shoved his emotions down deep, this time in order to keep his brain working. He replayed every sentence that had come out of Lennie's mouth. He eventually came to two conclusions.
His lover had been walking a thin line and something had caused him to cross it. On Jack's own behalf. Lennie Briscoe knew that he'd been having anonymous sex. Since he trusted Ed implicitly, there was obviously only one place that fact had come to light. Tom Ryerson's apartment. Jack's pulse rate sped up again. What the hell had Ed done, he thought. Like some upside-down mantra, the question replayed continuously in his mind as he gathered his things and left the bar. Rather than calming him, the words made him more and more anxious.
He shoved his briefcase into the saddlebag on his motorcycle and his helmet onto his head. He climbed on, jammed the key into the ignition and took off, with his coat flapping in the wind.
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