Disclaimer: NBC, MCA/Universal and Wolf Films owns them.
Rating: NC-17 (mild)
Summary: Part 4. The murders force both men to take a stand, and the investigation begins.
Copyright August 2002 Cassatt
Jack had just pulled on his suit pants when the phone on his desk rang. Surprised, as it was barely eight o'clock, he zipped quickly and grabbed the receiver.
"McCoy," he said.
"It's me," Ed said, in a low, rushed voice, "I need to see you, it's about this vic. Twenty minutes?"
Jack's stomach clenched. He couldn't imagine what was wrong. "Okay - do you want to meet here?"
"Can't. How about that coffee shop around the corner from you."
He heard voices and street noise in the background. "Anne's. I'll be there."
There was silence for a moment. "Okay... Thanks." The line went dead.
Jack looked at his watch, trying to figure out what had just happened. Ed was calling from the murder scene, that much was clear. He buttoned his pants and hooked his belt, then put on his tie. The bad feeling he'd been having all weekend about this case increased tenfold. He walked to his door and unlocked it, then opened the blinds a bit. He had ten minutes to kill before he had to leave, but came to the very quick conclusion he didn't want to wait in his office.
After shoving some work back into his briefcase, he slipped on his suit jacket. His door opened and Serena walked in.
"I have a meeting," he said quickly, walking around his desk with his briefcase in hand.
She looked confused. "When will you be back?"
He didn't stop. "When I'm back," he stated. He left without waiting for her reply.
Ed walked rapidly to his desk, a step or two ahead of Lennie. What he needed was in a folder, but he couldn't take it without his partner noticing.
"Hey, Lennie, I think it's your turn to get the coffee," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Lennie scowled, but agreed. As soon as he was in front of the coffee maker, Ed opened the file and grabbed the photos, shoving them in his breast pocket. He followed the older man, and stood a few feet away.
"I have to go - it's personal. Sorry. I'll be back in a little while."
The man's eyebrows raised. "What should I tell Lieu?"
"That I'm taking my lunch break early. It's my mom. I gotta go." He turned and left, without waiting for his reply.
When Ed entered Anne's, he was relieved to see it less crowded than he'd expected. He didn't want to be waiting for a seat, wasting time he didn't have. He scanned the room and saw Jack at a booth near the back, and his heart rate sped up. Striding toward him, he made a conscious effort to unclench his hands.
"Hi," he said quietly, removing his coat and dropping it on the seat before sliding in after it.
"What happened," Jack asked, leaning over his cup of coffee. He looked worried.
Ed loathed the fact that he was about to make the man he loved even more worried. He leaned forward, too. "It's the third vic. We know him. It's Crymson - from the club." Watching Jack react was like looking in a mirror; he had no doubt that he'd been just as unable to maintain a smooth facade, standing over the bartender's body. He'd been lucky that no one had noticed. After giving the man a minute to get over the shock, he continued. "He's got no ID on him, just like the other two. I'm the only one who can make him. But how the hell am I supposed to do that?" he hissed. "I can't come out..."
"Ed - you have to identify him. You have no choice," Jack said quickly.
A waitress arrived. Ed ordered coffee and asked for water, too, though he'd probably be too upset to drink either of them.
"I can't. It's not fucking safe," he spat out. He dropped his face into his hands and took a deep breath, then met Jack's eyes again. "The brotherhood doesn't want to believe it's got queers in it, too. You know that. I have no intention of getting shot in the back."
Jack stared at him. Intensely, as only he could. "I understand. But - this killer is going to keep piling on victim after victim. That we know his latest one is the only positive thing that's happened."
The waitress brought Ed's coffee and water. They ignored her. Ed knew Jack was right, he'd known it the second he'd recognized Crymson. He took a quick swig from his cup, then retrieved the photos from his jacket pocket. He placed them in front of the other man. "Do you recognize either of these people? I think I might - now that I know the club connection. Do you?"
Jack paled visibly as he picked them up. Ed's heart sank. "Yes," Jack replied, "I know this man. His name is Tom, that's all I know." He dropped the photos onto the table and didn't elaborate.
"Fuck," Ed muttered. "You had sex with him, didn't you?"
"Ed..."
"Jack," he said, interrupting him. His emotions were all over the place. "This is very bad. I don't need to tell you how bad it is, obviously, you didn't even want to let me know the truth, damn it." Fear warred with jealousy, which warred with self-disgust. He was jealous of a dead man, a homicide victim. "We not only know the third victim, but you slept with the first one," he whispered. He felt like screaming.
Jack leaned in as close as he could. "You're right. I do know how bad this is. I'm going to have to recuse myself from prosecuting if you find this son of a bitch. I'm going to have to tell Nora why. You're going to have to tell Lennie and Van Buren what you know and how you know it. We're both going to have to come out. And your friends and your community are going to be investigated. There's some connection. This guy may be a sociopath who wants to kill gays and lesbians, who knows."
"You're not going to say anything about Tom," he stated harshly.
"Of course I am, I have to."
"No, you don't. I can make him in a general way, then find someone at the club who can tell us more. They'll probably know more than you do, anyway. There's no point in putting yourself through that. I won't let you." He drank his cooled coffee.
Jack smiled a small smile, for the first time since Ed had sat down. "You're not going to let me? I don't think you can control that."
He looked down his nose at him. "Oh no? Do you want to try me? You are not going to be embarrassed, or disrespected, if I can do anything to stop it. Understand?" He breathed deeply, trying to calm down, to slow down, to get grounded somehow.
"I will try you. What in the world do you think you're going to do to keep me from saying anything?"
"Oh, fuck, Jack, I don't know," he admitted with a snort. "Take you home and make love until you're too exhausted to open your mouth. All I know is that there is no reason in the world for you to say anything. You've got nothing pertinent to the case. You only know his first name and whether or not he was a good sex partner."
Jack folded his arms and rested against the back of the booth, studying him. "He wasn't. Not eight months ago, anyway."
Ed felt inordinately pleased by that. "Glad to hear it." He sighed loudly. Reality was finally sinking in, and his stomach was starting to roil. He drank some of his water in an attempt to settle it down.
Leaning close again, Jack laid a hand on his forearm. It was all Ed could do to stop himself from covering it with his own. The need to touch the man's skin, right then, was overwhelming. To feel the warmth of it. The reassurance of it. The familiarity of it.
"Ed - I'm willing to concede your point. I won't mention Tom, or that I knew him. You're right, it's not necessary, and it's probably best that we keep that quiet. But - I think I have a small piece of information about Crymson. He talked to me on Saturday night. He was going to call you at the precinct this morning."
He swore quietly but harshly. "I should have known there was more to what he said to me. He asked me before that if I knew anyone who could answer a question on criminal law. Damn it."
"We both know there's got to be a connection." Their eyes locked. "When are you going to tell Lennie?" Jack asked after another long minute.
"I don't have a choice, do I?" He knew the answer, he just wanted to hear this man say it.
"No, you don't. Neither do I."
Ed nodded. "Sooner is better. Now."
"So - is this one of the complications?" Jack was still touching him, and looking at the man directly, and deeply, Ed was surprised to see a very small spot of vulnerability showing.
He darted a glance to their surroundings. No one was watching. He met Jack's eyes again, and covered his hand, feeling his own heart skip at the contact. "Not one we'd planned on, or thought of, is it, Jack. But - I still believe what I said."
Jack smiled a soft smile. "Good." He sighed. "Even though we haven't mentioned this out loud, I think we understand the full reality. Our relationship is going to have come out, too. Nora has to know, at the very least. Lennie and Anita will figure it out, it affects much more than us at this point. I think she'll protect you, if necessary."
The muscles of his face ached as he tried to smile back at him,. "I hope so," was all he could say. He knew they'd have to tell. This was beyond complicated.
"One thing - Lennie should take our statements, not you."
He agreed. With reluctance, he let go and pulled out his cell phone. He thought he might throw up as he dialed. When his partner answered, he told him he had important information about the case, that he needed the man to come to the coffee shop. Though clearly confused, Lennie said he'd be there shortly.
Jack had insisted that Ed talk to Lennie alone, grateful when he didn't argue too vehemently. Jack understood the need for moral support, but he also knew the older man's feelings about partner loyalty, and trust. He'd watched these two men become a team, and he knew just how much Ed was getting from the relationship, how deep his feelings for Lennie actually ran. It was important that they have privacy.
Jack was sitting at a table in view of the booth, attempting to understand some of the work he'd brought. He was just about to give up. Words on the paper hardly seemed like English, or Latin for that matter. He tried to imagine how he was going to tell Nora. It wasn't that he really cared what anyone thought of his love life, or his sexual identity; he was of the age where personal pettiness of that nature simply seemed irrelevant.
He knew he'd been the topic of office talk in the past - after his track record he could hardly have expected any less. His affairs, his marriage, the ultimate fiasco of Diana's professional betrayal, even Claire's death had all contributed to his reputation. But it was precisely that reputation that had been prompting him to tell Nora about Ed, even before this had happened. He had just been waiting to see how things worked out. He'd only wanted a little time to find out how firm the ground was beneath his feet before saying anything.
He sighed and put his work away. He rolled his shoulders to relieve some of the tension in them, to hopefully forestall the headache that seemed to be starting. The door to the coffee shop opened and Lennie walked in. Jack's stomach fluttered. He met Ed's eyes briefly, across the room, and smiled at him. The young man was right. What they had between the two of them was worth the complications. Jack hoped it was strong enough to survive the fallout.
Ed still thought he might throw up, and was starting to hate himself for it. Everything he'd been through, all of his training and experience, the personal work he'd been doing, none of it had truly prepared him for this. Lennie slid into the booth.
"Hey," the man said, "what's going on? Why are we meeting here?"
"I just wanted some privacy, that's all," he answered. The waitress came up to them, and Lennie met his eyes. He told him, "Go ahead, order something, we might be a little while."
Lennie ordered coffee, and after the woman left, folded his hands on the table and waited.
Ed took a swallow of water and cleared his throat. He picked up a spoon and was fiddling with it, when Lennie stopped him, laying a hand on his arm. The same place that Jack had been holding him. He raised his eyes to his partner's, and his pounding heart careened into his ribs.
"It's about the vic this morning, Lennie. I know him. He's the owner of the club that I hang out in. The bartender. It's a gay club." He couldn't say the final words, and drank more water instead.
Lennie was giving him a look of incomprehension. "So, what - you're telling me that you're gay, Eddie? Come on..."
The waitress returned with Lennie's coffee, and the pot, topping off Ed's cup. He let her do it, though the thought of drinking it was almost more than his stomach could take. She left again.
"Ed - we've got too much work. If you know the guy, let's get on it." Lennie drank his coffee.
Ed snapped. He couldn't take any more. "You don't understand. Yes, I know the guy. I know him because he's gay and I'm gay. But nobody on the force knows that. I'm gay, Lennie."
"You? You're not gay," Lennie stated.
In frustration, he slapped his hands on the tabletop and stared at his partner.
Lennie's eyes narrowed, returning the stare. He drank more coffee, then put his cup down hard enough to spill some. "Why the hell didn't you tell me before this?" he hissed.
Ed was surprised. He felt relief. Lennie's anger at him he could deal with, he was just amazingly relieved that he'd said it out loud. He leaned forward. "I didn't tell you because it is not a safe thing to be gay in the NYPD, and you of all people know it. Do you really think I could have made detective being black and gay?"
"So you think I would have told someone?" Lennie's tone was getting alarmingly cold.
"No, of course not. It's just that when you make the decision to stay in the closet, you stay in the closet. Period. Otherwise there's too much chance to slip up. And I have my own brotherhood to protect, and support, and answer to." He took a deep breath. "Look, Lennie," he said more gently, "I'm sorry, I just couldn't do it. It wasn't personal. I wanted to tell you, and that's the first time I've felt that way about anyone I've worked with."
Lennie's face softened enough for Ed to relax a bit more. Then the man chuckled and shook his head. "Jesus. For the past few days you've been talking about some girlfriend, I've got this picture in my head. The voluptuous, older woman with a wicked sense of humor is a man. This is going to take some getting used to." Lennie took another swig of coffee. "So why are you always flirting? Why not just keep quiet?"
"I play the game." He shrugged. "It's what you do."
"Well, you had me fooled. What's this brotherhood?"
Ed sighed deeply. "A slightly underground group - the gay and lesbian members of the police force. We formed after the patrolman was killed by the other cops. We meet. We give each other support." That was as much as he'd ever tell. Even if this was Lennie.
Lennie shook his head another time, but slowly, and his smile vanished. "I hope you know I'd never let that happen to you," he said seriously. "I hope you at least know that, Eddie."
His throat closed instantly, and all he could do was nod.
"So," his partner said, taking a deep breath, "tell me about the vic."
He coughed and swallowed hard. "It's complicated. There's more I need to tell you. I'm trusting you with a lot here. The vic's name is Crymson. We knew each other by name, he knew I was a cop. The complication is that I saw him Saturday night and he said something to me that indicates he knew something about these murders. In hindsight, that's how it looks, anyway. And I think now I recognize the first vic, too. But," he hesitated, "there's more. He also said something to the man I was with. That night. My date."
"Okay," Lennie prompted. "So we need to talk to him, too. The man you've just started seeing, right? From Friday night?" His eyes widened. "No. I don't believe it," he muttered.
"Yes, it's Jack McCoy," he said. "This is a mess, Lennie."
The man exhaled loudly and collapsed against the back of the bench. "Jesus shit." He waved a hand. "No offense meant by your choice in men, I'm just a little shocked here. Jack?" After a very lengthy minute, he leaned forward again and rested on his elbows. "Okay, let's start over. You've been seeing Jack McCoy, the two of you go to this club, the owner and bartender speaks to you - what, together? Separately?"
"Separately."
"He says something to each of you that you now think has something to do with the fact that he got murdered last night. And you might recognize the first vic, now that we can make the third."
"Yes. And now both Jack and I have to tell people like you, and Lieu, and likely the DA, that we know this guy, and how we know him, and what happened, and the fact that we're in this relationship," he hissed, agitated again.
"Eddie," Lennie said soothingly, "that part'll be okay. Lieu's not going to care who you're sleeping with. Can't say she won't be shocked. But she'll recover."
"I hope so." He reached out and touched his partner's hand briefly. "Thanks." He breathed. "Jack says you're to take our statements, about Saturday. Not me."
"No problem. Why don't you call him. I'm going to get a danish. I need some food after that," he said, getting out of the booth. "I'll get a big one. We'll share."
"He's here." He waved his hand. Jack stood. Ed took another very deep breath.
Jack gathered his files together, bending over the table. When he raised his head, he was hit by a much harder stab of pain in his temple. His heart sank, but thinking about it, he really couldn't be surprised. There were pills in his briefcase, which was next to Ed in the booth. Forty minutes, and the pain would be gone. He left the cup on the table. That would be the last coffee he'd drink for the day.
Ed scooted a bit to give Jack room as he sat and asked for his briefcase. Ed handed it to him and since Lennie was still at the counter, said quietly, "It went better than I expected." The man smiled, but Ed could see that it was a halfhearted attempt. Jack then pulled out a small metal box and opened it.
"Damn," he muttered tiredly. "God damn it."
He understood immediately. "When did it start?"
"About ten minutes ago. I have to go back to the office." Jack began to move, but Ed stopped him, grasping his biceps. Lennie slid into the booth and put the plate down.
Still holding Jack's arm, he asked, "Where are the rest of them? I'll go. You stay here."
Jack gave him that half-smile again. "I'll be right back, it's okay."
"Look. Moving around is bad, right? I can go faster and be back faster, and they'll start to work faster. Now - tell me," Ed insisted. He wasn't going to sit there while the man he loved wandered to his office with the beginnings of a migraine.
Jack sighed deeply. "Okay. In the breast pocket of my field coat. I'm sure that one isn't empty. And in the top right hand drawer of my desk." He got up slowly.
Ed followed him, not bothering to take his own coat. "I'll be right back." Their eyes locked, Jack mouthed his thanks, and he left.
Jack got back into the booth and finally looked at Lennie Briscoe. They'd been through a lot together over the years and his respect for the man was enormous. He almost thanked his headache, for he felt too lousy to be nervous. He should be nervous. Very nervous. "Hey, Lennie," he said quietly.
"I've been sitting here, Jack, trying to figure out what to say to you. Hell, what to ask you. Like why you've never even hinted at the fact that you were gay..."
He interrupted him. "Bisexual."
Lennie's eyebrows raised. "I see, I think. I'm assuming Ed knows that?"
That the man had that much grasp of the ramifications of what he'd said didn't surprise Jack, but the very obvious protective streak toward Ed did. He took heart from it. "Yes, he does. I've been completely honest with him from the very beginning. I don't think that is going to be a problem. And - I'm pleased to hear from your accusatory tone that you still feel strongly about your partner. You mean the world to that man."
Lennie looked down at his danish and cut through it. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, he was a real cocky s.o.b. when he showed up, and I was a bit of a bastard to him, but we've worked past that," he said with a slight grin. "So. You're the guy that Ed's been getting moonie eyed over these past few days, huh? Not sure what about all of this surprises me more, to tell you the truth."
Jack wanted to laugh, but knew it would hurt too much. He grinned outright. "Can't get what he'd see in me, is that it?"
Lennie picked up a piece of the sweetroll. "Can't see why he'd call you 'sexy as hell.'" He grinned, too, and popped the food into his mouth.
Jack could feel himself blush as he tried to cover his reaction. He wanted to ask when Ed had said that, and with what tone of voice. He closed his eyes momentarily. "I don't know what to say." He paused. "Except that I'm very lucky. I haven't felt this good in a long time, Lennie."
The other man sighed and said quietly, "I know. Look - let's just make an agreement. We both care about Eddie. We'll both watch out for him, okay?"
"Okay," he said slowly. "I think he might have some trouble with all of this by tomorrow. He's been very careful up until now, for his own very good reasons. I admit that as this is sinking in, I'm worried. About this case, this killer. About Ed."
"You think this guy might be killing gays in particular?"
Jack looked at him intently. "It's certainly not out of the realm of possibility, is it? And I won't be the one prosecuting when you catch him."
"We'll catch him, Jack," Lennie said seriously. "Me and Ed. We'll catch him."
Ed had just found the pill box in Jack's coat when the door to the office opened. He put the pills in his pants pocket and turned. It was Serena, looking very surprised.
"Was there something you needed, Detective Green?" Her tone had an edge to it that Ed couldn't quite identify. He didn't have time to find out.
"No, thanks, I got what I came for." He started for the door.
"Excuse me, but does Jack know you're here, rifling through his pockets? Or should I be asking to see a warrant?"
He hesitated, the words right on the tip of his tongue. "He knows," he said shortly, and kept walking. He didn't wait for the elevator, but headed down the stairs. The interaction with Jack's coworker had him thinking, hard. This was why it was dangerous getting involved with someone you work with, he reminded himself. The acceptance Lennie had shown had put him into the bubble of believing that there'd be no problem if they just came out completely, told everyone. He'd say to Serena that he was picking up his lover's medication and that he didn't have time to go into it because the man was in pain and that was all that mattered. And besides, Jack was taken. Not available, sister. He almost stopped as he hit the sidewalk. Where the hell had that thought come from? First he'd felt jealousy about some anonymous encounter Jack had had months before, and now he was feeling jealous over the woman he worked with? The logical protectiveness she'd shown?
He continued, quickly, around the corner to Anne's. He'd think about it later. He'd tell Jack, later. After stopping at the counter for a glass of water, he sat in the booth, interrupting the two men, handing Jack the drink and the precious pills. The look of absolute gratitude in his eyes struck Ed deep in the solar plexus. Again, the words he wanted to say would have to wait. Instead, he turned to his partner.
Lennie got out his notebook, and Ed told him what had happened between himself and Crymson over the weekend.
"You said he knew you were a cop, right, Ed?" He nodded in response. "Did he know you were in Homicide?"
"No, I don't think so. No reason for him to," he said.
"Looking back, it seems logical that it was the mention of the DA's office that changed his mind," Lennie offered. "Do you agree?"
He glanced at Jack, who nodded. Ed felt Jack's hand come to rest on his thigh, and for a reason he didn't want to consider too carefully, it made his heart catch. "I agree, too," he answered. He dropped his own hand down and covered Jack's, and they squeezed together. "Crymson wasn't the type of person to be easily spooked, though," he added. "I wasn't a personal friend of his, but he was always right out there on the front lines for the community. Not the kind to sit back and let something happen."
"Jack, your turn. Tell me what he said to you."
Jack gave his version of the very limited conversation he'd had.
"So," Lennie said, "this was how long after he'd talked to Ed?"
"About an hour, I'd estimate," Jack answered.
"Did he know who you were? That you were the man in the DA's office?"
Jack hesitated. "I don't think so, but I can't be sure. He and I weren't on a first name basis, but he knew me as someone who'd been going there for a while. Whether he'd ever seen my face in the paper? I don't know."
"And again, you didn't tell him that Ed was in Homicide."
"No, I didn't."
Lennie took a sip of coffee. "Now, why didn't you pass along the message? I'm assuming that you didn't, since Ed didn't follow up."
Again, Jack hesitated. "I forgot about it."
Lennie's eyebrows raised. "You forgot? What am I missing here?"
"Is it important?" Jack asked.
"I don't know," Lennie said with a shrug, "you two tell me."
The sequence of events from that night raced through Ed's mind. He knew why Jack had forgotten. He'd seen Peter kiss him. "No," he answered his partner, "I don't think so. I might have stopped by the bar before we left to see if there was something I could do for him right then. Might have introduced Jack to him formally. Obviously, we'll never know if he would have told us anything."
Lennie closed his notebook. "Okay. I think we're all in agreement. He knew something, or was worried about something. Enough that it got him killed."
"The club opens at noon," Ed said, "if someone else is there to open it. That's a couple of hours from now." He met his partner's glance. "I have to tell Lieu."
"I know. We'll go back now, you talk to her, I'll check with the ME and start getting the forensics reports together for all three. Don't worry, Ed, she'll be fine."
Jack's hand clutched his more tightly. He looked at him. "How's the headache?"
"Starting to recede. I'm just going to sit here until it's gone completely. It's quiet. It should only take another half hour at the most."
Lennie got up. "I'll be outside. And Jack - good luck," he said gently, "talking to your boss. You sure you have to recuse? When we catch this bastard, I want him convicted."
Jack shrugged. "I think I do, it's going to be up to Nora. We'll see. Either way, I'll keep my hand in it, so all the i's are dotted. Twice."
Lennie nodded shortly, and walked out.
Once again, what Ed wanted to do and what he could do were two different things, miles apart. He wanted to hold and be held. He wanted to soothe Jack's headache away. He wanted to know that his carefully organized life was not about to blow up in his face. That everything he'd worked for was not about to be lost. Logically, he didn't imagine it would be. But logic had nothing to do with it. He wanted to reassure Jack that his career would survive, that one evening out with him was not going to cause the man to lose the respect he'd garnered over the years.
Instead the two of them held hands for just another minute, and promised to speak to each other as soon as they could, and get together that evening. To go to bed as early as possible.
Lieutenant Van Buren stared at him for, what seemed to Ed, an incredibly long time. His hands twisted on his lap and he did his best to keep his eyes firmly forward.
"I want to say you're kidding me, Ed," she finally responded, "but I can clearly see you're not. I know that being in the closet is difficult. You've done a remarkable job at it." She rested her arms on the desk and laced her fingers together. "Aside from the personal issues involved here, and even the long-term professional ones - regarding this case, I'm going to have to take you off of it."
His heart stopped. "You can't do that," he said quickly. "Lieutenant," he added.
"I'll consider that answer as being given in the heat of the moment," she drawled.
He paused and gathered his thoughts. "I wasn't close with the vic - my emotional involvement is not going to be a problem."
"I disagree. From what you've told me, this killer has targeted two people from the same gay bar. Your personal hangout. You'd be interviewing your friends, members of your community. How can your emotions not be involved?"
"Look - it's precisely for those reasons that I need to investigate. These people aren't particularly fond of the NYPD, and they can close ranks quickly. I'm not saying they'd hinder the police, they're going to want to find out who killed Crymson. But - they'll talk to me. They'll trust me. I know them, I know how things go." He paused again, realizing just how much he had to do this. He was close to groveling. "Please, Lieu."
She sighed. "What about McCoy?"
"What about him?"
"The two of you having a ... relationship could affect the integrity of this investigation and subsequent prosecution. I can't have that called into question. We have to get this guy, and put him away," she stated.
He quickly got up out of his chair and paced to the window, placing his hands on his hips in an effort to do something neutral with them. Anger was beginning to take over. That his, that their, abilities were being challenged had caught him off guard. He thought he was beyond having to prove himself. Far, far beyond it. His fingers dug into his stomach.
"Ed," she said.
He'd long ago stopped being surprised that she could say so much with just the inflection of her voice. It was one of the reasons she had his unending respect, for there was rarely a need for him to question his reality around her. He clearly heard that he was to pull himself together, face her, and continue the conversation as unemotionally as possible. He did as she'd asked, deliberately returning to his chair and clasping his hands together, meeting her eyes directly.
The corner of her mouth quirked. "Why don't you tell me why you believe my concerns are unjustified."
"I can only tell you that I'm very aware of the potential problems here. Lennie is, too. This is going to be by the book, strictly by the book, Lieu. As for Jack?" He shrugged. "He probably won't even be prosecuting." He didn't know what else to say.
"Well, that's the down side to it all, isn't it." She spread her hands out on top of her desk. "He's the best they've got over there. If the case ends up on his desk, that man will nail the killer if at all possible."
He shrugged again, trying to remain casual. "I agree with you."
She studied him once more. For another long minute. "I would have thought you'd be a little more vehement on the topic of Jack McCoy."
"You want me to extoll his virtues?" He smiled slightly.
"I'm fishing, I admit. Just trying to get a handle on the picture of you and him together."
This time he was the one studying her. There was no way he'd say anything to embarrass his lover. "Well, I'm afraid I can't give you any help with that. My lips are sealed," he stated, no longer smiling.
"I see," she replied. After another prolonged silence, she sighed deeply. "I have complete faith in your investigative abilities, Ed, I trust you realize that."
He nodded, unsure where this was leading, his heart rate speeding up again.
"Okay," she continued, "you and Lennie will stay the primaries on this. But - I want to know everything that happens, so I can take care of any potential problems as they arise." He breathed long and hard. "And one more thing - I promise that as far as everyone else in the police force knows, you are still a slightly cocky heterosexual detective." She grinned.
Smiling fully, he relaxed, and told her what their next step would be. Pour over the forensics information on all three vics, then go to Crymson's club and hopefully find someone opening the establishment for its afternoon business.
Jack sat on Nora's couch, in a pose of total nonchalance. His right ankle was resting on his left knee and he was slouched ever so slightly against the back. He knew it was a pose, and he did it deliberately. It bolstered his belief that he really was relaxed. He watched his boss react.
She was sitting in the easy chair, twirling her glasses by the stem, back and forth, rhythmically, not allowing the frames to make a complete circle. Her eyes never left his face. How many hours had he sat in this very spot, arguing issues, strategies, case law. This couch was where he'd talked to Adam after Claire had died. Where the older man's gruff exterior had dropped away, and they'd discussed the death of Mrs. Schiff, and how to move on, and grieve. Jack had been encouraged to take time off, but had declined. A rare, personal conversation. And now Nora was sitting in the same chair Adam had. He hoped she'd be as understanding.
"You know, Jack," she finally said, "when you get to be our age, it's awfully difficult to be truly surprised by anything. Wouldn't you agree?"
He refrained from grinning, and toyed with the hem of his pants. "Yes, I'd agree with that statement." He waited again.
"And yet - you've managed to do it."
He shrugged. "Is that something I should be proud of, or sorry for?"
"I'm not sure." She did grin, a small grin, the usual grin for her. "Perhaps a bit of both. On a personal level, I had absolutely no hint that your preferences leaned toward men, and I certainly can't fault you on your choice of partner. Ed Green is, shall we say, very desirable." Her grin widened. "I'd hazard a guess that if some of the women around here knew he was gay, they'd be mighty disappointed."
His stomach jumped for some reason he wasn't clear on. Nora was waiting for his response. He tore his mind away from an unexpected memory of Ed in bed, looming over him, falling gently on his mouth, kissing him with abandon. "They'll just have to stay in the dark," was the only thing he could think to say.
Her grin vanished, and she nodded. "True. Now professionally, we have a decision to make. And I do mean 'we', Jack. I can make it unilaterally, of course, but I trust your judgment. You feel you need to recuse, because you had a speaking acquaintance with one of the victims. Ergo, your objectivity in this matter may be called into question by opposing counsel. Additionally, you are having a secret romance with the investigating officer." She sighed deeply. "And, however peripherally, you are involved in the community from which two victims came."
"I don't want anything to sabotage this case. I don't want to sabotage this case," he clarified.
"Do you think Serena is ready to handle this?"
"I think with some strong supervision, she could do it. I don't want her to know about Ed, however. And I do want to keep some control over what's happening, if at all possible."
"We certainly don't have to explain all of the reasons for your recusal, if it comes down to that. You've put me in a bit of untenable position here. I don't believe in lying to my employees, and yet, to retain your privacy, and Detective Green's, that's exactly what I have to do," she said, poking the arm of the chair with her finger.
He sighed. "I know. That's the part I'm sorry for."
"You couldn't have known that this man would be murdered the night after you and Ed spoke to him." She studied the spot she'd been stabbing, then finally met his eyes. "So. We will tell Serena that she's being given an opportunity, with your direct supervision at all times, to handle this case - if they find the killer. Nothing will be said about recusal, or any of the rest of it."
Jack breathed, and relaxed for real. "Thank you, Nora."
"After the years you've put into this place, you've got to have some privileges, don't you think? Let's just see how this shakes out." She grinned again. "Now, if you want to pay me back, you could tell me how the two of you hooked up. Who asked whom out. Let me in on just a few minor details, that sort of thing."
He pulled on his pants leg absently, his heartbeat skipping. "I don't think so," he said decisively.
"No? Not even one little detail?"
He shook his head.
"Darn. I was hoping I'd finally find out what those lips of his are like," she teased gently.
He dropped his foot to the floor and slapped his knees. "That's my cue to leave," he replied, standing.
Nora followed his lead, chuckling to herself. Jack thanked her again and left. He walked slowly back to his office, thinking that overall, the talk had gone fairly well. He was feeling pretty good, except for the acute protectiveness he was still experiencing. The urge to call Ed was strong, to find out how he'd fared, to hear his voice. He'd have to wait until the man was out of the office and could talk more freely.
He sat heavily at his desk, suddenly bone tired. His eyes glazed over as he stared at the papers strewn on the surface. They lit on one particular note. He smiled. It was from Serena, telling him that Detective Green had been there that morning, had poked through his coat pockets and taken something. Yes, he thought, Ed had taken something all right. Left something, too. He'd taken a piece of Jack's heart for a bit of his own. A very fair trade, considering. Considering Jack wanted to give Ed all of it. And no matter what Peter had said about getting swept away, he actually relished the idea of being overwhelmed while Ed gave all of his, too. He craved it.
Ed and Lennie got out of the unmarked car and approached the club. Ed always hated notifying family members, every cop did, but this time he particularly dreaded it. The lightness he'd been feeling after telling Lieu was rapidly disappearing, replaced by a cold, hard spot in the pit of his stomach.
"Crymson's Tide?" Lennie asked, chuckling.
"He grew up in Alabama," Ed explained. "Was a fanatic about the university. Woe be the person who'd bet against him during the NCAAs."
"Speaking from experience," Lennie said, slapping Ed on the shoulder.
Ed shook his head. "No, not me." His throat closed, just enough to make speaking difficult. He barely knew the man, and he would miss him. This place would never be the same. He pushed the door, and was relieved when it opened. He and Lennie entered the semi-dark establishment.
Inside, it didn't look that different than it did at night, for the windows were all shuttered to keep prying eyes out. There was no music, however, just the hum of conversation coming from groups of customers at tables around the main room. The more muted noises of a pool game coming from the other one.
They walked to the bar, and when the bartender turned, Ed recognized him. He reached into his pocket to get out his badge, but before he could flash it, the man spoke.
"Hey, Ed, don't usually see you here during the day. What can I get you?" Robert, a tall, burly man with a gold hoop in his ear leaned on the counter.
Ed showed him his badge, but again, before he could say anything, the bartender jumped in quickly.
"Oh, sorry, I must have mistaken you for someone else," he said, his eyes darting between Ed's and Lennie's.
"Robert," Ed responded, "it's okay - this is my partner, Detective Lennie Briscoe. He knows."
Robert exhaled loudly. "God, that's a relief. Pleasure to meet you, Detective." He nodded at Lennie who acknowledged the greeting with a flick of his hand. Robert continued, "Did you pick up the call on purpose? I figured it would be another five hours at least before anyone responded, just like always." He moved toward the center of the bar, the flap of wood that would allow him to escape.
"Wait a minute," Ed called him back, completely confused. He glanced at Lennie, who looked just as mystified. "What call? What are you talking about?"
"We were broken into last night. I called about two hours ago, to report it. They never show up until at least seven or eight hours have passed. You know how it goes. Fag bar - last on the list."
Lennie huffed. "Maybe they're just busy."
Ed raised his eyebrows and huffed in return. "Yeah, and maybe they just don't like coming in here - might catch something," he said sarcastically. "Trust me, Lennie, it's all part of the way things happen." He turned to Robert, taking a deep breath. "We'll take care of the burglary in a few minutes. We're homicide detectives. We've..." He faltered at the same moment that the man behind the bar paled, even in the low light of the club it was plain to see.
"Homicide?" Robert's voice was small.
Ed looked at Lennie, silently asking him to say it. He needed to step back, to regain his footing. Lennie took over immediately.
"Robert, I'm sorry to inform you that Crymson was murdered last night. We found him this morning. We need to ask you some questions..." He stopped, too, because the man being addressed had collapsed, his torso falling onto the wooden surface, arms splayed.
"Shit," Ed spat out under his breath as he raced to the flap, lifted it and got to Robert just as he was sinking to the floor. He held him as best he could, given the man had at least fifty pounds on him. Within less than thirty seconds, two patrons had come to help and between the three of them they got Robert to a chair. Someone wet a rag and put it on the back of his neck, until the big man finally came around. Lennie dismissed the assistants, gently, and herded them back to their respective tables. The silence that had descended upon the room broke as whispered conversations started.
Ed rubbed Robert's back, soothing him as best he could. "Hey, man, you okay?" he asked softly. Lennie sat down with them.
Robert covered his face and nodded. "Yeah, sorry. I'm sorry," he muttered. He moved his hands away and stared directly into Ed's eyes. "He's really dead? He can't be, he just can't be."
"He is," Ed answered, "and we need your help. Can you do it? Is there someone I can call?"
"Oh, fuck," Robert moaned quietly, "Anthony has to be called. Crymson's partner - he's in Europe on business. Oh, fuck..."
"That's okay - we'll take care of that if you want."
The man sat up a little straighter. "No, I should do it. It'll be better coming from me." Tears welled in his eyes and began to roll down his cheeks, and he wiped them absently. Ed's throat was closing again, and he had a brief worry that perhaps Lieu had been right. His emotions were getting the best of him.
"Robert," Lennie said, waiting for the man to look at him. Once they'd established eye contact, he continued. "Tell us about the burglary."
After a deep, shaky breath, Robert told them that the office had been broken into and the computer stolen. Nothing else was missing, though the room had been in disarray. He hadn't touched anything except the safe, to get the cash for the till. The alarm hadn't been set when he'd opened the club, which hadn't made sense to him. It still didn't. Crymson was religious about setting it - they'd had too many hassles, too many break-ins before getting the system installed. And the only people who had the alarm code were Crymson, his partner Anthony, and Robert.
"What about a cleaning service? You have one of those?" Lennie asked.
"Yes, but they come in every two days, in the mornings - one of us lets them in. Crymson thought it was safer that way."
"Did he work last night?"
Robert began to wring his hands. "He did, but he left a message on my machine asking me if I'd come and close up the place. I didn't get it - I wasn't home last night. He left another message at eleven thirty saying he was going to close, and if anyone came by today complaining about the early closure, they were to leave a note."
Lennie quirked an eyebrow. "Why should they do that?"
Robert smiled gently. "Because then he'd apologize, and give them a free drink coupon."
He turned to Ed. "I don't know how he managed to stay in business, you know?"
Remembering his own freebie, Ed nodded, and patted his arm. "Why are you sure the computer was stolen, and that Crymson just didn't take it home with him?"
"Well, the one here in the office is pretty old, and it was only the CPU that was taken, the monitor and keyboard are still there. Crymson has an up-to-date system at home. Besides, if he'd planned on taking it, he would have told me. I handle correspondence on Mondays, before I open the doors."
Lennie called Van Buren and informed her of the burglary, asking that they do the initial investigation. She agreed to contact the other precinct and cancel the report, then send over the CSU. Along with searching for clues to the perpetrator, they'd need to determine if Crymson was murdered there at the bar, as unlikely as that seemed.
Ed pulled out the photos of the other victims, and showed them to Robert. "You ever seen these people?"
"They're dead?" Ed nodded. Robert studied the photos intently, then pointed at Tom's. "Well, I know I've seen him around here. He's an occasional, you know? Comes in, picks someone up, leaves. Sometimes he's hung around for the evening, with other people, so I'm sure someone here would recognize him."
"Did you ever see him talking to Crymson, for any length of time, other than placing an order?"
Robert shook his head. "No, I don't think they knew each other. Crymson is... was pretty effusive with his friends." Tears welled again, and after meeting Lennie's eyes, Ed asked the bartender to show them the office and alarm system.
They walked through the hallway that connected the bar to the game room where the office was. Two large bathrooms came off that hallway. There was another door there - Robert told them it held cleaning supplies and general maintenance supplies: tools, a couple of ladders, paint, light bulbs. The door was kept locked; the key was kept in the desk in the office.
One of the many framed photos that lined the hallway caused Lennie to pull up short. "No way," he said to Ed, pointing to a well known actor.
"Um, yes," Ed replied.
"Look, I know that being married doesn't mean anything - but he married women much younger than he was. He's..."
"He's an icon of heterosexuality, I know. But in the thirties, when he was young, he lived with another famous actor, they had equally famous gay parties, huge, weekend long parties with every gay and lesbian in Hollywood attending. The studios finally put a stop to it."
Ed kept walking, and when Lennie caught up to him, the man was still muttering and shaking his head. Ed sighed to himself, wishing for the millionth time that reality was different than it actually was. Wishing, too, that he could talk to Jack. Simply hear his voice. The man hadn't been at his desk when he'd called on the way to the club. Ed would have to wait a little while longer before finding out if Jack was okay. Before feeling more grounded himself.
Jack finished reading the final case law on his list. He put pen to paper, starting to summarize the salient points for his argument. His office was quiet, his mind was occupied, his pen was moving. This was almost his favorite part of the job, secondary only to standing in front of a jury and pleading the people's case. He was in the middle of a sentence when he heard the door to his office open and close and without looking up he lifted his hand to forestall speech. He finished his thought and raised his head. His heart skipped a beat. Anita Van Buren was perched on the edge of the table in front of his desk.
"Lieutenant," he said, as calmly as he could, "did we have a meeting I've forgotten? Please, have a seat."
"I'm fine, thank you, counselor. No, there was no meeting scheduled. I'm here to discuss the situation with Ed." She folded her arms.
"The situation?" He knew he was being perverse, but he needed a moment to gather his thoughts.
"Yes," she answered slowly, "the situation of you and one of my detectives having a clandestine relationship."
"I fail to see how this is your concern," he retorted.
"You've brought your personal life into my squad room, and that's not something I particularly like. You've made it my concern. I'll not have this relationship clouding the integrity of my investigations."
He deliberately leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. His pulse was pounding and he willed it down, not wanting his headache to return. "How exactly do you see that happening?"
"Have you told the District Attorney?" she evaded. "Because if you haven't, I will."
Relaxation was now impossible. He shot out of his seat and slapped the surface of the desk. "Now, just a minute, here, Anita - you have no right to make that decision."
"So you haven't told her, Jack?"
"I didn't say that," he spat out. "I have told her, and only her. Between this office and your squad room, just three people beside Ed and myself know. And I think that the odds of anything bad happening are much greater in your purview than in mine."
Her eyes narrowed. "What are you implying?"
"I'm not implying - I'm stating. I should be the one demanding assurances here! If anything happens to Ed, if he's suddenly accident prone, or if heaven forbid he gets shot at and I find the least hint that it's coming from behind the blue wall - I will come after you with everything in my power." He jabbed a finger in her direction. "Everything. No plea bargains, no deals!" His chest was heaving just enough to make him want to lean back against the ledge, but he didn't move.
She stood, sliding off the table, and showed the hint of a smile. "I see. Well that's certainly fair. Thank you. I've got the answer to my question."
Now he was even angrier. "What question?" he demanded.
"You've managed to let me know that you care very much what happens to Ed. This isn't some," she waved her hand in the air, "little excursion to the other side for you. Did you forget? I used to be a detective, too, and one of my areas of expertise was how to get a confession - and information."
He stared at her. "Why the hell didn't you just ask me, Anita?"
She stared back. "You think you would have told me? Uh uh. You would have waved me right out of here. So I apologize. I needed to know if this was as serious as Ed had implied, and whether or not Nora knew. Now she and I can discuss, unemotionally, the possible ramifications. Not to make your life difficult, or Ed's, just to protect ourselves."
His ass landed on the ledge as the energy drained out of him. He crossed his arms and tried to formulate a response.
"Jack," she said seriously. He met her eyes. "I give you my personal assurance that no one on the force will hear it from me."
"Thank you."
She said her good-byes and left, presumably for Nora's office. Jack sighed deeply and turned around, raising the wooden blinds and looking down on the street below. Just three and a half days before he'd done the same thing. It astonished him how much a life could change in such a short period of time. Swept away, indeed.
In the alley, Ed and Lennie stood just outside the back door of the club, looking carefully at the paint on the door and surrounding area. So far, nothing obvious was apparent on any of the surfaces. They'd finished in the office just as CSU had arrived. They'd left the technicians there, picking up what was likely an abundance of fingerprints.
Robert had been accurate in his description of the room's condition. The safe had appeared untouched, the lock to the office door had appeared untouched, some file drawers had been opened but Robert said he couldn't think of any files that were missing. There was just the empty space on the side of the desk, against the wall, where the computer's CPU should have stood.
It hadn't looked to either Ed or Lennie that the shooting could have taken place in the office, there was just too much clutter around. Blood would have been impossible to clean from it all. But the ME had estimated time of death to be between one and two a.m. So assuming Crymson had closed the club at 11:30, as he'd said, he'd pretty much walked straight to his death.
They'd also been assuming that since the owner of the club hadn't had any keys on his body, the killer had them, and therefore could have gotten in anywhere. Except that this place had an alarm, immediately inside the back door. Which had been disabled, or turned off in a conventional way. The alarm company had said that nothing unusual had shown up in their system.
Ed left Lennie scrutinizing the back door and looked up to see if a fire escape was available.
"This is clean, too," Lennie said, in front of the lock, "either a key or a really good pick was used. I'll tell them to dust here anyway."
"Well," Ed responded, "there's not really another way to get into this place - just the door. If this was a burglary connected to the murder, Lennie, it could be professional. Unless they grabbed Crymson while he was still here, took the computer, and him and left. But the only thing on an outdated CPU that would be worth anything would be the data stored on it."
"Any rumor of drug deals here?"
"No," Ed said emphatically. "That I'd never believe."
They were interrupted by a young man coming up to them from the street. He told them he lived in a building that also backed up onto the alley and asked if something had happened at the bar. He'd seen the police cars out front. He seemed nervous, but Ed's radar kicked in, so he asked the man if he patronized the Tide and if he'd seen anything the night before. Ed made clear, calm eye contact with him, and it was only then that he started to talk.
He worked an early shift, and therefore got up before dawn to take his morning run. He'd seen a car parked in the alley around 4:30 that morning, right outside the back door to the club. Suspicious, knowing the history of harassment, he'd raced back up to his apartment and watched from the window. A man had exited, carrying a large box which he placed in the car. Then the man had closed the back door to the building and drove off.
"I wrote down as much of the license plate as I saw," the young man finished, "I'm afraid it was only the first four digits. But the car was a dark color, probably brown, except under the streetlights it's sometimes hard to tell. I think it was a Chevy Camaro. Maybe recent."
Lennie grinned at him. "How do you know that?"
"My dad's got one - looked about the same. His is a ninety-five."
They took him inside the building, where they could sit and write down the details of his statement, hopefully draw out a description of the man. Ed still had the patrons there to talk to, to show Tom's photo to, and find someone to identify him for the record. CSU would also be checking the bathrooms, just in case Crymson had been shot there and somehow, miraculously, had his blood cleaned up to such an extent as to be unnoticeable.
Ed considered the obvious - that the burglar was the killer. If so, he'd managed to kill the owner, clean up the blood, transport the victim's body to the site where it had been found, return to the bar, steal the computer and leave at around 4:30 in the morning. To Ed, that made no sense. Why not just take the CPU along with the body? Unless the body was in the car already. But would it have taken two to three hours to clean up some blood? And why bother? Someone would eventually make the club owner - he was too well known. Why buy a couple of days time by cleaning up after yourself? That was risky. It still made little sense to Ed.
While Lennie took the young man's statement, Ed prepared to question the men in the bar. Those who had been willing to stick around, which were most of them. His hand was itching to grab his cell phone, find a quiet corner, and call Jack. It was mid-afternoon. Dinner together seemed unlikely. He sighed and took out the first two victims' photos as he approached the first table.
After the fourth group of people, Ed still hadn't found anyone who had information about Tom, though a number of the men did recognize him. No one knew the woman. Luckily, it hadn't taken much time before he found one who knew Tom by name. This man thought perhaps some friends of his might know more; they'd be at the Tide that night. He took down their names and phone numbers, which was as much as the man felt comfortable providing, no matter how many assurances Ed gave him that he was one of them.
Then Ed's phone rang, and his heart started to pound, but it was Van Buren asking for an update. He told her they were waiting for information about the four license plate digits combined with the make of car, combined with an owner who was also a burglar. They'd received permission from Crymson's partner, through Robert, to search the victim's apartment that they shared. She was pleased they were making some headway, and promised to follow up with Stewart about the license plate. He cut the connection and went back to interviewing.
The CSU technicians finished with the bathrooms, much to the relief of Robert, for it meant he could open for business again. They'd also checked the cleaning supplies for blood. There was no indication that Crymson had been murdered in his own establishment. Ed felt a very private relief at that, but not necessarily on a personal level. At the very least, the Tide could continue, without the added horror of being the scene of the owner's death. Robert looked long and hard at Ed when he told him the results. In any other circumstances, he would have given the man what he wanted and needed, which was a simple hug. Ed knew it, could read it clearly, and didn't feel comfortable doing it.
His phone rang again, and this time it was Jack. It felt like days since Ed had been sitting next to the man in Anne's. His heart ached to hear Jack's voice, and as he walked to a quiet corner of the game room with the phone to his ear, he thought he might crawl right out of his skin. He longed for him. Jack was leaving work for the day and wanted to see him, even if only for ten minutes; there was something he needed to talk about. Ed wanted to cry out, 'Yes, get your ass over here now, please!' -- but he merely agreed and said he'd wait there no matter what. He had to finish the conversation, or Jack would never arrive. His hands tingled as he pressed the 'end' button.
Ed knew it the minute Jack walked into the club, though his back was to the door. Lennie was questioning men a few tables away, and before turning around, Ed went up to his partner and said he'd be back in fifteen. Lennie glanced over Ed's shoulder and merely nodded. Finally, Ed turned and immediately locked eyes with the man he was yearning to touch. They smiled, Ed approached, said, "Come on," and led Jack to the office. He didn't think it would bother Robert if they took advantage of the privacy afforded there.
Once the door was shut behind them, Jack dropped his briefcase and they stepped into a close embrace, each letting out a loud sigh as contact was made. One of Jack's hands found its way under Ed's suit, and the feel of those fingers moving across his back, with only one layer of fabric keeping skin from touching skin was almost too much for him. He knew Jack wanted to talk about something, but right then, Ed's mouth had a different need. He shifted his head enough to look deeply into Jack's eyes and saw want, and trust, and what he thought might be love. Might really be love.
His heart took off just as Jack kissed him, with a mesmerizing kiss, a soft-hard kiss, a slow kiss of heat, and seduction. Ed's knees were already weakening, his pulse was beginning to hum, his own hands were starting to do things. Like try to remove Jack's coat, and when that was impossible, with their lips now working together in a near frenzy, his hands dove under the bulky clothes to the man's back. He tried to get them under the waistband but failed at that, too. The kisses deepened, a moan came out of his throat; he wanted Jack so badly he was about to push him down on the desk and tear his clothes off.
Reason somehow intruded, pulled their lips apart, sent messages to their brains, attempted to calm their heaving lungs, their heated arousal. Their foreheads rested together.
"Hi," Jack said, starting to grin.
Ed chuckled and squeezed the man's ass. "Hi." His phone rang and he swore. They let go of each other and with a still somewhat shaky hand, he answered it. Stewart was calling with a hit on the car. Ed dug out his notebook and wrote the information down, repeating it back to make sure that his mind had really engaged enough to be coherent. His blood was still humming. He sat on the edge of the desk after ending the call.
"This case, Jack, is getting more and more complicated," he said, reaching for the belt loops on Jack's jeans and pulling the man closer.
"If you two are going to get dinner, I could tag along, you could tell me all the ins and outs." Jack touched the back of Ed's neck, running his thumb over it, sending small shivers down Ed's spine.
"That would be nice." He smiled up at him. "So - what did you want to talk about? Tell me, before I start to unfasten your pants."
Jack laughed, and Ed's heart skipped to hear it. "Well," Jack said, coughing slightly to calm down, "I realize it's a bit soon to talk about this, but our circumstances warrant it. I am uncomfortable leaving your apartment only half-locked when you get called in early. I think it would be prudent for us to exchange keys, given our schedules."
Ed stared at him, even though he tried not to. Jack wanted to do keys. He wanted to ravish him right there on the desk, more than earlier.
"Ed? Have I scared the hell out of you? We can say it's merely for safety reasons, if that would make you feel better." Jack cupped his cheek.
"No, no, you just keep shocking me, that's all. I have no problem with it," he reassured him. "None."
"Good. Then give me yours and I'll go make copies," Jack said.
"Only if you tell me what happened with the DA."
"It went fine - I also had a visit from Van Buren this afternoon." He grinned slightly. "I'll tell you at dinner, if there's time, otherwise later. I want to hear how it went for you, too."
Ed handed him his keys, explaining which ones were for the doors. He knew he had to get back to work, but also figured Lennie must have finished up with people by now. He was hungry and his brain was tired. They needed to sit, and discuss, and decide what would be the next step, how much they'd try to do before quitting for the night.
He pulled Jack tightly to him for a minute, resting his cheek against his lover's chest. Accepting the caresses running across his shoulders, and feeling incredibly blessed. His love was new, and directed toward a man who was alive, whose heartbeat he could hear under his ear. His throat constricted as he thought of Anthony, waiting at an airport in Paris for a plane that would bring him home to an empty apartment. He breathed in the scent of Jack and swallowed, hard, vowing to never take this for granted. Not ever.
Dinner was at a gay-friendly restaurant in the immediate neighborhood, at Ed's request. Lennie had consented, with some good-natured grousing, that was appeased when he'd been told they served the best hamburgers around. It wasn't the food that Ed had wanted, however, he had a need that could only be safely taken care of in that place. Ed knew he'd have difficulty, that evening, keeping his hands to himself, and he didn't want to be fighting it. Not then, not with the day he'd had. So, after Jack had finally joined them, he'd given himself permission to touch the man, simply because he could.
It was a good decision, because once Jack had slipped Ed's key ring into his hand, under the table, he'd been unable to control his impulses. He'd looked at the ring, and the three shiny keys newly added, and then at Jack's smiling face, and had put a hand on the back of Jack's neck. He'd rubbed it while he said thank you, ignoring Lennie completely, then had put the keys back into his pocket. His hand had drifted downward, and stayed, resting on the lower back of the man sitting to his right in the booth. He needed it there. Jack didn't seem to mind. At all.
The three of them discussed what was known about the case while they ate. The computer had matched the car and license plate with a man who had two prior convictions for felony burglary, and three acquittals. Not wanting to return to the precinct, Lennie had called to get details. Don Marsh was known for burglarizing high end neighborhoods in Westchester and Connecticut. His specialty was entering places with alarm systems, getting in and out without the alarm companies knowing a thing. He stole jewelry, mostly, and had no history of any type of assault or violence. He cased his victims' residences carefully. He was no longer on parole, but the last known address was in the city and from what Stewart summarized, the man had lived in the city his entire life.
"A professional burglar coming to the Tide to steal a ten year old CPU?" Ed asked, stating the obvious.
"Not a killer," Jack agreed.
"Hey," Lennie said, swallowing his french fry, "if I needed someone to get past an alarm system, he's the person I'd hire. I wonder how this fits with Skoda's profile? Does this serial killer hire help? Clean my house, do my taxes, steal this vic's computer - works for me."
"Must have paid him fairly well, I'd guess," Ed said. "Make it worth his while."
"Assuming this is the burglar," Jack added. "Four digits of a plate, an eyewitness looking at the car in the darkness - I've been in that alley at night, it's lit only by a streetlight and the lights over the doorways of the buildings."
"But he saw the plate from the street," Lennie argued. "And I'd make him as a reliable witness."
"Yeah," Ed agreed, "he was certain about what he saw and what he didn't see. I don't think he could pick the guy out of a lineup, but he could pick the car."
Jack nodded. "Find out what Don Marsh has to say for himself."
Lennie suggested it was time to call Van Buren, since there were more things to follow up on that night than the two of them could handle. He gave her the run down. She said they should concentrate on Crymson's apartment and getting an ID on the other two victims. Someone else would track down Mr. Marsh, and hopefully by morning they'd have the fingerprint analyses from the club.
Emotions were a curious thing, Ed thought to himself. He was sitting at Crymson's desk, in the man's apartment, his professional demeanor and attitude clamped firmly down on his own feelings. Allowing himself no leeway. He was the detective who had begged for this case. He would do anything to find this man's killer. And yet, he couldn't quite pull it off. All throughout the day, he'd had a spot of trouble here and there. A wave of sadness. Of regret. Moving through him. Of need. Of hunger. A desire to get lost in loving Jack. To crawl under his covers and stay entwined in him.
The keys in his pocket were fast becoming a talisman. He'd finger them, and take a deep breath, and renew his vow. At some point over the course of dinner, he'd added something to it. To bring some closure to Anthony. A man he'd never met, but knew by sight.
"Ed," Lennie said quietly from the other side of the desk, "you okay?"
"Yeah, I am. This is just a little strange for me - to be looking through his things, you know? He was someone who was easy to admire, and like." He took a breath. "I'll be okay, let's just get this day over with and do the best we can. I'm ready to be home."
Lennie smiled at him. "Okay, partner. I'm going to look in the bedroom. Maybe he kept a journal or something."
Ed nodded. Lennie left the room. They'd both been surprised to find that the household's personal computer was gone when they'd arrived. But surprised for only a moment. They didn't know if the killer had taken it, or Anthony, or even Marsh. If it had been the killer, he had used the key or keys, from the state of the building's security. Ed assumed from what was left of the computer system that what was missing was a laptop. An easy enough machine to put under your arm and walk out the door with. What in the world was the killer after? Or worried about?
He opened up the last drawer. Papers and files were there, that he looked through carefully. Everything pertained either to the organizing committee for the annual parade the following summer or other, smaller, things Crymson had been involved with. They hadn't yet come across a date book, or a personal phone book.
Lennie came back into the room. "Found it. A palm something," he said, showing a handheld computer. "It was under his mattress. You know how to work these?"
"I think so." Ed took it and turned it on, but couldn't get past the first screen. "We'll have to wait for Anthony to get back - needs a password. For all we know, it might be his anyway." He pulled a plastic bag out of his coat pocket and put the device in it. "I didn't find anything in the desk - at least not anything obvious. I think we'll have to wait until tomorrow."
"Let's leave him a note, and our cards. Horrible thing to have to deal with when he walks through the door, but can't be helped." Lennie sighed loudly and pulled a card out of his pocket.
The atmosphere at the club was different than Ed had ever experienced. The music was quiet, there was a lot of talking and little dancing. The dancing that men were doing was slow dancing. Clearly, Robert had spread the word of Crymson's death. The mood was not entirely somber, however, just muted.
As soon as he and Lennie walked through the door, he saw Peter, Bob, and the rest of his friends. They must have come on someone's call - Monday night wasn't their usual gathering time. Ed deliberately brought his partner to them and introduced him, explaining what had happened that day, whom he'd told, so there would be no confusion. Lennie handled it all with his usual aplomb, even chuckling at one of Peter's quips.
The man who'd identified Tom earlier came up to them; the men who could help further were playing pool. As he and Lennie moved away from his friends, Peter met his eye and motioned that he wanted to speak to Ed alone. Ed held up his hand to indicate five minutes.
They interviewed the pool players. One of them did know more about Tom. He worked in a bank, not as a teller, but in some other capacity. No last name was known, but this man had seen Tom a few months back, during a lunch hour, eating at a sidewalk cafe. They noted the street. Ed hoped it would help them narrow down the bank search. He gave them each his card, in case they remembered anything else.
On the way back to the bar, he stopped Lennie in the hallway. "I don't relish the thought of having to talk to each and every one of these people here - it'll take hours at least."
As Lennie opened his mouth to answer, Peter came dashing up to them.
"Eddie," his friend said quickly, "Love, you look absolutely done in. So I have an idea, that will help you get home faster." Peter's eyes bore into his.
He understood the man's pointed comment. "Pete - Lennie knows about Jack, it's okay. And you're right, I've about had it. What's your idea?"
After they both heard it, Ed deferred to the senior detective to give the okay. Lennie didn't hesitate. Ed assumed the older man had had his fill of the Tide for one day, and he really couldn't blame him for that. Ten minutes later, they were standing behind Peter who was talking into a microphone on the makeshift stage by the dance floor. The patrons were introduced to the homicide detectives and told what information was needed to help them solve Crymson's murder. Peter followed directions precisely, telling everyone that Ed and Lennie needed to know about the banker named Tom who occasioned the place, and if anyone had seen anything unusual on Sunday night. The detectives would be at the bar and would leave their cards with Robert. Then the music was turned on again, and Ed and Lennie sat on barstools, waiting.
After twenty minutes, two more men had come up to them to confirm the information they had about Tom. Neither of them recognized the woman vic. Neither of them thought Tom had known Crymson. Ed could have hugged Peter, and after another five minutes got his chance as he and his partner made their way to the front door.
"Take care of yourself, Eddie," Peter whispered in his ear as they embraced.
"Love you," he murmured.
"Back at you. Say hi to Jack, and call me tomorrow." Peter let go and addressed his final comment to both of them. "We're counting on you to find the bastard who did this," he stated forcefully.
Ed noticed the eyes of a number of men at nearby tables on him, and Lennie. He focused on his best friend, and nodded. Lennie was the one to make the verbal assurance. Ed's heart was heavy as they left. He didn't say a word.
Finally home in his apartment, Ed had just two tasks to accomplish before he could go to Jack's for the night. Pack what was becoming his usual bag; a thought that actually thrilled the hell out of him. And send an email to his brothers and sisters behind what they called, amongst themselves, the pink wall. The agreement between them was that if any one of them came out, they'd notify everyone on their mailing list. The new parameters of an officer's existence at work would be understood, just in case.
He sent the email, ignoring the number of unread things that downloaded into his inbox unless they were from other officers. He told them about Crymson's murder, asking for any help anyone could offer. Told them about Tom, and about the mysterious woman, asking the lesbians on the list to get in touch with him, he'd meet them anywhere to show them the vic's photo. He felt much better after sending the letter out. Even though electronic, this was also his community. He understood them, and they understood him. He'd need to find time the following day to come home and check his email.
He pulled on a sweatshirt over his jeans, grabbed his overcoat and bag and left, locking each lock on the door. The new keys on his ring shone in the hall light. He smiled as he trotted down the stairs.
Jack was relaxing in his easy chair, listening to some soft jazz with a single scotch at his elbow. He wasn't reading anything, wasn't thinking about work or what bills he had to pay. His bare feet rested on the ottoman. His eyes were closed. He wore some flannel pajama bottoms and a tee shirt. To him, this was almost the ultimate in comfort.
The warmth of the scotch spread from his stomach to his blood. The day's events finally hit him fully and completely. He'd taken yet another stand. Placed himself rather firmly in one camp, solely because he'd fallen in love with one man. He knew now he had fallen. Rather quickly, too. Slipped, and fell. And when, once again, the vision of Ed appeared in front of him, he also knew without a doubt that he really wouldn't have it any other way.
He heard the scrape of a key in his lock and his heart went flying. He decided to stay right where he was, just for the little thrill. Of sitting, in his chair, in his pj's, as his lover came through his door.
Ed entered and their eyes locked. A smile, complete with sparkling irises, greeted him. His own smile broke out across his face. Ed hung up his coat and, still smiling, carried his bag into the living room. He dropped it a yard away, then pulled the ottoman out from under Jack's feet, but Jack didn't complain. He helped, placing his feet on the floor, parting his legs when Ed kneeled in front of him. Touching the man's waist when Ed leaned on the soft arms of the easy chair, and dipped his head, and kissed him.
The heat in Jack's blood burned hotter as Ed's lips moved persuasively over his, as the force of the kisses pushed his head further into the headrest, as he slid his hands under Ed's sweatshirt and caressed his warm skin. As Ed moaned softly. He opened his mouth and begged the man to plunder, to take what he needed, to give what he wanted. Ed did, smoothly and without a moment's hesitation. Jack floated, their tongues doing what their bodies were aching to do. Doing what they were now expert at doing. Driving them. Closer.
Ed knew that he'd have to move, but there, beneath the covers, with Jack under him, wrapped around him, thrusting against him, kissing him, he almost didn't want to. And yet. To forego the ultimate pleasure of their joining was not an option. And yet. It just felt so damned good for their bodies to writhe, with Jack's legs holding them tightly together, his hands running up and down Ed's back, their mouths enmeshed. He could feel a climax building steadily as their erections hardened between them, and got more and more slick. He tore his mouth away and pressed his face to Jack's neck, trying to slow himself down.
Jack was breathing heavily in his ear. He felt a hand caress his head, and neck. "I love you," Jack murmured softly.
Ed's heart stopped along with his body. He moved enough to look at the man under him. His eyes were closed, but the smallest of smiles was showing. "Jack." He could barely speak. Jack opened his eyes. He didn't know how to ask.
"What," Jack said, his own voice still quiet, and deep.
"What you just said," he tried.
Jack smiled fully. "I meant it."
He still didn't know what to say, so he dropped his head and took Jack's mouth. Took it, every square inch of it, his heart soaring, his lust overwhelming him. Jack's arm fell to the side of them, somewhere, he wasn't sure. Then, suddenly, Jack wrenched his mouth out from under the onslaught and he flashed a condom in Ed's face.
"Do it," Jack said, almost pleading, "love me, Ed."
"Oh, God," Ed moaned. He took the condom, and the man's mouth again, needing to taste him one more time before he did as his lover asked. He would take him, love him, bind them together. Under the covers. In their own world. In the dark of the night.
Return to the Law & Order index