Disclaimer: NBC, MCA/Universal and Wolf Films owns them.
Rating: R
Summary: Part 9. The investigation takes a turn.
Author's Note: Thank you to Cirocco, for the fanonized Joanna.
Copyright February 2003 Cassatt
"Ed," Lennie said to him as he entered the conference room with Jack, "we were right. Ryerson's statements from his apartment match up with the accounts at the bank -- but there's no sign of any payments to the gallery. There's a missing account or two at an unknown bank. Our perp must have taken the files from his apartment."
Ed put the box of food down and started to pass out sandwiches and drinks. "What does the gallery owner say?"
Serena answered, "She's faxing us copies of the checks as soon as she finds them."
He reached across the table with her lunch, which she took without making any eye contact. It wasn't merely distraction, or because she was about to speak to someone else. He got the very distinct impression that she was deliberately avoiding the interaction. "Is that the right sandwich?" he asked, to see what she'd do.
"Yes, it's fine," she answered, glancing briefly somewhere past his shoulder before unwrapping her food.
Jack took his lunch from the box and met his eyes. He'd noticed, too.
Ed spoke directly to his partner as he brought his own food to the other side of the table. "So we stick with our original theory that the blackmail payments will show on the missing accounts." He sat down next to Jack.
"Yeah," Lennie said around a bite of pastrami. "Abbott's accounts don't have any unusual deposits, either. But," he passed Ed and Jack a paper, "something we missed the first time through with these. Look at the amount of money she opened her first account with...."
Ed looked. "Ten thousand dollars? She could have just thought it would be expensive to live here."
Jack nudged him in the arm, then pointed to the statement. "But a month later she's written a check for five thousand." He asked both Lennie and Serena, "Do we know who that was made out to?"
Serena finished swallowing her diet soda, nodding her head. "Her parents."
Ed was staring at the date of the check, when it finally clicked. "Two weeks after the parade..." He checked her deposits for that month. "One week after, what looks like, her first paycheck. These are paychecks, aren't they?" he asked Serena.
Again, she wouldn't look at him, but rather darted her eyes around the table as she answered. "Yes, they are."
It was all he could do not to say something about Serena's reactions to Jack. It was all he could do not to say to her, "hey, look at me when you speak!" Old, familiar, gnawing feelings were beginning to settle in his stomach. Anger, when white cops, or white classmates did the same thing. Looked through him, or past him. Now was not the time, and racism was not the issue, of that much he was certain -- but whether it was because he and Jack had disappeared for half an hour, or it was latent, he didn't know. Either way, he had no choice but to ignore her attitude.
Lennie must have sensed something, because he continued the conversation, smoothly transitioning it to his theory of why Karen Abbott had sent her parents money, when she'd just left them in Wisconsin the month before. The four of them ate, and went over a few possible scenarios. Serena said she'd call Mr. and Mrs. Abbott as soon as she'd finished. Ed found himself distracted during the conversation, his thoughts occasionally wandering to the man sitting at his left, deep kisses near the roof, and the piece of paper burning a hole in his pants' pocket.
It was while the meal's detritus was being gathered that he had a moment's privacy to read Jack's note. He opened it under the edge of the table, and tried very hard to keep his emotions firmly in check as he read. It wasn't easy, for the surge in his chest caused his breath to catch. "You make me feel like I'm 25 years old. J" He glanced to his left; Jack was sitting down again after adding his trash to the box. The man winked, and smiled. Ed wanted to kiss him. Instead, he reached behind to the breast pocket of his suit jacket, hanging on the chair, and pulled out his notebook. He wrote a response, folded it, and handed it to Jack under the table.
"Just like in school," Jack said under his breath.
Ed grinned. "Yeah." He watched the other man put the note in his shirt pocket and tap it, for effect. Serena's voice pierced Ed's reverie.
"We need to go over Crymson's records," she said in a stern voice.
Very much like school, Ed thought. He didn't answer her. He pulled a file folder in front of him and while Serena went to the phone, he and Lennie started to correlate accounts and account activity.
Jack was carefully reading everything in Crymson's file on the appointment of Richard Woodbridge. As he'd finish, he'd hand a paper to Ed, who would hand it to Lennie in turn when he was done. For the time being, a more detailed analysis of Crymson's books was on hold. The initial study substantiated Anthony's claim that everything was on the up and up. Serena was still talking to Karen Abbott's parents at the far end of the room.
"Money," Ed said to him. He looked up. "It keeps pointing back to money." Jack nodded.
"What do you mean?" Lennie asked.
"Woodbridge was recommended for the position by one of the mayor's friends," Ed answered. "Woodbridge gave a lot of money to various gay charities and services." Ed read from the sheet in his hand. "Human Rights Campaign Fund, a local AIDS hospice, Empire State Pride Agenda, the Gay Men's Health Crisis, amfAR, etcetera..."
Jack said, "He looks like one of the good guys, on paper."
Ed passed it to Lennie and took out his phone. "Well, I'm going to check and see whether or not he's a liar, too." He hit a few buttons and put the phone to his ear. "Yes -- Providence, Rhode Island. Brown University." After a moment, he put his hand over it. "Jack -- which office has information on alumni?"
"Registrar," Jack answered.
Ed relayed the choice to the operator, and after getting the number, dialled. He stood and walked away from the table, and once again, Jack heard the man he loved smooth talking a clerk in a low voice. Jack knew what he wanted the answer to be, even though the consequences of that answer could possibly cause his boss one major headache. He went back to reading the minutes of one of the numerous meetings held about the appointment. What stood out for him was the fact that Crymson had actually been very quiet about his reservations, at least according to the printed record.
"Well, well," Ed said as he snapped his phone shut. "It seems Mr. Woodbridge is a liar. He never set foot in a classroom at Brown University."
"And nobody checked?" Lennie asked.
Jack grinned and leaned forward. "Who's going to check what someone says about where they went to college? Who would think that he'd falsify something like that? I'd hazard a guess that seventy-five percent of employers don't check that kind of reference. And this man was given to the committee by the mayor. They probably assumed that his office had looked into it."
Ed snorted. "And the mayor's office probably assumed that the person recommending him knew that he was a college graduate."
"So, Ed, you're calling..." But before Lennie could finish his sentence, Ed's phone was opened again; he was nodding to his partner and getting the number for the University of Wisconsin at Madison.
Jack showed Lennie the minutes he'd been reading, pointing out the lack of objection to Woodbridge by Crymson. They split up the remaining stack of minutes and skimmed them, looking for any indication that the victim had said anything in public about his private reservations. Serena hung up the phone at almost the same time that Ed ended his conversation.
Jack didn't need to hear Ed's confirmation; he could see it clearly from the spark in his eyes and the set of his mouth.
Ed said, "He went to Madison all right. But he didn't graduate -- he dropped out before his senior year. They don't know why, of course. However, he was a local boy. He was living in Middleton, which the woman said is the next town over. I convinced her to look a little further -- turns out he was living there at the time of his application, too. Came from Middleton High School."
Lennie stabbed the papers in front of him with one finger. "Well, I don't think the guy was being blackmailed because he lied about college. If he was being blackmailed." He looked to Serena. "What did the parents have to say?"
She pursed her lips. "Karen Abbott didn't borrow the money from them that she brought with her to New York. She sent them five thousand because Mr. Abbott needed some help with medical expenses, and she continued to send them a few thousand each month up until this one. They gave me the name of the bank -- she was transferring directly to their account. Interestingly, about fourteen years ago, she'd been able to do the same thing. Gave them money on a routine basis, which she did for almost four years. They don't have their statements from that time period."
Jack asked her, "Did they need it fourteen years ago? Like they do now?"
"Yes, but eventually they got a settlement from a lawsuit so they didn't need her help."
"What was the lawsuit about?" Ed asked.
Serena looked at her notes. "An industrial accident at the plant where Mr. Abbott worked. Apparently, it wasn't that big of a settlement, but they were doing okay until he was diagnosed with cancer two years ago."
"And," Ed continued, "what do they know about her life while she was in college?"
"They don't know much, unfortunately. Karen kept things pretty much to herself. She dated a few men, but they didn't know their names. They just said that she worked hard, and finished with a BA in art history. They finally remembered that she had a friend named Tom, but I had to prod that out of them, so it could have been Tim, or Tony." She shrugged.
Jack couldn't fail to notice that she kept her eyes firmly on the notes, or on Lennie, with an occasional glance to him. It was starting to get under his skin, but he couldn't say anything.
"Wait a minute," Lennie said, "how did she explain having money to give them right after getting out of college?"
"They weren't very forthcoming about that, but from what I gather, Karen told them she'd made a good investment and had saved the proceeds," Serena answered. "So I'll get the records from this new bank..."
"Which," Ed said pointedly, "were not anywhere in her apartment."
"This bastard is smart," Lennie said with disgust.
Ed's eyes darted to Jack's and stayed. "We'll nail the son-of-a-bitch," Jack replied to the room, keeping the eye lock, "because we'll be smarter." Ed nodded to him.
"So," Ed said, finally looking away, "where are we?"
Once everyone was seated again, they discussed what would be next in the investigation. There had been no phone calls to Woodbridge by Crymson the weekend he was murdered, and only the one email on Friday morning that had gone unanswered. It was clear that if the two men had been in contact it had happened Sunday evening, since Crymson hadn't known he'd be closing early until then. LUDs from pay phones in the area surrounding the club would need to be obtained. More bank records, for both Abbott and Ryerson, were needed. LUDs from their homes showed no phone calls to Woodbridge either. Follow up with their employer's phone records was necessary, though they all agreed that it didn't seem likely that the victims would have called their extortion target while they were at work. Ed said that he wished he could interview people at Ryerson's office in Chicago, just to see if anyone had been friends with him, or knew anything about his college life. Lennie muttered his agreement.
Jack knew that he and Serena would have to talk to Nora, and soon. The DA, herself, had been recommended for her temporary appointment by the mayor, and their relationship was a close one. After reading Crymson's file on the committee's work, Jack was convinced that Anthony was absolutely right about Richard Woodbridge. They had nothing concrete to link the man to the murders, no reason to bring him in for questioning, no sufficient grounds for a search warrant. Everything they knew was circumstantial, at best. If he were in charge of this case, he'd be sending Ed and Lennie to Madison, Wisconsin, to see what they could dig up. He agreed with Lennie. This blackmail scenario fit, and it had nothing to do with falsifying a man's college education.
Ed had just ended a phone call to the precinct, asking Reina to get pay phone LUDs that he and Lennie could look over that afternoon. His cell rang. It was Van Buren. A body had been pulled out of the East River that matched the description of Don Marsh. His heart sank; he told her they'd be right there and that they had things to talk to her about later. He shoved his chair back from the table as he stood, his disappointment turning to something much darker. He'd really hoped, deep down, that eventually Marsh would turn up -- alive. With a confession, and information. A link to the killer. He told Lennie what had happened, while putting on his jacket and stuffing his phone in the pocket. Lennie stood and prepared to leave, too.
Ed looked at Jack, and he knew that no words were necessary. Grim, piercing eyes met his in anger and frustration. Understanding, love, and the knowledge that they'd talk later also passed between them. He inclined his head, accepting the silent support. Then he grabbed his overcoat and he and Lennie left. As they walked to the elevator, Lennie muttered something.
"What?" he asked him.
"Let's stop at the precinct on our way -- get Marsh's mug shot..."
"Yeah," he answered in a low voice.
Lennie punched the call button. "This guy is pissing me off," he said quietly, but with force. "I know this isn't unexpected -- but still, I'd held out a tiny sliver of hope."
"Yeah." It was all he could say.
"Damn it," Jack spat out. No sooner had he said it than the door opened and one of their paralegals handed Serena a few pages of fax.
"Copies of Ryerson's payments to the gallery," Serena said to him, perusing the documents. "Interesting -- it's the same bank that Abbott was using to give her parents money."
"I want to see everything the bank sends us," he said harshly. "Everything."
She looked at him briefly, then started to gather files together. "You'll see it. But don't take it out on me just because your boyfriend left without saying good-bye," she retorted.
Her tone was clear, and all too familiar. He deliberately tamped down his emotional reaction, as best he could. "I'm not even going to dignify that remark with a response. But, I'd recommend that you watch your step," he warned.
She didn't answer, but didn't look particularly repentant, either. She went back to sorting papers.
He looked at his watch. "I've a few phone calls to make, then I'm going to meet with Nora, if she's available. She needs to know the direction this case is taking."
"Fine," she answered.
He left her there, not feeling the least bit badly about it. Her attitude since he and Ed had taken a break together was enough to make him want to tell her off, and something he really didn't have the energy to deal with. Why she was being rude, again, he could only guess. Did she wonder what he and Ed had been doing? Was she of the 'don't ask, don't tell' school? In the few cases they'd had before this one that had involved the gay and lesbian community, she'd interviewed witnesses and seemed unperturbed by it all. She'd made one remark, after returning from talking to an editor for a gay magazine. He'd wanted to do a story on her, implying that she was a lesbian working in the DA's office. She'd been offended by the assumption. But why, Jack had no real idea.
After stopping at Nora's assistant's desk, putting in his request to see her, he went to his office and shut the door behind him. He sat on the couch and rested his head on the back of it, closing his eyes. He needed a few minutes of down time, to calm himself, to gather his thoughts. It was becoming another one of those days, one of so many. He wanted to hold whomever had killed these three people accountable with every fiber of his being. Even if all three of them had been extorting money, that didn't mean they'd had to die. He still did not believe that Crymson had been party to the blackmail. He knew that anyone was capable of anything -- after the number of years he'd been a prosecutor, how could he not? But Crymson's part in the puzzle still didn't quite make sense.
He sighed deeply. The paper in his breast pocket was heavy against his chest. He took it out, lifted his head, and read. A very much needed smile bubbled up from deep inside. "You make me feel like I'm 25, too. E" . He stared at the words. Other, tender, sweet, intense words replayed in his mind. All that Ed had said to him at the top of the stairs. He hoped he would never forget them. Any of them.
"Love you, Edward Green," he said quietly. He carefully folded the note and put it back in his pocket, tapping it gently, for effect.
At the river, Ed got out of the car and slammed the door. He'd passed part of the driving time telling Lennie what Anthony had relayed about Crymson's years in college. It wasn't much, because the man hadn't talked much about that part of his life. He'd spent the first half of his university career dating men and enjoying the freedom to be himself, that he hadn't really had in Alabama. Then he'd finished up at Madison with a degree in sociology, working, as Anthony had described it "like a dog." He'd left Wisconsin as soon as he'd graduated, and headed for New York City. Taken the name "Crymson," and bought the club. Refurbished it, mostly by himself, and had eventually opened it to the gay community.
"Was a bit of a shock to see 'Granville C. Estes' on his bank statements," Lennie had said.
Ed had smiled, he couldn't help it. "Heck of a southern name, huh? Anthony said that he went by Charles, though."
Lennie had grimaced. "With a name like Granville, I'd go by Charles, too. Hell, I might even go by Crymson."
Ed had chuckled at the picture that revelation had presented. It had been a rare moment of levity during the second of two very tense drives. The trip up the stairs at the two-seven and their grim-faced lieutenant, handing them the mug shot, definitely hadn't lightened their mood, either.
Now they walked across the muddy and litter filled ground between a parking strip and the river's edge, putting on their gloves. The usual group of people was there at the makeshift crime scene. They spoke with the medical examiner, who said that the body had been in the river for more than three days and less than a week, possibly, depending upon further evaluation. The male victim had been shot in the head. The uniforms who'd picked up the call said that two fishermen had pulled it up from the depths, and were available for questioning, should the detectives need it. Then they studied the body themselves.
Ed squatted, while Lennie bent over. The bloating and discoloration made the facial features slightly off-kilter. "Could be him," Ed said, pulling out the photo from his pocket. It was ten years old. "Hairline is right enough, build is, too."
Lennie was poking through pockets, finding only a few keys and a washed out piece of paper in the coat. He reached into the pants. "Hello," he said, showing an empty money clip. "Looks like initials on it." He tilted it in the light. "S, G."
Ed met his eyes, and his stomach fluttered. He flipped the photo over and read the physical description. "Lennie," he said, handing the photo over, "hold this." He moved enough for the sun to shine on the victim's face, then lifted one eyelid. He nearly smiled. "This guy has blue eyes. Marsh has brown."
Lennie exhaled. "So I guess we just caught a small break."
"Yeah, we did."
"And another murder to investigate," Lennie added with a deep sigh.
"No," Nora said, dropping her glasses on the desk. "Tell me this is someone's idea of a joke. Please, Jack."
"No joke," he answered tersely.
She gave him a small glare. "All right -- take me through this again. Slowly."
Jack crossed his legs and began, going over how little they had evidence of, what exactly they all believed and why they believed it. By the end of it, Nora was leaning on her elbows, her attention focused solely on him.
"So we've really only got a connection by means of which university they all went to, some email communications, money suspicions, and the seemingly covert aspect of their acquaintance," she said.
"That, and the fact that of all four of them, only he remains alive," Jack replied.
"Yes." Nora sat back in her chair and folded her arms. "If this were your case, what would you be asking me for?"
"To send Ed and Lennie to Madison, and Chicago. Connect these people. Get something concrete to justify a search warrant."
Her voice dropped. "This needs to be kept quiet until we know something for certain. I don't want him brought in for questioning yet. But -- if he's killed these three people, I don't care who the hell he's working for. I'll expect a murder one indictment. Nothing less."
Jack was taken aback. "I didn't think you'd to be the one to say that, Nora." He paused. "I agree. I'd ask for murder one, as well."
Nora nodded, studied a high corner of the room for a very long moment, then met his eyes again. "I have to be perfectly honest with you, Jack. I don't think Serena can handle a death penalty case that is this sensitive. Assuming we get that far. I just don't think she's got the skill set yet to do it."
"Objectively, I'd agree with you." He was about to say more, but changed his mind.
She studied him for another long moment. "Objectively? What does that mean - exactly?"
He considered how to couch what he wanted to say, fiddling with the ring on his right hand. "It means that in those moments when I can be objective about Serena, I agree with you. Trouble is -- I'm not that objective about her today." He paused again. "She found out about Ed, and me, last night. By accident. Her reaction seems to waver between outright rudeness, mainly to Ed, but also to me, and acting as if she accepts it all with no problem. She's said that she'll keep quiet about Ed identifying Crymson, and any connection he has to the Tide." Jack shrugged. "I believed her, up until two hours ago."
"I'm sorry," she said gently. "I'll have a talk with her."
"Actually, I'd prefer that you didn't." He lifted a hand. "I just don't want her even more pissed off at me than she seems to be. Can we give it another day -- see if she calms down with a bit more perspective?"
"Only if it doesn't interfere with the investigation. And if she doesn't calm down, then I will talk to her," she stated.
He conceded both points.
She uncrossed her arms and leaned forward on her desk again. "Okay. The detectives are taking a trip tomorrow. I'll call Anita and let her know." She sighed. "We are so tight on budget at the moment..."
"I've got family near Chicago they can stay with -- save on a hotel bill at least." He was surprised at himself for offering. Then he pictured Ed at his sister's house and a warm spot settled in his chest. "She won't mind," he added, knowing at the very least that was true.
"Well, thank -- who?"
"My sister, Colleen. I will."
Once Jack was at his own desk, sorting paperwork in preparation for some library research, the picture of Ed at Colleen's house popped into his head again. He hadn't decided what he'd tell her about his relationship. He'd ignored the entire subject of what he'd say to family members, justifying it because he and Ed had only been involved for a week. A week that had changed his life. He gradually stopped what he was doing with the files. His friend, Mark, really had been right, he thought. Time was, in many ways, merely a human construct. In many ways, it was meaningless. A point of reference, that helped people judge and evaluate. He pulled out Ed's note and reread it. Yes, a meaningless point of reference only. He put the paper back in his pocket and picked up the phone to call his sister.
Two hours after they'd stepped out of the car at the river, Ed and Lennie were once again at their desks. Ed was just finishing up the preliminary report on their newest homicide victim. They'd flipped a coin to see who would study pay phone LUDs and Lennie had lost. The man was perusing lists of phone numbers. Ed stuffed paperwork in the new file.
"Hey Lennie, I'm gonna take these things down to the property room. Want anything from the machines?" He stood and picked up the bags of evidence they'd collected off of the body.
Lennie rolled his shoulders. "Yeah. Snickers." He reached for his wallet.
"I'll buy," Ed said quickly. Lennie's mouth curled on one side, and Ed grinned. "I know," he continued, "I owe you for three cokes and one bag of peanuts. So mark this one."
Lennie waved him off, and returned to the LUDs.
On his way down the stairs, Ed made a mental list of things to pack, and on-line lookups he needed to finish. Maps, directions, and information about Middleton, Wisconsin. Rental car. He still didn't know what to think about staying with Jack's sister. Lieu had told them with such a straight face, as if it was the most normal thing in the world for her detectives to be using the EADA's family for hotel accommodations. Lennie had made a remark about the wonders of home-cooked meals. Ed had been too surprised to respond.
He arrived at the property clerk's window and dropped the bags on the counter. The officer chatted as he placed the sign-in book in front of him; as Ed filled out the appropriate boxes. He happened to glance up the page. One name jumped out at him. His stomach reacted with a lurch -- Serena had been there earlier. He followed her signature line and the sensation in his stomach got worse. She'd accessed the evidence in Tom Ryerson's case.
"You know," he said to the officer, "I just remembered something I have to look at." He wrote the case number on a piece of paper. "Can you bring out this box for me?"
The man took the paper. "Sure. Just sign the book..." He left with the bags.
Ed signed, and briefly considered filling in a different case number, but went ahead and wrote Ryerson's. It was perfectly logical for him to be looking at the evidence. As logical as Serena. The officer returned with the box; Ed sent up a little prayer before opening it. One look at the contents, and he knew the prayer was all for naught. He dug through the box anyway, his heart careening inside of his chest. The diary was gone.
He couldn't imagine why she wanted to look at it. He and Lennie had summarized the contents in two sentences, and the slightly pornographic descriptions of Ryerson's "dates" really had no bearing on the case -- as it stood that day. What was she looking for? Some mention of Richard Woodbridge? She had to know that they would have said something if they'd seen the man's name in it.
"Detective Green -- you finished?" The voice startled him.
"Yeah, thanks," he answered, closing the box and pushing it back through the opening. He walked away, muttering "fuck" under his breath. He had to call Jack and warn him. He pulled out his phone, dialled, and went to a corner that was somewhat secluded. "Fuck," he muttered again as he listened to the rings continue, "answer the phone..." But instead of Jack answering, Jennifer, the receptionist did. This time, his expletive was silent.
"Hi, Jennifer, this is Detective Ed Green -- I was there earlier?"
"Yes, of course -- I remember you," she said with a mildly flirtatious tone.
"I'm looking for Mr. McCoy. Is he around? It's important."
"I haven't seen him in a while. Last I knew he left Ms. Lewin's office, more than an hour ago. Can I take a message?"
Damn it, he thought. "Yes -- please tell him that I called and I need to speak to him as soon as possible. It's very important." He paused. "Can you go and look for him by any chance?"
"No, I'm sorry, I can't leave the desk. I could call Ms. Southerlyn and see if she knows where he is."
"No," he said hurriedly, "no thanks. Just make sure to tell him it's important."
She promised, and assured him that Jack always checked for messages when he'd been away from his desk for any length of time. He shoved the phone into his pocket and stared, unseeing, at the wall in front of him. The man he loved should have a goddamned cell phone, he swore to himself. He tried to take a deep breath, and think. To picture the place in the diary where he'd torn pages out. He was kicking himself for not checking the book again after Lennie had finished scouring the contents. He was sure that he'd cleaned the binding; he remembered doing that in Ryerson's bedroom. He took another deliberate breath. There was no need to panic. He'd covered his tracks. He started toward the stairs. What could Serena find out, anyway? There was nothing to worry about; Jack handled himself very well, thinking on his feet. The edge of panic returned. His lover thought brilliantly on his feet -- but one could usually read every emotion on his face.
As Ed approached their desks, his partner looked up from scattered papers covering the surface.
"Hey, Eddie -- found it," Lennie said with a smirk. "Two blocks away from the club. Sunday at 9:41pm, a call was placed to our man Woodbridge."
"That's great," Ed responded. It was, and he felt only immense relief that they'd found something to back up their theory. A small, circumstantial, something.
"So where's my Snickers?"
"Shit, I forgot. I'll go..." He dug into his pocket for a bill. "Sorry."
Lennie was studying him. "You okay?"
"Yeah, man, I'm fine," he lied. He'd already decided to keep quiet about his concerns this time around. He'd handle it himself, without relying on Lennie to look the other way, or support him unconditionally, or talk about how Serena was snarky but relatively harmless. He plastered on as much of a smile as he could and left to find the other man some candy. He just wanted to talk to Jack.
Jack stood up from the table in the library and stretched. He'd put in a good couple of hours of work and felt much more prepared for the Perry appeal that was scheduled for the following week. He gathered his papers together and left the room. As he walked the corridors, he thought, again, about the body in the river, and headed to his office to call Ed. Then the niggling guilt of responsibility hit, and he detoured to the receptionist's desk to pick up messages.
He was thumbing through them, walking again, when he saw a message from Ed. The underlined words, "very important," caused his stomach to turn over. He looked at the time on the note, but it was illegible. He turned around and went back to Jennifer, intent on not only finding out when Ed had called, but letting her know he wasn't happy she hadn't done more to see that he'd gotten the message.
Jennifer apologized for her pen not working and looked at the message's carbon for the time. Over an hour ago, she said. Anger flared, but just as he was about to read her the riot act, reason somehow asserted itself.
"I'm sorry, Mr. McCoy," she said in the uncomfortable silence.
"In the future," he said, forcing calm, "if Detective Green calls, please do whatever you can to find me. If anyone from the twenty-seventh precinct calls," he corrected.
"Yes, sir."
He headed quickly back to his office, once again closing the door behind him. He dropped his things on the desk, was just about to pick up the phone when there was a knock, and the door was opened. Serena walked in; he pulled his hand back.
"I need to show you something," she said, "do you have a minute?"
He was torn -- not wanting to contribute to their discord, and feeling the urgency to get rid of her.
She was now standing at the corner of his desk. "It really will only take a minute," she continued.
"Okay," he finally said. "A minute is all I've got."
She pulled out a chair, sat, and opened the slim book she'd been holding to her chest. She placed it in front of him. He saw the handwriting, the paper it was on, and his heart started to hammer. He could feel heat infusing his body, his face, as he focused on her finger pointing to a tiny scrap of paper in the binding. Ed -- this is what Ed had wanted to tell him.
"...pages missing and neither Green or Briscoe mentioned it," she was saying.
He focused further and tried not to take a deep breath. "Missing pages?" he asked, prodding her.
She looked at him, hesitating, then continued. "The fact that there are pages missing could be significant. The perp had time to wander through the victim's apartment. Maybe he read through this, and took the pages out."
"Maybe Mr. Ryerson just wanted to erase what he'd written."
"Well," she said with a sneer, "he didn't seem too careful about what he put in here. Why tear out some pages and leave the rest?"
Jack was a little taken aback by the image of Serena reading through the vivid sexual descriptions. "Why did you decide to take a look at this?"
"I was just double-checking it to see if there was mention of Woodbridge," she answered.
Her statement sounded suspicious. Not the words, for the reason could make sense. But Jack didn't believe her.
"From the way the diary closes," she continued, "it looks like there's more than one sheet missing. Why didn't Briscoe or Green say something about it? Or notice it?"
"Most likely -- they just didn't notice it, Serena. The best option is to keep it in mind, and if we ever get to search Woodbridge's house, instruct the detectives to see if they can find the missing pages." He shut the book and passed it back.
She sat for a long moment with her mouth pinched tight. Eventually, she said, "I heard from Van Buren -- they found a phone call from one of the pay phones to Woodbridge. Sunday night, around 9:30. And the body in the river? It wasn't Marsh."
"Good," he said with great relief. "Have them check the same phone for calls made over that entire week. Maybe Crymson used it regularly." She nodded, and didn't appear to be ready to say more. "Was there anything else?"
"If I could have your sister's phone number, in case the detectives' cell doesn't work for some reason, that would help."
A perfectly reasonable request, but Jack could feel the tension stiffening his shoulders as he wrote it down for her. She made a comment about how nice it was of his family to help out, which he acknowledged as briefly as possible. He was itching to call Ed, now more than before. She finally left, and he was able to breathe deeply. He hated the fact that if they did get a search warrant, the police would waste time looking for sheets of paper that were in a garbage can in Ed's alleyway. Heading for landfill. But the alternative was not feasible. He picked up the phone and dialled.
Ed answered the phone; after hearing one sentence from Jack, he told him that he had to find somewhere more private to talk. His partner was distracted on his own phone, checking to see if there was a gun registered to Woodbridge, but Ed didn't want to take the chance of being overheard. He trotted down the stairway, intending to leave the building completely. He walked around the corner, to a gap between two buildings, as far away from the sidewalk as he felt comfortable, and called.
"So she showed you the diary?" Ed asked, after greetings had been exchanged.
"I was just about to return your call when she came in and set it in front of me. She's found where the pages were torn out. But..."
Ed talked over him. "Shit! I knew I should have checked it again, goddamn it." He started to pace.
"Ed, it's okay -- she thinks Woodbridge took them. She's going to order you to look for them if we get a search warrant. It's okay."
"Why the hell did she decide to look through it in the first place? Do you know?"
Jack hesitated. "She said she was looking for references to the suspect."
Ed was studying the rubbish near his feet. "You don't believe her, do you?"
"I don't know if I do or I don't. There isn't any other reason for her to be looking through it. Not at this point. But I took care of her; I think it'll be fine."
"Fuck," he muttered. He was not at all sure it would be fine.
"What?"
"I said, 'fuck.'" He kicked a rock. "I'm sorry, Jack. I should have been more careful..."
"Hey," Jack said in a softer voice, "you've got nothing to apologize for. She can't possibly find out what was on those pages. Give yourself a break, okay?"
He sighed. "Yeah, okay. You're right. She won't get anywhere, no matter what the hell she's got in mind."
"So -- you almost off for the day?"
"Uh huh. Lieu's telling us to go home and get packed. Plane leaves at 7:30 in the morning. When can you come over? For dinner?" He really wanted a long evening together. As long as possible.
"Yes, dinner. I'll order pizza from home and then come over...."
While they talked, Ed latched on to the picture Jack was painting of their plans. Nothing elaborate at all. Purely domestic. Dinner. Relaxing in front of the television, maybe watching a movie. One of the best things about being in a relationship, and what Ed had been missing in his life. Someone to love, and simply be with in the quiet times. The together times.
"Now," Jack said, pointing to the map spread out on the coffee table, "you'll need to take the two-ninety-four exit out of O'Hare, which actually will say that you're going to Wisconsin..." He glanced in Ed's direction, meeting his eyes. "You're not paying attention, are you?"
"No," Ed admitted with a smile. He was leaning against the back of the couch, watching Jack, next to him. He'd admit it again, and willingly. His concentration was shot for the time being; he was still thinking about the conversation they'd just finished. Jack had told his sister that they were involved. Ed knew that Jack's sexual preferences weren't a secret from her, or from a select few others in his family. But that was a far cry from asking her to put up two total strangers in her house, one of whom happened to be the man he was seriously involved with. A far cry. "No," he repeated, "I keep wondering what she'll think."
Jack gave him a long look, then grinned. "She'll think that I'm extremely lucky. Then she'll ask you all sorts of personal questions once she has you cornered, alone, away from Lennie. Then she'll make you very nervous because she'll be watching your every move," he teased.
Ed stifled his laughter, and instead looked down his nose at the man.
"Just kidding," Jack said, still grinning. "She will think that I'm lucky. The questioning? I have no idea. She'll probably pamper the hell out of you," he continued, his voice dropping. "I asked her to."
His heart began to thud gently. "Oh, man, Jack," he replied quietly, "who's really the lucky one, here?" He sat forward, put an arm around Jack's waist, and kissed him. A slow kiss of heat and promise. Jack's hand caressed his neck; the beat in his chest increased. The kiss deepened suddenly and fire coursed through his body, as desire mixed with love affected him like oil thrown on flames. He was falling again, yet again, and the bedroom seemed very far away.
Jack pulled back, breathing heavily, still rubbing his neck slowly. They rested their foreheads together, and stayed like that while their lungs stopped heaving, and calm returned.
"I'll pay attention, now," he whispered, "so all of the plans get made, and we can go lie on the bed, and watch the movie." He just wanted to be as close as possible, to feel the warmth of their bodies touching. Until later, when they'd finish what they'd started.
Jack nodded, and they returned to the maps, and directions, and discussion about navigating Chicago and the northwest suburbs. Whether to take the train into the city or drive, and therefore where to park, and how far it was to walk to the bank with either choice. Though Ed never forgot for one second what the point of this trip was, he couldn't help but think about how nice it would be if the two of them were heading to Jack's home base. A city that the man obviously had a great deal of affection for. A city that, under any other circumstances, could be a fun place to visit. Together.
Jack was lounging on the bed, his back supported by half of Ed's chest, with legs stretched out and a warm arm draped over his shoulder. Occasionally, Ed would card fingers through Jack's hair. Occasionally, he'd feel a soft kiss on the side of his head. A kiss that sometimes became more than soft, more than gentle as it moved, sending ripples of pleasure down Jack's spine. They had no shirts on, but in an effort to merely watch a movie, Jack wore pajama bottoms and Ed his sweats. Jack's left arm was draped across Ed's stomach, his hand dearly wanting to travel under the waistband of those sweatpants. Soft pants that rode low on Ed's hips. That Jack thought, without a doubt, were the sexiest thing Ed owned.
Why Ed had chosen the movie they were watching was a question that hadn't been answered to Jack's satisfaction. How relaxing could a detective story be, for a detective? But, ultimately, he didn't care. He'd always enjoyed the film; he liked nearly all Bogart movies, and the position he was in afforded him enough distraction to preclude any hint of boredom. No, he thought, boredom was definitely not a problem. The soft skin covering Ed's hipbone was holding his interest quite effectively. However, the yearning he felt for this man, for the full feel of him, was almost all he could concentrate on.
Jack moved, rolling on his side so he could have Ed's chest under his cheek. An arm around Ed's torso. A leg draped over Ed's. He'd come to realize that this was absolutely one of the nicest things about being with another man. A partner equal in size, to be held by -- a broad chest to rest upon, a long arm to surround him. In his early days of experimentation, he'd had this on occasion. But youth is a time of boundless energy; and college is a time of things to do, intense discussions to have, fast sex, awkwardness, all-night studying and early classes. Not for understanding the need to hold and be held. It certainly was not a time for understanding everything that two men can be together. Not for him.
Ed's hand was moving over Jack's back, causing the yearning in his gut to deepen, intensify. Jack drifted fingers down and slowly untied the sweatpants, gradually loosening the waist, receiving the reward of being gently squeezed against Ed's chest. Hearing Ed's heartbeat skip, under his ear. In a surge of lust, he slipped his hand under the heavy knit, caressing the top of Ed's thigh, and across to the other. The heartbeat under his ear quickened, and Ed's breathing hitched. Jack let his hand roam, feeling Ed harden from his explorations. He hardened in response.
Ed made a low noise, and ran a hand through Jack's hair. "How," Ed asked in a silky voice, "am I going to make it to the end of the movie?"
Jack began to kiss the man's chest. "I can tell you how it ends," he murmured. His hand was still moving.
"I know how it ends," he said with a small groan. "The woman did it, she's been lying to Spade all along...." He gasped. "Jesus, Jack...." The words were almost a whisper.
Jack smiled and moved enough to kiss Ed's neck. "Uh huh, she's the murderer...." He was now stroking a nearly full erection.
Ed moaned, pulled out Jack's hand, and rolled them, sliding down in the process. Jack was the one to let out a guttural noise now, as Ed pressed him into the mattress; as he finally felt the strong body he adored, fully, completely. Dark brown eyes burned into his for a lingering beat, then Ed dropped his head and took Jack's mouth in a hungry, hot, deep kiss. Pure want raced through his veins as he tasted Ed, and their hips thrust, and he ran his hands down that muscular back. He slipped them easily under the loosened sweats, and clutched the beautiful ass he found. Another reward. Ed's tongue was sweeping inside his mouth, and he only wanted more, and more. But Ed was pulling away, with a small grin, holding up one finger.
Ed rolled off and used the remote to end the movie. Then he reached into the bedside table, coming back to Jack within seconds. Jack raised up, grabbed the back of Ed's neck and kissed him, rolling them again until he was on top, devouring the man's mouth, losing himself in it all. He pushed the sweats further down Ed's hip, wanting more skin. Wanting more. Ed was trying to say something, so he pulled back.
"Take me, Jack," Ed said in a deep, soft voice. "Take me." He handed Jack the condom.
Jack could only nod. He tore open the wrapper with his teeth, and kissed him.
Ed woke up from a dream that slipped away before he could remember it. The hazy, leftover emotion wasn't pleasant, so he didn't try very hard to discern what it had been. He let it drift off. He also didn't try to open his eyes, or see what time it was. He was on his back, so he turned, and curled up behind Jack again, feeling the rhythm of Jack's breathing under his hand, the heat of his skin against his chest, and thighs, and belly. He murmured an endearment to the sleeping man and let himself fall back under, hoping for a sweeter dream.
Ed shut down his laptop, put it and the power cord in the case. He'd downloaded his emails to read on the plane, and as he tried to zip up the case the rest of his and Lennie's reading material almost kept the zipper from working. "Come on," he coaxed it.
Jack came into the living room and handed him another cup of coffee. "Made it?"
"Yeah, barely. That was one very popular pay phone." The fairly good sized packet of LUDs added to other files was to blame. "Thanks for the coffee. And thanks for getting up," he added.
Jack smiled. "Hey, I wasn't about to miss a decent good bye," he said quietly.
Ed's heart caught. "I'm not sure if I wish you were coming to the airport or not. I hate saying good bye, myself." He didn't complete the thought out loud. Saying good bye at an airport, pretending you're just friends in a public place, almost made it worse.
"So," Jack asked, "what's left?" His tone was a little too light.
"Just my cell. Other than that, I'm ready." He looked at his watch. "Lennie should be here in about fifteen minutes."
Jack nodded, sipped his coffee, and perched on the arm of the couch. Ed went back to his desk, removed the cell phone from its recharger, and turned it on. Within ten seconds it indicated a voice mail message and, making eye contact with Jack, he listened to it. It was Anthony, telling him he'd gotten his message of the evening before. Though it was a relief to hear that the man was fine, Ed still needed to talk to him directly -- to tell him how he was to answer Woodbridge.
"Anthony," he explained to Jack. "I'm going to have to tell Lieu he needs a call back this morning. I hate calling her so early..." Again, he didn't complete the thought. The alternative was to phone Serena, and whereas he had no compunction about disturbing her sleep, he really didn't want to hear her voice. One look at Jack's face, and he knew the other man was thinking the same thing. He contacted Van Buren, and while he talked to her, he watched Jack bring out the suitcase from the bedroom and put it by the front door. She wished him a safe flight. A small thing, but another reason he truly appreciated working under her. He shut the phone, put it in his pocket, and gulped down the rest of his coffee.
He took his laptop case to the front door, then went into the kitchen, where Jack was leaning against the counter with his arms folded. He could feel the tension the man was carrying as he drew him into a tight embrace. He wasn't entirely sure from where it was coming, but he was reassured to feel it dissipate as he held him. They said all of the expected things, about finding the answers needed for the case, about missing each other, about Colleen, about phone calls, about love. The buzzer for the front door sounded. Ed pulled away and let Lennie into the building, then put on his overcoat.
Jack came into the hall. They hugged. Jack cupped his face and kissed him, a kiss cut too short by the rapping on his door. He opened it and picked up his bags while Lennie and Jack greeted each other. One look deep into Jack's eyes, a good bye, and he and his partner were heading for the elevator. Ed's stomach was suddenly churning.
"Give me a sec, Lennie," he said, as he dropped what he'd been carrying. He walked quickly back to his door and knocked, and it opened almost immediately. He pushed a surprised Jack against the wall, out of Lennie's sight, and kissed his lover like he wanted to. Passionately. Like they needed. "I love you, Jack," he said softly, as they broke the kiss.
Jack caressed his face. "I love you, too. Be safe, Ed."
"I will," he answered. He kissed him again, and left. His stomach was calm. His partner was grinning, holding the elevator door open, as he grabbed his things.
Jack stood at the window, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and watched Ed get into the cab. A generalized anxiety was moving through him. He was fighting it every way he knew, but, he just didn't know that many. He was more than a little disconcerted with himself. Visions of the plane crashing kept flashing in his mind. He was usually completely at ease with the vagaries of travel, and even separation from people that he loved. He didn't understand this, at all. Then a memory hit.
Seeing his daughter, Joanna, off after a visit she'd made from school. A few months after Claire had died. He'd stopped in the airport bar after her plane had left; his hand had shook as he'd downed the scotch; he'd willed his fears for her safety away with alcohol and sheer determination.
He hadn't really loved anyone deeply in a very long time. He was still gazing out the window, though the cab had long left. Dawn was just breaking. Two days, he repeated to himself, just two days. He'll be fine. He'll come home.
The seat belt sign blinked off, and Ed unhooked his with relief. Lennie was doing the same. They'd been lucky to have an empty seat in their row of three, so they'd put it between them and lifted the arms. He and Lennie were both tall men, and though still cramped, at least they had elbow room. Ed stood and pulled his case out of the upper bin.
"Ed," Lennie said, "can't we wait until we've had breakfast before looking at them?"
He opened the pocket and pulled out the LUDs. "I've had my breakfast, but hey, if you want to eat the crap you're going to get here, be my guest." After dropping the file on the seat between them, he put the laptop back up and shut the bin.
"One man's crap is another man's manna from heaven."
Ed chuckled as he sat. "You must be damned hungry...."
"I am." Lennie sighed. "You think McCoy's sister might make us some food when we get there?"
He pulled his tray down and put the work on it, smiling to himself. "I think she might," he answered the man, "I think she just might."
"Thank God...."
Ed shut his eyes and briefly let himself remember the night before. Then he pictured Jack, where he'd be at that moment -- probably on his way to the office. Love you, Jack. He opened his eyes again and began to search pay phone records.
On to Part Ten, "Probative Value"