I'm not a squeamish person by nature. I think thats why I joined the army at 18 and signed up to train as an MP. It is also the reason why, when I was discharged from the army, after six years of active duty, some of which was overseas in the Persian Gulf during Operation Desert Storm, I decided I wanted to be a New York City cop. You cant be squeamish in this job or you will lose your sanity.

I guess it was a far cry from the dancer my mom wanted me to be, and the teacher my dad expected I would be. Mom looked at my 58" frame, lean from all the army training, my long legs, and blond hair and figured I would be the next Ginger Rogers. Dad was a teacher and thought I might follow in his footsteps. But sitting behind a desk trying to beat knowledge into a bunch of juvenile delinquents all day, while appealing, wasnt really what I wanted to do with my life. I have always been a person of action, and I knew there was plenty to be had in the NYPD.

After graduating from the police academy with high honors, I was assigned a uniformed job on the lower east side. Known traditionally as the Bowery, it was the home of Little Italy, China Town and a half a dozen other older ethnic neighborhoods, as well as most of the anglo wino population of Manhattan. We might not have the same ethnic mix as say the upper east and west sides, places like Harlem, with its large African American population and Washington Heights, with its large Hispanic communities, but we have gang wars and drugs to deal with too. And I saw my share of action, some of which was as gruesome as anything I had seen during the Gulf War.

Owing to the fact that I was ambitious, I took my detectives test after only 9 months on the force and passed. I asked to be assigned to my old precinct, since I knew everyone there. My only problem was Jim ORiley, my partner. He was OK, but didnt trust me. I guess I was used to his brand of prejudiced, I had dealt with it my whole army career. It wasnt my nationality, which was Danish, German and a smattering of Irish. Nor was it my religion, I really didnt practice any, even tho my dad was a staunch Lutheran and my mother as equally a staunch Roman Catholic (she is the one that gave me the smattering of Irish). The real problem ORiley had with me was the fact that I was a woman. He didnt trust women cops.

He wasnt alone in his prejudice, but I didnt have to work as closely with the other chauvinists in my precinct. I did have to work with him everyday. I guess it was no surprise, then, that he went all macho on me in his time of need and got himself killed on duty. It wasnt fair, but I never will believe to this day that it was my fault either.

We had been on a stake out, checking out a lead to do with a rash of young male deaths in the neighborhood. I'm pretty good with the Internet. ORiley, an older cop, didnt seem to care for the electronic age, so he left the research to me. I had discovered a group of skin heads that might be behind the murders of mainly ethnic males, ages ranging from 13 to 25. Most of the vics were of southern and eastern European descent, with a few Asians thrown in for good measure. All six had been gruesomely killed, the most telling similarity in all of the cases being the fact that the males had their genitals missing. ORiley and some of the other detectives thought that it was the work of some crazed female killer. I hadnt heard of a woman that would mutilate young men like that for kicks. The only women crazy enough to resort to that sort of butchery were the jilted wives and lovers of men who couldnt keep it at home. This was definitely different. The only other explanations that were bandied about the precinct were gang retaliations or drug turf wars. Most of those kinds of murderers didnt bother castrating the vics, so I wasnt convinced. That is when I went on the Internet looking for other motives. The other detectives thought I was nuts to think that these murders might be racially motivated, O Riley included. The captain was more open minded and asked us to check it out.

We were staking out the apartment of a possible suspect, when things went bad. ORiley saw some suspicious movements coming from the apartment window of the suspect and told me to sit tight while he investigated. I told him that I needed to be with him and call in back up. He said screw the back up, he was going to get this collar and I was to sit tight. He mumbled something under his breath as he left the car about not letting a dame screw up his chance at a promotion. I was a bit surprised that he would even do this, being he didnt believe that this was a legitimate suspect, but like I said, ORiley was a chauvinist, and as I had learned early in our partnership, a bit of a glory hog. He went into the building, and me, being a good cop who plays by the rules even if her partner doesnt want to, called for back up and got out and followed him in.

He had a few minutes head start on me, so I didnt see him when I entered the building. Proceeding cautiously, I went looking for him. The building looked deserted. It was in bad shape, another example of slum lord indifference our fair city had been plagued with. As I rounded the stairs to the 5th floor I saw a door swing close. On the door in faded letters was stenciled in chipped white paint Roof. I opened the door, my service revolver drawn. I heard voices from the far end of the roof, on the other side of the door well. ORiley was telling someone to drop their weapon. I rounded the side of the well only to see a large, white male-- 20-ish, with a bald head--- pointing a weapon at my partner. ORiley, instead of keeping his eyes on his suspect, averted his vision to me. He had his weapon trained on the suspect, but in his moment of distraction, the suspect fired. I sensed that he would do just what he did, and I had fired my weapon almost simultaneously at the suspects gun hand, but the bullet from the big mans gun found its way to my partners abdomen. ORiley had not had a chance to fire his weapon. I went over to the suspect, who was on the ground holding his injured hand and moaning. I cuffed him just as my back up, Dets. Jensen and Poole arrived on the scene. I left the suspect in their custody and went over to check on my partner. He was still alive, but his breathing was very shallow. "Damnit, Jim, why didnt you let me back you up?" I asked through tear blurred eyes. He wasnt responding to me. I hollered to Jensen and Poole to call for an ambulance, and I heard Poole on his walkie-talkie radio in that there was an officer down, and a request for an ambulance. They transported ORiley to the hospital, but the doctor later told me that he died en route. There was really no hope, because he had sustained too much organ damage from the bullet.

I was exonerated for my actions that day, but the stigma of losing your partner stuck to me like the scarlet letter. The captain was having a hard time reassigning me to another detective. No one said it to my face, but I knew what was going around the precinct. It is one thing for a guy to lose their partner in the line of duty, it is another thing all together for a woman to lose one. Damn these macho cops. ORiley should not have gone in without me, and the captain said as much in his report, but when he called me into his office a week after the incident, I knew I wasnt going to be around to finish out the day.

"Look, Grieg, I know it wasnt your fault what happened to ORiley out there, but you know what is being said as much as the next person. I dont want to lose you, you are a damn good cop. But I had a talk with the commissioner and we both think it might be best for the precinct and for you if you were reassigned to another precinct."

I hit my palm on his desk and said, "Damn... Jim screws up and I am the one who takes the rap."

The captain, instead of blowing up at me, continued in a much softer voice, "Janice, look, I know you did what you were supposed to do. And I guess Jim paid with his life for his stupidity. I just think you would be better off leaving the bad feelings around here. You arent being demoted or anything. You will still be a full detective, and your pay will stay the same." He asked me to sit down and he took out a folder and opened it. "Actually, the assignment was made based on your work on the last case you and Jim were working on. Seems this little murder spree isnt confined to our little corner of the world. You will be sent to the 127th to check out a similar murder that happened two days ago."

I thought a minute. "Captain, isnt the one two seven up in Washington Heights?"

"Yes, you have a problem with that?"

"No," I lied. I had a BIG problem with that. I thought I had problems down here with prejudice, wait till I got into the land of the Latino lovers as Washington Heights was called. I didnt have anything against Hispanics, I want to make that clear right now. It is just that my blond haired, blue eyed, long legged look was a bit of a problem for them. I shuddered and thought about my need for action. I would certainly get some up there, but not the kind I was looking for.

"Good. You are to turn over your case files to Jensen and Poole and report to the captain of the one two seven this afternoon. Please take copies of the case work you have been doing just in case this is a related case. We will work with you if you need us."

"Thanks." I didnt stay to say anymore. I was just managing to maintain my cool in the face of this bad news and knew if I were to stay any longer, I might say something I would regret. I had a habit of doing that in the past.

I cleaned out my desk and locker and turned over the files to Poole. He didnt say much except a feeble "good luck". I took it as a sign that the captain was probably right and I would be better off not being reminded of my pariah status everyday at work. So that is how I wound up at the one two seven.

ii

I live on the east side, in a little brownstone apartment on the edge of Greenwich Village. It is a pretty nice neighborhood, as far as neighborhoods go in Manhattan. I usually took the bus to work, being that my former precinct wasnt that far from my home, but the 127th was a bit of a distance. I took most of my stuff home before I decided to report in for my new assignment. I debated on trying to find the bus connections to Washington Heights or just splurging on a taxi for the first day. The taxi won out, only because I didnt have a lot of time to be searching for the bus connections that day.

I arrived about 2 in the afternoon. The neighborhood where the precinct house was located was as run down as the one I left, but the difference was this area was still green with trees. I dont think there were any trees left in the Bowery.

I entered through the old wooden doors and went to the reception desk. The sergeant on duty directed me to the third floor to the detectives room. The elevator wasnt working that day, so I wound up climbing the stairs to the third floor. The city cutbacks were evident in this place. No one had money for the niceties of the job. This squad room looked very similar to ours, except we had air conditioning, they seem to have missed out on getting it. Large fans blew stale hot air around the room from their dust encrusted blades. I asked a detective sitting at a beat up desk near the door of the squad room where I could find the captains office. He was typing with one hand on his computer and eating a candy bar with the other. He never even looked up at me, but pointed in the general direction of a glass door on the far side of the room as he continued to type.

I approached the office door, noting the name painted on the door. It read "Captain Tyrone Jackson... Please Knock". I followed the directions and gently rapped on the glass. A "come in" answered my request. I slowly turned the knob and looked in as I opened the door. The office wasnt that much different from my old captains office. The one thing he had that the rest of his men didnt was a small window air conditioner grinding away the cooler air that filled his space.

"Come in, Detective Grieg. Please close the door. Gotta try to keep in the cool. Your boss told me you would be on your way." Jackson musta weighed 250 if he weighed an ounce. The office was an icebox compared to the squad room, but sweat still rolled from his dark brow. When he got up to move a mass of papers and books off of a chair sitting in the corner, I ascertained that he was about my height and probably in his fifties. His hair was in a short afro, graying around the edges as some African - American males do when they age. He pulled the now empty chair to the edge of his desk. After inviting me to sit in it, he rounded his desk and resumed his place in his overstuffed office chair. He pulled out a folder from a pile of paperwork on his desk and read a few minutes. I was not really comfortable in the silence that followed, but I used the time to take a closer look around the messy office. I could see that this guy wasnt as organized as my old boss. I wondered what he would be like to work for.

"Well, Ms. Grieg, you come highly recommended and you have an exemplary service record. Capt. Sam Harris speaks glowingly of you."

"Thanks," was all I could manage weakly.

Capt. Jackson put the folder down and looked me in the eye. I appreciate a person who can do that. "This is a real family here at the one two seven, but I will let you know, it is a rough place. We have a reputation for doing things on the edge if you know what I mean. We only have team players here." He got up and went to the only window. He looked out the window and continued. "Out there is a war zone. We need people who will be there when things go bad, and they do, all too often I am afraid."

"I understand," I answered him, suspecting where he was going with this line of thought.

"Look," he said turning back to me, "I know what Sam said about what happened the night your partner bit it, but I want to hear it from you, if you dont mind."

I sighed and related once again the events of the night my partner was killed. "My partner, James ORiley, and I were out on a routine follow-up to some research I had uncovered while working on our current case. We had a suspect under surveillance when we spotted some suspicious activity in the building we were staking out. My partner told me to stay put and not call for back up while he went to check it out. I knew that this was not only against regulations, but dangerous as well. When he left, I called for the required back up and then, with my service revolver drawn, I went in search of my partner. He had cornered the suspect on the roof, both had guns drawn on each other. I had my gun trained on the suspects gun hand waiting for my partner to secure the suspect, when the suspect fired on my partner. Jim had been momentarily distracted when I had come on the scene and the perp took advantage of this to fire on him. I instinctively sensed that he would do this and almost simultaneously fired on the suspect. My bullet incapacitated the suspect and I had him in cuffs when the two detectives who arrived as back up took charge of him. I then went to my partner to check on him. He was alive, but not breathing right. An ambulance was called, but he died on his way to the hospital. The doctor said there would have been nothing anyone could have done for him, the damage the bullet inflicted was too severe."

"You think things would have happened differently if you and your partner had followed correct procedure?"

"I cant say for sure, but it is my belief there would have been a better chance that Jim ORiley would be alive today if we had done things by the book, sir."

The captain came over to me and stuck his hand out to me. "Welcome to the 127th, Detective Janice Grieg." He shook my hand and then went back to his desk chair and sat down. "I think you will make a fine addition to this motley crew. I have a special assignment for you. Sam told me that you were informed about our latest murder, a little black boy who was killed and mutilated two days ago. I am assigning you to the other detective on the case. Muff Kovacks partner was just put on administrative leave due to some medical problems, so he is in need of a partner anyway. Come with me and I will introduce you."

Capt. Jackson got up once again and I rose from my seat. I was led back out into the oven that was the squad room to another dingy corner by the bathrooms. There were two beat up desks facing each other, but only one was occupied. The occupant was a long haired Hispanic looking guy, maybe 63"-64". He was rather good looking, but something about him reminded me of the hard look people sometimes get from being out on the street too long. He, like the detective I asked directions from when I entered the room, was working on a report on his computer. Unlike his colleague, he was typing with two hands and with more competency than the other guy. I could tell right away he was computer savvy. That would be a refreshing change from ORiley.

"Muff," the captain yelled at the man at the desk. Muff looked up. The captain continued, "Janice Grieg, this is our resident tech head, Muff Kovack. Muff, this is Det. Janice Grieg, from the three four. She has been permanently reassigned to our little zoo. I am putting her with you. I think you two will make a great team."

Muff looked hard at me and mumbled, "Oh great, a blond dame." Aloud he said, "Well, Det. Grieg, here is your desk, make yourself at home. My former partner left you all the files on his computer for you to peruse through, but good luck making sense of them. He didnt know much about using it."

I shook my head and looked at the captain, who was retreating back into his air conditioned office. "Look, can we start on a good foot here, Det. Kovack? I have been on the NYPD for about 2 years and before that I was an MP in the army. I have a good service record and I think I would make a hell of a partner for anyone who could look past my sex and see what a good cop I am."

"Look," Muff said, "Im sorry. I guess I overreacted. It is just that, in the two years I have been in this hell hole, I have had a string of loser partners. Seems no one trusts me with anyone with a brain since I am an ex con."

"I gotcha, I guess I can relate. You are judged before you are tested. I have gotten that a lot myself. I can assure you, I have a brain.... and I am very capable of using it." I sat down at the empty desk facing Muffs desk and put my few belongings away. "What are you working on at the moment. My old boss and the captain here tell me there was a gruesome murder of an African American boy a few days ago."

Muff looked up from his report. He pointed to the laptop computer sitting on my desk. "You know how to use one of these?"

"Sure, why?"

"Well that is a good start at least." He made a few more strokes on his keyboard and then took the mouse and clicked it a few times. He then took a disk out of his laptop and handed it to me. "Here is a copy of the file on the case as we know it. My former partners files are probably not worth reading. I would start with this and then create your own files on it. I will warn you, it is not for the squeamish."

Like I said from the outset, I am not a squeamish person. I took a few minutes to read the report that Muff had prepared so far. The scenario sounded sooo familiar. A 13 year old black male was found in an alley, his throat had been slit with a large knife, his body had been mutilated, and his genitals were missing. No matter how many times I saw this or read it, it did make my stomach turn. Who would be so sick as to do this to kids. I guess I must have looked a little green, cause Muff asked me if I needed a drink of water.

"Yeah, and maybe something stronger when we are off duty."

"I told you it was not for the squeamish", he said as he got up and went to the machine nearby to get me a bottle of water.

"Yeah, well I have a strong constitution, but I would have to be dead or as sadistic as the killer not to be affected by this. Your theory is that this is drug/gang related. Are the gangs this vicious up here?" I thanked him for the water, opened it and took a big swig.

"They can be, but for the life of me, I cant think of any other motive for this brutality. Usually they arent into this kind of mutilation. Were also considering a psycho."

I nodded. "Sounds like all the things we were considering in our cases."

Muff looked at me hard. "You have seen this kind of thing before?", he asked incredulously.

"Sorry to say, yes I have. My former partner and I were working on a series of similar murder/mutilations when he died. I was researching another motive with another set of suspects."

"Well dont hold back. Im all ears."

Just then the captain poked his head out of his office door and said, "Kovack and Grieg, you have a call. 145th and Lex. Looks like another one of those mutilation murders."

Muff went over to grab the piece of paper with the information on it from the captain and he led me out of the office and down to the street. He pointed to a beat up Chevy Impala parked on the street in front of the precinct. " I know it doesnt look like much, but it has it where it needs it. Get in."

"Whatever you say." I didnt have time to argue with him. He got behind the wheel and started the engine. Where the car was beat up, the engine sounded smooth and quiet. I smiled as he pulled out into traffic."

"I dont know what you were used to in the 34, but money is tight up here. This baby gets me where I need to be, so I guess I cant complain."

"Well ours arent much better. It sounds smooth at least."

"Yup, this engine purrs like a kitten thanks to me. I dont let the department touch her. I do all the work myself."

I was impressed. "You sure are a man of talent then. Where did you learn how to work on engines?"

"Joliet."

"Oh," I felt like I had stepped in dog dirt. He had told me he was an ex con. I know the department had employed some, something to do with knowing the criminal mind and all, but I also knew that those who had been in prison didnt like to be reminded of it. He didnt elaborate and I didnt press it.

iii

We drove in silence for a few minutes so Muff could concentrate on the traffic. Winding our way down Broadway to 145th street and then turning east to get across to Lexington Ave., I wondered if this area was still covered by the 127th precinct. It was then that I experienced the first incident of Muffs uncanny ability to sense what I was thinking. "This isnt really our territory, but the precincts up in the northern parts of Manhattan are stretched to the limit right now with manpower, so if the precinct covering an area cant handle the case, they ask for assistance. Besides, not all of the precincts in this area have detective squads. It turns out this one doesnt. So we get called in on a lot of homicides in this area."

After about 20 minutes in traffic, we finally arrived at the alley where another black youth had been found by a restaurant owner putting out his trash. The place was swarming with curious onlookers, most of whom were black. We had to cut our way through a sea of inquisitive black faces to get to the crime scene. I felt a little nervous, being one of the only Caucasians at the scene. But Muffs arm around mine, leading me through the crowd with the help of a black uniformed officer, helped to easy my apprehensions of the moment. After all, I was here to do a job.

We finally got to the crime scene and I bent down to get a good look at the vic. This one looked to be about 16. He had a gang jacket on, but it had been cut to ribbons. The boys throat had been slit deep and again there were mutilation marks on the body. I didnt have the nerve to check to see if anything was missing, so Muff did it. The genitals were gone. "Damn," Muff exclaimed under his breath. "If I ever get my hands on the sick bastard that's doing this....."

I pulled Muff away from the body and directed the coroner to tend to the body. Some uniforms were looking over the site for clues. I said, "Look, Muff, I would love to string this guy up too, but we have an investigation to do.... lets do it and get out of here. I want to show you something back at the station."

"Youre right. When kids are involved, I lose it. You were about to tell me about the research you did on your cases back at the three four," answered Muff.

I was glad he didnt blow up at me. "Yeah, but it can wait. Lets process this place first."

We went around looking for clues and questioning the crowd milling around. The uniforms took pictures of the body and the crime scene. One of the cops found a wallet in the pocket of the remains of the jacket. Jesse Morgan was the name on the student ID found in the wallet. There was also about ten bucks in small bills. So robbery was ruled out. I dreaded having to call in the kids family to identify the body. Fortunately, the killer wasnt interested in messing up the faces of his vics. I remember the other identifications I had witnessed. It was never easy watching family members identify their loved ones, no matter how good a shape they were in. Dead is dead, and death is always hard to swallow, especially when murder is involved. Muff must have been reading my mind again, cause he said, "Well, at least his folks wont have to look at the rest of him to identify him..... damn." He went over to the car and slammed his fist on the roof.

"Look, this isnt easy for any of us." I went over to the uniform in charge and asked him to finish up gathering evidence for our investigation. Then I went back to the car and looked at my watch. "Looks like our shift is about over.... lets get some coffee and compare notes. I think we might be dealing with the same thing up here that we did at the three four."

Muff looked at me and nodded. Silently, we got in the car and he started to drive. After a few more moments of silence, he said, "You mind if we get the coffee to go and go somewhere else to talk about this. I have to clear my mind, and I have a special place I go that helps me to do that."

"Sure, whatever," was all I could say. I could understand wanting to get away from the horror we had just witnessed. I might be callused to some of it cause my job requires me to be that way, but no one can be truly callused to it all.

We went to a little coffee place on 145th and got our java fix and then headed up Broadway, past the Washington Heights neighborhood location of our precinct. I thought Muff might be heading back to the station first, but he turned on to Washington Avenue and headed toward Inwood. I then realized where we were going.

iv

In all of Manhattan, the Inwood area looked less like Manhattan and more like the upwardly mobile suburbs of say, Long Island or White Plains. Fort Tyrone Park, located on the northern tip of Manhattan on land donated by John D. Rockefeller Jr. in the late 1920s, still retains much of the natural beauty that was Manhattan Island before the twentieth century paved it over. Where places like Central Park and the other smaller parks of Manhattan were planned, Fort Tyrone Park reflects natures planning. The Cloisters, located in the park, is a collection of medieval styled buildings, most of which were abandoned pieces of Gothic architecture from French villages brought to the city by the sculptor George Grey Barnard. The collection of mainly Romanesque and Gothic styles of medieval art, architecture and decoration was purchased by Rockefeller and then donated to the Metropolitan Museum of Art along with the land. Because the Cloisters and the rest of Ft. Tyrone Park is a peaceful place, visitors speak in quiet whispers while walking the courts and surrounding paths along the Hudson River. It is the getaway for many Manhattanites who dont want to go far to get some peace. I could see why Muff liked coming here to think. It sure was a change of pace from the neighborhoods that bordered this oasis of sanity and nature.

Muff found a parking place in an overflow parking area away from the main section of the buildings. I could see that he wasnt interested in the art of the area, but the nature. I grabbed my coffee from the cup holder in the car and followed Muffs long stride as best I could. Being tall, I was able to keep up with most men, but Muff had a good six inches on my height and stride. I couldnt help but notice, as I tried to close the gap between us, the distinctive strut in his gait. His posterior was well proportioned and swayed with rhythm when he walked. I surmised from the pace he was setting, the determination as well as the rhythm in his tread, that he was using exercise as well as the peacefulness of the surroundings to help him clear his mind of the recent events.

From this conclusion, I decided not to waste my energy calling for him to slow down, but put all my efforts into trying to keep up. I was just getting use to the pace when he surprised me by stopping abruptly, so much so that I almost ran into him. I found we had stopped by a railing on a path that overlooked the Hudson River. Looking south, I could see the outline of the George Washington Bridge and across the river lay Englewood, New Jersey, another bedroom community of Manhattan. Directly below us was the Henry Hudson Parkway and the Amtrak train tracks that ran along side the river. Except for the drone of the traffic from those two major thoroughfares, the air was relatively silent. I guess I was looking around at all the scenery because Muff remained in his brown study and I didnt know what, if anything, to say at that moment. In my mind I compared the serenity of the Park to the chaos of the overcrowded neighborhoods that made up most of the rest of Manhattan. Beauty and space were at a premium in Manhattan, and I was glad Muff had brought me here to get away from the rest of humanity for a while. I also used the interlude of silence to catch my breath. The scenery might be different from the rest of Manhattan, but the air was just as hot and humid as the rest of the city, even though there was a bit of a cool breeze coming off the river. I welcomed it to dry the sweat forming on my face and body as I stared across the river, waiting for Muff to speak.

He finally broke the silence that was becoming as thick as the humidity in the air. "Thanks for not saying anything. I know I'm not an easy person to get along with. I keep to myself most of the time. That trait has been hard on some of my past partners. I guess it partly comes from my past life. When you are planning a crime you learn not to share too much of yourself so you dont blow your operation."

"Well you get like that being a cop too, I suppose. Especially when you work undercover."

Muff looked at me with a surprised frown, "How did you know I did undercover work before I was assigned to homicide?"

I was now the one to show surprise, "I didnt, I was just speaking in generalities. I have always been in homicide since becoming a detective. What unit were you in before homicide?"

"Well it was a special unit working with white collar crimes mostly. I dont think we really had a name for it. They thought, since I had experience on the other side of the fence in that area, I might be good at infiltration.... but it didnt work out, so I asked to be transferred to homicide in my old neighborhood." He looked out over the river as he spoke, avoiding eye contact.

I was beginning to realize that he didnt feel comfortable about talking about himself. But he had piqued my curiosity about my new partner, and I guess I was just as anxious to put the present case behind me for a little while longer as he seemed to be. I thought, what better way to do that than by finding out more about the person with whom I would be spending most of my time.

"So you are originally from New York? I thought you might be from the Midwest, since...." I left the rest unsaid, not knowing how to again remind him of his incarceration.

"Nope, born and raised right here in Washington Heights. After graduating from Columbia, I went to work for the Chicago transit authority, the only job I could get. It was there that I learned I could make more money making illegal bugs for the bad guys, but they double crossed me and I wound up in stir for three years. I tried to get back at my old bosses at the transit authority for blowing the whistle on me, but it didnt pan out. I was just glad I didnt get caught. I decided to go straight and I went into the used car business. I wasn't too happy there and I tried opening my own electronics shop. But after a while, that didnt work either. That's when I decided to come home to New York. I really didnt know what I was going to do till an old friend told me I should join the NYPD. Hes a lieutenant and was able to put in a good word for me at the Academy." He finally turned and faced me at this point in his narrative, his face lined with the pain of the telling. "Now you know the full Muff Kovack story. Satisfied?"

"Hey, Im sorry if it sounded like I was prying. I am sure that isnt the full story, but its more than enough." For now, was what I added in my thoughts. "I guess I get a little nosy, another occupational hazard of being a cop."

Muff, for the first time since I met him, smiled. His smile wasnt a half hearted grin, but a full blown spread of the lips so his perfectly aligned white teeth showed through. I thought I even detected a bit of a laugh behind it. "Hell, Grieg, dont worry about my foul mood. My bark is worse than my bite. I guess I dont know how to lighten up very well."

I relaxed a little bit. "Its ok, this job tends to make most of us too serious most of the time. Not much to be light about in police work."

"Truth, but I guess I dont have to bite off my partners heads. I guess its one of the reasons I havent gotten on too well with my past partners....."

"Forget it." I took sips of my now cooling coffee and then said, "If it would help any, you have my permission to ask me anything you want about me. After all, we should get to know a little about each other if we are going to spend so much time working together."

"Well, I guess it is a cliché, but what is a nice looking gal like you doing in a crappy job like police work, especially in a place like this?"

Fair question, I thought as I smiled at the obvious question. I had been asked it many times before, my parents being the first. "I dunno, crazy in the head I guess...." We both chuckled. I continued, "But seriously, I have never been one to settle for quiet domesticity. I like action, and being former military, I couldnt see myself settling for a boring desk job somewhere, or even worse, a housewife for some executive type." I shuddered at the path some of my high school friends had taken in that very direction. It wasnt for me and I knew it.

"But, now you have to forgive me for being nosy, why police work? I mean, it is, by its nature, rather gruesome," Muff asked.

"Well, gruesome doesnt seem to bother me too much, when it is all in the line of duty that is. I guess I had too healthy a dose of super hero tales growing up, you know, where the good guys fight for truth, justice, and the American way....." There were other reasons, too personal to mention at this point in our relationship. I decided this would have to do for an explanation for the time being. I had sensed that Muff had not really given me all the details of his past either, so I felt we were on even ground with the depth of our revelations. Muff seemed to get the hint and didnt ask me anymore questions.

I drained the last of my coffee and said, "I think we need to get back to the business at hand, even though the peacefulness of this place teases me with its siren call to forget it. I can see why you like coming here."

"Well it isnt really to escape the cases I am working on, I just find I can think about them with a clearer mind here where my senses arent being bombarded with the misery around me." Muff bent down and picked up a stone and tossed it over the railing. I was a bit alarmed, thinking how dangerous it was to do that with the traffic below us. But to my surprise, the tiny missile cleared not only the highway but the railroad tracks beyond. It landed with a faint splash only inches from the shore in the waters of the river. I was impressed with the power behind his pitching arm. "You missed your calling... you should have been a pitcher for the Yankees."

"Nah, that would have been too easy." He smiled again. "I just do that when I have to leave here. It is my way of assuring myself I will get to the bottom of the case I'm on. I used to come up here as a kid and pitch stones off of these cliffs when I had problems at home I was dealing with. I used to hit the railroad tracks a lot, but after a while, my distance improved and I was able to make one hit the river..... since then I have rarely missed it." Muff started to walk away from the railing and the river and head back in the direction of the car. As before, I had a hard time keeping up with that determined stride of his. He smiled back at me when he got to the car ahead of me. "You are out of shape, Grieg. Musta been that cushy job at the three four. You will have to work out to keep up with me." I glared at him as we both got in the car. I decided I wouldnt dignify his remark with one of my own.

He deftly swung the Impala into the traffic on Washington Avenue and headed south in the direction of the precinct. "I want to get our laptops so we can work on this case. You still have that research you wanted to show me. I know of a cyber cafe close to Columbia University where we can go and get on line and talk about it in peace."

"Oh," was all I could think to answer him. We drove in silence again. I looked blankly out the window at the tenements of the Washington Heights area as we turned back onto Broadway. I suddenly had a thought. "Forgive me for being nosy again, but how did you get the name Muff?" Kovack didnt exactly sound Hispanic either, and he certainly looked like he fit in this predominantly Hispanic section of New York City. But I thought it might be less intrusive to ask about his unusual nickname... at least I presumed it was a nickname.

"Well my real name is Esteban Fredrick Kovack y Ramirez. My dad was Hungarian and my mom Puerto Rican. He wanted to name me Stephen Fredrick, but my mom insisted that one of my given names be Hispanic, so they used the Spanish version of Stephen, Esteban. He was big into the medieval history of his home country, and Stephen and Fredrick were well known names of kings from that period. Stephen means crown and Fredrick means peaceful ruler. My dad was into all that chivalry stuff." Muff shook his head.

I now knew about his nationality, something I thought he would be more uncomfortable talking about, but he didnt really answer my main question. I wondered if I should try and ask him again. I guess my unconscious curiosity won out, cause I heard myself form the words of my inquiry again, much to my surprise. "But why Muff?"

We had come to a stoplight and as the car idled, he turned to me, as if searching my face for something, I wasnt sure what. Trying to put on my most innocent countenance, he then looked away and said, "Its a name my late mother gave me."

"Oh," I said, with obvious regret in my voice. I couldnt help it. He sounded so sad and so vulnerable when he made that simple statement. I felt like a heel.

The light turned green and we started on our way once again. With more strength in his voice, like he had gathered all his emotions and put them in check, he continued, even tho I was willing to drop it. "When I was little, I had such chubby cheeks, you know, the kind all the matronly aunts love to pinch. My mother always thought my given name was too much of a mouth full for a little guy, so she called me Moflete--- Spanish for chubby cheek. When I got older, it was shortened to Mof, but most of my friends, not knowing why my mom called me Mof because I had grown much leaner when I reached puberty, thought she was saying Muff, and just got to calling me that."

"Oh," I said. Then, wondering if I had overstepped a boundary I added, "Im sorry, I didnt mean to intrude."

"No, its ok, just dont repeat it, will you? I havent told anyone that in years. I doubt many people know the reason behind my name and I would like to keep it that way. I dunno why I keep it, but I guess it is in memory of her....." His voice trailed off and then, after drawing in a breath, he added, "And before you ask, my parents were killed by a drunk driver years ago, while I was in Joliet...." His voice trailed off for a second time. But there was no more additions to his revelations. I suspected he harbored a lot of guilt for being locked up in his parents hour of need. I decided I found out more than I needed to know about my new partner for one day. No sense alienating him with more questions.

v

Back at the precinct we signed out for the day, something we hadnt gotten around to even though by this time we had been off duty for a couple of hours. Grabbing the laptops and our personal gear, Muff asked me if I would like to grab a bite to eat before we headed to the cyber cafe. I was game, having nothing to go home for. I was not a person who enjoyed cooking for myself alone, although if I had someone to cook for, I was a pretty good cook.

Muff took me to an ethnic restaurant not to far from work. He told me that he ate there quite a bit. The owners had been friends of his mother and had gotten many recipes off of her. He told me it was like coming home to eat when he ate there. The menu consisted of mainly Puerto Rican dishes.

The waitress came over and Muff asked me if he could order something for me. I guessed he wanted me to try the foods made from his mothers recipes, and since I wouldnt have a clue as to which ones they would be, I allowed myself to be in for some surprises for once. He ordered a delicious sounding turkey and rice concoction and some side dishes. We both opted for iced tea to drink. I figured that after talking about the case, we might both need something stronger later. I was willing to wait, wanting to keep my head clear for the business at hand .

"I hope you will enjoy my moms food. I only wish she could have been here to cook it for you. She was a great cook," Muff said as he took a sip of his iced tea.

"I am sure I will love it. You must have been very close to your parents."

Muff smiled. "Mom mostly, dad was a bit of a kook, but lovable I guess. I never really understood him, or how he met and married my mom, but my mom assured me it was love and she still loved him. Mom was the best, but I guess I am a bit prejudiced in that area. I was her only child and she doted on me."

"I understand that, my mom still dotes on me. I have a brother, but he is much older than I am. When my mom and dad had me, it was a big surprise to them. My dad died a few years ago from cancer, but my mom still lives in the same Long Island home where I grew up. Tad, my brother, is married and a lawyer out in California. I dont see him much. My mom, on the other hand, seems to think I need someone to watch over me, that is why she calls me almost every night. To her, I am still her little girl, even though I am 35."

"Gee, I wouldnt have guessed you were that old," Muff said with a grin.

"Yup, six years in the Army after High School and then a few years doing odd jobs before I decided I wanted to be a cop. Thanks for thinking I looked younger. You are just a young thing yourself."

"ME!" Muff choked on his tea and then let out a sonorous laugh that turned most of the heads of the other patrons of the restaurant. "Honey, how old do you think I am?"

"Well after that outburst, I guess maybe older than I thought, I dunno, I am not good at guessing ages, but maybe 38...."

Muff grabbed my hands and put them to his lips. "Janice, you have just become my new best friend, I love you. I hate to burst your bubble, but I am 49."

"NO!!!!" I exclaimed pulling my hands from his lips rather abruptly, I am afraid, cause he sheepishly put his hands under the table. Now it was my turn to get the restaurant patrons attention. "You are pulling my leg."

"As appealing as that proposal sounds, I cannot tell a lie."

I must have blushed at his suggestive retort, but his sincerity moved me. He sure had aged well. His dark, thick hair didnt have a gray strand in it. He kept it a bit on the longer side, which made me think he might not be lying about his age, the cut harkened back to an earlier time. Even his face didnt show many lines of age, the only lines that seem to be there were the ones that appeared when he laughed. Maybe his thick eyebrows and mustache hid those telling signs of age.

Muff sensed my embarrassment and quickly changed the subject as the food arrived at our table. "This neighborhood wasnt always this rundown, but it was never a real garden spot either. Bordering on Harlem, we had our share of ethnic gang wars back in the day. I am just glad they didnt decide to knock down all the trees. I guess the Puerto Ricans in the neighborhood insisted on keeping some of the greenery to remind them of home. It is one of the few ethnic neighborhoods that have so much of it. Someone once said that Washington Heights was like a slum with trees. I guess that is a pretty good description of it."

"Well it is a nicer place than where I came from. The Bowery is nothing but concrete and steel. I guess since it borders on the Wall Street area, the power brokers of the city decided it needed buildings more than trees. Dont get me wrong, the little ethnic areas of the Bowery are interesting, but I think I will like working where there are more trees and more oxygen getting to the brain so I can think better."

Muff smiled and took a bite of his food. I followed suit, allowing the aroma to invade my olfactory glands as I chewed. The smell and taste was wonderful, spiced mildly, to allow a person to taste the food. I told him that I approved of his choice with a, "MMMMMM". Muff looked pleased that I was enjoying his mothers recipe.

As we ate, I was picking up vibes from Muff that, even though we were both interested in putting our heads together about this case, we were also interested in delaying that task long enough to get to know one another a little more. I dunno if it was the good food or the relaxed atmosphere of the restaurant, who served their food family style, but it appeared that Muff was starting to warm up to my presence. He seemed to enjoy telling me stories of growing up in the area and I was more than willing to let him talk. After about an hour of reminiscing about our childhood, we paid for our meals on separate checks --- at my insistence, and we headed south on Broadway to Columbia University.

The ride down there became a study in silence once again, as if being forced to think about the brutality of our vics kept us from the lighthearted banter that took place at dinner. I could tell, that even though we were technically off duty, we were back on the job. Muff seemed to have a distinct demarcation line when it came to work and leisure time conversation. When he did speak, he was all serious and all business.

"I think the first thing we should do when we get there is to get online. I would like you to show me what you found in your research. Then we need to compare notes as to the particulars of the evidence in each of the cases from the three four and the two up here."

"That sounds like a logical start." I pulled out a disk from my purse and showed it to Muff. "This has all the data I scanned from the files on the six similar cases down in the Bowery. I also am waiting for the report from the two detectives reassigned to the case when I left concerning the interview of the suspect we collared, the one that shot my partner." My voice trailed off unexpectedly when I mentioned O Riley. I guess his death got to me more than I realized. I just hadnt let myself feel anything about it till now.

"Hey, I understand," Muff responded. "I had a partner killed in a shoot out on a drug bust once. There wasnt anything I could do at the time, but it still gets to you."

Ignoring the similarities of our careers, I seem to cue in on the words drug bust. "Were you in narcotics too?"

"Not really, it was when I was still a uniform.... you know, we always got the shit jobs. It was after my partner died that I took my detectives test. I wanted out of the line of fire. I foolishly thought that the uniform was the target, but I have found out that no matter what you do in the NYPD, you are always a target."

"Jim found that out the hard way, Im afraid." I went silent once again, wondering what to say next. I was spared the effort when we arrived at our destination. Muff swung the car into the student lot on the edge of the campus. Being a cop sometimes has its perks, parking where you wanted to without a permit being one of them. After putting the car in park, Muff took out a rearview mirror tag identifying the car as having legal permission to park in the spot.

We walked across Broadway to a little cafe. It was a bit crowded, but Muff flashed his badge and a student acting as a host showed us to a booth with a privacy screen. I was impressed. Muff could see the surprise on my face and commented, "I come in here a lot, so they have this space reserved for me. I find being down here at Columbia far superior to trying to research in the squad room. Too many interruptions."

"Very true, especially in a precinct where not many use the Internet for research. I was kind of an oddball at the three four, in more ways than my gender," I said. "A lot of the cops there were older and didnt know much about Internet research. Not that you and I are really that young, but...," I stopped, more out of embarassment than anything else.

Ignoring the remark about our ages he replied, "Well that happens a lot in the older neighborhoods. I guess the precincts where the computer savvy end up deal with more white collar crime and such. Not many of the younger cops want to deal with gangs, drugs and homicides."

"I guess. I never really thought about it, but I could see that." We plugged in our laptops and logged on. I went to the first site I had book marked, one with the dubious title of People for a Free America.

I pushed my laptop toward Muff and let him read what was on the site for a while. It had been a long day and I decided to take advantage of the time by closing my eyes and sitting back to catch a small nap. The booth had very comfortable computer chairs with high backs, to my surprise. Catching five or ten minutes of sleep was something I had trained myself to do when I was in the Army on nightly guard duty. I could sleep and still be alert to anything that might need my attention. I always thought it was one of the side benefits I got from the Army. It sure had helped on long stakeouts, especially if I could persuade my partner to take turns doing it with me.

Muff must be a fast reader, only fifteen or twenty minutes had passed when he gently brought me out of my light sleep. "Catchin a few Zzzs isnt a bad idea, from what I see here, we might be at this a while. This group is unbelievable."

"Oh I know. I knew the KKK and the Neo- Nazi groups were against everyone who wasnt white or Aryan, but some of the solutions this group proposes are down right medieval."

Muff read from the screen--- "We of the People for a Free America are calling on all true citizens of this country to take up the cause and rid our land of those who are unfit to share the same space as those chosen of God. They should not be allowed to contribute to our superior gene pool any longer, polluting it with their inferior genetic material.----- Geez, Janice, this group sounds more paranoid than most."

"Yes, and even though they dont come right out and call for ethnic cleansing, the link to an email address for those who want to join in whatever fight they are eluding to here makes me think that they might encourage it, and, just maybe, some crackpot might be taking this to the next step and committing these crimes." I had told this to Jim and my captain. Jim thought I was nuts, but the captain was convinced enough for us to check it out. With this past history, I did wonder what Muff might think of my theory.

He did seem a bit skeptical. "What evidence from the crimes makes you think that?"

"Well, I guess the only thing that really made me wonder was the fact that all the vics were young males of non Aryan backgrounds ---- that and the fact ---- ahem ----" For some reason, I had a hard time speaking the next part. I usually wasnt afraid of any line of conversation, but being a woman, I supposed it might be embarrassing for a man to hear a woman talk about their most private parts in this manner.

"You mean the castrations," Muff volunteered, helping me out of my dilemma. "Dont be prissy on my account."

"Sorry, and I wasnt being prissy, just trying to be sensitive. I guess that little fact doesnt bother you though."

"That the vics were castrated?" Muff asked in a whisper, trying not to draw attention to our booth. I nodded my head. "Well it doesnt make me feel comfortable, if that is what you mean, but I never thought that...." he didnt finish the sentence and I gave him a puzzled look. He saw my face and said, "Forget it. You think that fact might play into this?"

"Well it might go into the psychology of the motive behind the attacks..... ethnic cleansing and all. Some nut seeing the phrase "inferior genetic material" might think they needed to get rid of the source of that, as if death wasnt enough." I shuddered, as I finally voiced my inner thoughts about that for the first time. "I have seen some sick stuff in my two years on the force, but this is the sickest."

Muff just pondered what I had told him. "You might have something there." We got quiet again, I was taking the time to think happily on the fact that someone else was taking my theories seriously, and I supposed Muff was trying to logically put more of the pieces of the cases together in light of this new theory.

"You told me that you had a suspect in mind after this research, the man who ... ah ... shot your partner..." Muff still felt I might be sensitive to that topic, so I jumped in confidently, ignoring the discomfort in his question. "Yes." I took the laptop back and started clicking through some links. "This site keeps a list of its members, although you really have to know how to look to find them. One of them was located in the general area of our precinct, so I thought that might be a good place to start. I really didnt know if he would be our perp, but you have to explore all possibilities." I turned the laptop back around so Muff could read the screen I had displayed. It was a list of names and general locations of hundreds of members. I had scrolled down to the one that we been staking out, remembering back to the hours I spent scrolling down the list of names to find it. I was still floored as to how many people bought into the crap this group was dishing out. Just goes to prove what a few nuts with the power of the Internet can accomplish.

Muff must have scrolled up and down the list, cause he whistled and said, "Wow, look at all these names....."

"Yes, disturbing, isnt it?"

"That is an understatement..... at least you are safe from them. It makes me want to go back to Puerto Rico and hide. These people are nuts!"

I understood the reason for his comment, being his ethnic background was a perfect target for this kind of hate. "I am still a little confused by the fact that this perp is only targeting young males tho.... you would think that any non Aryan would be a target."

"Well I might have a theory as to that.... it goes to the male psyche.... I mean, males usually dont feel threatened by females, but there is something about the virility of young males that set some guys off. Think of those who prey on young males as sexual targets.... I think it is the same sort of idea, but with a different motive."

I pondered that. "I guess I see your point. I just had another thought too. I know that in many cultures, the future of the race is seen as resting with the male line... at least that is the case in many western cultures."

Muff added, "Yes, it is a biblical idea as well, and these people sure are Christian in their ideology."

I cringed. "Well maybe, but this group sure isnt orthodox in their brand of Christianity. All Christian teaching I have ever heard tells you to love your fellow human beings, even your enemies."

"Truth, but nuts usually arent interested in orthodoxy. At least this seems to fit facts in these cases. This is a great piece of detective work, Janice."

"Thanks," I said, blushing but feeling really good about having a partner who recognized the hard work I had put in. "The guy we were staking out seems to have spotted us when O Riley made his move. Jim didnt say much to me as he dashed out of the car to check on him, but I did see the suspect look through some curtains and then directly at our car before he pulled his head in rather abruptly. I guess Jims gut told him the guy was on to us and was going to make a break for it. Makes you think he might have been guilty of something." I shuddered as I thought back to that night once again. Then thinking about the fact that the guy was in custody I added, "At least we got him. I will phone Larry or Mike in the morning and see what the bastard had to say."

"Larry and Mike?" Muff asked.

"Sorry, I meant, Dets. Jensen and Poole. They worked with Jim and me on the cases and now they have exclusive rights to them. Cause Mike did tell me when I was scanning the files to take with me to get in contact with them if I had any ideas that would help. I think the captain told him there was at least one case up here that had some of the same pattern to it as ours."

"Well it will be interesting to hear what this guy," Muff paused and looked at the computer screen, "Albert Beckman, has to say for himself."

"Yup." I rubbed my eyes. It had been a long day and I was starting to tire. "Lets get to the evidence so we can compare notes on the crime scenes."

"It can wait." Muff must have sensed my need for rest. Looking at his watch he added, "It is getting late. We both need to stay fresh and focused on this. Let me get you home and we will start again in the morning."

Seeing that it was almost midnight, I said, "Well I normally take a bus home, but since it might be prudent not to at this hour, I will accept a ride home, but just this once. I dont need you to be my chauffeur."

Muff looked hurt. "I didnt mean..... oh, never mind." He got up and unplugged his laptop. "Look, I dont mind giving you a ride. I know you dont want to feel you are imposing, but you arent. I like to drive and a jaunt down to Greenwich Village isnt an imposition."

I looked at him with obvious shock registered on my face. He said, "Yes, well I knew you were going to be my partner before you arrived this afternoon and me being the nosy person I am, looked up some basics on you, like you address. It is in your personnel file, you know."

"Oh, yeah, I guess....." I was really at a loss for words. No one from the three four had paid that much attention to my personal life, least of all Jim. Muffs interest took me by surprise. Thinking back on it later that night as I was falling asleep, other little things took me by surprise as well. The most glaring of these was the fact that we fell into calling each other by our first names, something I didnt do at the three four. Cause when I thought about that, I was the one who started it, preferring Muff to Kovack. So I guess I shouldnt have been too surprised when he called me Janice instead of Grieg. At least he used the more formal version of my name.

Muff dropped me off at my brownstone, and I said a simple good bye and see you tomorrow as I opened the door and climbed out of the car. I intentionally hurried up the steps quickly, hoping to give Muff the impression I wasnt too keen on have him ask if I needed an escort to my apartment door. I guess it didnt bother him, cause he never mentioned it the next day.

I was on my second cup of coffee, looking over the bus schedules for a possible route up to the one two seven when I heard someone honking their horn outside my building. I didnt think too much of it, it was the city after all, horns blow and sirens sound at all hours of the day and night. I am almost deaf to them anymore, you almost have to be in order to get any sleep. So I didnt get up right away.

The horn blew again, with more urgency and length. I think the cop in me kicked in, cause I got up to see who was making a public nuisance of themselves at 6 o clock in the morning so I could go down and arrest them. When I parted the curtains of my living room window, I was surprised and a little dismayed to see Muffs Chevy Impala parked in front of my building. His windows were open, so I yelled down to him, "Quit blowing that damn horn, you want the neighbors to call the cops on you?"

He leaned over to the passenger window and looked up at my fourth floor window. "Buenos días, mi socia. I hope you slept well," Muff answered, in a much sweeter voice than I had used with him.

"Yes, but why are you here?"

"Hey, I was in the neighborhood and ---" Before I could let him finish the trite cliché, I said, "Never mind, Ill be right down." I could see the neighbors starting to look out their windows at the exchange, and, being a nosy lot, I didnt want my business gossiped about all over the place.

I quickly gathered my things and headed down the four flights of stairs to the street. There was a working elevator in the building, but I remembered the little jaunt in the park yesterday and decided that taking the stairs would be a good way to stay in shape so I could keep up with Muff. I wasnt exactly out of shape, but I guess my pride was wounded by his off handed joke at my expense yesterday.

When I got to the car, I opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. "I told you I didnt need a chauffeur. I am perfectly capable of catching the bus to the precinct every day." I saw him starting to respond, and I cut him off. "And dont try that lame line about being in the neighborhood, I know you must live up in the Washington Heights area, which is well out of the way."

"How do you know WHERE I live?" he answered smugly, knowing I had not had any time to check up on him like he obviously did with me. I had thought about it last night when I came home, but being way too tired for any more investigations that day, I headed straight for bed. Again his uncanny way of knowing what I did or what I was thinking was working that morning. I knew he knew this to be a fact.

"I-- I guess I dont know where you live, but assuming you grew up in that neighborhood and work there now---" I was digging myself a deep hole.

"Doncha know that assuming things is the first thing they teach you NOT to do in police work." He put the car in gear and said, "Last night I thought I got a partner with brains for once, but now---" His tone was deadpan serious, but a little upturn of the corners of his mouth betrayed the fact that he was kidding with me. I didnt know whether or not to hit him on the arm for that, but seeing that he was now in traffic, I decided to let that remark go, as I did the one in the park. I would have to think of a good way to get back at his wisecracks, but I knew that wouldnt be easy. One thing was certain in my mind, I would have to take the time at my earliest convenience to check my partners records, as he had done with mine. He was, for damn sure, not going to tell me anything he didnt think I should know. Well, two can play at that game, mister, I thought to myself as we wove our way through the rush hour traffic of mid-town.

"You were awful early coming to get me this morning," I said after many minutes of silence. I was beginning to get used to these long stretches of listening to the sounds of the traffic and not our voices. I didnt know if it was because Muff didnt know what to say, unless it was about the job or making wise cracks, or maybe he preferred silence to mindless chatter. I have always taken my cues from my partners in that regard, it doesnt matter to me whether we talk or not. I used the time to think about my next comments carefully.

"Well I wanted to make sure I was there before you left to catch a bus. Traffic this hour of the morning is murder." As if to punctuate this remark, we hit a particularly nasty snarl of vehicles and Muff stuck his head out the window and spat out a string of Spanish that sounded like epitaphs to me. He followed it up with an upturned fist. I couldnt see if his middle finger was in or out, but I guessed he was trying very hard to keep his wits about him, so I guessed it was just his fist.

"I see," was all I could answer when he put his head back in and found a small opening and sped through it. "Remind me not to meet up with you in a dark alley..." commenting on the road rage I had just witnessed.

"Oh, Jan, dont think that what I did was an indication of my normal sweet personality. If you drive in New York, you have to act like a New York driver sometimes."

"Guess so," I answered. I was becoming the master of the understatement around him. Muff always seemed to have a comeback. And it wasnt lost on me that he shortened my given name to a nickname. I decided our time might be better spent talking about what was on the agenda when we got to work instead of personal banter, which was getting me in trouble.

"I want to call Mike Poole at the three four when we get in and see if he and Jensen got an interview with our Mr. Beckman yet."

Muff looked over at me briefly and then turned his attention back at the traffic. "You havent interviewed him yet? What about this guys rights?"

"Hell, I could care less about his rights, but I dont mean the initial interview." I wondered if Muff was thinking I was brainless again and it aggravated me. "We interrogated him as soon as Poole and Jensen hauled his sorry ass into the station. The only thing the perp said was he was defending himself against two trigger happy cops, that his injury, which turned out to be a flesh wound, was evidence of his claim and that he wanted his lawyer. That was the end of the interview till the guys mouth piece came in, and then we got nothing. I do know, from the DA, that this guy is pleading not guilty, that the shooting was purely self defense."

"Shit!" Muff exclaimed as he pulled into a space reserved on the street for his car. He put it into park. "Well, what are you hoping to get out of the second interview?"

"I wanted to ask him about his involvement with this group, but I didnt get the chance. I left a list of questions for Poole to ask him, if they got the chance. Seems now that the guy has been arraigned on the 1st degree murder charges, we have to go through the DA in order to get an interview. I was glad we were at least able to get a warrant to search his place from a judge. Being that it is a clear cut case that he shot and killed a cop, the judge was all too happy to issue the warrant."

We got out of the car and climbed up the front stairs and through the front doors. The humidity was already starting to make it hard to breathe normally. I changed the subject briefly to ask, "Whats up with the elevator and the air conditioning in this place?"

We entered through the lobby, signed in, picked up a large envelope from the evidence clerk, and headed for the stair well. "You know the city," Muff answered, "no money for the creature comforts--- but I did hear that the elevator might be fixed by the end of the week."

"Thatll be something at least," I remarked, as we climbed the stairs to the third floor. I stopped at the machine to get a cold bottle of water to replace the fluids I had sweat out coming up to the squad room. I offered Muff a bottle and he accepted. Sitting down at our desks, we got our laptops from the briefcases we carried and plugged in for the day.

"What did you find in the perps apartment?" Muff asked as he started to type the report from yesterdays incident. Neither one of us had gotten to do that in all the running around we did afterwards. I pulled out the envelope we had picked up down stairs when we came in. In it was the evidence that had been collected from yesterdays crime scene along with the photographs of the area and the body.

"Not too much, the guy was a slob. We found his computer, the tech boys are still working on that. There was a box of ammo that fit the perps gun, the one he used to shoot ORiley. We looked for a knife, since that was the perps weapon of choice in the murders --- but nothing. He had several hunting catalogues in apartment. There were pages of blades that had similar characteristics to our murder weapon, but this wasnt enough to tie him to the murders. Poole and Jensen were suppose to canvas the weapon shops to see if he bought throw-aways. The knives in the catalogues were all rather expensive to be used as throw-aways. And looking at the condition of the rest of the apartment, this guy wasnt one of the Rockefellers. Wouldnt surprise me if he didnt look at those catalogues to get his rocks off. These guys are sickos, if you ask me."

Muff just chuckled under his breath. "You crack me up, Greig. But it wouldnt surprise me what any of these perps do in their spare time." He went on typing the report. "Well, lets leave your old case for a minute so we can get this one typed up. What evidence is in the envelope?"

I got the impression from the way Muff called me by my last name that he was all business now. It was that dividing wall up again. I took this cue and put on my best professional act. Reaching into the envelope, I took out each piece one at a time and read the label as I scrutinized it. The first was the wallet I had found in the vics torn jacket. "One wallet, student ID gives the name Jesse Morgan. The ID was issued from PS183. I guess that is the high school he attended. We should get it touch with the administration over there and interview them for possible leads."

Muff typed this info into the computer and said, "You think anyone is around since it is summer break?"

"Oh yes, my dad was a teacher and I know the administration has to report to work year round. Besides, most schools are running summer school programs right now. I am sure someone will be able to talk to us." I thought for a minute and added, "I know we both think we know what is really behind this, but it never hurts to eliminate other motives."

"Truth," Muff answered. "What else is in the wallet?"

"Not too much, a bus pass, $12 in ones and a five, a picture of a girl, maybe a girlfriend... She might be another person we should interview."

Muff put this all into the report and said, "Did anyone get a hold of his parents. In all the confusion yesterday, I wasnt sure if someone was assigned that task."

"I dunno, pretty sloppy work on our parts, I guess."

"Not necessarily.... up here we sometimes assign one of the uniforms the job of getting a hold of the family. Even though this guy had an ID doesnt really mean it was his.... Maybe he stole the wallet. Does the ID have a picture?"

"Nope."

Muff thought a minute. "Let me go ask the captain if they have positively IDed the body yet. After all, it hasnt been 24 hours."

"OK," I answered as Muff got up and rapped on Captain Jacksons door. I started to look through the other evidence while Muff was in talking to the captain. There wasnt a whole lot in the envelope. The forensics team sent blood samples found at the scene to the lab and the body was waiting to be autopsied. The kid might have worn glasses, cause a pair was found close to the body. They could have fallen off in the struggle. Those were in the envelope as well. There was a report in the envelope saying all the items had be dusted for fingerprints and that the lab was in the process of putting them through the AFIS system. The vics clothing was at the forensics lab as well, so there wasnt much physical evidence in the envelope. The only other thing they found was the photos and the transcripts of the interviews the uniforms did of any potential witnesses on the scene. I was starting to read these when Muff came back.

"Cap says that when the body came in, he wanted to wait till it was positively IDed before we went to find the parents. He didnt want to cause any unnecessary grief. He wants us to go down to the morgue and see if they got a positive ID by now."

"OK," I answered.

Muff unplugged his computer after saving what he had been working on. "You never know if you might need to reference things, I never go anywhere without this."

I was impressed. "You have something there. I guess I should take mine too."

"Wouldnt hurt."

I returned all the evidence to the envelope and secured it in my locked desk. We were responsible for these vital clues and I wasnt going to have it come up missing. Then I grabbed my computer and put it in my briefcase. I had my cell phone plus some other things I use when on cases in the bag as well. I had found one of those leather looking shoulder satchels that are advertised as laptop cases. It was very portable and even a bit fashionable looking. Muff looked at this and then down at his rather conventional hard-shell case and said, "I think I have to get me one of those."

"I like it," I answered as we walked down the three flights of stairs. We exited the building and headed for the Impala. I asked him how far it was to their crime lab and he answered that it was located close to the Columbia University Presbyterian Medical Center. "We cant afford the fancy equipment they can at their School of Forensic Sciences. But that isnt where we are going now. The body is at the morgue at the Harlem Hospital Center cause it was the closest to the crime scene."

"I see." I also saw that I needed to spend more time researching the locations in my new neighborhood. I am glad Muff knew where we were going, cause I sure was lost.

"By the way, did that ID have an address on it?" Muff asked.

I looked on my computer. I had taken the time to scan the ID into my hard drive while Muff was talking to the captain. "Yeah, East 143rd street. 211, Apt 4A."

"Well if this turns out to be Mr. Morgan, we will have to go and talk to the parents. I dunno if we will have to bring them down here or not, but I guess it would be a good idea."

I shuddered. This was the crappiest part of the job.

We stopped in the part of the lot reserved for the police and went through a back entrance and down the elevator to the basement. I always wondered why most hospitals kept their morgues in the basement, but I guess it was a logical choice. Dead bodies dont need windows and sunlight. I wondered what kind of a person would want to work in such dungeons, but I guess there were as many people who wondered why anyone would go in for police work, so I shrugged and thanked God that someone wanted to do this necessary but ghoulish work.

Muff spoke to the coroner in charge of the case. Besides ascertaining the cause of death, it is the coroners job to make a positive ID based on what the body could tell them. Since the fingers were still intact, the coroner lifted prints from the body and sent those to AFIS, but there wasnt a hit. That didnt really surprise me, since most people dont bother to have fingerprints taken. It just meant the kid didnt have a criminal record or work for someone who might need to take fingerprints for a background check. I know there had been a push to get school kids to be fingerprinted for missing person IDs, but that program had its detractors, and not many school systems had bothered to have the police in to do the work. This made the ID harder in these cases.

"You been able to ID him any other way?" I heard Muff ask the coroner, a Dr. Basu Kumar. Dr. Kumar said, "We checked hospital records, we figured if the boy lived in this area a while, he might be on file. Most residents have been to this hospital at one time or another. We found records for a Jesse Morgan around our vics age, so we did a blood match, since the records had his blood type in it. Turns out they have the same type. Good chance this is your boy."

I turned away so the guys couldnt see a tear form in my eye. I might not be squeamish, but the death of kids always got to me. I know the doctor was only doing his job, but it sometimes struck me as cold, the way they had to go about identifying a DOA, like it was a thing and not a person. When I got myself under control and turned back to Muff, I got that feeling he knew what I thinking. This uncanny sixth sense of his was starting to get on my nerves, but I didnt want him to think it was getting to me. Hell, maybe he couldnt help it.

"Looks like we will have to get the parents down here for an ID then," Muff said, almost in a whisper. It didnt take any sixth sense on my part to tell that Muff hated this part of the work as much as I did. "When can you have the boy ready for them?"

Dr. Kumar looked more human when he said, "Give me about an hour and I will have him looking presentable... I guess just the face will be necessary, since it is unmarked.." It seemed to me that even Dr. Kumar had some trouble with these cases. Made me feel better about my momentary emotional break.

"Yeah, Doc, that will be fine. We need to find the parents first. It might take that long to find them and break the news to them. We will be back in about an hour."

Muff and I got back into the Impala and drove out of the parking lot. As Muff maneuvered the car into traffic, I asked, "You want me to break it to them?"

"It would be the easiest thing for me to say yes to you right now, but maybe I should do it." He looked at me hard and added, "and not because I think you will get all sappy on me being female.... I got more respect for you than that. I just think you being white might have a negative affect on these people." I was about to make a comment about that being a real racist remark trying to ignore the sexist one that came before it, but he stopped me before I got anything out of my mouth. "Look, Grieg, like it or not, we are all a bit racist under the color of our skin. I just want this to go as smoothly as anything like this can. So you will have to trust me on this one. Nothing personal, you understand."

I guess I could see his point. I had felt a bit like a fish out of water yesterday when we went to look at the crime scene. I swallowed my indignation and said, "Sure, you have the experience up here. Whatever you think is best." I guess when I thought about it some more, I was actually relieved I didnt have to be the one to find the right words.

The apartment building was typical of the area. Located in a low to middle class neighborhood, there were kids running around the streets trying to cool off by an open fire hydrant. The building was run down, but not so much so that the tenants didnt try to make it decent looking. There was no elevator in the building, so it was another walk up on a very hot day. I couldnt wait to go home that night and stand under my shower for an hour to take the grime and the sweat off my body.

When Muff knocked at the door, a pleasant looking black woman answered the door. She looked to be in her thirties. "Yeah, whach want?" she asked as Muff identified them and showed her his badge. He asked if they could come in and ask her a few questions. She looked reluctant, but when Muff smiled at her, she seemed to warm up to him and let the two of us in.

The inside of the apartment was not fancy, but I could tell that Mrs. Morgan kept it clean and presentable. Music from a stereo in the back of the apartment blared out and Mrs. Morgan hollered to someone named Taniesha to turn it down. Then she invited us to sit on her sofa. We took our seats and Muff asked her, "Mrs. Morgan, do you have a boy named Jesse?"

"Yeah, what has he done now?" She looked hard at Muff, but there was a bit of fear in her voice.

"Nothing that we know of. Was your boy in the habit of getting into trouble."

Mrs. Morgan got defensive, "No, my Jesses a good boy. Good in school, good grades, helps me out around here when his daddys on the road." She looked at Muff with questioning eyes. "My husband is a truck driver, hes on the road a lot. In fact he is out there right now, but should be home tonight for a few days. When he isnt around, Jesse looks after his sister and me." She paused again and said in a very frightened voice, "Whats this all about? Wheres my Jesse?"

"He hasnt been home, maam?" Muff asked her.

"He never came home from his job yesterday. He works at the grocery store over on 150th street, Taggarts market."

"Is this unusual for him, staying out all night after work?"

Mrs. Morgan thought a minute before she answered Muffs question. "Well normally when his daddys away he comes right home after work, cause he dont like me and his sister to be alone--- but lately hes gotten hisself mixed up with those street punks that hang out at the Scorpions club. He told me it was for protection, that the brothers would be watchin his back--- even gave him a jacket a few nights ago. I swore to him that ifen he got himself into trouble with that gang, I wouldnt be around to bail him out, that he didnt have no use messin with that crowd, he was a good boy---" Tears started to form on her face. "Hes not in any trouble with those low-lifes, is he officer?"

"Not that we are aware of, Mrs. Morgan," Muff answered. I knew he was preparing her for the inevitable, but these questions were driving me a bit nuts, knowing what was coming. "Had Jesse gotten into the habit of staying out at night lately?"

"Yeah, a couple of times, and when he would come home he would be real evasive, telling me not to worry." She got a tissue from a box on the coffee table in front of the sofa and wiped her eyes. "Whacha here for then, if my Jesse isnt in trouble?" Her voice cracked as if it were finally dawning on her what Muff was eluding to. I guess Muff realized this and knew instinctively it was time to break the bad news to her.

"Mrs. Morgan, we have a boy down at the morgue that fits the description of Jesse." Muff stopped at that moment because Mrs. Morgan began to cry loudly and yell out, "Noooo, it cant be--- not my Jesse--- NOOOO." At this outburst, a girl about 10 years old came out of the back bedroom and said, "Whats the matter, mama?" Looking hard at us she added, "Wassa cops doin here?" She put her arms around her mothers weeping form and then asked us, "Whacha upsettin my mama about?"

Mrs. Morgan answered her daughters question before Muff or I could think what to tell the girl. We normally dont talk to the younger siblings unless the parents give us the OK. Sometimes parents like to break news of this nature their own way to the younger kids, and we dont like to interfere with that. "Taniesha, honey, did Jesse come home last night?"

"Not that I know of, Mama. He told me he was comin home after work, tho, cause he was gonna bring me some candy from the store. I figured he was working late again."

Muff needed to step in but did so cautiously now that we had young ears listening in. "Mrs. Morgan, your sons ID was with our--- person, so we need you to come with us to-- em--"

"Its ok, -- Officer?" she said hesitantly.

"Kovack, maam."

"I understand, Officer Kovack. Let me get my things and get my sister to watch Taniesha."

The daughter started to protest, but her mother said, "Look, baby, Mama needs to go with these policeman--- its real important. Ill tell you all about it when I get back. Go up to Aunt Pattys for a bit and tell her your mama needed to go out. Ill be over there as soon as I find out what is goin on, OK?"

"Ok, Mama, but what will I tell Aunt Patty?"

"Just tell her your Mama needed to go out about Jesse, OK?"

"OK," the girl said reluctantly, and left the apartment.

"My sister lives upstairs. Taniesha will be OK with her."

Muff thought of something else. "Mrs. Morgan, did Jesses work call you today looking for him?"

"No, but he wasnt scheduled to work today. I thought he might just be hanging around with that gang of his. You remember what it was like to be 16, doncha Officer Kovack?"

"Yes, Mrs. Morgan, I do." I was guessing she was trying to defend her position as a parent, not knowing where Jesse was and why she didnt question his being missing for this many hours. I know my own mother would have had the FBI looking for me two hours after I didnt show up from somewhere, but I guess things were different these days.

I let Mrs. Morgan ride up front so she wouldnt feel like a suspect. For most people there is a stigma attached to sitting in the back seat of a police car, even if it is an unmarked one. Muff questioned her more about the gang Jesse had gotten himself involved in, and Mrs. Morgan gave a few sketchy answers through her tears. I knew Muff was trying to get her mind off of what was to come, but I also knew that was impossible.

At the hospital, we entered through the same back door, but instead of going downstairs, we entered a small waiting room with a window. The hospital had set up this room strictly for families to identify dead loved ones. It was more personable than the lab downstairs. I was grateful for this small concession for grieving loved ones. Muff went to the interior window and, through a speaker on the wall, asked if they were ready with the body. "Any time you are, Detective," came the answer over the speaker, in Dr. Kumars Indian accent.

Muff then turned to Mrs. Morgan and gently asked her if she was ready. She nodded ever so slightly and I offered her my arm to lean on. I had not spoken to her the whole time, so I wasnt sure if she would take me up on the offer, but when I smiled at her, she seemed to be grateful for another woman in the room and took it willingly. Muff slowly opened the curtain on the window, and through the glass I could see the dead boy laid out with a sheet over most of his body. Only his head was visible, the sheet covering all the signs of violence that had been done to the boy. The coroner had even combed his hair and made his face seem more natural. I had a new respect for his job.

Mrs. Morgan gripped my arm tightly as she broke down for the second time that day. She yelled out "Oh, Jesse, Nooooo" and leaned back against me. There was a sofa on the far side of the room and I helped her over to it before she collapsed on the floor. Muff closed the curtains and joined us on the sofa.

"I am truly sorry for your loss, Mrs. Morgan. I just need to be 100% sure for my report. This is your son?"

Mrs. Morgan just nodded through her sobbing. I offered her some Kleenex when she let go of my arm. She took it and continued crying. "Mrs. Morgan, do you have anyone you can be with right now?"

She finally found her voice. "Just take me back to my sisters--- Oh my God, what am I going to tell my husband? Jesse was his life!" She broke down again. Muff wanted to ask the doctor something and left me with the grieving mother. When he left the room, she looked at me and asked, "How did this happen?" I knew enough not to go into the details, so all I said was, "It looks like he was murdered. We are investigating it now. I want to assure you, we will do everything in our power to find out who did this to your boy, Mrs. Morgan."

"Murdered? Who would want to kill Jesse? He was such a loving boy."

"I dont know. Did Jesse ever mention anyone who might have been hostile toward him lately?" I normally waited to ask the family questions of this nature, but she seemed open to answering them, so I ventured to ask.

"Not that I was aware of, cause that gang of his had plenty of people who didnt like them. I told Jesse not to get mixed up with them." She started to get upset again and I decided it was best to hold off any more questions till the husband came home. Then, when the shock had worn off, the family would be in better shape to answer more questions.

Muff came back into the room and went over to Mrs. Morgan. Taking her by the hand he said gently, "Mrs. Morgan, because this is a homicide, we will have to let the doctor examine your son. This should take a couple of days, but after that is done with, we will release him to you for burial. You said your husband was coming home tonight?"

"Yes," she answered him. I handed her another Kleenex. She wiped her eyes again.

"Here is my card," Muff handed her one of his business cards. "Have your husband call me." He pointed to the numbers on the card. "This one is my desk phone at the precinct, and this is my cell number if I am not at my desk. I will give him all the information he needs to tell the funeral director about getting Jesse to you."

"OK," she answered meekly. Muff knew she was no longer able to take any more information in, being she was still in a state of shock. "Lets get you to your sisters now. And again, I am sooo sorry for your loss."

"Thanks, you have been very kind to me." We left the hospital and headed back to Mrs. Morgans apartment building. She insisted on sitting in the back seat on the ride back. I knew it was because she needed to be alone in her grief for a bit.

We left Mrs. Morgan in the care of her sister and to tell the rest of the family what had happened. Muff told me in the car on the way down to the crime lab that the coroner would call them with his findings as soon as the autopsy was over.

"Damn, that was hard," he exclaimed as we stopped at a red light.

"Yup," I answered. "Hardest part of the job. Especially when kids are the vics."

"Yup," he said. "I just never understand why---" and his voice trailed off into silence.

"I dont think sane people will ever fully understand the motivation behind this kind of sickness."

Muff looked at me hard, "You arent one of those people who believe that these sick bastards arent responsible for their behavior, are you? Cause if you are---"

I headed off that one before it went any further. "NO! Dont misunderstand me. I just meant that people try to understand the psyche of killers, and most people who refrain from killing their fellow man can't fully comprehend those who have no problem killing.

"You sound like a psyche major."

Now I was embarrassed. I didn't tell too many people what I did before I joined the force. "Well, if you must know, I have a masters in criminal psychology from Hofstra University. I thought it might come in handy when I decided to join the police academy, something I had considered while I was in the service. I wanted to get my degree, taking advantage of the GI bill."

Muff didn't say anything at this point. It was one of the reasons I didn't talk about my degree much. I always thought it might intimidate people. I was afraid it did with Muff. But after a few moments he said, "Sounds reasonable to me. I guess that is what helped you profile someone for these murders."

"Yes. I wasnt convinced it was drug or gang related, cause of the nature of the mutilations. I guess we cant rule out a general crazy person, but I just dont know. This still has the markings of some sort of revenge, and racial revenge would fit. There is only one thing that is bothering me."

Muff parked the car at the station but made no move to get out. "Whats that?"

"Well, this cant be the work of one person. I mean, if the guy who shot ORiley was the perp in my murders, and even in your first one, he couldnt have done the Morgan kid. He was in jail when that happened."

Muff said, "Yes, which makes your case for this racist group stronger. Unless your perp isnt the one who is doing these."

"Which leads us back to finding out what Jensen and Poole might have learned. I really should call them." I got out my cell phone and dialed the number of the three four. I asked for Pooles extension.

"Thirty-fourth precinct, Det. Poole speaking."

"Poole, this is Greig."

"Hey, we wondered when we would hear from you again. Have you been busy up at the one two seven?"

I laughed. Of all the detectives in my old precinct, I think I got along with Mike Poole the best. I knew it bothered him that I was transferred. He never said it to me, but it was well known around the three four that he never got along with my former partner. "Ive only been gone a day."

"The longest twenty four hours of my life. The place hasnt been the same without you. No scenery!" He laughed. Mike liked to kid me with the macho ogling bit, but I knew he was a happily married man. He was just a hopeless flirt.

"Thats a shame," I said, teasing him back. Then it was time to get down to business. "Poole, have you had the opportunity to question our cop killer yet?"

Mike knew when it was time to get back to work. "No, but the DA is trying to set something up. Jensen and I could use to talk to you first, if you have some time."

I looked at my watch. It was 11:30 a.m. "You have plans for lunch today?"

Muff looked at me inquisitively. I tried to ignore him and Mike said, "Not that I know of, hold on."

It sounded like Mike had put the receiver against his body, because the sound became muffled. While Mike asked his partner about lunch, I took the time to answer Muffs inquisitive look. "Mike said he needed to talk to me before they see our perp."

"Oh," was all Muff replied. I heard Mike get back on the phone. "Yeah, lunch would be fine. Harrys OK?"

"Sure, we can be there in about thirty minutes."

"OK, well save you a seat. Bye."

"Bye." I pushed the end button on my cell phone and said, "He wants us to meet them at Harrys Bar and Grill. It is over on Delancy and Bowery."

"OK" Muff went to start the car.

"Hold on, let me go in and get something first."

Muff looked puzzled. "Call it a hunch," I said, trying to explain.

"OK, well let the desk know where we are going since you are going in."

"Sure," I said as I headed up the stairs. "Ill only be a minute."

Actually it was about 10 minutes later, owing to the lack of an elevator, but I returned with an envelope in my hand. I got in the car and told Muff I was ready.

"Whats in the envelope?"

I put it in my satchel. "I decided that it might be helpful to have the crime photos and the reports with us, so we could compare notes. I also took the time to take the other physical evidence back to the evidence desk. I asked to sign out the crime photos and the reports on the similar case you had before I got here. I think it would be a good idea to compare notes on these cases with Jensen and Poole. Which reminds me---" I took out my cell phone again and dialed Pooles number.

"Thirty-fourth precinct, Det. Poole speaking."

"Good, I caught you before you left. Would you sign out and bring all the crime photos from the six cases ORiley and I were working on. I have copies of the reports on my laptop. Maybe you better bring anything you have discovered since I left pertaining to those cases as well."

"Sure thing. We havent had time to look at those cases yet, since all our time has been taken up with Jims murderer. We need to compare notes about those, especially since you think it might all tie in."

"Yup. Thanks. Were on our way."

"See you in a few." Mike hung up and I pressed the end button again and put my cell phone away.

We arrived at Harrys a little after noon. Mike and Larry were already there and had saved seats for us. I introduced Muff to them and we sat down and ordered some lunch from the menu. Harrys was known for his steaks and sandwiches. We ate there quite frequently on our lunch breaks at the three four.

When the orders had been taken, Mike cleared his throat and handed me a blue folded packet of papers. "I hate to start our meeting with this, but I want to get this out of the way, so we can get on with other things."

"Whats this," I asked, knowing full well it looked like a subpoena.

"They need you at the grand jury. The DA wants to put you on the stand to tell your side of what happened that night."

"Damn," I exclaimed.

"Well, it makes sense," said Muff.

"Yeah, I know, but still, I had hoped---" I stumbled.

"Whats wrong?" Muff asked. The other two detectives looked at me with the same question in their eyes. I knew that this was SOP and I also knew this was coming, but somehow I had hoped to avoid it.

"I know, I know, I shouldnt be surprised, but I am not looking forward to this. Im afraid of what effect my testimony might have on the grand jury."

"What do you mean?" Jensen said.

"Well, the events dont exactly put my partner in a good light. I mean, he did disregard normal procedures. I am afraid if I bring that fact up, there might be an internal review and ORileys widow could lose his death benefits."

"It is that damning?" asked Poole.

"Well I dunno, I guess I could gloss over that. The problem is I know the defense lawyer might make a big deal of it, cause it would strengthen their case that this guy shot Jim in self defense."

"You really think this guy has a case for self defense, asked Poole.

"Not really. If this guy wasnt guilty of something, then why did he have a gun trained on my partner. And I knew ORiley. He might have been a macho glory hog, but he wasnt trigger happy. But I know how lawyers twist what you have to say so it sounds completely different." I frowned. Most of the cops I knew had the same low opinion of lawyers. Many good cases were lost because of loop holes lawyers would find in perfectly good evidence. It kinda made all our hard work look like a waste of time.

The men at the table nodded. Our waiter brought our sandwiches and we became silent as we ate. After a few bites, I said, "Well I think we should spend our time worrying about these murders. I am hoping we can tie our perp to these. It would make things a bit easier if we had something solid on this guy."

"But he couldnt have committed your last murder. He has been in Rikers since the night he killed ORiley. Your murder happened a week later," observed Jensen.

"I know, that is what is bothering me," I answered. "You bring those photos I asked for?"

Poole pulled an envelope out of his briefcase. "Yeah, here you go." He handed it to me. "I still dont see what you are looking for tho."

Something had dawned on me since looking at the website last night with Muff. I took them out and held them up one by one at arms length. The rest of the guys went on eating, but were looking at me with puzzled looks.

Muff looked at Mike and said, "Has she always been like this, all work and no play?" I made a face. Mike answered him.

"Thats our Det. Greig for you. A great package to look at, but all business."

I crinkled my nose up at that last remark. "Well some one has to do all the work around here when you boys are doing all the playing!"

Larry said, "We work, it is just that we know how to relax when we have free time--- and we are off the clock for lunch."

"I know, but this needs to be a working lunch. We have too much we need to compare notes about," I added. I knew where this was leading. The guys I have worked with have always been on my case about my work ethic. I know I put myself into my work too much, but it keeps me from thinking about how alone I am most of the time I am not working. Not that I am looking for a solution to that problem, it is just that I dont have time to think about it. Or maybe I dont chose to think about it.

The guys must have given up trying to get me to let it go for a few minutes, cause they proceeded to ignore me and talk about sports. I decided to go back to the problem at hand. One by one I held each of the crime photos up, squinting at times at each of them. I had also taken out the photos from the two Harlem cases. Finally a light bulb came on in my head and my eyes got really large and bright.

"What is it, mi socia?" Muff was the first to ask, noticing my excitement.

I put the photos in a pile in front of me on the table and directed my comments to him. "You remember that website we were studying last night?"

"Yeah, the People for a Free America, what of it?"

I smiled and turned to Jensen and Poole. Both had stopped eating and gabbing about the Yankees when they witnessed this exchange. I knew I had their attention as well. I turned my attention to them and said, "I dont know how much time you have had to look over my case notes, but I had been looking at this group as possibly being behind our 6 murders."

Jensen shrugged and Poole just said, "ORiley mentioned something about one of your harebrained theories."

I was smug now. I had reason to be. "Did he tell you that our Mr. Beckman was a member of this group?" Both detectives shook their heads. "Figures. I knew he thought I was barking up the wrong tree, only because he didnt think of it first."

"That sounds like sour grapes," Jensen remarked.

I waved my hand as to dismiss his remark. "Never mind. I only wish he was still alive to see this," I put the pile of photographs in Muffs hand. "Look at the chests on all the vics."

Muff took the photos and put them at arms length as I had done. "Looks like a series of knife marks."

I shook my head. "We have all been assuming that the knife that killed each of the victims also made these marks and performed the castrations. The thing that always bothered me about that was the fact that the throat wound was larger and a bit more jagged. These wounds are not as deep and seem more precisely done. I think the pattern is deliberate, not just a random series of cuts."

Muffs face seemed to change with this new line of thought. "Hum, let me look at them again." He held each one up one at time and studied the marks closely. "Grieg, you might have something there. The pattern does look very similar on each of the vics. And it seems a bit familiar."

"Familiar?," asked Poole.

I had saved the webpage on my computer so I could access it off line. I pulled out my laptop and brought up the home page of the People for a Free America. I passed it to each of the detectives. "Notice the logo at the top?"

It was an elaborate drawing of a cross with a snake attempting to climb up it. At the bottom were flames. "I think this is what has been attempted on the chests of each of the vic."

Muff looked at the picture. "In a crude way, I suppose. But they all arent exactly the same, in fact the two up in Harlem have a lot of differences from your six down here."

"Which goes to my theory that there is more than one perp, but that they are tied somehow to this group." I took the photos from Muffs hands and gave them to Jensen and Poole to study. After a few minutes of staring at the photos and the logo on the laptop, everyone began to realize there might be something to my theory.

"You said you think this wasnt done with the murder weapon?" Muff asked.

I shook my head. "No the detail work is too precise for a knife. My guess is was done with a surgical scalpel."

"Maybe," Muff said. "Ties in with something I had noticed. The crime scenes didnt seem to have enough blood."

Now it was my turn to be surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Look at all of these pictures... I mean, I have seen vics bleed out from slit throats before. There is a lot of blood. There is blood here, but not enough. Makes me wonder...."

"What?" I was starting to see his point.

"That this wasnt done at the scene. I think these kids were abducted, taken somewhere else. That would give the perps time to do this carving on their chests."

"What did the M.E. have to say about the wounds found on the vics?" Jensen asked.

Muff took out the report I had taken from the 127th. "In our first case, the report says that the cause of death was from the vics throats being cut with a large knife, and loss of blood. We are waiting on the second report."

Poole took out the reports I had give to him when I left yesterday. "I grabbed these with the photos. The same thing is on our reports. The M. E. did mention that the wounds on the chest were consistent with a smaller blade." "Does either of the M.E.s mention how the castrations were done?," I asked.

"Mine says that the testicles and penis were surgically removed postmortem but were missing at the time of the autopsy," Muff said.

"Same in each of our cases," answered Poole.

I was beginning to see a pattern. "Surgically removed, like with a scalpel?"

Muff shrugged. "Could be."

A new theory of how these murders might have occurred was forming in my brain. But more tests will have to be run. I turned to the detectives from the three four. "Jensen, Poole, I need you to ask the M.E. to check the lung tissue for anything that might have been used to cause unconsciousness. If the vics were abducted, they might have been drugged. Better have a total tox screen done."

"Well some of these vics might be ready to be released to the families," Poole commented. The first of the murders had taken place about three weeks ago. By law, we cant keep a corpse indefinitely, but since there were several related cases, we had been able to keep the bodies in case we came up with more tests that needed to be run.

"Well, check to see what tests were run. The M.E.s dont always tell us everything if we dont ask. Maybe the toxs were done on the earlier vics. We will check with our M.E. and have him look for drugs in our boys."

"What are you thinking?," Muff asked me.

"I dunno yet. Could be something as simple as chloroform. Let me check on somethings first."

Our lunch break was over and we had to get back to our precincts. We had promised to keep each other abreast of any new developments. As Muff drove us back uptown, I called the coroner at Harlem Hospital center. I told him what tests I wanted him to run. He told me he would add them to the standard tox screens he would be doing tomorrow.

Back at the station we spent the rest of the afternoon processing the information we did have on our latest case. Muff typed as I dictated what we knew. When he was finished he backed up the report onto a floppy disk and handed it to me. I took it and added it to the hard drive files.

The department issues laptops to their detectives, but since budgets are tight, each precinct is very possessive of their laptops. I had one at the three four, but need to turn it in to the property clerk when I was transferred. I seemed to have inherited Muffs former partners machine when I arrived at the one two seven. I only wish I could afford one of my own, so I wouldnt have to keep transferring information, but on a cops salary, that wasnt going to happen anytime soon.

Before I left the three four, I downloaded all the files and all of my personal research onto disks. Somehow I had managed to find time in the hectic 24 hours I had been at the one two seven to upload all this information onto the new laptops hard drive. I had gotten the report from Muff on the first case and now was adding this new case to that file. I knew that having all of these reports at my fingertips would help me figure out if they were interrelated, as my gut told me they had to be.

After making sure all the files were in order on the hard drive, I noticed it was quitting time. Muff closed the top on his laptop. "Time to call it a day."

"I only wish! I have that court appearance to prepare for," I answered him.

"Mike Poole was right, you are NO fun." Muff smiled.

"Maybe, but I cant afford to have fun right now." I shuddered when I thought about my day in court. I hated that part of the job too. Some cops like to make appearances and look all important. I didnt. All lawyers were too slick for my liking, even the DAs who were supposedly on our side.

"You want some help preparing?" Muff asked sincerely. "Ive had a lot of experience on both sides of the docket in court."

I was kinda surprised that Muff never seemed to mind mentioning his life on the other side of the law. "Thanks, but I think I should just go home and go over my files on the case. I dont want to be tripped up when the defense comes at me with questions to twist my words against me. After all, I did shoot the guy."

"That is what I am talking about. I could help you by asking you questions that a defense lawyer might think up. And if you want to do that at your place, I dont mind," Muff added.

I thought about this for a minute. I had known Muff for little more than 24 hours. He was my partner, and seemed sincere about wanting to help me out. I know that this all appeared to be above board, but something inside of me told me that I should be a bit more cautious. But I didnt want to hurt the guys feelings. I thought for a few more seconds and then said, "Look, I appreciate the offer. Maybe you could help me out. But lets not go back to my place. You took me to your favorite eating place last night, let me take you to mine. OK?"

It seemed to my suspicious mind that a look of disappointment colored Muffs face. But I have been told my many people that I take the way people react to me the wrong way. Giving Muff the benefit of the doubt, I dismissed my ideas regarding this look. Muff just responded, "OK sounds fair enough", to my suggestion. With a nod of my head, I got up and packed up my belongings. We signed out at the main desk and Muff asked me where we were heading as we got in the Impala. I gave him the address of La Gondola and he pulled out into traffic.

"I hope you like Italian food. I know I dont have any Italian in me, but I sure like the food," I said with a smile, hoping to lighten the mood I had created back at the precinct.

"Sure, that sounds fine to me. I am not a very picky eater really. Couldnt be when I was in stir or I would have starved. As it was, I did lose a lot of weight when I was in there. I was so skinny when I got out, people couldnt see me when I stood sideways!" Muff laughed at his own joke.

"You mind if I ask you something personal?" I inquired. These references to his time in prison had piqued my curiosity to the point I had to ask.

"Sure, partner," Muff answered with a slight cowboy twang to his voice.

I smiled again. "Most people I know who have been in prison dont like to talk about it much, but you dont seem to mind making references to that time in your life? How come?"

Muff was quick on the retort, "Just how many people have you known who have been in prison?" I was taken aback by this question. "Well, to be honest, you are the first that I have known on a personal basis. The rest were in a professional capacity."

"Well, I guess you dont have much data to base your conclusion on, but I will tell you why I dont mind." He stopped at a red light and then looked me in the eye. I couldnt help noticing how large and dark they were, and how one eyelid drooped slightly. "I dont usually talk about that part of my life, that is true, but something about you seems to make me let my guard down." I could feel the red rise in my cheeks and I put my head down, not wanting him to see how uncomfortable he had made me feel. He must have seen how embarrassed I was cause when I looked back up again he was concentrating on the traffic. The light turned green and we continued on our way.

"I usually play my cards close to my chest," he continued to explain, keeping his eyes on the road. "I have had friends and lovers who have betrayed me in the past, so I am not usually forthcoming about stuff in my personal life, especially since I returned to New York. I guess another reason I usually dont talk to people about my life in Chicago is because I came back here to put all of that behind me. I never really shared much of it with anyone else before. My other partners all had their own lives and we werent that close. I was happy to have it that way. But I have never had to deal with a case as intense as the ones we are on, and you seem to be just as bothered about them as I am. That is rare in this line of work, believe me. Most of the guys I have encountered take this kind of thing and never seem to let it bother them. Maybe that is why I kinda felt comfortable opening up to you. This stuff is bothering you."

I thought about this a minute. "I see what you mean. I know cops can appear to be hard boiled, and most of them dont like to talk about how cases bother them, you have to be tough or it will drive you crazy. I havent had a partner that I could really relate to either. I always thought that was because I was a woman. Guys have a notion that women have to be treated differently than men when it comes to their feelings. I am not so sure that it true. It is something I have had to deal with all of my adult life really. The army was no better than the NYPD."

"Im sure you are right," answered Muff as he pulled into a curbside parking place not too far from the restaurant. "I guess it is just as tough being a female cop as it is to be a cop with a record."

"Probably," I said as I got out of the car.

Muff locked it and we went inside La Gondola.

After being seated, I asked Muff, "Its ok that we are eating out again tonight, isnt it?"

"Sure, I eat out quite a bit, why?"

"Well I know we dont make a whole lot. I usually fix something for myself most nights when I get hungry , but I try to get out a couple of times a week. I have found that the food at this place is not only good, but reasonably priced."

"Same with my favorite digs," Muff said. "Plus it has the added benefit of being run by family friends. I think they would feed me for nothing if I let them."

"Must be nice to have friends like that," I remarked without thinking of how that sounded. Muff picked up on it right away.

"I cant believe a pretty lady like you doesnt have friends."

At that moment the waiter came to take our orders and I felt I had gotten off of the hook. "Amerei dello spagetti con la salsa di marinara ed un piatto di lato di calimari, per favore," I said to the waiter. Muff looked at me with a shocked stare on his face.

"Bueno," said the waiter. He turned to Muff and asked him, "And for you, Signore?"

"Well I cant speak Italian like my friend here...." turning to me he asked, "By the way, what DID you order?"

"Just spagetti with marinara sauce and some calimari." I smiled with a sheepish grin.

"Sounds good to me," he said. Turning to the waiter he ordered the same. We got some wine to go with the dinner and the waiter left us. I knew what was coming.

"Where did you learn to speak Italian? You dont look it!"

"Im not, but I had a friend in high school whose mother was and she taught both of us. That is where I acquired a taste for Italian food. Man, could that woman cook. Oh, and I also took Latin in high school. That helps too, being a root language. I would think Italian might not be hard for you to learn, since Spanish and Italian are very similar and have the same root in Latin."

"Truth, and I did pick up a little of what you said right now, but I think I would have to practice a whole lot." Muff looked me in the eye again like he had in the car earlier and said, "I guess you are full of a lot of surprises."

I felt myself getting all red in the face again. I was never one for intense eye contact. I guess I always thought if a person could see deep enough into my eyes they might be able to see into my soul and that was a scary thought. I looked down to avoid his gaze, trying hard not to insult him while I did this. "Well we dont really know all that much about each other yet."

"Do you mind if I did get to know you better--- sorry, I know how that might have sounded. I meant platonically."

"No I guess not, it is just that I am kinda like you, I am not a very open person. I guess I have been burned a few times too many in my life too."

"Oh, sorry, I dont mean to pry," Muff looked down, with embarrassment registering on his face now.

"No, its ok, it is just that it will take a bit of getting used to a partner who actually cares about my life."

"I hear you. Same here, really."

The food came and we settled into eating in silence for a bit. This was awkward for me. I didnt know Muff that well to consider us having more than just a working relationship. I made it a rule to keep my social life separate from my professional life --- but truth be told, I really didnt have much of a social life outside of visiting my mother once a week and my brother once a year. I suppose at 35 one could say my life was pathetic, since I didnt date, but I had discovered early on that the guys I dated seem to have an agenda and I wasnt ready to give up my freedom. So I quit trying to find someone. Plus there was that one relationship I had eluded to earlier, the one I tried hard not to think about anymore. So I didnt know where this friendly turn in my current partner was going to lead, and that made me nervous.

"You said you wanted to go over your testimony for court," said Muff, taking a break from eating.

"I should, but you know, now that I have gotten away from the office, I think I would rather just put it aside for one night. I have been so intense with this case. I guess I just want a break."

Muff nodded as he took another bite of calimari. "I can understand that. When is the grand jury?"

"Not for four days yet, according to the subpoena. I have time. I think I would rather just look over my report of the events of that night and maybe get time to write down a few more things before I am ready to practice my testimony. I never liked rehearsing for this sort of thing anyway. Seems too phony when you have to rehearse your testimony, in my opinion."

"Truth, but like you said earlier today, the lawyers always seem to be able to twist what you say, even if you are 100% truthful. It really pays to go over it ahead of time."

I nodded reluctantly, "I know, its a part of police work I cant stand, but what can you do, huh?"

"Not a damn thing." We finished up dinner and ordered coffee for dessert.

"If you dont mind me asking, what are your plans for this weekend," Muff inquired.

"Not too much, just hanging around the apartment on Saturday and going to my moms on Sunday," I answered him. I usually spent Sundays out at her home in Queens. Sometimes I would take her to one of the malls after church, but many weeks we would just sit around the kitchen catching up on family stuff and reminiscing. At least she was the one who reminisced, I just sat there politely and listened. I lead a pretty boring life. I dont know what possessed me to show an interest in what he might be doing, but I found myself returning his question. "And you?"

"Well I was thinking about catching a movie. Theres this little revival theater over on 127th that runs the classics. They are showing a double feature of the Marx brothers."

My interest was piqued. I meet so few people who like the Marx brothers as much as I do. "Oh, which ones?"

"Coconuts and A Night at the Opera."

"Cool, two of my favorites."

Muff looked genuinely excited, "You interested? It would take your mind off of this grisly business for a while."

"Truth," I answered. "Just one thing I need to clear up tho."

"Yes?"

"Well, I ---" how was I going to tell him politely that I make it a rule not to date cops--- "See the thing of it is, well ---"

"Let me help you out. I dont date my partners either. This isnt a date. It is just two friends going out to help take their minds off of their work. We pay our own way and everything. Whadda say?"

"Sorry, I didnt want to hurt your feelings or anything. Thanks for letting me off the hook there. That sounds kinda fun, really. I havent seen those two movies in a long time, and never on the big screen. Where is the theater located and what time is the first show?"

"Over on 127th and Lex, but I will pick you up, say around 12:30?"

I repeated my protest of this morning. "You dont have to keep chauffeuring me around, you know. I am very capable of using the mass transit system."

"Hey, I dont mind. I like to drive." Muff explained.

"OK, then, I will be ready around 12:30." I looked at my watch instinctively as we talked about time. "Well I think this has been a long enough day, and we have one more long one to put in before we can relax with Groucho, Harpo, Chico this weekend. We need to talk to the Morgans again and ask about Jesses girlfriend. We should talk to his school if we have some time, too."

"All work again, I see," Muff crinkled his nose. "I guess I am going to have to get used to having a slave driver for a partner."

Now it was my turn to crinkle my nose. "OK, PAX! I will try to curb my enthusiasm for the job." I knew his next remark might be about driving me home, so I decided to head than one off at the pass. "My apartment isnt too far from here, so this one time I must insist that you let me walk. Thanks for getting me through my first full day at the one two seven."

"No problem," Muff said with his Hispanic accent in the thickest mode I had heard to date. We paid our bills and left the restaurant. I walked Muff to his car and said "Hasta mañana" to him. On the way home I thought how at ease Muff made me feel. I was glad to be his partner and wasnt too unhappy to consider him as a friend as well.

Chapter 5

Upon entering the office, Muff and I could see that Larry and Mike had not only gotten back from their little trip over to Staten Island, but were hard at work entering the information they gathered into our computer data base. We greeted them and decided our time would be best served finishing up the work we had started earlier. Larry took the Staten Island case, Mike had the Brooklyn case, Muff decided to do the South Bronx case and I was left with the Riverdale case. I knew why Muff didn’t want to deal with that one, since the boy was Hispanic and one of the youngest victims in our investigation.

After working in relative silence, I asked the men to print out pictures of the last four victims so I could update our board. With all 12 faces now staring at us, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. These weren’t just nameless bodies found in alleys and parks, but peoples’ sons. Each of us filled in the statistics on these last four, making the board as complete as possible. When that was done, I called our first official tactical meeting to order. Muff agreed to take minutes, since he seemed to type the fastest out of the team.

"I think we should begin by reviewing what we know about each of the cases. Maybe in doing this some other common factors might become evident. After that, we should look at profiling the person or persons doing these crimes and see if we can narrow down our search."

I pointed to the first picture on the board. "Victim number one is Sergiu Cosmescu, 19, a naturalized citizen from Romania. He was attending New York University at their Washington Square campus. His family moved here from Romania 5 years ago. Sergi graduated from Stuyvesant HS. He was single, no girlfriend that the family knew about. He was found near Washington Square Park in an alley on July 6^{th. Jim O’Riley and I were the investigating officers.}

"Victim number two is Alexis Terzin, 20. He lived on 9th Street between 2nd and 3rd Avenues. His family emigrated from Greece, but he was born in this country. He was helping run his family restaurant business. Alexis was single and wasn’t dating either. His father said he was planning a trip back to the old country to visit his relatives for the first time. It was his father’s hope that he would meet some nice Greek girl. Alexis was found in an alley not far from his parents’ restaurant on Broadway, again near the vicinity of Washington Square Park on July 10th. Jim and I were the investigating officers.

"Victim three is Albert Lazami, age 17. He attended St. Anthony Prep on 4th Avenue. He was going to be a senior and had already been accepted to Harvard Law School. His parents are not immigrants but are both of Armenian decent. He worked at a local market as a cashier. He was single and seeing a girl from school, but not seriously. He was found in an alley near the store on July 12th. Jim and I investigated this one as well."

Muff cut in at this point. "All of the victims so far had been of Eastern European decent. Had you considered that in your investigation?"

"Yes," I answered. The first line of inquiry was to see if there wasn’t some sort of organized crime connection with this community, but the next day we dropped that line of inquiry when the fourth victim was found. He is Huang Xiu. Huang was 23, the oldest of our victims. He and his family are immigrants, but Huang was naturalized a year ago and was working on his GED through some neighborhood program. He was a trainer at a local health club, teaching martial arts classes. We aren’t sure why, maybe his age and training, but he is the only victim to show signs of a struggle. There were some defensive wounds to the arms and fibers under the nails. Forensics weren’t able to make any matches to the material, but they did seem to be standard carpet fibers. He was single, no one seemed to know who he was dating, but one of the girls at the health club seemed to show more than the usual amount of grief over his death. He was found on July 13th in a culvert on one end of Columbus Park, not far from the health club where he worked. Finding someone of a totally different nationality but with the same kinds of mutilations seemed to throw a monkey wrench into our previous investigations. That is when I started to think of an Aryan connection. The vics might not have all been Eastern European, but they were all non-Aryan. Jim and I investigated this one as well.

Victim number five confirmed this for me. He is Yakir Dayan, 17. His parents are Hassidic and Yakir attended the local rabbinical school for boys. He lived at home and was a very strict observer of the Torah. His parents told me that a marriage would have been arranged for their son at the proper time. Something about this one told me that the parents might not have known everything in their son’s life. There were other children in the household, all younger. Yakir’s next sibling in age was a sister and she alluded to me that Yakir had recently started seeing a girl that wasn’t of the faith. She never got to tell me more. That family swore it was the Arabs. Since the body was mutilated like the others, I knew it wasn’t, but I didn’t share that with the parents. He was found in an alley between his home and the school on July 16th. Jim and I were the investigating officers.

After this I was really convinced that there was some Aryan group involved with the killings. That is when I stumbled upon the website for the People for a Free America. I was trying to find more information about their membership in the Manhattan area when the seventh victim was found. His is Haddad al Dossari, 20, a native of Kuwait. He was over here on a two year work visa. His death confirmed that Yakir wasn’t killed by the Arabs, even though I never really suspected that connection. He was single, and the hardest victim to find any information about. His employers said that he kept to himself most of the time. He worked for a limousine company over on 10th Avenue. He was found on July 18th behind a mosque. The Muslims at this mosque said that Haddad had been attending services at their mosque, but again, didn’t know much about him, since he seemed to keep to himself. The Kuwaiti consul has been trying to contact his family in Kuwait, but with little luck. His case was the last one that Jim and I investigated together. The next day I had gotten information on Albert Beckman and we started our stake out of his place. That was the night Jim was killed, July 19th.

Muff started to speak, but I interjected, "I know, Muff, I skipped our sixth victim. I guess since I wasn’t in on that one, it was logical for me to follow the line of investigation I was personally involved in. On July 17th, in Harlem, the actual sixth victim was found. Montel Sims, 17, African- American. I wasn’t in on that investigation, but Muff and his partner at the time were, so I am going to turn this one over to him."

Muff got up and took my place at the board. "Montel was found in an alley near his home on East 124th Street near Marcus Garvey Park. His mother told me that he had been playing basketball with some of his friend from school in the park till late. The friends said that Marcus started home when the game broke up about 10. He never made it home, but the friends said he was the only one who lived near the park in the opposite direction of the others, so no one walked him home. He didn’t have a girlfriend that anyone knew about, but he had been dating several of the girls from his school. It was the first case where the body had been mutilated that my partner and I had ever witnessed. I think that was the straw that broke it for my partner, because he went on medical leave shortly after that. He had some health problems, but the sight of the victim was enough to turn anyone’s stomach."

"It is possible that our suspect could have been involved with this victim as well, but after July 19th, he was in custody," I observed. "After that I was reassigned to the 127th and partnered with Muff. I wasn’t in that assignment for 30 minutes when we were called to the scene of our eighth victim. Jesse Morgan, 16, African-American high school kid who had a job at a local grocery store. He went missing after he got off work, found in an alley near 145th and Lexington Ave., on July 27th. Jesse had a girlfriend, but the relationship was one that they were trying to hide from the parents, although I think they knew." I was beginning to lose steam at this point, so Mike took over.

"Victim number nine is Tito Garza, 19. He is Puerto Rican but born in Brooklyn. He is a high school dropout and was working on his GED at night and working at his uncle’s auto body shop in the daytime. The investigating detectives didn’t know too much about him, except that he was a ladies man, but no steady girlfriend. He lived in his own apartment, but his family lives in the area. He was also found on July 27th, but the coroner says that he could have been dead for as long as two days. He was found in a culvert pipe in Prospect Park."

Muff took over at this point. "Victim number ten is Vincent Alfonse, 21, African-American. He was a drifter, in and out of rehab. A friend of his, according to the investigating officers, told them that he only moved here from the Chicago area about a year ago and had just been released from rehab. He had just gotten a job in a junkyard as a night watchman. He was single with no family in the area. He was found in the lower end of Franz Sigel Park near the subway lines on July 29th."

I knew talking about the next victim would be hard on Muff so I took over. "Victim eleven is our youngest victim. Tomas Garcia, 15. He lived in Riverdale with his family; his father owns a Chrysler dealership in Riverdale. Very upscale family, a little unusual compared to the rest of the victims so far. He was found the furthest from his residence of any of the victims as well, near the Hillview Reservoir by Yonkers Raceway, on July 30th. There is some confusion as to the time of death in this one. The coroner is still trying to determine that. We are not sure if he would be considered the tenth or eleventh victim."

Larry saw that I had run out of information. There was little to go on with these last cases. I had hoped that Mike and Larry would contribute some fresh perspective with the latest victim. I gladly conceded the floor to them as Larry he nodded to his partner and took the pointer from my hand. "The last and latest victim is Nabil Padmish, 21 It looks like our perp is deciding to branch out in the nationality department. He is our only Indian, an immigrant from Calcutta. He has been in this country for three years, since graduating from his countries equivalent of high school. He has been working in housekeeping at St. Vincent’s Medical Center. According to his fiancée, a Miss Eileen Brooks, he was taking night classes in premed at the CUNY on Staten Island. His green card was going to expire in another year, and the couple decided to get married so he could stay in the county. They had been dating for about a year, but were going to wait to get married till he had graduated. When the green card became an issue, they moved up their plans. They had just announced their engagement a week ago. The thing that seems different about this victim was that his fiancée had been given a suspicious note two days before Nabil was found dead. She said she showed it to him, but he didn’t think it was anything to worry about." Larry handed Muff the note in question and after he had read it he handed it to me. It was a simple piece of plain copy paper, with letters cut from a local paper pasted on it. It read ‘White girls have no business messing with inferior races’. I shuddered and handed the note back to Larry.

"The body was found in Willowbrook Park, near the University this morning, August 1st. Markings were the same one found on all our other victims. Everything was taken over to the forensics lab, and the results won’t be back till tomorrow, but just looking at the body, I would say the mutilations were made post mortem, like all the others. Mike and I were there when the lead detectives questioned the fiancée, hospital staff and people in the pre med department at CUNY. There was nothing much except the letter to go on there. We should get more information in the next day or two."

Larry sat down and we all entertained a few moments of silence, staring at the board with the scanty amount of information gathered there. Twelve senseless killings, that all seemed to be linked by the horror of the mutilations done to the corpses after death. Twelve non-Aryan males between the ages of 15 and 23; all of them single; with little else in common. Something about the last victim struck me as strange. "That note---," I started to say aloud.

"What about it?" Muff asked.

"Well there is something kinda strange about that. I mean, all of our victims were single, but Mr. Padmish was engaged to be married--- to a white girl. I wonder if…."

"What do you have in mind?" Mike inquired. I could see all of them were looking intently at me. I sat at my desk and quickly ran my fingers over the keys and clicked the mouse to open up the website of the People for a Free America.

"Well you know my interest in this Aryan online group. I was reading one of their linking articles," I said as I clicked through the pages. "Here it is. I dunno if this means anything, but after seeing that letter…."

I turned the screen so everyone could read where I indicated. The article was by a member who only gave the name A.V. Enger. The gist of the article spoke of white women who are preyed upon by the polluting forces of the inferior races and wooed into relationships which produce the worst of progeny. "It is bad enough," the article stated, "that these races are allowed to breed amongst themselves unchecked, but it is unnatural for these subhuman men to steal superior breeding stock from deserving Aryan males." Something that was new to this page was a link at the bottom. I had not remembered seeing it the last time I came to the page. The link said was labeled ‘An example of the blasphemy of mixing of the races’. After I made sure my colleagues had read the page, I clicked on the link and froze in horror as a picture of Sergiu Cosmescu, our first victim, and an unknown white woman come on the screen. I gasped and Muff grabbed my hand. Not only was I in shock at seeing one of our victims posted on the website, but the woman with him, except for her facial features, could have been my mirror image, tall and blond with long legs. I couldn’t tell from the picture what the relationship was between this woman and Cosmescu, but the setting was in a library, probably on the campus of NYU at Washington Square. I guessed they were studying. All I knew was that I was face to face with one of my victims and my doppelganger. I don’t know what possessed me to ask, but I turned to Larry and enquired, "What did Eileen Brooks look like?"

Not missing a beat Larry answered in his most professional manner, "She was a white female, twenty five years of age, approximately five foot eight, one hundred and forty pounds with blond hair and steel blue eyes."

I went pale, I could feel it. Muff looked at me with concern, "What does that have to do with anything, Jan. I know what you are thinking. There are hundreds of females in the five borough area that have similar characteristics. And it makes sense that these guys would be targeting men that might have something going on with women that fit the Aryan notion of perfection; blond hair, blue eyes and probably tall."

I could see his point. Coincidence was all it was. "I guess so," I answered unconvinced. Something about the picture still haunted me.

"You know who the woman might be," Mike asked looking at me.

"No," I answered knowing that since I had been one of the detectives on that case I would have been the logical one to ask. "We did interview the college officials, but not too much was known about Sergiu Cosmescu except that he was in his first year of pre-law. He had a place off campus, we got the address, but nothing of importance was found." I right clicked on the picture and hit the print option. Soon a copy of the photograph that had been posted online emerged from the printer. I picked it up and gave it to Muff. "We should go over to NYU tomorrow and ask around. Maybe someone knows who this girl could be. If we could find her, she could give us more information on Sergi."

"Good idea," Muff said as he folded the paper and put it in his wallet. And I think we need to see if we can make contact with the webmaster of this site. Whoever posted this picture has to be a direct link to our crimes. We need to check with Peter Franklin about the meeting first though."

Mike and Larry looked at us when Muff mentioned Peter’s name. I told them about the phone conversation I had with Peter earlier that evening. Both men were visibly dismayed when I told them about our proposal, but both agreed that it might be the only way to get more information from Mr. Beckman. Larry told me that Mike and he would be with the Staten Island detectives most of the day tomorrow. I asked Larry if he would mind getting a picture of Eileen Brooks. I knew that Muff thought it was just a coincidence, but I still had some reservations. If the type of women that were associating with some of our victims turned out to be a clue, I wanted pictures of them as well.

Looking at the clock and noticing it was going on midnight, I took a deep breath and said, "We have gotten a lot of the preliminary stuff out of the way tonight. We know what our assignments are for tomorrow. We will think better if we get some rest." All were in agreement and we said our goodbyes and left. I was willing to take a cab home, but Muff insisted on being gallant as usual. I was too tired to argue with him; even though I had the energy left to point out that taking me home would put him at his house even later, getting less sleep.

"Well I could spend the night at your place," he ventured to offer.

I got in the car and said as matter of factly as I possibly could, "That’s not necessary. I will be fine."

"I know and that wasn’t what I meant," Muff answered. He shook his head and added, "Never mind." I decided to let the whole idea drop, since I wasn’t in the mood to even consider the other meanings his offer might allude to. He took me home and I went straight to bed, not even stopping to pick up my mail from my box on the way up. It wouldn’t be until the next day that I found the strange manila envelope that had been stuffed in the small box.

Light pierced through the crack in the shade as I rolled over and looked at the alarm clock. "Shit," I exclaimed to the waning darkness. The red liquid crystals on the digital face read 7:45. Muff would be there in fifteen minutes and I knew I wouldn’t be ready in time. I figured I forgot to set my alarm for 6 like I always do. I jumped out of bed and ran into the shower.

Muff must have gotten tired of waiting for me and after the lecture I had given him about not honking for me, the only alternative he had was to come up. He was knocking on my door as I was throwing on some clothes, my hair still dripping from the shower.

"You oversleep?" asked Muff, stating the obvious.

"Yes," I answered him, huffing and puffing as I ran around trying to finish my morning routine in a fourth of my normal time allotment.

"Well I guess it was a good thing I stopped and got us both some coffee on the way over here," Muff said. He reached over to my desk and grabbed my laptop case and service revolver. "You shouldn’t just leave this laying around like that."

I grabbed my keys and hurried him out the door as I locked it behind me. "I know, usually I don’t. I have a safe in my bedroom where I keep it, but last night I was so exhausted, I guess I forgot to put it away."

"And forgot to set your alarm!" Muff added.

I crinkled up my nose as we passed by the wall of mailboxes by the main entrance to my building. "And forgot to get my mail…. hold on a sec." I fumbled my keys on the large ring I keep them on and found the one that opened my box. It was crammed with a manila envelope. I had a hard time removing it from the tiny box. "I wish the postman wouldn’t try to shove things into these boxes that won’t fit." I tried hard not to rip the envelope, but I was unsuccessful. One side started to tear and a shower of negatives began to pour from the partially opened side. Muff instinctively put down my bag and grabbed for the negatives. I finally removed the large envelope from my box and opened the side that ripped a little further so Muff could put the negatives back in. "You must be taking a lot of pictures lately," he remarked as he grabbed my bag and headed out to the car.

"No, these can’t be mine….," I looked at the envelope as I got into the car. There was no return address, but it was clearly my name and address on the envelope. I looked closely at the postmark, but all it told me was that it was mailed from a downtown post office, probably the main branch. I reached inside and pulled out a negative strip at random. I held it up to the sunlight coming in the passenger side window. It appeared to be four pictures of people sitting and walking, couples all of them. One by one, as Muff drove us to work, I took each of the strips out, held them up, and looked at them, puzzled as to what they meant and why they had been sent to me. All of a sudden I came across what appeared to be the picture I had seen on the website last night. I could feel the color drain from my face as it began to dawn on me what these negatives were and why I might have been the one they were sent to. Muff stopped for a red light, looked over at me and asked, "What’s wrong?"

I saw that we were almost to the precinct, so I decided to wait for the explanation. All I answered him was, "You are not going to believe this. For some reason the killer has decided to dump a clue into our laps."

We turned a corner and Muff parked the car. I stuffed the negatives back in the envelope and put it in my briefcase. I realized that in handling the negatives, I had put my fingerprints all over them, and possibly destroyed valuable clues in the process. I was mentally kicking myself about this as we signed in and went upstairs.

Mike and Larry had already gotten in and were sitting at their desks going over the notes on the Staten Island case. I removed the envelope from my bag and put it on my desk. Muff sat at the end of Mike’s desk and said, "Well, will you share with the rest of us your mystery package?"

Mike and Larry looked at me. Mike’s eyebrow went up on one side, just like Spock’s use to do on the old Star Trek show. Larry didn’t show much expression on his face. I filled in the two others about how I found the envelope in my mailbox this morning. "I guess it came yesterday, but I was too tired to check my box last night." I took out a pair of forensic gloves and put them on and held up a negative. "I know that I probably should have done this earlier, but I had no idea these were clues. I found one of these negatives to be of the picture we found on the website last night. The rest are of couples as well, but being negatives, I can’t make out too many of the details." I shuddered as I continued. "I am wondering if our other victims might show up in here," pointing to the pile of negatives on my desk.

"Well let’s get them down to CSU and have them printed up and dusted for fingerprints. Maybe they can tell us something about where they came from too," Muff said. I nodded, but doubted our killer would be that careless. Mike asked, "Why would our perp send you these negatives?"

I shook my head and said in response, "I dunno for sure, and we can’t be sure they are from our perp, but I have a theory."

Muff looked at me, "Holding out? Spill!"

"I’d rather not. It sounds too far fetched. I promise if I get any more solid evidence to support my suspicions, you will be the first to know." I grabbed my laptop and said, "Maybe we should go down to NYU and see if someone can identify the woman in the picture from the website. We can drop off this package to CSU on the way. I will call Peter and ask him to call my cell if he gets a meeting set up with Mr. Beckman and his lawyer."

"Good idea," Muff answered.

Larry and Mike got up as well. "We have to head over to Staten Island ourselves," Mike said. "I guess we will meet you back here when we have finished.

"Sure," I answered. "I am sure we will be putting in another long day. Hopefully we will have more leads to go on by then."

The guys nodded and we headed down the stairs and to our prospective cars.

Muff and I headed over to the Washington Square campus of NYU. We both had copies of the picture we printed off of the People for a Free America site. We had decided that it might be better to split up so as to cover more ground. We kept in touch via cell phone. I went back to the pre law department and talked to Sergiu’s teachers and fellow pre law students. Muff decided to take the library and see if anyone recognized our couple, since the picture seemed to be of a library facility. From the secretary in the law school, I was able to get a name for the female in the picture. She was Beth Wilson, a third year law student. The secretary thought she might have been tutoring Sergiu, since a lot of upper classmen supplement their meager finances with some tutoring. The secretary also mentioned that a lot of foreign born students have trouble with legal jargon and are in need of tutors. I made note of all of this and headed over to the library.

When I met up with Muff, he was interviewing a pretty coed who was manning the desk. The girl didn’t seem to know much more about Beth and Sergiu, except that they had a regular tutoring date every Tuesday and Thursday. The secretary at the college of law was reluctant to give me an address for Beth Wilson without a subpoena, but this girl felt no qualms about giving us the needed address. It turned out that the librarian and Beth were sorority sisters. We thanked her and headed over to Beth’s apartment. On the way over, my cell phone rang.

"Greig here," I responded automatically.

"Hi, Jan, its Pete."

I put my hand over the phone and said in a subdued voice, "It’s Peter Franklin," to Muff. Muff nodded in acknowledgement. Putting the phone back to my ear I said, "Yeah, Peter, what’s up?"

"I was able to set up a meeting with Beckman and his lawyer for 2. Can you and your partner make that?"

I subconsciously nodded. "Sure Peter, two would be fine. We’ll be there. Thanks."

"No problem. See you both then. Bye." He hung up abruptly. I guessed he was very busy. I didn’t know an ADA who wasn’t. Turning back to Muff I told him about the brief phone conversation. Muff looked at his watch and said, "Well that might give us some time for a quick bite to eat after we interview this Beth Wilson, provided we can find her soon.

We went to the apartment building where Beth lived and found she was attending a class. Her roommate told us that Beth would be finished her class at noon and after a quick bite to eat at the student union, had a full afternoon of tutoring at the library. I asked the roommate, Mary Leung, if Beth did a lot of tutoring.

"Yeah, she needs the money. I do too, that is why we both tutor."

Muff asked her, "Has Beth ever mentioned anyone following her around campus?"

Mary slowly shook her head, "No, but you know these city campuses. There are always a lot of people around. You could be stalked by someone and not even know it. Why? Is Beth OK?" She started to become worried.

"No," I tried to reassure her. "We think maybe one of her tutoring students might have been the target of a stalker."

Mary got a knowing look on her face. "This is about Sergi, isn’t it? I should have known. Beth was really freaked about his death. She never said much about him or any of her other students for that matter, but when the story came out in the paper, she wondered why he would be a victim. She said he was a nice guy, kinda quiet and shy really." She stopped and thought a moment. "You think Beth was mixed up in his death? Cause I can assure you, Beth isn’t the kind of girl……"

Muff and I both shook our heads and he said, "No, no, we know she isn’t involved, except that we found this picture on an internet site and wondered how well she knew Sergi." Muff showed Mary the picture we printed off the People for a Free America site.

"Well it doesn’t look too suspicious, except for the fact that someone was going around and taking pictures without Beth and Sergi knowing it." Mary gave the picture back to Muff. "That is kinda creepy if you think about it, but I guess people are free to take pictures in public places."

I handed Mary one of my business cards. "If you think of anything else, call us."

"Sure," Mary said as she put my card on her desk. "I hope you catch this creep."

"We will," Muff assured her as we headed out the door and over to the student union.

iii

The student union was a combination of a bookstore, a bowling alley and a small café where students could go and get a bite to eat. On the far wall was a small bar, deserted in the middle of the day. I figured it served legal beer in the evenings. There was a large screen TV with a music video playing and a couple of pool tables with students playing. We found Beth sitting at one of the round tables, alone, pouring over some notes as she took a sip of her drink. A half eaten sandwich lay on a paper plate by her elbow. She was so absorbed in what she was reading she didn’t hear us until Muff cleared his throat and said, "Are you Beth Wilson?"

"Yes, who wants to know," she shot back, in a rather curt voice.

Muff held out his badge, "NYPD, ma’am. We are here to ask you a couple of questions about one of your tutoring students. Your roommate told us you would be here." She looked at his badge and waved us to the other seats at the table. "Whatever."

I sat down and asked, "How well did you know Sergiu Cosmescu?"

"I figured that was what you were here to grill me about," she answered with a snarl. "I hope you don’t think I had anything to do with his death?"

Muff looked at me with a sigh written on his face. Nothing makes this job harder than an uncooperative witness. Beth Wilson seemed to be to be the typical ‘I don’t want to get involved’ sort of person. I decided to try my hand at cracking the shell of indifference. "No, we know you didn’t, it is just that we found this picture on the internet and we wondered if you might have any knowledge about him that would help us catch his killer." I handed her the picture we had shown Mary. She took it and looked hard at it.

"This was taken at the library. It was one of our tutoring sessions. I only met Sergi when we were tutoring. I mean, I never saw him socially or anything. I suppose you could think that about us if you saw this picture. It almost looks like we were close. I must have said something funny, because it looks like we are sharing a joke. He would laugh at the way I said things sometimes." It seemed to me that the hard shell was starting to show some cracks. Maybe Beth wasn’t so heartless after all.

"Do you know who might have taken this picture?" I ventured.

She shook her head. "No, people are always taking pictures on campus. I think some of them are photography majors, some are from the campus newspaper and some are just nuts." She looked at the picture again. "Where didja get this picture?"

"Off the internet," Muff answered.

That sent a visible shiver down Beth’s spine. "Damn, nothing is sacred. I thought you had to have permission from the people in a picture in order to post it on the net."

"In a perfect world…." I stated.

"I know, anyone can do anything on there and get away with it, it seems. You mind telling me which site it was posted on?"

Muff and I looked at each other with hesitation. I knew he wanted to keep as much knowledge close to the vest as possible, but if we could get any indication from this witness that she knew of the site, maybe it would help. Muff saw that I wanted to go on a fishing expedition with what we suspected, so he nodded and let me answer.

"It was on a site called ‘People for a Free America.’ Ever heard of it?"

Beth shook her head. "I don’t have time to surf the net these days. Can’t say that I have. Sounds like an interesting site though. What’s it about?"

"Racial purity, the master race, things like that." I answered as nonchalantly as possible.

"Well that isn’t something I would want to get interested in. I am all for live and let live," Beth said.

"You ever date guys that weren’t…em…" Muff started.

"White?" Beth finished. "Sure, sometimes, but why would anyone care about that. You think that Sergi got killed because he was with me?" She looked genuinely frightened at the thought. I didn’t want to tip our hand further so I said, "Not necessarily. We are just exploring some leads, that’s all." I got up and handed her my card. "We know you are busy, so we won’t keep you. If you think of anything useful, please call us."

Beth got up and gathered her books. "Yeah, I have to meet another tutoring job over at the library in five minutes. If I think of anything, I’ll let you know. Creeps me out just thinking about it though."

"Well, like I said, it is just a theory, and might not even pan out, so try not to worry about it, OK?" I added.

"Sure, OK. Hey, I gotta split." And she ran down the stairs and across the campus. I looked at Muff and said, "Well that didn’t get us very far, did it?"

"Nope, seems that anyone can go around taking pictures on this campus and not be spotted or given much attention. I agree with those girls, it is creepy."

I smiled and shook my head. "I suppose, but I try not to let stuff like that get to me. If you do, it will only make you paranoid."

iv

We grabbed a bite to eat at a local hamburger place and headed over to Riker’s to meet with our one and only lead. I was getting antsy wanting to talk to Beckman. I hadn’t seen him since the shooting, since he wasn’t present for the grand jury hearing. His lawyer, Sal Leiberman, had been at the hearing and I remembered how weasel-y he looked to me. I never liked lawyers much, except for Peter, and I think I only got along with him out of necessity.

As soon as we entered the caged in conference room, Beckman stood up and yelled, "I’m not talking to her. She’s the one who did this to me." He held up his hand. "I have NOTHING to say to her."

"Pete," Leiberman said, "you told me the cops wanted to ask my client some questions. You never said she was going to be one of the cops."

"Why should that matter," Peter responded.

"I said I am NOT talking to that trigger happy cop," Beckman yelled. His lawyer got him calmed down and seated. "I don’t think this is a good idea, Peter. You can see how agitated my client is with her in the room."

Peter looked at me and I looked at Muff. Muff leaned over and whispered, "You want me to handle it?"

I thought about it. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him and I wasn’t sure if either Peter or Muff would ask the right ones. Still, I knew that Mr. Beckman was too agitated to have me around. I just decided it wasn’t worth giving Jim’s killer a walk on the death penalty if I couldn’t be the one to ask the questions. I know that was kinda selfish of me, but something in my gut was telling me that it would be giving up too much. I leaned over and whispered my concerns to Peter, who looked back at me with shock on his face. He shook his head and stood. "I guess the deal is off, Sal. Either your client agrees to talk to any cop who wants to question him, or he takes his chances at trial."

"I don’t want a deal if I have to talk to HER!" Beckman answered, scowling.

Leiberman rose from the table. "Well I guess he takes his chances at trial. See you in court."

We all got up and left the room. Beckman was escorted back to his cell by an armed guard and the four of us walked out the front gate. Leiberman turned to Peter and said, "Call me if you have a deal that doesn’t include the cop who maliciously wounded my client."

I was about to protest and Muff grabbed my arm to stop me. Sal Leiberman grabbed the next cab and as he drove off, Peter turned to me and said with anger in his voice, "Look, Jan, I don’t like being made to look like a fool. I stuck my neck out when I went to the DA asking to make this deal. You know Brian Winters wants all cop killers to get the needle. He didn’t look too kindly on this deal to begin with, but when I told him Jim’s partner asked for the deal, he reluctantly agreed. Now what am I going to tell him, you nixed it? He will have my HIDE for dinner."

I knew Peter, and I knew he was in the right getting upset at me. Still I knew I was right asking for no deal. "Peter, if I thought you all could get the information that would make the deal worth it, I would have let you proceed. But …."

"So now we aren’t competent to do our jobs?"

Muff saw I was digging myself into a hole I might not get out of. I also knew his male ego might have been bruised by my feelings on this subject. Still, to his credit, he must have put his feeling on hold to help me out. "Look, Mr. ADA, my partner might not think much of us lowly male investigators, but she knows what she is doing. Remember, it was her partner that bought it, and I don’t think anyone around here wants to see this guy walk for it if we can’t get something really solid for the exchange. She knows what went on; she has been with this investigation longer than any of us. If she feels it wouldn’t work, then it wouldn’t."

Peter glared at Muff and said, "Well if your superior brain can figure her out, then you deserve each other. Just don’t ask me to make any more deals for you, capish?"

All I could do was hang my head and nod as he hailed his cab and drove away. Muff and I silently walked to his car and got in. He didn’t say anything to me till he pulled into traffic and we were well on our way.

"I don’t understand you, superior brain not withstanding," Muff stated in a muted voice. "Why, Jan? Don’t you trust me?"

"I do, Muff, and you have every right to be as upset as Peter is at me. I don’t know how to explain this. I know we all would ask good questions, but since I was there at the first scene, I was hoping something Beckman would say would trigger my memory of that night. There is something about this whole thing that is nagging at my brain. I was hoping that reliving the night of the shooting would help me to remember it."

Muff drove for a few more blocks in silence. All I wanted to do was wash my hands of this whole thing. It was driving me nuts. Nothing was making much sense, yet something inside of me knew I had all the pieces to the puzzle if I could only figure out how they went. I discovered that Muff was deep in thought, so I used the time to catch a short nap on our way back to the station.

Muff’s radio squawked and I opened my sleepy eyes and grabbed for the mic before Muff could get it. I don’t like him driving and trying to talk on that thing. "Detective Greig. Over," I said, identifying myself.

"Greig? This is Mike. CSU just called and wants one of us to go and pick up the pictures you sent over there. I thought since you were in transit, you and Muff could do it. Over."

"Wow, that was fast! Over," I said. Muff nodded.

"Well the mayor has put a priority one on anything related to these murders. Enjoy the priority status while it lasts, because we will be back to waiting weeks for stuff after this is over, Over," Mike commented.

"I know, and it won’t be soon enough for me. Over," I added.

"Amen," said Muff.

"Truth my friend," Mike said. "See you both back at the station in a bit. Larry and I are in the process of typing up our notes from this morning’s investigation. How did the interview with Beckman go? Over."

"It didn’t and we shouldn’t be talking on this open channel about it, you know that. We will fill you in when we get back. Over and out."

I put the mic back on the holder. The radio in Muff’s car was a portable job and I had a bit of a hard time getting it to stay in the clip. Muff took it from my hands and put it back with ease. "It takes practice," he said.

Muff made a quick turn to detour over to CSU. When we got there, the clerk handed us a thick envelope with the pictures, the original envelope with the negatives, and a report about the fingerprint evidence they tested for and found. I signed the register and we headed back to the station. I was tempted to look in the envelope, but I knew the guys would want to be in on what it contained, so I curbed my enthusiasm. The day, so far, had been a wash, but I knew I held in my hand something that might break this case wide open.

As soon as we entered our little makeshift command center I sat at my desk and took out the report and read it to three eager detectives. "The fingerprints on the negatives besides the ones belonging to Muff and me, all belong to various people. The only prints they could find on CODUS were our suspect’s, Mr. Beckman, and they were only on some of the negatives. The envelope the negatives came in was clean. Apparently the person who sent it to me wore gloves. All the handwriting analysts could tell about the person who addressed it was he was careful and is probably a person who is meticulous with details. Because it was printed, there wasn’t much else they could tell."

"Hum, so Beckman does figure in this," said Muff.

"Yes, but his prints were only on some of the negatives, which doesn’t make sense," said Larry.

"I know," I answered. "Every time we seem to have a clue, more questions pop up. Let’s move on to the prints." I carefully opened the packet of pictures and noticed CSU was thorough. They had paper clipped together the pictures corresponding to the same strip of negatives. I first looked for the packet with the picture we were all familiar with, the one from the internet of Beth Wilson and Sergiu Cosmescu. As I discarded the other packets looking for the one I sought, Muff started to sort the rest according to the types of fingerprints found on the corresponding negatives, according to the report. It was tedious work, and what I should have done to begin with. My zeal to find what I knew was in the packed blinded me from good detective work. When I found the packed with the picture I sought I commended Muff for his insight.

"Well here is Sergiu Cosmescu. I looked at the other pictures in the packet, four in all and noticed another familiar face. "Oh my God, here is one with Albert Lazami and another blond, Caucasian female. It looks like it was taken outside a local movie theater. This might be the girl he was dating." I held it up for the others to see. Then something dawned on me. "By the way, which set of prints were found on these negatives?"

Mike, who was assisting Muff in his attempt to sort the rest of the photographs, had the list, asked, "Which lot number is that packet?"

"12," I answered.

He looked down the list, "Those were the ones identified as set #4, our man Beckman."

"How many other sets have his prints on the negatives?" I asked.

Mike looked at the list again, calling out the numbers to Larry, who hunted for the corresponding packets. "7, 12, 13, 15, 19, and 25, looks like six in all."

I did some quick calculations. "Six packets of pictures, corresponding to four pictures on a negative strip, which means a roll of twenty-four pictures."

"Then why aren’t the numbers in order?" asked Muff.

I knew the answer to that one. I hung my head and said, "Well if I had been more careful, I bet CSU would have processed them in a more scientific order. I had those negatives all jumbled up. Part of the reason was how the postman jammed the package into my box. Remember, Muff, it tore when I tried to free it."

"Yeah, and some of the negatives came out, which would explain the fact that both yours and my prints are on a good deal of the negatives too.

"Don’t remind me…," I said remorsefully.

"Hey, don’t beat yourselves up," said Mike. "You didn’t know they were evidence when you got them."

"Yeah, but still…," I added.

Muff put his hand on my shoulder. "A cop isn’t infallible; don’t beat yourself up about it. At least CSU was able to get good information off the negatives and we can do the sorting. It looks like there were at least five people involved in the picture taking, four unknowns and our Mr. Beckman. There are thirty packets of pictures, which makes for five roles of film, one for each of our contributors." Muff sat back and started to go through the sorted packets of pictures. I took the packets that were identified with Mr. Beckman’s prints. In the packets were all of the victims at the three-four. Mike and Larry each took sets of pictures to look through. When we had finished perusing all the pictures, we found all our victims plus many more people who must have been targeted by the photographers and maybe our killer or killers. The fact that five distinct people must have taken the pictures led us to believe that there was a group behind the killings. Each of the separate photographers seemed to have worked in one of the areas in our city. The victims pictures from the Bronx were in the same group, the one in Brooklyn was in a separate group, the ones at the one-two-seven were in a third and the one from Staten Island was in the fourth. I held the fifth group in my hands, the pictures with the victims from the three- four.

Mike scratched his head. "I’ll be damned. You think there are more victims out there, undiscovered?" he asked as he pointed to pictures that had other unidentified people on them.

"Anything is possible," said Muff. "All I know is if we have to identify every person in these photographs to find out, we will need a hell of a lot more manpower. Two hundred forty people and we only know who fourteen of them are, twelve victims and two women, Ms. Wilson and Ms. Brooks.

"We can at least start to profile this person or group of people who are behind this," said Larry. "We know that this person or group has targeted minorities who are seen in the presence of blond Caucasian woman."

Larry hit on something there. I suspected that women who fit my racial profile might be involved somehow. All the pictures before us seemed to confirm that idea. Every one of the young, ethnic males in the pictures were with blond, Caucasian woman. Most of them were tall and young as well. The men’s races were mostly Eastern European, African American, Asian, Hispanic and Indian. There were no Caucasians or Native Americans in the group. I supposed the perps weren’t too interested in the very small Native American population in our city, and the fact that there were no Caucasian men in the group strengthened the case for a group of white supremacists as the perps.

I let the guys talk about the case while I went back to the file I had secured from the three-four, the one with the pictures of Mr. Beckman’s apartment. Something about that scene still haunted me, and now that I knew Mr. Beckman was involved with the pictures, I wanted to look at his apartment again. I sat quietly at my desk as the lively debate swirled around me. I studied each picture the photographers from CSU took; looking for something that my subconscious knew had to be there, and something I wondered might be missing. We were so intent on finding a weapon that night that I was sure something else was there that we missed. All of a sudden something jumped out at me, laying on the nightstand next to the bed. It was a small Nikon camera just laying there. I wondered if it was picked up when CSU gathered Mr. Beckman’s belongings that night as evidence. In all the pictures of his place, there wasn’t something I did expect to see. The other detectives were so busy with what they were doing, that they didn’t seem to notice when I left the room. I had a hunch and I didn’t want anyone to know about it just yet. I went outside and placed a call to CSU on my cell phone.

"CSU, Myers here."

"Hey, Fran, this is Jan Grieg," I said. Fran Myers and I had been friends for many years, long before we both went into law enforcement. I was glad she had answered the phone.

"Hi, Jan. How’d’ja like those pictures I sent you?"

"That is what I wanted to talk to you about. You remember the stuff from Mr. Beckman’s apartment, the stuff CSU gathered the night Jim died?"

"Yeah, we processed it and it is sitting in our evidence warehouse."

I said a little prayer, hoping I would be right. "Was there a camera among the things your team brought in?"

"I think so, let me check," Fran said. I gathered she put her phone down on her desk, because I could hear the clicking of the keys on her computer. Finally she got back on and said, "Yeah, there was a Nikon 2600 in the lot."

"Did you find anything in the camera?"

"Yes, an unexposed roll of film. Looks like he was getting ready to take more pictures. Some of those we printed had his prints on the negatives."

"Yeah, I saw. One more thing; was there a computer in the place? I don’t remember seeing one, but things were a little blurry that night. There wasn’t one in any of the pictures you took of his place."

"Let me look at the inventory…. No, no computer; PC, Mac, or laptop."

"Hum…" Now I was puzzled.

"What’s wrong?’

"Nothing, just a hunch. Thanks for the info and if you would, keep this little inquiry to yourself for the moment. I hate for everyone to know that one of my hunches didn’t pan out. Egotistical of me, I know, but you know how the guys I work with can be about female hunches."

Fran chucked, "No problem. I have the same problem here. It is hard to work in a man’s world."

"Don’t I know it. Thanks, Fran," I said.

"Bye now."

"Bye." I pressed the end button and stood staring out at the trees in the small park across the street from the precinct house. I knew I needed to get back in before the guys started missing me. I figured they would think I ducked out to the ladies room, but I doubt I could make that excuse stick if I stayed away too long. I had one more call to make, but I wasn’t sure how well I would be received. I needed a phone book to look up the number of Mr. Leiberman, Beckman’s lawyer. I knew it was a long shot, but I had to try to convince them to let me talk to him.

Going to a payphone, I found a NYC phone book. I was surprised there was still one in the booth. Most of the phonebooks seem to disappear from the phone booths in the city. I was able to find the law office of Mr. Leiberman. I called on my cell and his secretary put me through. I said a big prayer this time.

"Hello, Mr. Leiberman? This is Jan Greig."

"Detective, I am surprised to hear your voice after the scene at Rikers this afternoon."

"I know, and I want to apologize for that. Peter Franklin should have told you I would be there. I dunno why he didn’t. I am sure he should have known that Mr. Beckman would react that way if he saw me, not knowing I would be there. But that isn’t really why I called. There was a reason I asked Mr. Franklin to set up that meeting in the first place and I wanted to explain."

"You mean you were behind that deal?"

"Yes, I am guessing Peter didn’t tell you that either. Well that explains a few things. Are you willing to hear me out?"

"I guess. I have a free spot in my schedule right now. Can you be here in 30 minutes?"

I looked at my watch. It was already four o’clock and I knew rush hour would be starting soon. "I can try. I will have to catch a cab. If you don’t mind, I would like to meet with you without the knowledge of either the DA or my partner. I would like it if you didn’t tell your client either, till I can explain. I know this isn’t exactly procedure but I guess you could think of this as two people talking to each other, and not a cop and a lawyer, for now at least."

"Well this is highly irregular and a bit mysterious, but you have my attention. I will be waiting on you. See you in a half hour." And he hung up.

I was grateful that Mr. Leiberman was at least willing to listen to what I had to say. Now I knew the hard part would be to make up an excuse to get away from the guys, especially Muff, for a little while. I couldn’t just leave, that would make them too suspicious and worried. I thought of what I could say as I got onto the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor. No one was in the car with me, so I wasn’t distracted from my thoughts, coming up with a plausible maceration. These guys weren’t easy to fool, especially Muff, who had that uncanny ability to know what I was thinking.

I entered our little cubical and Muff immediately asked me where I was all this time. I lied and told them I had to go to the ladies room and that I would need to go home for a little bit to take care of a female problem. Most men wouldn’t think of questioning a woman when she brings up the curse in a conversation. Most men avoid that topic like the plague. I know that most women hate when men use our cycle to excuse our behavior in their minds, but sometimes women need to use that to their advantage, and I wasn’t above stooping to it from time to time. And it seemed the only plausible untruth I could think of on such short notice. What I forgot was the incident on the cruise and how concerned Muff had been about my health that day.

"You OK?" Muff asked, taking my hand. The gesture of genuine affection and concern didn’t go unnoticed by Mike and Larry.

"Something wrong?" asked Mike, thinking Muff knew something he didn’t.

"No, it isn’t anything too serious, but I need to be away from you all for a little while. I promise to be back as soon as possible," I tried to reassure them.

"Let me drive you home at least. Rush hour can be hell trying to get a bus or a cab," offered Muff.

I knew that I couldn’t let him do that, so I thought quickly of a response. "No, I will be fine on my own. You are needed here more. I need you to look at all this evidence and come up with some ideas before I get back. I know we are getting close, I can feel it."

"Ok, partner, if you think you will be ok?"

"I will be fine. See you all soon." I grabbed my purse and left before anymore male concern was thrown my way and I would blow my cover under the scrutiny. I didn’t take my laptop, because I figured it would throw more suspicion on my excuse. I only wished I could have taken it, as I discovered much later.

v

Grabbing a cab wasn’t as hard as I thought it was going to be. Soon I was whizzing downtown to the law office of Bergman and Leiberman. It was a small firm on the lower east side. I figured they dealt with a lot of people like Beckman, lower middle class who couldn’t afford high priced lawyers. The office was clean and spacious for such a small firm. I was shown into Mr. Lieberman’s office by his secretary, who told her boss she was on her way home for the day. I looked at my watch and saw that it was almost 5. I apologized for being late, but Mr. Leiberman seemed to brush my tardiness aside. I sat down and started to explain to him the reason for my mysterious visit.

"Mr. Leiberman, I know this is highly irregular, but I have reason to believe that your client might not be as involved in the string of murders in our city as I first expected. I wanted you to know that this is only a hunch, but I have some important questions to ask your client to see if I can confirm my suspicions. I know he won’t really want to talk to me, I was hoping taking the death penalty off the table would make him more conducive to answering some questions, but that didn’t seem to pan out so well."

"Can you blame him, Det. Greig?"

"No I guess not. Maybe if I tell you some of what I suspect, you would be able to convince him to let me speak with him."

"Perhaps," said Mr. Leiberman, with doubt in his voice.

"I am sure you are aware that my partner and I, I mean my former partner and I, had suspected your client of some part in the current wave of murders of young ethnic minority men in our area. As you probably know, there have been more murders since your client has been arrested for his part in the death of my partner. This could only mean that he wasn’t responsible, or that he only had some part in the first of the murders." Mr. Leiberman put his hand up, like he was going to object, but I continued before he could speak. "I know, he might be innocent, but we have just gotten new evidence, fingerprint evidence, that ties him indirectly to some of the murder cases. I believe Mr. Beckman might not have murdered these young men, but I firmly believe he knows something about who did. It might help his case with my partner’s death if he can fill in some of the blanks on these murder cases. I know the mayor is anxious to solve these cases and put this crime spree to an end. If your client is cooperative to that end, I know the mayor will put pressure on the DA to offer your client a decent deal. I am in no position to bargain on that point, but I know what kind of pressure is being put on me and the other detectives on the taskforce to solve this. Do you think he might be agreeable to talk to me, if you put this information in his hands?"

"What fingerprint evidence do you have?"

I hesitated. Now I was really stepping out of protocol. All I had told the lawyer so far was things that were known by the public or at least by people in the know. This latest information would eventually have to be given to Mr. Leiberman, but only when it came to the trial. Handing it over to him prematurely would get me in a lot of trouble, but I was desperate. Plus, I was sure my hunch would pay off in the end. I could live with whatever sanctions the NYPD would put on me if I could end this nightmare before anyone else was killed.

"You have to understand, this evidence only just came to light since I spoke to you this afternoon, and it isn’t proper procedure to let this be made public till we have fully investigated all the ramifications." I knew I was dancing around the issue, and he would see that, but I couldn’t get up the nerve to come out and say it. The cop in me was that strong.

Mr. Leiberman coughed and said, "Look, I might be able to convince Mr. Beckman to talk to you if I knew how he was involved. He is my client, and what I am asking of you isn’t unreasonable."

I sighed. "I know, Mr. Leiberman. You have to understand. This isn’t easy for me. By rights, I shouldn’t be here." I took another deep breath and chose my words carefully. "I was sent a package by someone unknown, and some of the material in that package had your client’s fingerprints on them."

"Weapons?" ventured Mr. Leiberman.

"No, photographic negatives of some of the victims and other people." I took a deep breath and let that information sink into the lawyer’s gray matter. "Well your ass is in a sling now," I thought to myself in the ensuing moments of silence.

He only hesitated for a few moments when he said, "Let me call Rikers." He picked up the phone and after several connections, he had Beckman on the other line. I could hear that he wasn’t too happy I was in his lawyer’s office, but when Leiberman mentioned the words fingerprints and negatives, he got quiet. The lawyer nodded a few times and said, "OK, we will be there shortly," and hung up.

"Well, Detective, I think you got his attention. He is willing to talk if you think it will help his case."

"I am not the DA, but you know I will put in a good word for him. I think it might count for something coming from the partner of the dead cop."

"Just remember, it might not, seeing that you shot and wounded my client," commented Leiberman.

"Maybe." I was just grateful that I had gotten through.

Mr. Leiberman and I drove over to Rikers in his sedan. It was a little after five and the traffic was a nightmare. We didn’t say anything on the way over, I sensed that I had said enough as it was and the lawyer knew that any more revelations might actually hurt his client’s case. He was patiently biding his time, waiting to see what the interview would bring. I only hoped it would confirm some of my suspicions.

We were shown into a caged interrogation/conference room and Mr. Beckman was brought in by an armed guard, who left and stood outside the door. Unlike this afternoon’s interview, Mr. Beckman was calm, owing to the fact that he was expecting me this time. It made me wonder what Peter thought he was doing keeping Beckman and his lawyer in the dark about my presence earlier. I could never figure out lawyers, and I wasn’t about to try now.

"Mr. Beckman, I want to thank you very much for agreeing to see me today. I want to apologize for the miscommunication earlier today. I was unaware of the fact that you didn’t know I was going to be there." This was an unusual tactic to take with a suspect, but I figured antagonizing the man wouldn’t be in either of our best interests.

"Whatever," Beckman said gruffly as he sat down.

"As your lawyer told you on the phone, we found some negatives with your fingerprints on them, pictures of some of the victims of a murder spree that has been plaguing the city over the past three weeks."

"Yeah, so?" I could tell Beckman wasn’t going to give me anything without a struggle.

"I just need you to help me find the person who is doing these terrible crimes. I know it isn’t you. But I suspect you know who it might be."

"I dunno nuthin’ and that is the God’s honest truth," Beckman protested.

"We found a camera in your apartment the night we searched it after the… ah… incident with my partner."

"Yeah," said Beckman.

"Did you take the pictures that were sent to me?"

"I take pictures all the time, it’s a hobby," he said.

"Did someone ask you to take specific pictures lately?" This was part of my hunch. If Beckman didn’t do the murders, maybe someone asked him to take pictures of perspective victims.

"Paid me is more like it. Twenty-five bucks a pop. Can’t turn down good money like that," he bragged.

"Who?" I ventured.

"I dunno, I said. Someone I met on the internet," he replied.

"The internet? We didn’t find a computer in your apartment."

He shrugged and pointed to himself, "Lady, do I look like I can afford a computer? I go to the library. It’s free."

I had not considered this possibility. Owning my own PC and having use of a department laptop for so long I forgot that most people use the computers at the library since owning one is expensive, not only for the equipment, but the monthly fees for the internet connection. Now what I suspected was starting to make more sense.

"How did you meet this person who wanted you to take pictures for them?"

He thought a moment, not to try to remember, for I knew he knew exactly where he met the person, but whether or not to let me in on his secret. "Some website’s chat room," he said non-descriptively.

"What website?" I wasn’t going to let him get off that easy. He fidgeted in his seat and looked at his hands and answered, "It’s called People for a Free America. I was surfing the net one day and thought it was some political group. I got to reading some of the articles and thought that it might be an interesting group to join. Membership lets you into their chat room."

I wasn’t even going to challenge him on his beliefs about ethnic purity and cleansing, things the site advocated. I figured it was better just to stick to the facts. "Is that where you met the person who paid you to take the pictures?"

"Yeah, he was on a few times when I was on and we kinda hit it off. After talking to him on and off for about a week, he told me he was doing this scientific research project and wondered if I would help him out by taking some pictures for him. He knew I was a shutterbug from earlier conversations and I said sure, but film cost money. He said money wasn’t a problem and that he would be willing to pay me $25 a picture if I wanted the work. I was like, hell, that’s good money for just taking pictures."

"I know he probably only used a screen name, but what was it?"

"A.V. Enger," he answered. The same person who wrote that article with the link to one of Mr. Beckman’s pictures, I thought to myself.

"Did A.V. Enger tell you what kinds of pictures he needed?" I knew the answer to this question would be important to my theory on motive.

"Yeah, he said he wanted examples of young inferior men hitting up on our womenfolk. You know types like yourself, blond and white."

I tried not to blush. "He said he needed pictures of young non Aryan men with white women?"

"Something like that," Beckman responded. His body leaned back into the chair like he was putting on superior airs talking about inferior races.

"How did you get the pictures to him?"

"Didn’t have to. Only had to send him the negatives. He said he would print the pictures himself. I know a place that will only process your film onto negatives if you ask them to. They know some photographers like to print their own stuff."

"But the only fingerprints on the negatives were your own," I puzzled.

"Well when I mentioned to him that I would have to get the film processed, he asked me if I knew a place that only did negatives. I said I did, and he asked if they would let me do the actual processing. Turns out I do know a guy who works in there and if I slip him a few bucks, he lets me on the equipment. I took courses in photography at City College once, so I know how to use the stuff. This A.V. Enger was really paranoid that people would see the pictures, but I didn’t think it was that big a deal, I mean, they were only of couples. But since the guy was paying me big bucks, I wasn’t going to argue with him. Takes all kinds in this world. Anyway, he thought like me and I liked him. I didn’t mind helping him out. I was getting ready to go back out and get more when I landed in stir." He growled that last statement out. I didn’t respond.

"How did you get the negatives to him?"

"He asked me to put them in a manila envelope and leave them in a book in the library, one of those history books on World War II. I was to email him when I put it in the book. I guess he knew pretty quickly it was there, because when I went back in about an hour to check to see if it was still there, it was gone. I mean, I was wondering about him, but I didn’t see who got them. I figured the next time I would stake out the place, to see who I was dealing with, but there was no next time. I got sick so I couldn’t get out for a while to take more pictures, and when I finally got better, you nabbed me."

"How did he send you the money?" I was hoping there might be a clue in that.

"Just left six $100 bills in an envelope with my name on it in the library where I left the negatives. He emailed me to let me know it was there."

"Where did he put it?"

"That was the strange thing; he said he left it with one of the librarians working the desk. When I asked them what the man looked like who left it, none of them could tell me who left it. None of them remember anyone giving them the envelope, but it was on the desk behind the counter, sitting there like someone was expecting to pick it up."

"Which branch of the library was this?"

"The big one with the lions on the front steps," he answered.

The main branch of the New York City Library is probably one of the largest branches in the country. I am sure anyone could have slipped that envelope on the desk without someone noticing it, if the desk was busy. I knew that would be a dead end. This person did his homework.

"Did you have any more contact with this person after you got paid?"

"Only once, a week after the delivery. He found me in the chat room and asked me if I would do some more work for him. I asked him if the ones he got were OK and he said they were very good. That was the last I heard from him."

I knew I had all the information Mr. Beckman knew. Some of this information started to make some sense in my addled brain. I thanked Mr. Beckman and Mr. Leiberman for their time. They both asked me again if I would put in a good word with the DA and I assured them both that I would. I decided that I needed to go home after all and freshen up before going back to the precinct. I would call Muff from my house and let him know that I was doing ok and would be back after dinner. I felt grubby and needed to think things over. I hailed a cab and directed the driver to my address.

I was so preoccupied with the case that I passed right by the mailboxes on my way up to my apartment. I opened my door and put my purse on the table. I went over to my PC and sat down to write up my report on the interview with Mr. Beckman while it was still fresh in my head. I put a floppy disk in the hard drive and made a copy to put on my laptop when I got back to work. I placed this in my purse and went into the bathroom to shower and change.

Refreshed, I then dressed and remembered I had forgotten my mail. I went down and there was another envelope in my box with no return address on it. It wasn’t as thick as the one I had gotten this morning, but I knew this might be from our killer. I didn’t want to make the same mistake I made earlier. I grasped the envelope by the edges and carried it up to my apartment. Putting on gloves, I carefully opened it. In it was a picture of Muff and I taken on the cruise ship a week ago. With the picture was a note, similar to the one Eileen Brooks received. It too was a simple piece of plain copy paper, with letters cut from a local paper pasted on it. But this one was definitely more personal. It read ‘White girls have no business messing with inferior races and you should know better being a cop. Stay away from that spic’. I knew exactly who the ‘spic’ was, my new partner, Muff. I wanted to tear it up in a million pieces, but the cop in me helped to put my womanly feelings in check. I carefully put the picture and the note back in their original envelope and then got a plastic baggie out of my cabinet and placed the whole thing in it, sealing up the bag. I stuck this down in my purse as well, figuring I should take it back to show Muff, but not knowing how I was going to explain part of it to Mike and Larry.

I decided to fix myself a bite to eat before going back to the station. As I was cooking, I felt a presence behind me. Not turning around soon enough and before I could react, a man had his hands around my mouth and body, pinning my arms to my sides. I couldn’t see his face, but the scent of his cologne was familiar to me. He said, in a soft voice, trying to disguise it, "Don’t talk. I tried to keep you out of this, but you aren’t easy to manipulate. Now I have to do something about that. I am going to free one of your arms a little bit. I want you to shut off your stove and then you are coming with me." He was able to keep me tightly pinned so I couldn’t turn around. I attempted to grab the pan I was using to hit him with, but he didn’t leave me that much maneuvering space. I was only able, with his strong lead, to turn the knob of the stove to the off position. I was distracted for just a moment will doing this, and in that moment he took advantage of that fact and let my mouth go free. I didn’t have enough time to scream, though, because he replaced his hand over my mouth and nose quickly, this time with a rag soaked in ether cupped in it. It didn’t take long for the chemical to take effect, and then everything went black.

Chapter 6

My head felt groggy and there was a fire on my chest as I slowly woke from my drug induced nap. The lights overhead were very bright, hurting my eyes. I let out a little moan as I tried to raise my head. I must have disturbed who ever was in the room with me, because at that moment a shadow came between me and the bright light. With this shade, I was able to open my eyes a little more. At first the face staring back at me was fuzzy, but slowly it came into focus and I saw it was the worried expression of my partner. His identity was confirmed to me moments later when I heard him call out, "Nurse, Detective Grieg is awake." A nurse came in and I looked at her and then back at Muff and asked, "Am I in a hospital?"

"Yeah, and we thought you were never going to wake up."

"But how," I asked weakly. I tried to sit up, but my head felt like a lead balloon. I collapsed against the soft hospital pillow as the nurse said, "Let’s not try that again, honey. You had quite an ordeal. Just rest and I will call the doctor."

She hurried out of the room and I looked at Muff. "What happened?"

"I was just about to ask you that same question. You remember anything?"

I closed my eyes in an effort to try to make sense of the thoughts swimming in my brain. "Where should I start?"

"How about after you called me," Muff said, trying to help.

"OK, well I went back to the apartment to shower, change and get a bite to eat. I typed up the interview I had with Mr. Beckman on my PC. Then I took a shower and changed. I was heating some soup on the stove when someone suddenly put his hands around my arms and mouth. He gave me just enough leeway to shut the stove off when the next thing I knew I was breathing in something noxious and I passed out. Then I woke up here." I kept my eyes closed the whole time I was relating this to Muff, hoping that I could concentrate better. But when I thought about where I was I opened my eyes full and looked at Muff and asked, "And how did I get here?"

"Well that was our doing," Muff said, pointing to the other two detectives in the room. Up until now I was not cognoscente of their presence. Mike smiled at me weakly and Larry just nodded. Muff continued. "When several hours went by since I had heard from you I got worried. I tried calling you. The phone picked up on the first try, but when I tried to talk to you, there was no answer and then we were cut off. When I tried to call back, the line was busy. I tried several times in the next few minutes, but all I got was the same busy signal. I knew something was wrong, so I told Mike and Larry what was up and the three of us went to your apartment. We found you on the floor, unconscious. The doctor said you were drugged with something pretty powerful. The tox screen hasn’t come back yet."

A horrible thought crossed my mind. I looked at Muff with more fear in my eyes than I had intended and he looked knowingly back at me. His uncanny ability to read my mind was working overtime. "The rape kit came back negative. He didn’t assault you that way," he whispered. I breathed a sigh of relief but winced when the fire on my chest intensified with the effort of my lungs. "Yeah, I bet it hurts like hell," Muff said.

"What is wrong with my chest that it hurts like this?" I asked as I looked down to see it had been well bandaged. I tried to touch it, but that only set up new waves of pain."

"Don’t mess with it, Jan. The doctor said it was cut pretty deep. Not that it won’t heal, but you can’t touch it for a while."

"Cut?" A tear started to form in the corner of my eye. The pain was increasing. Muff must have known what was going on, because he asked Mike to get the nurse and ask for more pain medicine for me. He then looked back at me, but avoided my eyes as he tried to explain. "Janice, this case has become personal."

I thought about the envelope with the picture of Muff and I and the accompanying note and said, "I know, I got something in the mail today."

"You mean yesterday. I know; we found it when we searched your place looking for clues to your attack."

"YESTERDAY??? How long have I been in here?" I practically yelled, with the only strength I had, which didn’t amount to more than a loud whisper.

"Well it is almost 24 hours since we found you," Larry answered. "Muff, you have to tell her," he added, addressing Muff. "Would it be better if we left you alone with her to tell her?" The nurse came back in with Mike at this point and without a word, stuck a needle in my IV. Seeing the puzzled look on my face, she said, "Just something for the pain." Turning to the other gentlemen in the room she added, "Detective Greig needs to rest. It might be best to finish this interrogation at another time."

I knew the nurse was right, but now my curiosity was piqued. "Can Muff… I mean Detective Kovack, stay for a few more minutes. I promise to kick him out after that?"

"OK, but the doctor wants to talk to your friends in a few minutes anyway, so don’t be long. You need to rest. Your body has been traumatized and will only heal if you let it."

She and Mike and Larry left the room and Muff went over to the light switch and shut off the brightest of the lights. One small night light remained on by the bathroom door. In the near darkness, he pulled up a chair near the head of the bed and sat down. I could feel the pain meds starting to take effect, but I fought the sleepiness they induced so I could hear what Muff had to tell me.

Muff let out a large sigh. I could barely make out his features in the near darkness, but somehow I could see his big brown eyes starting to swell with tears. "Janice," he began, almost choking on the words. "The picture and the letter weren’t the only things your assailant left in the apartment."

"He didn’t leave them; I got them in the mail. I went down after my shower, remembering I hadn’t checked my mailbox on the way up. The package was in the mail. I used gloves this time when I opened it, to preserve the evidence…." my head was swimming again with the effects of the medicine. It suddenly dawned on me what Muff was trying to tell me. "What do you mean? What did he leave in my apartment?"

"Janice, the nearest we can ascertain, your perp musta been in your apartment for at least two to three hours before he left and we got there."

"Two to three hours?!?!" None of this was making sense. An overwhelming sense of violation set into my psyche. Muff had told me I wasn’t sexually assaulted, but knowing that my assailant had been with me for so long made me wonder what lie under the bandages, what cause my chest to burn with hellfire. Looking at the way Muff’s silhouetted figure slouched in his chair, I knew this wasn’t going to be easy for him to tell me. I reached over and took his hand and said, "Please, these pain meds are starting to work and I might not be able to stay awake much longer. What did he do to me?"

I think Muff took some courage from my hand and words, because he took another deep breath and said, "Jan, this guy is sick, you have to understand that. He must have given you something pretty powerful, because you were out of it the whole time he cut you."

I took my hand out of his and put it back on my chest. "What did he do to me?" I whispered.

"He took a very sharp scalpel, probably similar to the one he used on those boys, and carved some letters on the top of your chest."

"Letters? What does it say?" I said, groggily. I was starting to lose the battle with the pain medicine.

"Maybe I should show you the picture we took when we were processing the crime scene… I mean your apartment," he added apologetically.

"OK," I said weakly.

He took a photo from his briefcase and held it up to my face. Even though there wasn’t much light in the room, I could make out some writing. The thing of it was I couldn’t make out the words. There were two, one over each of my breasts. But in the darkness, it looked as if the letters were backwards. I looked at Muff with puzzlement in my languid eyes.

"You are right, they are backwards," he said, knowingly. "Seems this nut used a mirror to carve this. When it didn’t make sense, I held the photo up to a mirror." He took a mirror out of his case and held it up to the picture. In bloody letters, I read with horror, "SPIC LOVER." I am not sure if it was shock, the effects of the pain meds or a combination of both, but I passed out. Right before I did, my last thought was that he wanted me to see this every time I looked at myself in the mirror.

ii

I am not sure how long I had been out this time, but when I started to drift back into reality, I heard the voices of my partners talking in quiet, but intense, whispers around my bed. I knew how hard it had been for Muff to show me the picture of my chest carvings, and I knew that he did it because he couldn’t come out and say it in words. I tried not to resent this. I realized they were just trying to be chivalrous and protect me from the worst that had been done to me. Still, knowing this, I knew that I would probably hear more of the truth pretending to still be asleep and allowing them to talk around me then to wake at this moment and beg to hear it all. I was glad I did.

The first think I could make out was Muff’s voice. "Well it wasn’t something I could just blurt out, could I?"

"Jeez, Muff, but to show her?" That was Mike’s voice. "What were you thinking?"

"She has seen worse, I am sure," answered Muff, with a bit of resentment in his voice.

"You never did explain the picture," added Larry, matter-of-factly. I wondered how Muff was going to explain it.

"Oh that, it was nothing really, very innocent, Muff said, offhandedly. "This guy is making more of it than is there. We just went for a ride on our day off, to try to clear our heads of this whole matter. You have to admit, it is getting to us. And in that shot, Jan was getting a bit seasick and laid her head on me in an attempt to feel better." Muff paused and added, "It creeps me out to think that this guy was and still is stalking us."

I thought about Muff’s last statement. I hadn’t had the time to think about this angle, but he was right, it was creepy. And on top of it, I didn’t have a clue why he would be targeting us, besides the fact that we were the lead investigators on the case. My mind wasn’t working as fast as I wanted it to, so it didn’t dawn on me till later that the picture our perp took was before we had been officially assigned to oversee this set of cases. In fact it was before we knew what we were really dealing with. So the angle about us being the leads wasn’t a viable one. I felt bad for Muff, getting the third degree from the other guys, so I decided it was time to "wake up" and get him off the hook.

I moaned slightly, trying to be convincing. I hoped they would buy it and not realize I had been eavesdropping on their conversation. "Nurse...," I whispered, searching for the call button, but keeping my eyes closed. I felt someone fumbling around on my left side, digging in the covers, I supposed, for the call button. I could hear Mike call out for the nurse and I slowly opened my eyes to find Muff the one trying to assist me. "You in pain again?"

"A little," I answered weakly, putting my hand on the bandage covering that cursed phrase carved on me. "I am really thirsty too."

The nurse showed up at this point and gently maneuvered Muff out of her way by my side. "What can I get for you?"

"I am really thirsty. Can I have something to drink?"

She looked at my chart and said, "No restrictions on food or drink. I will get you something. Do you want soda, water or juice?"

"Water would be fine for now," I answered. She left to retrieve it. Muff moved right back to my side, taking her place. "Can I help you with anything?" I couldn’t be one hundred percent certain, but I was beginning to sense that Muff was feeling guilty for what happened to me. His hovering was a big clue. I smiled at him and said, "Could you help me to sit up a little?"

"Sure thing," he answered. He found the mechanism that operated the bed and I could hear the motors grind as the top of the bed rose behind my back. It was a good thing that it moved slowly, cause I could feel the blood rush out of my brain. I started to get dizzy and waved for him to stop.

"What’s wrong?" Muff asked, with very obvious worry in his voice.

"Nothing serious," I managed to answer. After another moment of silence, I was able to add, "my head is still a little dizzy from the attack. This is probably as far as I should have it for now. It is enough."

Muff nodded and I could see he was a bit relieved it wasn’t serious, but worry still resided on his face. I couldn’t see the other detectives very well from my vantage point, Muff was blocking most of my view of that side of the room. I wondered what they were making of all of this fuss.

"Can you bring me a mirror?" I knew he would think this was a strange request, but I wanted to see how bad I looked. If it was half as bad as I felt, I must have looked a fright.

"You think that is such a good idea?" Muff answered. "You are banged up pretty bad.

"Yes, I have to know. This is still an open investigation and I am still one of the lead detectives on the case. I am just collecting evidence." I said, trying to sound professional, even in my weakened state.

Muff grinned, the first one I had seen since I had woke up in the hospital, and shook his head. "Hard headed as always." He left my bedside and went out into the hall, I presumed in search of the mirror I had requested. I took the opportunity of his not being with me to call Mike over.

"Whacha need Jan," Mike responded as he came to my side.

"Is he all right?" I asked him, meaning Muff. He caught on and answered, "Yeah, I guess. He has been a wreck since we found you, but he processed your apartment like a pro. He tries not to let on, but I think he is kicking himself for not being there to prevent this."

"I kinda figured that one out myself. I don’t know what he thinks he could have done, I mean, I don’t need a baby-sitter..." I realized how that sounded. "I mean, well, he can’t be at my side 24-7 you know. I have a life outside of police work. It isn’t much of one, but..." I realized I was digging myself deeper and not making much sense.

"Hey, don’t worry about it. I know what you mean. And I am sure he knows he isn’t going to be there for you all the time. It is a partner thing, you know."

Boy did I ever, thinking of Jim. "Yeah, that is what I figured. I hope you don’t think that there is anything between...." I couldn’t finish the sentence, the words stuck in my throat.

"No, no, I mean, we wondered, but Muff assured us it is strictly all business between you two. Partners can get closer than most, it is the nature of needing each other in moments of danger. Sometimes I wonder if we are married to our wives or our partners more. And with you two being opposite genders, well, people can get the wrong idea. I think that is what this perp has done, cause I dunno why he would care."

I shook my head and said, "I haven’t a clue about that one myself."

The nurse came back in with a tray containing a plastic pitcher, a plastic cup and a straw. She put it on the table beside my bed and looked at the other people in the room and left. I guess she figured I had plenty of help getting the drink I requested. She did remark to Larry on the way out that if I needed anything else, they could call her.

Mike removed the plastic wrapper from the straw and placed it in the cup. He then poured a little water from the pitcher into the cup. I was able to push myself up a little more in the bed and reached for the cup as he handed it to me. I could feel the coolness on the sides of the cup and I tried to maneuver the straw to my mouth. Mike moved it into position so I could get it. I only had enough energy for a few sips before I gave it back to him. Muff came in while Mike was putting the cup back on the table. Mike moved back to the chair he was sitting in as Muff took his place once again by my side.

"I got one, it wasn’t easy. I guess people don’t like to look at themselves around here. All the mirrors are on the walls. But one of the nurses had a compact. I hope this will be big enough." He opened the compact and handed it to me. I took it and closed my eyes as I raised it to my face. I braced myself for what I was about to see. When I opened my eyes, I saw that the perp had left some bruises around my eyes and cheeks. My hair was matted, but that was probably from being in the hospital bed. Other than that, I didn’t look too bad.

"He musta been pretty sore at me to hit me like this." I remarked, trying not to sound too upset.

"Yeah, I dunno why he would want to mess up a pretty face like that." Mike said, trying to lighten the mood.

I smiled, "Thanks, Mike. I could always count on you for a complement." I looked at my face again and said. "This isn’t too bad. I wonder why my head feels like he took a baseball bat to it or something."

Muff explained, " Well that isn’t because of the beating, but a combination of the drug he used and the fact that you lost a lot of blood."

Now I was confused, "Lost blood?"

Muff continued. "The doctor said that the bruising around the cheeks was probably from a hand slap, probably several, but the bruising around your eyes was from the loss of blood and the drugs. When he carved you, you bled out pretty bad. We thought you were going to die from that alone. They gave you several pints in the operating room when they stitched you up.

"Oh," I said, realizing some more the trama I went through when I was unconscious. Wondering how I could have ‘slept’ through all of that I asked, "Did the doctor find out what he gave me to knock me out?"

"Well the tox screen wasn’t very conclusive, but the doctor’s opinion is that the perp might have used Isoflurane or Enflurane to initially knock you out."

I looked at him like he was speaking Greek. He saw and said, "The doc said these are animal anesthetics used by vets that work pretty quick. But they don’t last very long and they don’t have the level of pain killers needed to do what he did to your chest." Muff spoke slowly. I realized it wasn’t easy for him to talk to me about what happened to me. "And because they are breathed in, they don’t last long in the body. The doc also found traces of cocaine in your system. He did find a small puncture wound near where he -- used the scalpel on you. He figured that it musta been injected before he worked on you as a local anesthetic. I didn’t know this, but apparently they used to use cocaine as an anesthetic back when they were first learning to do surgery. No respectable doctor uses it now, cause it is addictive, but I guess with cocaine so readily available illegally, our guy musta thought it was the best thing to use. We have always thought that he has some background in medicine. Look at the way he handles a scalpel." I wince when he said that and put my hand to my chest again, remembering the picture Muff had shown me earlier. He immediately fell all over himself apologizing to me.

"Oh man, I am soooo sorry, Jan. It is hard to know when to be professional about this and to know when it is personal."

"Don’t worry about it. I was the one who wanted to discuss it like a case. It is hard not to think of it personally happening to me though."

"I know," Muff said in a low voice. "It is hard enough seeing what some people will do to others, but when it is someone you know and well..." he didn’t finish, but looked around and must have remembered he wasn’t alone with me. I knew what he was trying to say. It was like Mike was saying to me earlier. Partners, by the nature of the job, are closer to you than most people.

I started to grow tired again. I laid my head back on the pillow and closed my eyes. "Did the doctor say when I could get out of here?"

I heard Muff’s voice as he answered. "As soon as you feel like you are ready to. He said that the pain might be kinda intense for a few days, but overall you are OK. I think it might be good if you spent at least another day in here to rest and recover."

I opened my eyes and smiled weakly. The pain was growing more intense. "Yes, Dr. Kovack." Muff started to smile and then concern replaced the smile. He reached for the call button and pressed it. The voice squawked through the speaker "Yes, can I help you?"

"Detective Grieg might be in need of more medicine for her pain. She is having some distress," Muff responded. He wasn’t wrong, the fire in my chest had come back with a vengeance and I clutched it and breathed heavy.

"I’ll be right there," the voice said.

A few minutes went by and the nurse came in with a syringe. She placed it on the table next to my bed and checked my vital signs. She asked me about my pain and then injected the contents of the syringe into my IV line. Soon the pain started to subside and I felt groggy again. The nurse told the guys that it was time for me to rest and Mike and Larry took the hint and left the room. Muff stayed behind long enough to take my hand again and put his mouth next to my left ear. As I drifted into a drug induced sleep I heard him whisper, "We will get the guy who did this to you, Jan. I swear on my parents’ grave we will." Then I felt his lips press against my left cheek as he placed a kiss upon it. I guess he left after that, cause I don’t remember much else.

iii

The next day the doctor signed the release forms and I was able to go home. In the last twenty four hours, the guys had been over my apartment with a fine toothed comb, collecting all the evidence they could and getting it to the lab. Muff came to visit me a few more times, but didn’t stay too long, just long enough to keep me up on what they were doing. I was needing the pain medication less frequently, so I was itching to get out with them and find this guy. Like Muff said when told me about what had happened to my chest, it was now personal.

Muff helped me with the few things they had brought to me while I was in the hospital. He had brought me some clothes so I could change. I had been in the hospital gown the whole time and was glad to get some regular clothes on. I had him bring me an old sweat shirt and pants, figuring that these would be the easiest to put on. It was kinda embarrassing to think he went through my underwear draw to get me pair of clean panties, I didn’t bother with the bra since I was still bandaged up in that area. He brought his car around to the entrance of the hospital and then helped me out of the wheel chair the hospital staff insists you must use to get to your car. I was never so grateful to get away from that place. I never liked hospitals, but I guess most people don’t.

Muff drove me to the apartment, filling me in on the preliminary things the crime lab found. I knew I would have to look through my things to see what had been disturbed. I just laid back and closed my eyes and listened to what he had to tell me. "There were no finger prints in the whole place except the ones we expect to find there. Seems this guy used gloves."

"I think I remember his hands covered with gloves, but the memories are still a little fuzzy," I answered.

"We did find some stuff on your computer. We had it dusted for fingerprints, but I fought to have it left it at the apartment. I didn’t bring it up before ‘cause I wanted you to get your rest. It isn’t pleasant. Seems this guy might know you, from the note he left. Funny thing is, I don’t think he erased anything. But one thing is for certain, I think he knows all we know about the cases, if not from first hand knowledge, then from reading your files. I thought we could go over what he wrote together, since you have a better idea what was on your computer than I do."

I tried not to think about him touching my things. I felt so violated, even if I knew he didn’t rape me. I thought about the last two days in the hospital and what my body had gone through. All of a sudden another thought entered my mind, one that had nothing to do with the case. "Muff, did anyone phone my mother about this?"

"Your family was contacted. We decided that it would be better to talk to your brother first. He was going to fly east, but we told him that you were OK. He asked us to let him phone your mother. She did phone me once asking about you, I was able to reassure her that you were OK," Muff answered.

I had to smile a little through my pain. I could imagine how that conversation went. I was surprised my mother wasn’t banging down the doors of the hospital trying to see me. "Didn’t she ask to see me?"

A huge grin broke out on Muff’s face. "Ask wouldn’t be the exact work I would have called it. More like demanded. But I was able to assure her that you were fine and that you would call her the minute you were released." He handed me his cell phone. I knew exactly what he wanted me to do. I dialed the number.

"Hello?" I heard on the other end. There was an anxiousness in my mother’s frail voice. I felt bad I hadn’t thought to call her before this. All the morphine on top of what the perp had given me made my mind too cloudy to think straight. I took a deep breath and said, "It’s Jan, mom."

"Oh my God, baby, are you OK? The cops wouldn’t tell me anything!" she practically shouted in my ear. I could see from the expression on Muff’s face that he heard every word she was saying, or more to the point, shouting. I tried to concentrate on my mother and let Muff drive.

"I’m fine, mom. You know me, hard to keep a soldier down," I chuckled, trying to deflect some of my mother’s obvious worry.

"I knew this would happen to you one day, damn fool daughter wanting to be a cop. I want you to come home and spend some time here resting," she said.

Muff pulled the Impala into a parking spot in front of my building and cut the engine. He got out and came around the other side of the car to open the door for me. I didn’t mind this act of chivalry, I was hurting too much to protest if I had minded. I continued to reassure my mother that I was OK and that I would come to visit her real soon, but I was needed to help my partner find out who did this to me. She wasn’t real happy about that. As we climbed the stairs in front of my building, Muff signaled to me to let him have the phone. I reluctantly gave it to him, not knowing what to expect.

"Mother Greig? This is Detective Kovack. Remember I spoke to you on the phone a couple of days ago?" Silence for a few minutes as we entered the building and slowly made our way up to my apartment. Then he said, "Yes, she is fine. I have brought her back to her place and I will make sure she has round the clock protection and care. She wasn’t hurt that badly." Again silence. I could hear her talking on the other end, but the words were too garbled to understand. I took my key out and opened the door and we entered. "No, Mother Greig, I will make sure she isn’t alone. And we will come out to see you tomorrow. I hope you don’t mind having another person for Sunday dinner?" I could hear that her voice had gotten lower. I was amazed at the way my partner was charming my mother. His slow, soothing voice was having an effect on her. "Yes, Mother Grieg, 11 A.M. sharp. We will be there. Rest easy. She is in good hands."

He listened a few more minutes and then said, "Yes, here she is," and handed the phone back to me. I sat down on my sofa to finish my conversation with her as Muff went into the kitchen to put on a kettle of hot water for tea.

"Mom?" I said.

"Honey, your nice partner said he would make sure you are safe. He seems like a nice young man. Are you going to be well enough to come tomorrow for dinner?"

"Yes, mom, I keep telling you I am fine, just a little banged up. And we will be there, like Muff told you."

"Uh, there is one more thing...." my mom said in a lower voice, hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"Uh..mm.. the man who did this, he didn’t... um... you know..." I could hear in her voice that she was uncomfortable asking the question that I knew she was trying to ask. I had to smile a bit, thinking of how her generation couldn’t talk about such unpleasant things in polite company.

"No, mom," I said in my most soothing voice. "The doctors told me that he didn’t violate me that way."

"Well that is a good thing anyway," she answered. I could tell by her voice she was beginning to cry. I didn’t want to upset her anymore, and I was tired, so I told her I loved her and said my good-byes. It took a few more minutes to get her to hang up, but she finally did. By the time I pressed the end button on the cell phone and put it down on the end table by the sofa, Muff was bringing in my tea.

"She going to be OK?" Muff asked me.

I took the cup from his hands and took a sip and allowed the soothing liquid to relax me. "I think so, as much as she can be. I know seeing her tomorrow will go a long way to set her mind at ease." I took another sip and added, "I think she likes you, you know."

Muff raised one eyebrow as he sat beside me on the sofa with his cup of tea in his hand. "Oh, really? What makes you think that?"

"Oh I wouldn’t know," I teased. "Maybe it was that Latin charm of yours."

Muff grinned, but acted astonished. He was about to throw a quip my direction but I cut him off. "Seriously though, thank you for talking to her. I guess I am too close to her to really be effective in helping her not to worry."

"No problem. Glad to help. What’s a partner for!"

We sat in silence, drinking our tea for a few minutes. Something about the conversation came back to me. "What did you mean when you told her that I would be having round the clock protection and care?"

"Well, we talked to the captain and he is in agreement that you should have someone here to stay with you for a while."

"I hope that you don’t think I can’t take care of myself! One little incident and...."

Muff sensed I was on the defensive about what had happened. "No, I know you are tough and will be over this soon. We just thought that it might be wise to wait a few days before having you stay here by yourself. I would have had you come and stay at my place, honestly it might be safer, but I knew you wouldn’t agree to that. I know you are out of the hospital, but your body is still getting over the trama this guy put it through. Until you are 100% better and can fend off attackers, I thought it might be better to have someone here."

I knew he was right, but the thought of some strange police woman spending the night in my place didn’t appeal to me. "Who is going to be here?"

"That’s up to you. It’s your life and your place. The NYPD is ready to assign a uniform policewoman to the job, if you want that."

"Actually, no I don’t." But I didn’t know what else would be acceptable either, so I didn’t add any suggestions of my own.

Muff sensed that the conversation was beginning to become awkward. He took our empty mugs into the kitchen and put them in the sink. "There is another suggestion, but I don’t want you to get the wrong idea if I suggest it."

I laid back against the soft cushions of the couch and closed my eyes. The trip home and the conversation with my mother had worn me out more than I realized. "What is that?" I asked him weakly. He came back into the living room and sat beside me once again. "Are you all right?" he asked with much concern in his voice.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. "I’m fine, just tired, I guess."

"Maybe you should take a nap for a while. I’ll be here till you decide on what you want. I have my stuff here and I can even get Mike and Larry to stop by and we can work on things from here. I am sure they have the final forensics report on the attack back by now."

I was too weak to argue. I let him take me to my room and turn down the covers on my bed. I hadn’t had someone tuck me in since I was very little. He kissed me gently on the forehead and I drifted off to sleep.

iv

It was dark when I woke up. I rolled over and looked at the digits on my alarm clock. They glowed a crimson 8:30. Groggily I rolled back on my back and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. I thought back on the past several days and wondered if I would ever be myself again. Everyone had assured me I would be OK, but when you are in the middle of recovery, you never seem to see the end of it.

I wondered if Muff was still around, and what he had been up to the many hours while I had been sleeping. The pain in my chest wasn’t as bad as it had been, but the meds I took before I went to sleep had definitely worn off. I actually welcomed a little of the pain, it helped shake the cobwebs from my mind. All I could think about was how badly I wanted a shower.

While I was in the hospital, all they would do was give me sponge baths, carefully avoiding my bandaged chest. They don’t bother with your hair unless you specifically ask them, and I was in no shape to do that. Now the matted locks felt nasty and my scalp began to itch. I wondered how much I could do without doing harm to my wounds. I searched my memory for all the information the doctor gave me when he was checking me out. I did remember that I was OK to bathe, so long as I kept the bandaged area dry. That meant a shower was out unless I could find a way to waterproof the bandages. While I was contemplating how I would be able to manage it, a quiet knock sounded on my door. "I guess that answered my question about Muff," I thought to myself as I answered the knock with a, "I’m awake."

Muff slowly entered the room and asked if he could turn on a light. I told him it would be OK and shielded my eyes to the brightness, waiting for them to adjust. He came over to the bed and reached out his hand as if to silently ask if I needed help getting up. I put my hands in his and slowly lifted myself into a sitting position. It is amazing to discover how much you depend on those mechanical beds in the hospital when you are without them at home. I smiled a grateful smile at him and said, "I feel like I have been through the trenches in Iraq. I need a shower, badly!"

Muff sat down next to me on the bed and replied, "Well the doc said it was OK, but you can’t get that bandage wet."

"I know, I have been laying here thinking of a way to get around that."

Muff thought a minute and said, "Sounds like the only way is another GI bath, like they gave you in the hospital. You think you can manage that?"

I looked at him and smiled, "I guess I have to, I mean there isn’t anyone else here to help me!"

For the first time since I had known my partner, he blushed. He had been so sweet and worried about me that he didn’t even have time to think of me in that regard. There was an awkward silence that I finally broke. "I’ll be fine, but I wish I could get my hair washed. I dunno if I can do that by myself yet."

"Oh I can help you with that if you like," Muff answered, his face noticeably relieved. "Why don’t you go and clean up the rest of you and when you are done come into the kitchen. Bring your shampoo and a towel and I will wash it at the kitchen sink where there is a sprayer."

"Sounds like a plan," I answered. "Thanks."

"De nada," he said as he got up and left the room. I was able to make my way to the bathroom with a little difficulty. The pain was low level and constant. I knew when I was finished making myself more presentable I would have to take my pain meds, but I was holding off. Even with the pain, it was good to be alert again.

Even a GI bath was a bit of an ordeal, only because I was being meticulous, especially around the bandage. After I was done, I dressed in clean clothes and took a few towels from the linen closet along with my shampoo and conditioner and made my way out to the kitchen.

Muff had the stool I kept by refrigerator set up by the sink. It was one of those old fashioned type step stools that had a seat at the top with a back. The seat and back were covered with a red vinyl seat and there were two steps that collapsed underneath its aluminum frame. I had picked it up at a yard sale years ago. I was able to sit on it and lean my head back over my sink. I had draped my upper body with a few towels and even had put a plastic bag over my bandage under the towels to make sure no water would get on it. Muff tested the temperature of the water and asked me to feel it as well. It seemed fine to me. He lifted the sprayer from the side of the sink and wet my hair down. Helping himself to a generous portion of the shampoo he began to lather it in my hair, massaging my scalp. It felt wonderful. I asked him if he had ever had occasion to do this, because he would have made a terrific hair dresser. He laughed and said that his mother used to ask him to wash her hair from time to time. She had arthritis really bad and had a hard time lifting her arms up to wash her own hair. He added that he was glad I was enjoying it, cause he wasn’t sure if he was doing it right. I told him it felt wonderful and he kept massaging my scalp for a few more minutes. Finally he rinsed my hair and applied the rinse out conditioner. After a final rinse he put a towel around my wet locks and helped me to sit up.

I took the twisted towel and hair from him and began to rub the excess water from my hair. He asked me if I wanted him to comb and blow dry it. I was in an amiable mood and said sure. I dunno what had gotten into me, because I am fiercely self sufficient. I told him where I kept the blow dryer and my brush and comb. My hair wasn’t too long, but I knew that raising my arms to manipulate the dryer and comb would put too much strain on the muscles leading to my injured chest. I fought hard against the need I had to take the pain meds. The throbbing was increasing, but I didn’t want to go back to sleep for a while, and I knew the meds would make me sleepy again.

Muff returned with the blow dryer and I went into the living room on a chair near an outlet. He was very gentle, not only making sure my hair was dry, but even styling it up a bit for me. I thanked him for taking the time to do this, and he said that he knew what it was like to feel miserable, and he hoped his little efforts would ease some of that misery for me. I smiled, knowing he was still feeling guilty for not being there for me. I knew there was nothing he could have done to prevent the attack, but I also knew that he wouldn’t listen if I pleaded a case against his guilty feelings. I decided it was best to just let it drop.

When he was done he returned the hair stuff to the bathroom and I moved over to the couch where it was more comfortable. Muff came back out and asked me if I was hungry. I told him a little and he went into the kitchen to fix me a sandwich. While he was busy with that I asked him what he had been doing all afternoon while I was asleep. He filled me in on the investigation. He said that the other two members on our team had been over with the forensics report on my attack and they had put their heads together over it and the other evidence trying to make some sense out of it, but to be honest, they hadn’t really been able to get very far. There had been no new developments, and to the relief of the whole team, there had been no new cases either.

Muff brought my sandwich and a Coke out to me and set up the TV tray table I kept by the side of the sofa. As I ate, he continued telling me what they found.

"The perp left no prints that we could find. No DNA either. This guy knew exactly what he was doing. The only evidence he left was the letter on your computer. I printed out a copy of it for you to read when you were feeling better. We didn’t seem to get the full significance from it. We were hoping you would be able to understand it better."

He handed me a printout of the letter from my computer. He told me they left the file on my computer in case the tech boys might be able to find any other trace evidence on it. He told me that they wanted my PC as soon as I would be willing to release it to them. I told them that it would be OK, but I should check all my files to see if anything was added or missing. I took the letter and quietly read it while he paced the floor.

My dearest Jan,

Sorry if this seems a bit informal, but you see, I feel I really know you

enough to call you dearest. I have admired you for so long that I know

if you knew my feelings you would feel the same way. I have followed

your career and especially these cases with much interest. You know

I have only done what I have for you, my dearest. I want you so bad,

that when I see you around other guys it makes my blood boil. It is a

shame you have elected to be with those of inferior races. You are

too beautiful to be with that spic partner of yours. If I had any influence

in the NYPD I would have you assigned someplace safe with people

of your own kind. I didn’t want to mark you up like that, but you made

me so mad. I have kept all my love tokens and hope to show them to

you one day, to show you how much I love you. Those subhumans had

no business being with the likes of you, or anyone that looked like you.

That is why I had to kill them. But I only did it for you, my darling.

Promise me you will give up this madness and get away from that spic

as soon as you can. Then the killing can stop. I will be in touch as soon

as I know you will not give me up. I am counting on your love to keep

me safe from prosecution. Then we can go away together and be happy

forever.

If you don’t agree to this, there will be more killings. If I could get my

hands on that spic, he would be next, but he would be a hard one to get.

What a trophy he would be, though, the ultimate token of my love for

you. I look at the others and think what his would look like sitting side

by side with my other specimens. They are a poor lot compared to me.

Call off the police and I will give myself up to you, and you alone. I

know you wouldn’t let them touch me. I know you would see my tokens

as the symbols of my love I meant them to be. You can’t really care about

these subhumans. I know you are the true beauty of our superior race.

I will take care of you and make sure you have the care you need. I can

reverse what I did to you if you will just come to me. I have skill.

Let me know what your answer is, my love. When you quit the investigation

I will know your answer and come to you again.

Your Aryan Lover

A.D.Venger

I let out a shudder as I read the letter. "Oh my God," I exclaimed. Muff took the letter from me as I held it out to him. "This nut seems to know me. Why me?" I said as I finally broke down and cried. I had tried to be strong during this whole ordeal, but the knowledge that somehow I was the reason this guy killed those innocent men and mutilate them overwhelmed me to the point of a break down.

Muff came over to my side and let me put my head on his shoulder as the tears came pouring out. "Jan, this guy is a nut. It isn’t your fault. You didn’t ask him to kill. You have to believe me when I tell you that he is totally to blame."

"Yes, but what if he is sincere about it stopping if I call off the investigation. If one more person dies because I didn’t do what he asked, I don’t know if I could live with that person’s death on my head."

Muff took my chin firmly in his hand and put my head directly in front of his. His large dark eyes riveted themselves directly at mine, so hypnotic was his serious stare I couldn’t help but look directly into them. He was all business as he spoke. "Detective Greig, we will catch this nut. There will be no talk of quitting. If he kills again, he does. It is not our place to let him get off. The blood of his other victims cries out for justice, and we will bring him to justice. Please promise me you will not do anything foolish to put yourself in harm’s way again. Who knows what he would do if he had you."

Muff was right and I knew it. Still I knew the key to catching this guy might rest in my hands. I had to form a plan of action and I knew that finding a weakness in this man might be the way to catch him. But right now I knew I was too spent emotionally to formulate a plan right now. I asked him to help me over to the computer so I could check my files. He helped me to the computer chair and then went back to the sofa. I told him to help himself to the TV that I might be a while looking through all my files.

As I perused my hard drive, Muff flipped channels, seeing what was on. He finally settled on the last innings of the Yankee game. It was good that he was watching baseball, the drone of it kept my mind focused on what I was doing. After about 45 minutes, I told him that it looked like everything was there and nothing besides the letter had been added, at least to my weary eyes. The crime lab could have my PC in the morning and see what they could find.

When I was done, I knew I would have to have those pain meds. I was now several hours overdue and the pain was becoming unbearable. Muff might have seen me wince when I got up and he asked me if I needed something for the pain. I said yes and he quickly got up and got them for me, with a glass of water. I took them and went to the bathroom to take care of other things. While I was in there, Muff had cleared up the remains of the dinner he had fixed me and straightened out my bed. When I came out of the bathroom he pointed to the bed and said, "It would be a good idea if you got more rest. Unless something develops between now and then, we will go to your mom’s tomorrow. You will need your rest for that."

The meds were starting to work and I felt my muscles start to feel like jelly. "Well I am in no position to argue with you. Are you planning on spending the night?"

"Yes, but only because you never gave me directions to the contrary. Larry and Mike stayed with you for a bit this afternoon so I could go to my place, freshen up and get some things. I can sleep on your couch. I’ll be fine."

"OK. There is a blanket and pillow in the closet in the hall. I hope you get some sleep." I collapsed on the bed and Muff helped me get tucked in.

"I’ll be fine. You just rest. I’ll see you in the morning."

I smiled weakly. "Thanks, Muff. I appreciate your taking care of me."

"Shh, mi socia. Buenas noches." He kissed me on the cheek and I fell asleep.

vi

Muff must have slept in late, cause he didn’t come in to wake me till it was almost 11. It had been well after midnight before I had gone to bed, so I felt really rested from the long sleep.

The doctor had instructed me to change the bandage the day after I had gotten out of the hospital. He had given me some medicine to spread on the stitches so that the wounds would heal and it would lessen the chance of scarring. The doctor said he would look at some plastic surgery in the future to take care of any leftover scarring. Some of the cuts had been deep, but he was convinced that I would heal. He only had to put a few stitches in them, opting to butterfly the parts that weren’t as deep. I didn’t tell Muff I was going to take the bandage off, thinking that the less he knew about what I saw the better.

I prepared myself for the worse, remembering the picture Muff had shown me in the hospital. That picture was taken before the stitching. When I removed the bandage in front of the bathroom mirror, no small feat since the medical tape hurt like hell as I pealed it away from my bruised skin, I could make out the general outline of the words but they were obscured by some of the work the doctors had done on them. I gently cleansed the wounds as the doctor instructed only using some warm water and cotton swabs. Then I applied the salve I was given using some more swabs. I tried to clean some of the adhesive off my skin where the tape had left it, but it proved too tough for right now. Not wanting to accidentally pop my stitches and do more damage, I left them and dried the whole area with the lint free cloth the hospital had give me. Then I re-bandaged the whole area with a fresh bandage and went about my morning hygiene routine.

After another GI bath, I felt as fresh as I could. My hair seemed to respond to my attention, to my amazement. Muff had done a great job styling it last night. I wonder if my mother would notice how nice it looked and ask me how I got it to look that way. I got dressed and exited my bedroom. Muff looked at me and said, "Mami, you look great."

"Well it is amazing how a good night’s sleep will help a person feel their best. And having a great hairdresser helps too!" I gave him a little wink.

Muff smiled. "Just trying to help." Then he picked up his shaving kit and his clothes and asked if he could avail himself of my shower. I told him to help himself, that the towels were in the linen closet.

While he showered and got ready, I fixed us some breakfast. It felt good to get back to as normal a life as I was allowed. I had the eggs and sausage on the table and was pouring the coffee when he entered the kitchen, looking very handsome in his light blue golf style shirt and tan chinos. His hair glistened from the dampness that was still in it from the shower. I gathered that he let it air dry. That might have been what made it so soft looking all the time. He told me he was glad I was starting to feel better, owning to the breakfast that sat on the table. I said that I felt like I had to get back into a more normal routine.

We sat and ate in relative silence. I am not sure what was going through his mind, but all I kept thinking was how natural this felt, having him in my kitchen sharing a meal. A small shot of pain in my chest brought me back to the reality of why he was here and I kicked myself for thinking the thoughts that had been going through my mind. Maybe it was the anticipation of my mother’s reaction to Muff that had me thinking about what life would be like if Muff was more than my partner in crime. But I knew that I had to stay focused on work, or we would never catch this guy.

Muff offered to do the dishes and I went in to take more medication. I decided I should only take half a dose, in order to keep my wits about me. The doctor told me I could start backing off the meds as I felt I needed to. There was no minimum dosage, only a maximum. I was determined to wean myself off of them as soon as I could. Over the counter pain meds would be good enough after a while. The quicker I could get to that place, the better it would be for me to concentrate on my job.

I found myself rambling on about my mom and my youth as we drove out to Queens. I didn’t own a car, so traveling out in one felt strange. It also brought back memories of when my dad was alive. He insisted on picking me up on Sundays, not liking me to take public transportation. After his death, I had no choice, although my mother worried about me using the train all the time.

I was telling Muff all about the trips my dad and I would take out to the end of the Island when he was alive. I said the eastern end of Long Island was sorta like the Cloisters were for him. It was an escape from the real world. I had not been out there since my dad passed on. Muff promised we would take a drive out there someday.

My mom was waiting by the door when we drove up. Muff had called her on his cell phone, telling her what his car looked like so she wouldn’t be alarmed when it pulled into her driveway. She still had the garage, but my dad’s old Buick was sold when he died. I had contemplated taking it, but decided I really didn’t need the expense of a car.

We greeted her by the door and she led us into the kitchen. She asked us to sit down at the table and proceeded to pour us each a cup of coffee. She asked Muff a ton of questions about himself and asked me how I was getting along. We must have talked for a couple of hours while she finished fixing dinner.

My mother loved to cook, but in recent years kept her fare simple, owing to the fact that it was just the two of us. She really outdid herself this day, I guess because we had company. She fixed a pot roast with all the trimmings. As always, she made too much and tried to get Muff to eat more than he could hold. He was polite and tried to please her. I felt bad for him, knowing how uncomfortable he would be feeling later.

When dinner was over, Muff insisted on helping with the dishes. I wanted to help as well, but my mother wouldn’t let me. I normally did the dishes on Sundays, but she was still fussing over me about my attack. I tried to tell her that I was feeling much better, but she was able to get Muff on her side and the two of them insisted that I remain seated. I did convince them to let me dry some dishes as I sat at the table. This she let me do.

I told my mother that I wanted to take Muff back to see my dad’s den, if it would be OK with her. She said it would be fine, that she needed to call my brother while we were back there. I lead Muff down the long hall to the back of the house. My dad’s den had been a bedroom on the original house plans. There were two bedrooms downstairs and two upstairs. My parents decided that since they only had two children, the spare bedroom would be better used as his den.

Muff looked around while I told him about my father. There were pictures of the two of us on our various travels over the years. Muff asked me why my mother wasn’t in the pictures and I told him my mother hated long car rides. I showed him my dad’s pipe and related how on Sunday afternoons I would spend hours in this room thinking about my dad. Muff nodded when I told him that I felt like my dad was with me when I was in here. "I sometimes feel like that when I am at the park near my apartment. My mother used to take me there as a child and sometimes I go there and sit on the bench looking at the moms and kids on the playground equipment and think about her."

I had offered Muff my dad’s old lounge chair and I sat on the other chair in the room. We reminisced some more about our childhood’s and then sat in silence for a while. Finally Muff said we should go and see where my mother was, that she might wonder why we were back there so long. I grinned and told him that I suspected my mother would be pleased, she was so hell bent on getting me hitched. I felt the blood rise to my face and with a blush I said, "She wants grandkids."

"Doesn’t your brother have children?"

"Yes, two, but it isn’t the same for her, they are 3000 miles away."

"I gotcha." He got up and took my hand and led me back to the kitchen.

"You two were back there a long time," my mom said. I deflected her inquiries with a question about my brother. "How’s Tad?"

"Your brother is fine, and the kids are fine, but he is worried about you. He still wants to come and see you. You need to call him."

"I know, I will. Did you tell him I am much better?"

"Yes, but I know he would believe it more coming from you."

I kissed my mom on the cheek, "OK, mom, I will call him on my cell phone on the way back to the city."

"You heading back now?" my mom asked, knowing what I was going to tell her and not wanting to hear it.

"Yes, I’m afraid we have to head back. Lots to do Monday morning and I need to rest," I answered her firmly, but gently.

"I hope someone is staying with you. I can’t bear to think of you all alone there with that nut still on the loose."

"She is in good hands, Mother Greig. I am personally taking charge of her protection."

"Good," she said giving him a hug. "You know, Jan, he is a good man..."

"I know, mom." And I kissed her on the cheek cutting off her next remark. "I will call you when I get home."

She handed me a large bag full of containers of food. "You will need more in the house if you have two to feed." I wondered if she suspected it was Muff who had been staying with me. I know it wouldn’t have set too well, but on the other hand, she had taken a shine to him. After all, he met her major qualifications, he was alive and single. I guess it didn’t hurt that he was charming and good looking as well. I shook my head a little thinking about this as we got in the car.

On the way back to the city I called my brother Tad. He was still very concerned, but knowing that my mother was fine with the arrangements that had been made on behalf of my safety went a long way in convincing him I would be OK. Muff even talked to him a bit to reassure him. Tad said he would try to get some time off soon and bring the whole family east for a visit. It had been almost a year since my mother had seen her babies and he knew that his presence was long overdue. It is amazing how a crisis in a family helps to remind us of how important we all are to each other.

Muff said very little to me about the visit, except to say my mother seemed really nice and was a great cook. To prove it, he helped himself to some of the leftovers my mother had sent home with us when we got back to my place. I was too tired and too stuffed to think about eating anymore, so I told Muff I was going to take a full dose of pain meds and lay down. He said he would be watching some TV while I rested, and that if I felt like just calling it a night, it was OK with him. I decide that his suggestion was a good one, so I got my PJ’s on before I laid down. It turned out to be a good idea, because I didn’t wake up till the next morning. This time Muff let me put myself to bed. I was glad, but a small part of me missed him giving me that good night peck on the cheek.