FORGET ME NOT©
by
This is my second story to the "C & R Series." Since this continues from the first story "Someone To Watch Over Me," I would recommend that "Someone To Watch Over Me" be read first for those who haven’t read it before, or for those who need a reminder of the direction of the story and its characters. Happy reading.
The woman is having that same dream again. She is running along a dark, narrow hallway trying desperately to catch up to someone ahead of her. Each time she tries to scream for him to wait for her, he moves a little further away. She can’t see him clearly, but in his arms is a baby. "Please, please wait for me. Please don’t leave me," she tries to plead, but nothing comes out her mouth. The man and the baby finally reach a door at the end of the hallway. He turns to look at her wistfully one final time before he turns the knob of the door and goes through it. When she reaches the same door, she tries to follow, but the door will not open. She is now crying and screaming for them to open the door for her, to wait for her.
She is visibly crying and clutching the bedcovers tightly to her chest. The man sleeping by her side awakens and switches on the light.
"Sam, wake up, Sam," he says.
The woman opens her eyes and stares into the blue eyes of her husband. She continues to sob as she buries her head in his chest.
"Everything’s okay. I’m here," he comforts her, stroking her arm soothingly. "Same dream, hmm?"
She nods into his chest, feeling his love and warmth enveloping her.
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Across town in the bedroom of a townhouse, the shadowy figure is putting the finishing touches to his great masterpiece. He stands at the bed’s edge to admire his masterful creation. "Perfect," he thinks to himself. He is looking at the body of a woman lovingly laid out in the middle of the bed. The bed sheet is free of creases. He has obviously taken his time with her. Her blonde hair and nightgown are perfectly straightened out. Her hands rest neatly in the middle of her chest. She looks like she is blissfully asleep. The silhouette then moves to the head of the bed. He takes a small object out of his trouser pocket and picks up a paperback from the nightstand. He places the object within the folds of the book, and sets it down again. He presses his gloved fingers to his lips, and then gently brushes them on the now cold lips of the woman.
"Finally, mine," he whispers. He then turns and calmly walks out the bedroom.
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"Well?" Chris inquiries, arching his brow as he looks at her. "I don’t like it, Sam, it’s been going on for far too long."
His eyes follow the movement of his beautiful wife as she moves around the kitchen, busying herself preparing breakfast. He is seated by the kitchen counter, still waiting for her answer.
Rita stops just long enough in what she is doing to answer him, "Look Chris, it’s no big deal. It’s just a nightmare."
"Yeah, but it’s the same nightmare, and it’s been happening too many times," Chris pauses. "I think it’s time … you, my beautiful wife, talk to someone about it."
"I really don’t know what’s the big deal with it. It’s just a silly dream, Chris."
"Not when it wakes you in the middle of the night, crying."
"I’m fine, Chris. Really. So just drop it okay?"
Chris knows he won’t get anywhere on this topic with her today. "All right, but you’ll hear from me again on this," Chris says determinedly, as he reaches out and grabs a hold of Rita.
He pulls her close, and nuzzles her throat, "You know I’m worried, don’t you?"
"Yeah, I know," Rita replies, as she plants a quick kiss on his lips. "So stop worrying."
"What am I going to do with you woman?" he sighs, as he returns her kiss.
"You, my husband, should quit worrying, and help me with the pancakes," she laughs, as she slaps a spatula playfully into his hand.
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Mackenzie Horton is not a happy man. He had been working on the closing argument for the Alvarez double homicide case till past four in the morning, and now he has been summoned with great urgency to 3222 Marine Drive a little after dawn.
"This better be good, Randall," he tells the man at the entrance to the townhouse, as he brushes past him. The man lets out a grunt and follows him in.
They are standing in the foyer facing the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. To their left they see a crying woman seated on a couch talking to an uniformed officer in the living room.
"Well?" Horton asks.
"Woman is the roommate of the deceased. Name’s Teri Phillips. Flight attendant. Came home from a scheduled flight from L.A. and found the DB in one of the upstairs bedroom," replies Randall matter-of-factly.
He continues, "Deceased’s a Sharon Hollister. Thirty-two, single, also a flight attendant. Supposed to fly to San Antonio today at 11 a.m."
"Who’s in charge?"
"Detective Mike Petrillo."
"Damn. You know how he gets when we want in," Horton warns.
"Well, I don’t think we’ll have much problems this time. He called me."
Horton’s brown eyes widen with surprise and interest, "Where is he?"
"Upstairs."
"Let’s go."
They climb upstairs to the bedroom, passing unusually somber uniformed officers whispering to one another.
"What do we have here, Petrillo?" Horton inquires at the doorway.
Petrillo, who has been examining the dead woman, turns around to face Horton and Randall.
"You tell me, Mr. District Attorney," says the pudgy and balding Petrillo.
"It wasn’t my idea to get you guys here, but the chief thought this too weird, and he wanted you in on this," he admits grudgingly, as he indicates at the crime scene.
"Why, thank you for your consideration," says Randall sarcastically. It’s obvious there’s no love lost between that two.
Both men are about fifty, but that’s where the similarity ends. Unlike Petrillo, Chief Investigator for the District Attorney’s Office Ed Randall is anything but over-the-hill. Tall, at six feet, with graying hair meticulously combed back without a strand out of place, and with an equally meticulously trimmed mustache, Randall is a man of few words, preferring his actions speak louder than his words. Petrillo and Randall had worked on the same detail a few years back, before Randall had asked for a voluntary transfer to the D.A’s office.
"So, what can you tell us?" Horton cuts into the hostile silence, directing his question at Petrillo.
"M.E puts the time of death at between 12 and 1 a.m. One clean shot through the heart with a small caliber gun. They’ll learn more at the opening," Petrillo rambles on. "Body’s been moved and placed on the bed. Nightgown put on her after death."
Horton moves around the room, looking and taking in the scene before him.
He mutters to himself, "Perp took his time. Someone she knew? An ex? No signs of a break-in. Very little blood. Cleaned her up?"
He absentmindedly walks into the bathroom, and his suspicions are confirmed. He sees a bloody bath towel tossed in the bathtub.
"Make sure we get coverage here in the tub and in the sink," Horton calls to Petrillo, who is obviously displeased to be ordered around by the D.A.
He reenters the bedroom and approaches Randall, who is calmly standing by the bed, taking notes, "I think the perp knew the victim, and knew her pretty well. How did he know he wasn’t going to be walked in on by the roommate? Question the roommate yourself. I want details."
Randall nods and proceeds downstairs. Horton turns to everyone still in the bedroom. "I want everything tagged and accounted for. This perp’s mine, make no mistake about that."
He turns and leaves.
"Who’s that?" asks a rookie cop.
"District Attorney Mac ‘The Sure Thing’ Horton," his partner replies.
"What’s with the attitude?"
"They don’t call him ‘The Sure Thing’ for nothing," the partner explains. "He doesn’t prosecute unless he’s 100 percent sure he’s got a winner on his hands. That’s why he likes his crime scenes sealed airtight."
"So, has he won all the cases he’s prosecuted?"
"Damn right he has, although in recent years he’s delegated most of the cases to his A.D.As. They screw up every now and then, but as far as I know, Mac ‘The Sure Thing’ Horton never screws up."
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"I’ve … got … to … go … Chris," Rita says breathlessly between kisses.
They are standing close to the front door, but Chris makes no move to let go of Rita as he plants passionate kisses to her throat and lips.
"Please, Chris," Rita pleads weakly. "I’ll be late for work. Again."
"Uuuuhhhhh," Chris groans, and finally lets her go.
"You gonna be good?" she asks, looking up at him as she straightens her suit.
"Aren’t I always?" he gives a familiar Lorenzo grin, "I’m going to be making a few interesting phone calls to some buffoons who still think I’m six feet under."
"I can’t drive, write a check, or use a credit card because of those buffoons," he says frustratedly.
"Well, I know you’ll give them hell, tiger," Rita encourages, as she plants a kiss on her husband’s lips.
"Grrrrrr," he replies, playfully encircling her waist. "Speaking of driving, Sam, where is my beloved Charger? Garaged somewhere?"
Rita clears her throat, before answering carefully, "Um, Chris, I kind of … um, gave the car away."
"Wha… did I hear you correctly? Did I just hear you say you gave my sweetheart away? Sam, how could you?" Chris wails.
"Well, I thought you were dead, and I didn’t need two cars, and when Night Moves asked for a car for their new halfway house to ferry their girls around, I volunteered yours. Don’t be angry Sam, it was for a good cause, and anyway, I’m sure the car’s well taken care of," Rita says, as she rests the palms of her hands on his chest and looks up at him with the sweetest smile that would melt even the hardest of hearts.
"But, Rita, honey …" Chris says, still in shock. "Is there any way we can get her back?"
"Chris!" Rita exclaims, shocked.
"But, but …"
"No buts, Chris. Face it, it’s gone."
"Oh, you’re cruel, Sam. You’re cruel," Chris replies.
"I’m sorry, Sam, but it seemed the best thing to do at that time," she says sympathetically. "Forgive me?"
Chris nods, and then smiles. "I guess it’s okay, helping those girls."
"Good, I know you’ll understand. We’ll talk more when I get home. I really have to go. I love you," she kisses him, and heads towards the door. "Remember, it was for a good cause."
"Yeah. I love you too. See ya."
Chris sighs and closes the door after Rita. His beloved Charger. Oh, well. He heads to the kitchen to clear up the breakfast dishes.
Later, Chris is seated at the desk, ready to make his back-from-the-dead phone calls. But, instead of serious concentration and the sound of phone calls being made, there is a smile playing on his face, as he sits thinking not of his Charger, but of his very beautiful and very feisty wife. Has it really been only two weeks since that night?
They had driven home that night from the party at the Lipschitzes, having resolved their feelings for each other at the beach. Both had spoken little on the drive home. They could feel the unspoken sexual tension between them, and yet, were still afraid to act on those passions. They had not been with each other in that intimate way for a very long time, and both were filled with excited anticipation and fear for what is surely to happen once they step into the privacy of the loft apartment.
Chris follows Rita into the apartment and closes the door.
"Boy, that was some party, wasn’t it?" Rita says, trying to make conversation, and failing at it miserably.
She moves over to the fish-tank and busies herself feeding Alfred and his friends. Chris moves up quietly behind her, putting his arms around her waist.
"Sam," he murmurs and buries his head in her hair.
Rita slowly turns around to face him, saying softly, "I guess it’s been quite a while for the both of us."
She goes on tiptoes and they kiss, very gently. But as the kiss deepens, Chris feels himself losing control quickly, giving in to the addictive taste of her soft and pliant lips. He sweeps her up in his arms and carries her to the bedroom upstairs. He lays her on the bed and joins her there.
Their lovemaking is slow and tentative at first, both willing their bodies to hold on just a little longer as they take their time to rediscover each other’s body. Chris is planting kisses all over Rita’s face, slowly making the journey downwards. He unzips her dress and pushes it off her shoulders to her waist, at the same time unfastening her bra. His lips and tongue follow the trail of his hands, finally reaching her breasts and slowly showing her exactly what he thinks of them. Rita is burning up, her hands moving up and down his back, untugging his shirt and unbuttoning the restrictive material that was keeping their bodies apart. Her fingers desperately undo the belt of his trousers, and then the zipper, feeling his excitement searing her hands. Chris’s lips proceed from the peaks of her breasts downwards, moving purposefully towards her navel and further down. He expertly peels the rest of the dress off her, and is in the process of doing the same with her panties, when Rita suddenly grabs his hands, and stops him.
"Chris … I …" Rita says out of breath, her eyes a dark shade of passionate green.
Chris looks into her eyes and seems to know what she is suddenly so wary about. He takes her hands gently in his and brings them to his chest. He rests her hands on the scars on his chest—scars caused by those cop killer bullets.
"Do you mind them?" he asks gently.
"No, of course not."
"So why do you think I’ll mind. I love you Rita, all of you, scar or no scar," he says, referring knowingly to the emergency c-section that saved her life.
He then proceeds to show her exactly what he means. He tugs off her panties, and continues his unfinished business downwards, his lips lingering on her tummy, savoring the beauty of the woman before him. Every inch of her body waits in aching and fiery anticipation to be joined with his. When they finally join as one, it is as if though they have never been apart, each remembering instantly the exhilarating joy they feel with each other, as they move in perfect harmony. When the rhythm picks up frantically, Rita feels herself losing control completely as she climaxes, digging her fingernails into Chris’s back.
"I love you Rita," Chris gasps, as he too climaxes.
They are breathing heavily, and Chris positions himself comfortably next to her. It feels real good to be laying next to her again. Rita moves and rests her head on his chest.
"I love you so much, Chris," she says simply.
"I know," he says and smiles a big Lorenzo smile, knowing that they have the rest of the night and the rest of their lives to show each other just how much. This is just the beginning. A new beginning for the both of them.
He stretches his arms out luxuriously and says, "Definitely a locomotive."
"What?" she asks, turning her head to look at him.
"Ooohhh, nothing much, just that I think you’ll agree I haven’t lost my touch and I proved my point. Definitely the staying power of a locomotive, don’t you agree?" he asks proudly.
"Wait a minute," she replies, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I thought we both agreed that the more accurate term is dandelion?"
"No way, Sammy! Definitely a locomotive!"
She moves her face closer to his. "Prove it, Sam," she whispers seductively, drawing little circles on his chest with her finger.
Chris is more than willing to prove it to her.
Later, after their frenzied lovemaking, she insists he lies still in bed while she goes over to the far end of the bedroom to retrieve something from the chest of drawers.
"I think this belongs to you," she says, as she slides back into bed with him.
She holds up a glistening gold wedding band for him to see, and slips it on the finger of its rightful owner.
"And, I think this should never, ever leave that pretty little finger of yours again," Chris says possessively, as he takes the other gold band from the palm of her hand, and slips the ring back on her finger.
"Sam, I …," Rita tries to explain her foolhardiness in trying to push him away.
"Ssshhh," he replies, putting a finger on her lips. "It’s all in the past now. Nothing matters as long as we’re together."
They look knowingly into each other’s eyes for the longest time, and then they kiss.
Now, sitting at the desk, Chris remembers that night all too well. He smiles a silly grin when he recalls what they did the rest of the night.
Suddenly, he shakes his head as if to wake himself up from a pleasant dream, and says, "Snap out of it, Lorenzo. Phone calls, Lorenzo, phone calls."
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"I think we’ve got another one, chief," Sgt. Cassandra St. John rushes into the office of her captain without knocking, with Sgt. Tom Ryan a few steps behind her.
"Don’t you people ever knock?" Captain Harry Lipschitz asks angrily.
"No time for that, chief," Cassie replied, out of breath and very excited. "If we’re right, I think we’ve got a serial killer on our hands."
"What’s she babbling about, Ryan?" Harry asks, his face as dark as clouds before a thunderstorm.
Both detectives sit without invitation.
"Remember the DB we found a couple of weeks ago? I think we’ve got another one," Tom says.
"Same M.O., and I bet you my month’s rent that the M.E will confirm the same small caliber handgun was used," Cassie gushes on. "Same neat freak perp, with the habit of cleaning up after he does his deeds."
"How do you know it’s a he?" Tom asks. "It could very well be a she."
"No, woman’s intuition, Ryan. It’s definitely a he," Cassie answers confidently.
"Sounds like a silk stalkings to me," Harry says.
"What?" Both detectives ask.
"No, nothing, just something my two ex-detectives used to say when referring to crimes of passion," Harry continues, with a bittersweet smile on his face.
"You mean Lance and Lorenzo?" Tom asks.
"Yeah," Harry says, and then suddenly snaps out of his reverie. "So, what are you two still doing here? I want the perp caught! Go! Go!"
"We’re going. We’re going."
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Horton is sitting in his office, tapping a pen on the open folder in front of him, deep in thought.
Anyone entering the office will not have guessed it belonged to the Fort Lauderdale District Attorney. The office is furnished, but with nothing fancy or expensive. There are cardboard boxes filled with case files occupying every corner of the room, and law books line the shelves of one wall. There are no family pictures on the walls or on the desk, and neither are there framed diplomas or commendations to show off to visitors. This is a workplace, and Mac Horton is there to work. Period.
A knock disrupts his train of thought.
"Come in."
Ed Randall saunters in, and takes a seat in front of Horton.
There is no beating around the bush with Horton’s chief investigator. He opens a notepad, flips to the pages he wants and starts, "The Hollister woman was killed instantly with a .22 through the heart. Close range. She wasn’t sexually assaulted. Forensics say she was killed in the kitchen and brought to the bedroom. Took time cleaning her up. No fingerprints, or trace evidence. The S.O.B was immaculate."
"What did you get out of the roommate?" Horton asks, rubbing his chin as he thinks.
"Nothing much. They’ve been roommates for two years, and according to her, got on fine. Friends and neighbors seem to confirm that. No deep dark secrets. Been working for the same airline for about eight years."
"What about boyfriends?"
"Never married. Parents recently deceased. No siblings. Broke off with a boyfriend, a …" Randall refers to his notes before continuing, "Ben Sansom two months ago. Has a solid alibi. At a fund-raiser for a local charity last night till twelve, and then off to a downtown bar with a few friends till past two. Looks clean."
"That’s it, nothing else?"
"Nothing else. Although I think you might be interested in this," he hands a folded newspaper to Horton.
"What’s this?" Horton asks as he spreads the newspaper on the desk before him. Glaring up at him from today’s Palm Beach Daily are the headlines, "Second Woman Murdered. Police Fear Serial Stalker."
As Horton reads on, his brows furrow with intensity and interest.
"Get me the Palm Beach Police A.S.A.P," Horton tells Randall.
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Harry Lipschitz is in consult with his two detectives.
"I think we need reinforcements with this one, chief," Sgt. Ryan says.
Harry nods in agreement. "It may be a little too much even for the two of you."
"Hey, wait a minute," Sgt. St. John interrupts. "We don’t need outside help, Thomas and I can handle this just fine."
"Can you, really?" Harry says, as he feels his blood pressure rising with each word.
"The chief is on my back, the press won’t leave me alone, half the women in Palm Beach are scared out of their wits by the stunt the Daily pulled. Whoever leaked it out to them about a serial stalker … I’LL HAVE HIS HIDE," he shouts from his desk for everyone in the outer office to hear.
"Hey, don’t look at me!" Cassie says, lifting both hands up to illustrate her innocence.
"Harry, calm down, calm down. Remember that blood pressure of yours," Tom says. "We’re not even sure if it’s a serial killer."
"And, now my Frannie’s calling every ten minutes, afraid she’ll be the next victim," moans Harry as if he never even heard his detective, putting his head in his hands.
"Well, what can it be then?" Cassie chimes in. "The bullets from the two victims match, and M.O’s identical."
Tom glares at Cassie for flaming the already volatile situation.
Harry raises his head and says, "We need help and we need to get organized. Get me George Donovan."
The phone on his desk rings.
He picks it up, "What? What? Gracie I told you NO REPORTERS AND NO INTERRUPTIONS!"
"What? The D.A. from Fort Lauderdale wants to speak to me?"
His two detectives lean forward with interest.
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"No, the name is not Fernando, it’s Lorenzo, L-O-R-E-N-Z-O," Chris says with frustration in his voice. "Hey, if I’m dead will I be talking to you?"
"Yes, there’s been a mistake," he explains wearily to the other person on the line. "I’m not dead. Yes, I’m still very much alive, and I want my bank account reactivated. Yes, I know your records list me as ‘deceased,’ but as I’ve been trying to explain to you guys for the last half hour, I’m not dead. Hey, hey, hey, don’t put me on hold … again."
"This is no use," he fumes and hangs up the phone. "I’ll have to go to Palm Beach to see them face-to-face and declare myself alive to them."
"All right, Lorenzo, calm … down. Breathe." He leans back in his chair and takes deep, calming breaths. "Just a little setback, nothing that can’t be fixed."
The phone rings.
Chris answers the phone and says out of habit, "Yeah, Lorenzo."
"Chris, is that you?" the female voice asks.
"Melissa? Melissa Cassidy, that you?" Chris asks, a smile appearing on his face. "You’re a sound for sore ears. How are you?"
"Fine. Caught up with George Donovan the other day, and he filled me in. I’m so glad you’re okay, Chris," Melissa says sincerely.
"Yeah, me too."
"How’s Rita?"
"She’s great, and she’s at work."
"She’s been through quite a lot. Hey, when am I going to see you two up here in Palm Beach for a visit? Some time soon, I hope."
"Sooner than you think," Chris says, and explains his current difficulties as a ‘dead’ man.
"If you need any help, you know where to look," Melissa offers.
Chris thinks hard for a few seconds.
"Speaking of help, can I ask you for some advice?" he asks his ex-girlfriend and resident psychologist of a Palm Beach call-in radio show.
"What’s up?"
"I hate doing this behind Rita’s back, …" Chris says hesitantly, "but I need some professional advice and you’re the only person I know who can help me …"
Chris continues to tell Melissa about Rita’s recurring nightmare.
"Hmm, interesting. Have you guys been fighting about something?"
"No, things been going great since we got back together."
"Has something been bothering her of late? Any stress at work?"
"No, nothing, just that dream, and …"
"And what, Chris?"
Chris says slowly, coming to a realization about something, "We have been discussing about my going back to work …"
Chris remembers the day they had that conversation.
They are on the couch, and he is rubbing her sore feet after a hard day’s work.
"So, when are you going to show me around the Academy?" Chris asks his wife.
"Soon, Chris," Rita says drowsily, about to be lulled to sleep by the great foot massage.
"You know … show me your office, introduce me to your colleagues, to all the great people you work with …," he continues innocently and adds a name into the conversation, " like Dan Freeman."
Rita suddenly realizes what he is getting at, and decides to string him along.
"Soon, Chris, soon. Everything’s just great … the Academy’s great, my friends are great. Especially Dan," she says innocently too, trying hard not to laugh at the frown that is already clouding his handsome face.
"Dan, huh?" he continues, no longer able to contain his jealousy, squinting an eye and looking at her intently. "So, he’s been a great friend. How great exactly?"
Rita decides not to tease him any longer, and pulls herself up close to Chris.
"He’s just a friend, Sam," she says, looking into his eyes.
Chris relaxes. "I trust you, Sam, but I don’t trust that Dan person."
"So, what do you propose to do, Mr. Lorenzo?"
"Oh, say meet with him, and set his mind straight that he better not have any designs on my beautiful wife."
"Hmmm," she replies, nodding and grinning at him.
He pulls her to him, "Hmmm. That’s all you going to say?"
"What can I say to a plan like that?"
"You, Mrs. Lorenzo, are enjoying this entirely too much. Come here."
He proceeds to kiss her passionately, Dan Freeman forgotten completely.
A little later, as they lie together on the couch, Rita asks seriously, "So, you’re okay with the Academy thing, my working there and all?"
"Uh-huh," Chris says, playing with a strand of her hair. "It sounds like a great job, and you seem to like it. Whatever you want, Sam."
"How about you?" Rita asks, thinking about his future, which she is sure does not include being a full-time househusband. "Join me at the Academy?"
"Nah, it’s not me, Sam. You know me, I need the action," he says. "And, you … you have a way with people. Not me."
"I think you," she turns to face him and taps his chest with a finger, "underestimate your people skills."
"You know Harry’s been trying to get us back to Homicide, don’t you?" he asks.
"You want to go back?" she asks warily.
"I’m not sure, but it sounds tempting," he says off-handedly.
"So, what do we do?" she asks.
"I don’t know, Sam."
It was also around the same time that the nightmares began.
"So, what should I do, Melissa?" Chris asks his friend worriedly.
"She’s obviously anxious about you going back to work, going back to the same dangers you faced before," Melissa says matter-of-factly. "She’s lost the baby, Chris, and she’s afraid she’ll lose you too. She’s suppressed her fear so well that the only outlet it has is through the nightmares."
"What can I do?" he repeats.
"Just be there for her, and reassure her every chance you have that things have changed and will change for the better, and you are not facing the same dangers as before. If the dreams persist, you should get her to talk, if not to me, to someone who can help her."
Chris is thinking hard as he says distractedly, "Thanks, Melissa."
"Anytime. Look, I’ve got to go. I’m going on air in about five minutes. Talk to you soon?"
"Yeah."
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George Donovan has been pacing the floor of Harry’s office for about ten minutes. He does not like what he has heard from Cassie and Tom’s briefing so far. If the killer is not caught soon, his position as the new district attorney in Palm Beach may very well be in jeopardy.
He finally stops when Harry bellows at him, "Donovan, stop! You’re giving me a headache!"
George turns in Harry’s direction. "Sorry, Harry."
"You’ve heard what I told you about that Lauderdale case, and what Horton thinks we should do. So?" Harry asks, getting impatient with George’s indecisiveness.
"We’ve got to tread carefully. This case can have repercussions …"
"Come on, George," Cassie says, irritation clearly heard in her voice. "The murders aren’t getting any younger while we think of the repercussions. While we wait, the perp’s planning another. Either we work together with Horton on this, or we don’t."
"He seems pretty convinced the cases are connected, and I think he’s right that we should set up a joint task force on this." Tom adds. "No harm, no foul. We need the help and he’s volunteering his man."
"It’s not as simple as that, there’s the question of jurisdiction …" George answers.
"Jurisdiction won’t be a problem if you work this out with Horton," Harry eyes him from his desk.
George thinks for a few more seconds. "All right, all right. You win. I’ll call Horton and the commissioner to discuss details of a joint task force. But, on one condition."
The three turn to look at George and wait for him to continue. "We don’t know what kind of a person he’s sending over, so I want a couple more people on this. People we can trust and we know can get the job done."
Harry does not hesitate, "I can think of two perfect candidates for you, George."
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Chris is sitting on the bed, waiting for Rita to come out of the bathroom. She has just returned from work, and had told him she needed a shower badly before dinner. He is feeling really guilty about that conversation with Melissa. He knows he should tell Rita about it, and yet …
Rita comes out of the bathroom wearing a white terrycloth robe and lightly drying her hair with a towel. She sees Chris sitting on the bed.
"Hey, you, what’s for dinner?" she asks smilingly as she approaches him.
"Chicken parmigiana," Chris replies, taking a hold of her and pulling her close. Rita gives him a quick kiss on the top of his head, and sits down next to him.
"So how did the calls to the bank and the DMV go?"
"Not good. I’ll have to go see them face-to-face to settle the problem."
"The recruits at the academy are graduating in a few days’ time. I have two weeks’ vacation time before we start new classes. Why don’t I drive us up to Palm Beach then?"
"Sounds like an idea, Sam," Chris turns to look at her and smile.
"You smell good enough to eat," he says suddenly, as he leans forward to kiss her.
Rita wraps her arms around his neck and returns his kiss hungrily. Chris gently pushes her back on the bed. They continue to kiss passionately when suddenly Chris sits upright.
"I’ve got an idea!" he says enthusiastically.
Rita puts her hands up to her head and groans, not exactly pleased with this interruption. "What, Chris?"
He turns to look at her. "Why don’t we go away for that two weeks? Just us. Relax, catch some sun, and get lots of R & R in the bedroom," he suggests, with a wicked glint in his eyes.
He falls back on the bed, folds his arms behind his head, and looks up at the ceiling.
"It’ll be great, Rita. We never really had a honeymoon, so this can be it."
Rita is beginning to like the idea. She props herself up on one arm and looks at Chris, "Hawaii?"
"Sure. Why not?" he replies.
Their conversation is suddenly interrupted by the ringing of the phone. Rita sits up, and picks up the phone from the nightstand.
"Hello?"
She listens to the person on the other line, and then says, "Hey, Cap. How are you?"
Chris sits up. "You want to speak to both Chris and me?"
She looks at Chris, puzzled. "Why don’t you hold on while Chris and I head on downstairs. We’ve got a speakerphone there."
They are now on the speakerphone with Harry.
"Hi, Cap. How’s everyone in Palm Beach?" Chris inquires.
"Fine, Lorenzo. How are you two? Rita, you keeping him out of trouble?"
"Always, Cap. Always." Chris grimaces at Rita.
There is a few seconds of silence on the other end of the line as Harry clears his throat before broaching the purpose of his call.
"Lance, Lorenzo, I’ve a favor to ask you two," he finally says.
"What, Cap?" Chris asks.
Harry continues without preamble. "We have a case here that’s putting the entire department in a tizzy. We need help, and you’re the only two I trust to help. I know you’re not ready to return full-time to the department yet, so we’re offering you a consultancy position. Paid, of course."
"Why us, Harry?" Rita asks.
"Because you’re the two best damn detectives I know on the silk stalkings detail, and we think this case just might be that."
As Rita continues talking to Harry about the case, Chris is remembering what Melissa told him.
"She’s lost the baby, Chris, and she’s afraid she’ll lose you too …reassure her every chance you have that things have changed and will change for the better, and you are not facing the same dangers as before."
Chris hears Harry explaining to Rita about the joint task force and the request made by Donovan.
"We’re not interested, Harry," Chris says abruptly.
Rita stares at Chris, puzzled by his reaction to Harry’s offer.
"What? You haven’t even heard me out, Lorenzo," Harry says, shocked by his friend’s reaction. "I know you need time to think about this, so hear me out and sleep on it before you give me an answer."
"I’m sorry, Harry, but I don’t think it’ll be something Rita and I want to get into now," Chris apologizes.
Rita continues to stare at Chris intently.
"Look, Harry, why don’t we call you back tomorrow? Chris and I need to talk this over," Rita tells Harry.
"Fine. Think about it and call me if you have any questions. I’ll talk to you soon," Harry says and hangs up.
Rita reaches over and turns off the speakerphone.
She looks at Chris. "What’s that all about, Chris?"
"Nothing. I just don’t think it’s something we want to get ourselves into," he shrugs casually and gets up to go to the kitchen.
"Hold it there, Lorenzo. Did I miss something? I don’t believe I ever gave you my opinion on that subject. And, you … this consultancy job would be perfect. You’ll be able to return to something you love doing and are damn good at! Why did you refuse Harry without even thinking it over?"
"I just don’t want to get into that homicide crap again. And, you, you’re working at the Academy, so I presumed you won’t be interested," he answers tactfully, trying to appease his wife.
"You’re not telling me something," Rita says knowingly. "What’s really going on here, Chris?"
Chris cannot look Rita in the eyes. She walks to him till she is right in front of him.
"Please, Chris, you know you can tell me anything," she pleads, looking up at him and placing her palms on his chest.
Chris sighs audibly and takes her hands and leads her to the couch. They sit down. He turns and finally looks at her.
"I know why you’re having those nightmares, Sam," Chris says.
Rita is puzzled. "I thought we were talking about you, not me."
"It’s about us, Sam," Chris continues. "You’re so afraid that I’ll return to the same job, the same dangers that it’s giving you nightmares."
"I didn’t realize you have a degree in psychology," Rita says with a tinge of sarcasm in her voice.
"Look," Chris says reluctantly, "Melissa Cassidy called today, and I sort of mentioned your nightmares to her and she was explaining to me how it could be because …"
"You sort of mentioned?" She stands up and looks indignantly down at Chris. "How could you, Chris?"
Chris stands up to face her, holding her arms on both sides . "Please try to understand, Sam. I’ve been worried sick about you lately, and when Melissa called, I thought it’ll be a good idea to get some professional advice from a friend."
"Yeah, but without asking me first if I wanted that advice! I told you I was fine!" She brushes his hands off and takes a couple of steps back. "You had no right, Chris, to discuss our personal lives with a stranger!"
"Melissa’s not a stranger, she’s a friend," Chris says taking a step towards her.
"Don’t!" Rita says sharply, putting out her hand to stop him. She turns on her heels and heads upstairs to their bedroom.
Chris hears the door slam. He is at a loss for words.
"Damn!" Chris mumbles to himself as he collapses on the couch with his head in his hands. "Real clever, Lorenzo! You’re really in the doghouse now!"
He turns and looks up towards the bedroom, unsure what to do. Should he even attempt going up now to face her wrath, or should he let her cool down first? This is their first serious argument after the marriage, and Chris is feeling sick to the stomach about it.
Up in the bedroom, Rita is still fuming mad. She keeps herself busy by drying her hair and changing into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. She is now sitting on the bed. Maybe she did overreact. Although it was wrong for him to have confided in Melissa without her knowledge, he was just concerned for her well-being, that’s all. Maybe she had been a little too harsh. Maybe she should head on downstairs to apologize to him first. She doesn’t like it when they argue like that …
"Sam?" Chris asks tentatively, sticking his head in as he opens the door.
Rita looks up and stares at him, twisting the friendship ring on her finger. Chris walks into the bedroom. They look silently at each other.
"I’m sorry," they say together. They continue to stare at each other, and then suddenly burst out laughing. The tension is broken.
Rita stands up as Chris approaches her. "I don’t like it when we argue like that," Chris says.
"Me too," Rita tells him.
Chris now has his hands on her shoulders. "Sam, I’m really sorry," he says sincerely.
"Yeah?" Rita looks at him and smiles.
"Yeah," he says. "It was stupid of me to have done that behind your back."
"I’m sorry I overreacted."
"Well, just a little," Chris confirms with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
He reaches over and gives her a kiss. Rita puts her arms around his waist.
"I never knew you had such a bad temper, Sam. If I had known, I wouldn’t have mar…" Chris says.
"Wouldn’t have what, Christopher?" Rita asks, as she begins to tickle him.
"No… nothing … nothing," Chris manages to let out, before collapsing on the bed, wriggling and trying to fight off the relentless fingers of his wife. He decides to go on the counter-offensive and starts tickling Rita too. The couple are writhing on the bed attacking each other’s most sensitive parts with their fingers, laughing, their bellies aching and tears streaming down their faces.
They are now too exhausted from all that laughter to even speak. Both are breathing hard, and lying side by side on their backs, looking up at the ceiling in companionable silence.
Chris finally turns on his side to look at Rita, and says seriously, "I know you don’t like to talk about the nightmares, Sam, but we need to deal with it and put it behind us."
"I guess I’ve been afraid," Rita admits.
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid you’ll be taken away from me again," she whispers, turning on her side to look at him. "The job took you away from me once. I can’t let that happen again."
Chris puts his hand on her cheek and says gently, "The job didn’t take me away from you, Sam. Montoya did and he paid the price."
"We were lucky this time, Chris. But what about the other ‘Montoyas’ we’ll encounter the next time?"
"We’ll just have to deal with them one at a time," Chris says firmly, caressing her cheek, and using his eyes to try to convince her and allay her fears. "We can’t live our lives being afraid all the time, Rita. It’ll eat us up. Sooner or later. There comes a point when we just have to say enough is enough, face our fears and soldier on. That’s all we can do. You know I can be walking on the street right now and get run over …"
"No, don’t say it," she says, placing her fingers on his lips. "I just want you to be safe."
"But I am," he says confidently with a smile, taking her hand in his and giving it a kiss. "We both are. Remember, we’ve got our special little guardian angel to watch over us."
Tears cloud Rita’s eyes as she remembers the son they lost. She gives Chris a bittersweet smile and buries her head in his chest. Chris hugs Rita tightly, a lump rising to his throat.
"We’ll be all right, Sam. I promise," he says, his voice cracking with emotion.
They lie on the bed for the longest time, just holding each other close.
Chris finally speaks. "We need to face this fear head-on, Sam. Take the bull by the horns and deal with it. And I know just how we can do it."
Rita looks up at him questioningly.
"We’ll tell Harry we’re in. We’ll work with him on that case," Chris continues as he stares down at those mesmerizing green eyes. "We’ll be partners again. I miss that, Sam. A lot. What do you think?"
"I’ll like to think about that, Sam," Rita answers quietly.
Chris nods his agreement.
"You hungry?" Chris asks suddenly.
"Just a little."
"Don’t forget I’ve got dinner in the oven," he says, getting up and pulling Rita with him. "Come on, gal! You need your nourishment."
Rita looks at him affectionately, and can’t help but smile. She is indeed fortunate to have him.
It is a good dinner, and after that, they retire early to bed.
In the middle of the night, Chris feels Rita snuggling up to him.
"Chris?"
"Hmmm," Chris answers sleepily.
"I’ve thought about it. Yes," Rita says simply.
"Yes?"
"Yes, let’s do it."
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Harry Lipschitz is in his office early the next morning when he receives the call that his two former detectives will be working with him again. He makes a quick promise to Rita that he’ll square everything with her superiors about using her vacation time to work with the task force. He has not been this excited about a case in a long while.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The joint task force is meeting for the first time. The people directly involved with the case have all gathered in a large conference room adjacent to the Homicide Division at the Palm Beach PD.
There are about 15 people in the room. While the key players are seated around a conference table, the others, mostly uniformed officers, are seated further back in chairs lining the walls. George Donovan is making the introductions.
"Welcome everybody," he says, getting up, "to the first joint task force between the PBPD and FLPD. I’m George Donovan. Let me make a quick introduction here and we can get on with this ugly business."
He proceeds to point to various people seated at the table. "This is Mackenzie Horton, Lauderdale’s D.A, and that’s his chief investigator, Ed Randall. I believe you all know Captain Lipschitz, and Sgts. St. John and Ryan. And, of course, Rita Lance and Chris Lorenzo."
George then looks at Horton and Randall. "Lance and Lorenzo were with this department for many years," he says waving his hand towards the couple, "I’ve made special arrangements for them to be here as consultants."
Mac Horton is studying the strikingly good-looking couple intently. His face is a blank mask, registering neither pleasure nor displeasure at their presence. "Why specifically them, and not other homicide detectives in the department? What makes them so special to warrant this special treatment?" he thinks.
"Well, as I’ve been saying," George continues, "this is nasty business, and all our skills are going to be put to the test in catching this sicko. Mac and I will be here to help you as and when we can, but you’ll be the ones seeing all the action. Harry’s the one you’ll be reporting to. Harry?"
George takes a seat, while Harry stands up. "I’ve got just one thing to say before I turn the floor over to the primary investigators. From today on, there will be a total news blackout on this case. All inquiries are to be directed to me. And, if there’s a leak to the press," he says threateningly, glaring over his glasses at the uniformed officers, "I’ll know its from this room. So, stay alert and keep your mouths zipped."
"Cassie, Tom? You want to start filling us in?" George says after Harry sits, nodding towards the two detectives.
Cassie begins passing out folders containing the forensic test results and photos from the crime scenes.
Tom clears his throat and speaks. "The first known case happened three weeks ago. Victim, a Lauren Switzer, 33, was found in her bedroom by her fiancé. Clean shot through the heart with a .22. Close range, but no exit wound. No sexual assault. Cleaned up and put in a nightgown after death. You can see from the photos that the perp was immaculate in ‘arranging’ the victim on her bed. Very little blood. Forensics found trace evidence that the victim was shot in her garage and brought up to the bedroom. No witnesses and no suspects. Cassie?"
"Thanks, Tom," Cassie acknowledges him. "Our second case was reported about a week ago. Victim is a lady named Sarah Wolosky. She was," Cassie looks down at her notes before continuing, "30. Neighbors reported a foul smell coming from her apartment. Officers broke in and found her dead in the bedroom. Same M.O, nightgown, the arrangement on the bed, the works. Same .22 caliber handgun. Close range. No trace evidence. Coroner said she’d been dead for a couple of days. No one reported her missing for that two days." Cassie shakes her head sympathetically. "According to her neighbors, she was a loner who kept to herself most of the time."
"Thanks, Cassie," George says and then looks in the direction of Ed Randall. "Ed?’
Ed Randall relates the Fort Lauderdale case. He ends by saying, "So, from the M.E reports, we believe that Switzer was the first victim, followed by Hollister and Wolosky. Time frame of probably one week between murders."
"So, if this perp stays true to form, we should expect another one this week," Rita thinks out loud, and everyone turns to look at her. "Sorry."
"No, no, that’s just what we want," George encourages, "brainstorm and hopefully get some headway with this. Ed, anything else to add? No? Okay, questions, anyone?"
A few enthusiastic uniformed officers begin asking questions.
"Any connection between the women?"
"No, not that we know of. At this point in time, it looks like it’s random."
"Similar occupations? Physical characteristics?"
"Nope, one’s a flight attendant, one’s a corporate lawyer, and the other’s a part-time secretary. Physically, they’re as different as night and day. Only thing is that they’re all about the same age—early thirties."
"Any past criminal records found of friends, relatives?"
"Again, no. Just the usual parking violations." Someone laughs at that comment, and the tension in the room is broken a little.
"Any more questions?" George queries, looking at Rita and Chris, but they are silent. "All right, everyone. We’ve got our work cut out for us. Study the reports carefully, and good luck. Let’s try to stop number 4, shall we?"
Before George breaks up the meeting, he directs the uniformed officers to follow Harry to his office for a briefing on their duties in patrolling different sectors of the city. Since the murders appear random, all they can do is remain vigilant while on the streets.
While Horton and Randall are talking to Cassie and Tom, both Chris and Rita are huddled together at one end of the table studying the photos and reports.
"So, what do you think?" George asks as he walks over.
"Well, it’s difficult to say George, but I have this nagging feeling that we’re overlooking something here," Rita answers him, tapping on the folders.
"Yeah, George, we’re missing some connection between the victims. I don’t buy that random act-serial killer on the loose crap. Do you, Rita?"
"I agree with Chris, George. Everything’s too deliberate. Victims knew their killer. No forced entries, no chance of a struggle whatsoever," Rita points to some crime scene photos.
"Killer took his or her time knowing there won’t be any interruptions," Chris chimes in.
"I think you’re both right," Mac Horton says from across the room, as his group joins the discussion. They proceed to brainstorm the case.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Liz Falen is working late again. That new advertising account has been a godsend, but it has also meant many more long hours at the office for the beautiful thirty-something brunette. She’s again feeling a little guilty about six-year-old Allison. She’s spent so little time with her daughter since the company got that big account. She’ll make it up to Allison. Thank heavens for her wonderful husband, Steven, who’s been picking up the slack this past week. Liz glances at her watch. It’s just past eight. No need to hurry home tonight though. Steven had promised Allison a trip to the circus, and then to a sleepover at her grandparents’. Steven, himself, will be home late. She decides to pack up for the night anyway, and head on home. Who knows, they may even be able to cram in some romance tonight, what with Allison at her grandparents’.
She heads to the underground garage of the office building. As she exits the elevator, she sees that the garage is almost empty. The eeriness and quietness of her surroundings make her quicken her steps, which seem to echo all the more loudly around her. She reaches her car, and opens the door. Suddenly, there is a light tap on her shoulder. She spins around, fear written all over her face.
"I’m sorry," the person says.
"Oh God, you startled me," Liz utters, taking a few steps away, and reaching into her handbag, ready to take out her handy pepper spray and make a run for it if necessary.
"Elizabeth Falen?"
"Yes," she answers hesitantly.
The person moves a little into the light, so that Liz can see better. "Don’t you recognize me?"
Liz takes a few seconds to absorb the features of the person before her. It has been such a long time, but those eyes, they’re unmistakable. "Oh, my God, is that you, is that really you?"
"Yes, it’s me, Elizabeth," the stranger answers, although no attempt is made to go near her.
"What are you doing here?"
"I came to find you, Elizabeth. I went to your office, and saw you entering the elevator, so I followed you down here. I’m sorry to have startled you."
"How … how are you? It’s been such a long time."
"I’m fine. It’s taken me a long time to find you, Elizabeth."
"How … when …"
"It’s a long story."
"Look, we can’t stand here talking the whole night. Let’s find a place to talk. There’s a bar across the street …"
"That’s too noisy. Why don’t we go to your home? Much more private. I’ll love to meet your family."
"Well, my daughter’s out with my husband, to the circus. But he’ll be back later after he drops Allison at my parents for her sleepover. Steven will love to meet you. Do you mind waiting? The circus doesn’t finish till ten. He’ll probably be back around 11."
"Not at all. That’ll be perfect."
"Did you drive?"
"No."
"Then, hop in," Liz says, indicating that the person should get into her car. "We’ve got so much to talk about."
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Chris is checking out the one-bedroom apartment the department has rented for them while they are on the case. Staying in Palm Beach helps them avoid the daily hassle of traveling to and from Ft. Lauderdale.
"Not bad, not bad at all." He whistles. "Hey, Rita, check this out, a whirlpool in the bathroom."
He sticks his head into the bedroom. "Did you hear me?"
He sees Rita unpacking the contents of two suitcases that they had brought in from the car.
He approaches her, waving his hand in front of her, "Hey!"
"Oh, what? Did you say something, Sam?" Rita asks.
"What were you daydreaming about, huh?" he says, encircling her waist.
"Nothing. Just the case," she says, looking up. "Fascinating, don’t you think?"
"Yeah," he answers, releasing her and plopping himself on the bed. "So what do you think of Horton and Randall, and Harry’s two new detectives?"
"Too soon to tell, but did you notice Horton sizing us up when George made those introductions?"
"Sure did," Chris grins, "I thought he was just admiring how good-looking the two of us are."
Rita lightly punches his upper arm and plops down next to him, laughing. "So how do you think the PBPD can afford a place like this for us?" she waves her arm at the nicely furnished bedroom. "You’ll think they’ll throw us in a dump considering the kind of pay we were getting when we were working there."
Chris shrugs his shoulders. "Beats me. But I’ve a funny feeling our old friend George had something to do with this."
"You think so?"
"Yeah," Chris says before continuing, "Now, how about forgetting about work and the unpacking for a while, and help me enjoy this nice bed in this nice little apartment?" He bounces on the bed, testing its springs.
"I wonder what you could possibly have in mind?" Rita says with a bright smile.
"This actually," he answers before proceeding to kiss Rita on her throat. "And this," he says nibbling her ear. "And this," he kisses the edge of her mouth.
Rita inhales sharply and impatiently turns her head a fraction, so that she can kiss him full on the lips.
"I see," she murmurs against his lips, before being rewarded with a long and deep bruising kiss.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The car is parked behind an abandoned building. Liz Falen’s limp body is pulled from the driver’s seat to the passenger seat. The dead woman is seated upright and the seat-belt put on her, while her dead eyes stare unseeingly ahead. Then her glove compartment is opened and something is deposited under her car registration papers.
"Home sweet home, Elizabeth," her killer says in a sing-song manner while getting into the driver’s seat. "You’ll be all nice and clean in no time, my sweet."
The killer starts the engine, switches on the headlights, and drives away, knowing exactly where to head to.
About ten minutes later, the car turns into a side road, and then into a driveway. It stops abruptly. The driver is staring at the house. There are lights on in the house.
"Damn you, Elizabeth! You said he won’t be home till eleven. Why do you always lie!" The killer spits out, looking into her dead eyes. "You never change!"
The car is driven quickly into the open garage before anyone else can see who’s driving. It is parked next to a Jeep Cherokee. Then the dark-clothed figure gets out, walks calmly out the garage, and into the street. Two streets down, a nondescript car is waiting. The killer gets into it and drives away.
Meanwhile, Steven has heard Liz’s car pull into the garage.
"Mommy’s home," he tells his daughter in her bedroom, ruffling her hair. "Wait till she finds out what happened to you."
He heads on downstairs towards the side door to the garage. As he opens the door, he says out loud, "You won’t believe this, honey. Your daughter threw up all over the car. I think she’s caught the flu. We had to cancel the circus trip and head on …"
Before Steven can finish the sentence, he stands in shock looking through the windscreen into his wife’s dead eyes.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The ringing of a phone echoes through the bedroom of the rented apartment. Chris reaches for the phone in the dark, trying to shake the sleep out of his groggy head.
He stares at the clock which reads 1:21, and mumbles into the receiver, "This better be good. Do you know what time it is?"
Rita stirs from her sleep and reaches for Chris, patiently waiting for him to finish his conversation with the caller. Chris finally hangs up the phone and switches on the nightstand lamp. He locks his arms around Rita and pulls her close.
"Who’s that?" Rita asks sleepily into his chest.
"Tom Ryan. Sorry, Sam, but they think they’ve got number 4," Chris answers simply.
Rita lifts her head up to look at Chris, "Are they sure?"
"They seem to think so. Took them some time to realize what they’ve got, and report it in to the task force. Seems the perp’s changed his pattern. But, Cassie and Tom are there now."
"So, what are we waiting for, partner? Let’s go," Rita says, jumping out of bed and heading for the bathroom.
"I like the sound of that," Chris grins broadly. "Partner. Aahh, music to my ears, Sam. Music to my ears."
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Chris and Rita arrive at the crime scene to a large gathering of curious onlookers and the press. Most of the onlookers are in sleeping attire, and had come out of their homes when they heard the sirens. Since a news blackout of the murder has been ordered by Capt. Lipschitz, television crews have been desperately fighting one another to get interviews with neighbors who supposedly know the Falens well. Chris and Rita are passing one such neighbor under the glare of camera lights, being interviewed by a reporter, and nervously straightening her hair as she speaks.
"Yes, my husband and I knew Liz Falen well. Lovely woman and such a lovely family," the neighbor is telling the reporter.
"Vultures," Chris mutters, as they walk up to the front of the house, showing their new temporary I.D.s to the uniformed officer stationed at the door.
They walk in to find the house milling with police officers, people from the crime lab, and the coroner’s office. Harry is in the thick of things, barking out orders to anyone who cared to listen. He sees Chris and Rita.
"Nice that you can join us, Lance and Lorenzo," he says irritably.
"Hey, don’t blame us. We just got the call," Chris answers.
"Sorry. It’s been a hell of a night so far," Harry apologizes.
"What have we got so far, Cap?" Rita asks.
Harry pauses a few seconds to savor those words. Aahh, seems like old times.
"Dispatch got the call at about 9:15. Husband reported finding his wife’s body in the garage. O’Neal and Waxler got here soon after. Thought it was a run-of-the-mill investigation into possible foul play. It was only later that they called in the task force when they realized it could be another one. Tom and Cassie have taken over, and are re-interviewing the husband now. Randall’s in there too," Harry says, pointing towards the living room. "Why don’t you go in there and see what you can find out."
Chris and Rita proceed to the living room, and they can hear Cassie trying to ask questions amidst the sound of loud sobbing. Tom and Cassie are seated adjacent to Steven Falen, while Ed Randall is standing to one side observing and taking notes. A little girl with long brown hair is clutching tightly to Steven Falen, sobbing uncontrollably into his comforting arms.
Steven Falen is saying, "I …can’t speak. Not right now, not with Allison in this condition."
"We can tell the paramedics to give her a sedative to calm her," Cassie suggests.
"No," Steven Falen answers vehemently. "My parents are on their way. They can take care of Allison. Your captain promised to send someone over to get them."
"All right, Mr. Falen. As you wish. We’ll wait till they get here," Cassie says, turning her head to see who has entered the living room. Chris and Rita join the detectives.
As Rita approaches, the little girl suddenly lifts her head, and sobs out questioningly in Rita’s direction, "Mommy?"
"No, baby, that’s not mommy," Steven Falen tells his daughter, choking back his own tears. He looks at Rita. She is about the same height and has the same color hair as his wife.
Tom whispers to Chris and Rita, "We’ve tried everything to calm her, and nothing seems to work."
"Let me try," Rita says, walking up to father and daughter, and taking a seat next to them.
"Hi," she says very gently, touching the little girl’s hair.
Very slowly the little girl turns her head around to look at the woman talking to her. All of a sudden, to everyone’s surprise, the little girl climbs out of her father’s lap and into Rita’s arms. She puts her arms around Rita’s neck and hugs her tightly. Perhaps it’s Rita’s scent, or the color of her hair, but she seems to have an immediate calming effect on the girl because the sobbing ceases.
Everyone in the room stares in amazement, and when Rita looks towards Chris with a surprised look in her eyes, he seems to mouth the words, "Way to go, Sam."
Rita is speaking to the little girl. "What’s your name? I’m Rita."
The little girl sniffles, "Allison."
"Allison, I bet you have a very nice bedroom, with lots of toys. Do you mind showing it to me? I’ll love to see it," Rita continues.
Allison turns to look at her father.
"It’s okay, sweetie. Why don’t you show this nice lady your room?" he says patting her head.
Rita stands up with the girl still clinging to her. She hugs Allison tight, and carries her out of the room. As she passes Chris, he gives her an encouraging smile and a squeeze on her upper arm.
Once the child is out of earshot, Cassie and Tom begin asking questions again.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Rita is very quiet on the drive home. It is almost 5 a.m.
"You okay, Sam?" Chris asks, glancing at her intently.
Rita is clutching tightly to the steering wheel, staring at the road straight ahead. "You know she saw her mother in the car, don’t you?"
"Yeah. Steven Falen said he had no idea she followed him downstairs. When he saw the body, it was too late. She was standing at the door."
"Children should never know such ugliness," Rita says sadly, remembering all too vividly her own childhood.
"I know, Sam, I know," Chris whispers, stroking her arm with his hand comfortingly.
"How do you get over something like this?" Rita asks.
Chris shakes his head quietly, unable to come up with an adequate answer.
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It is a little past 9 a.m. and almost everyone in the room is in a foul mood. The Falen murder last night and a lack of sleep have dampened their enthusiasm and left them with more puzzling questions than answers. Harry is in an especially bad mood. "All right, people. What do we have here so far? Are we certain Liz Falen’s number 4?"
"Yeah, skipper," Tom answers. "Ballistics just confirmed that Liz Falen was killed with a .22, and they’ve got a match with the earlier ones."
"So, what the hell is going on here? Why has the perp changed his pattern completely?"
"We don’t think he did. We think the husband might have surprised him. Seems he wasn’t supposed to be home till about eleven. Perp didn’t have any time to clean up."
"Good, so he’s slipping up," Harry says a little calmer. "What has forensics got for us?"
"They’re still working on it," Cassie interjects.
"What’s taking them so long?" Harry asks impatiently. "Make sure you light a fire under their butts, you hear? So what else do we have?"
"We’ve got a possible eyewitness who saw the killer," Tom says.
"Don’t count on that," Cassie says sardonically. "Eyewitness’s an eighty-five-year-old neighbor who thought she saw someone coming out of the garage around the time Steven Falen reported hearing his wife’s car pulling into the garage. She’s got cataracts in both eyes and needs glasses, Thomas. I doubt she’ll be much help to us."
"Still, old Mrs. Potter’s the first and only witness we’ve got to these murders," Tom counters.
"Well, what did she see?" Harry asks impatiently.
"Said she saw someone thin-built, wearing a baseball cap, late twenties or early thirties, about average height walking away from the garage, just as she was about to close her blinds and turn in for the night. Cassie and I checked, she’s got an unobstructed view of the Falen garage from her window. Said she couldn’t really make out the person’s features because of shadows cast by some trees lining the Falen property. She’s volunteered to come in today to try to give us a sketch," Tom reports.
"Good luck," Cassie adds sarcastically.
"All right, enough," Harry interjects before a full-blown argument erupts between his two detectives. "This is a start. Someone finally saw the killer. Okay, people, we really need to get a move on this. What else do we have?"
Ed Randall says quietly, "Killer walked away, just like that? I don’t think so. Not in a secluded residential area like that. You don’t walk away, you drive away."
"You think he had a car waiting for him somewhere?" Harry asks, as Randall nods.
"I want a few units to go door to door to ask about a car or van parked in the vicinity around the time of the murder that shouldn’t be there," Randall continues.
"You got it. You’ll be in charge of this, Ed," Harry gives his permission. "And I also want you to take a look at the tapes from the garage security cameras where Liz Falen last parked her car."
"Will do."
"Cassie and Tom?" Harry asks.
"We’ll handle the Potter end, and a couple of other interviews," Tom says.
"Anyone got to the interviews with Steven Falen’s in-laws?" Harry asks, looking around. When no one answers, he directs, "Lance, Lorenzo, you handle it."
Chris and Rita nod their agreement.
"All right, people, you’ve got your jobs to do. What are you doing here? Go! Go!" Harry commands.
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Rita is driving to the home of Bob and Patty Shields, the parents of the late Liz Falen.
Chris is tapping his fingers on the dashboard. "Sam, pull over," Chris says.
Rita takes a quick look at her husband, and does as he requested. She pulls over to the shoulder of the road, and looks at him quizzically.
"I’ve been thinking, Sam," Chris says looking at Rita. "Remember what the criminology professors in school used to say about well-planned out murders like these? The murderers leaving their calling cards to let us know it’s them and not someone else?"
"Yeah?"
"I think this perp’s been doing it, and we’ve just not seen it," Chris continues.
"Maybe, but what if the nightgown ritual and the .22 caliber bullets are already his calling cards," Rita reasons.
"Possible. But, we really haven’t been looking for a calling card, and it’s quite possible we overlooked it. What say you and I make a detour to the impound to take a closer look at Liz Falen’s car?"
"Sounds good to me," Rita says and starts the car. "Never knew you stayed awake in any of your classes, Sam."
"Hey, what can I say, I was the perfect student," Chris exaggerates.
"Uh-huh, I’m sure you were," Rita replies.
The Sams arrive at the police impound, and are now looking over Liz Falen’s car. With gloved hands, Chris is feeling under the seats, and searching the driver’s portion of the car interior. Rita is concentrating on the front passenger seat and the glove compartment. She opens the glove compartment, and is leafing through the mass of paper and odds and ends in the compartment when something catches her attention.
"Sam, I think I’ve got something here," Rita says, trying to contain her excitement.
Chris sticks his head further into the car to look at what Rita is talking about. Rita picks the object out and holds it to the light.
"A flower?" Chris asks.
"Yeah, seems kind of out of place, don’t you think?" Rita says, putting the blue flower into an open plastic evidence bag. She then stands and looks over the car roof to the other side of the car.
Chris straightens up to meet Rita’s gaze. "Do you think Liz Falen left it there?"
"I doubt so," Rita answers. "I think we may just have our calling card here, Sam."
"Now, all we need to do is find a blue flower at all the other murder scenes," Chris says, snapping his fingers. "Piece of cake."
"Sure," Rita says disbelievingly. "Let’s call Harry to tell him what we’ve got. We’ll also need to get this over to someone who knows about flowers."
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Harry Lipschitz puts down the phone. He feels the throbbing in his head lessening. The call from Chris certainly sounds like good news. This is just the kind of break they’ve been looking for. Harry moves into action. He calls Mac Horton in Ft. Lauderdale to ask him to handle the Hollister crime scene at the other end. He sees Cassie and Tom sitting with an old lady, who is talking earnestly to the police sketch artist.
"St. John, Ryan, in here now," Harry hollers.
The detectives make their excuses to old Mrs. Potter, and head for the captain’s office.
"What’s up?" Tom asks.
"How’s it going?" Harry inquires.
"She’s changed her mind a hundred times," Cassie says, exasperated. "I don’t think she’s going to be reliable."
"Tom?" Harry asks.
Tom nods his head in agreement reluctantly. "She’s really trying, but I don’t think we’ll get much out of her."
"I’ve got something for you two to do," Harry says, and proceeds to tell them about Chris and Rita’s discovery of the flower. "I want you to go over the Switzer and Wolosky crime scenes with a fine tooth comb. Also, go over the inventoried lists from evidence lock-up. You know what we’re looking for."
"This could all be a wild goose chase," Cassie says doubtfully.
"Wild goose chase or not, this is still something to look into. So, get on it!" Harry commands fiercely.
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The Shields’ residence is located in a quiet cul-de-sac about half an hour from Steven and Liz Falen’s home. Chris and Rita walk to the front of the house. Rita presses the doorbell. A few seconds later, a woman in a maid’s uniform answers the door.
"Good afternoon, we have an appointment to see the Shields’," Rita says, as both she and Chris show the woman their I.Ds.
The maid leads them into a huge foyer, and asks them to wait. Chris and Rita take the opportunity to look around. The house is decorated tastefully with the finest antiques. They hear someone approaching and they turn around.
"Hello, I’m Bob Shields," says a distinguished-looking, silver-haired man in his sixties. He shakes hands with both Chris and Rita.
"We’re very sorry about your loss, Mr. Shields," Chris says. "I’m Chris Lorenzo and this is my partner, Rita Lance."
Bob Shields is looking at Rita closely. "I’m sorry I’m staring. Steven told us what you did for Allison. Thank you," he says appreciatively.
"My wife’s waiting for us in there. Come," Bob Shields leads the way into a spacious room, similarly decorated with expensive antiques. Seated on a couch is a white-haired woman quietly dabbing a handkerchief to her tear-swollen eyes. The maid is standing in a corner.
"Coffee, Maria," Bob Shields tells his maid. She leaves the room.
The white-haired woman stands up to shake her visitors’ hands. "Hello, I’m Patty Shields."
"This is Chris Lorenzo and Rita Lance," Bob Shields introduces to his wife. "Please, sit."
"Now, I understand why Allison mistook you for her mother. You have the same hair color and are about the same height as our Liz. Ms. Lance, thank you for all you did for Allison and Steven last night," Patty Shields tells Rita, a small smile appearing on her face.
Rita returns her smile and says modestly, "It was nothing, Mrs. Shields."
"Steven would have liked to thank you personally, but he and Allison are resting upstairs. We insisted on it. It’s been a most trying time for them both," Bob Shields says sadly.
"For you, too," Rita says understandingly.
Maria returns with the coffee and quietly exits the room. Patty Shields begins serving the coffee.
"How can we help you?" Bob Shields gets to the point of the visit.
Chris accepts his cup of coffee before answering, "We need to ask you some questions about your daughter, and people she’s acquainted with."
Chris and Rita then proceed to ask the Shields’ questions about their daughter and people she knew, including the men she dated before marrying Steven Falen. The Shields’ say they have no idea why someone would harm their only daughter.
"Well, thank you for your time and help," Chris says at the end of the interview, getting up and shaking the Shields’ hands. Rita does likewise.
"I only hope we were of some help. Please, catch this monster soon," Bob Shields pleads with his visitors.
Patty Shields is nodding her head in agreement, with tears again clouding her eyes. "We’re just so glad to have spent twenty-two good years with her, and to have had her in our lives."
Rita, who is already heading towards the front door, stops and turns around. "I’m sorry, Mrs. Shields, I thought Liz was thirty-two years old? You said twenty-two years."
"Yes, she was thirty-two. We adopted Liz when she was ten. I’m sorry we forgot to mention it. We always thought of Liz as our own."
Chris and Rita look at each other, and Chris says, "I think we may have more questions, Mrs. Shields."
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Rita is gazing at a faded photograph in her hand. She is seated at a desk temporarily set up for her in Palm Beach P.D.’s Homicide Division. Chris, who is seated opposite Rita, is on the phone.
"Lance, in here now!" Harry Lipschitz shouts to Rita.
Rita smiles to herself and gets up. Just like the good old days.
She enters Harry’s office.
"What’s your partner up to?" Harry inquires.
"Chris is on the phone with a professor from the Botany Department at the State University. He’s asking about the flower," Rita replies.
Harry nods his approval. "What did you get at the Shields’ this afternoon?"
Rita tells him what she and Chris found out from Bob and Patty Shields.
There is a knock on the door, and Harry waves Chris in.
"Sorry," Chris apologizes for interrupting. "Just got off the phone with Prof. Wiederman. Says he’ll need to see the flower to positively identify it for us."
"All right," Harry makes a decision. "Why don’t you two head on over to Prof. Wiederman’s with the flower and see what he has to say? And then, you can call it a night."
Chris and Rita are about to leave when Harry says, "Hey, before I forget, Frannie has asked me to find out if the two of you are free for dinner tomorrow night. She misses you two, and wants to see you."
Rita looks at Chris for confirmation before saying, "Sure, Cap, we’re free tomorrow night. We’ll love to see Frannie."
They then head on out to the local university in search of Prof. Hans Wiederman.
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It has been an exhausting day for both Chris and Rita. On their way back from the university, they stop by a Chinese restaurant for some takeout.
Chris enters the small rented apartment first, and heads into the kitchen to put down the food.
Rita calls from the living room, "Sam, I’m going to take a bath before dinner."
A few minutes later, Rita is soaking comfortably in the tub with the whirlpool turned on. Her eyes are closed and she does not hear Chris come in till he speaks.
"Aw, Sam … you tried the whirlpool without me?" Chris says, pouting.
Rita opens her eyes and answers, "Sorry, Sam. Couldn’t wait."
Chris is standing there waiting for an invitation to join her, but Rita closes her eyes again.
"Sam!" Chris looks at her with those puppy dog eyes, waiting for her to take pity on him.
Rita finally looks up, and says, "Don’t sulk, Sam. It’s not becoming of you."
She then smiles teasingly at him and adds, "What are you standing there for?"
Chris strips in record time and joins Rita in the whirlpool, sitting opposite her. They do not speak for a while, preferring to enjoy the warm feel of the water caressing their bodies.
Chris is jolted out of his relaxing shut-eye when he feels Rita’s hand snaking up his leg.
"Now, that’s what I call a great whirlpool," Chris announces, opening an eye to take a quick glance at Rita before closing it again. He clasps his hands behind his head and stretches.
Rita moves till she is leaning directly above Chris, her hand continuing to glide upwards. "So, you like how the whirlpool works, huh?" she whispers alluringly, her face very close to his.
Chris opens his eyes and stares into hers. "Uh-huh. Do you know what else it does?" he grins widely.
"Let me show you," she murmurs as she leans forward to claim his lips.
Some time later, they are on the couch, enjoying their now cold Chinese takeout set on the coffee table. Both are in bathrobes, hair still wet, devouring their shrimp fried rice and kungpao chicken.
Chris reaches for another helping, and comments, "It’s going to be a real interesting meeting tomorrow."
"Yeah," Rita says between mouthfuls. "What do you make of the flower? Wiederman said it wasn’t a common variety found in these parts, and hard to grow."
"Killer probably grows them himself. Mr. Green Thumbs?" Chris asks.
Rita shrugs. "It’s like the flower is not just a message to us, but also a message to his victims. He knew them, Sam, I’m sure of it."
"Now, all we need to know is his connection to his victims."
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The meeting of the joint task force this morning is charged with renewed energy and excitement. The detectives have made some headway in their investigations, and cannot wait to share their news. Even the conference room looks different now. There are photographs of the victims plastered on a large chalkboard at one corner of the room, with theories of the murders and what is known of the victims written in chalk just below each photograph.
Today, the group is joined by the two D.As and a newcomer.
George Donovan introduces the newcomer, a well-dressed woman in her early forties. "Everyone, I’ll like to introduce you to Dr. Lesley Anderson. She’s a criminal psychologist with the local FBI bureau, and I’ve invited her to come help us profile our killer for us. Before she tells us what she knows, let’s hear from everyone the progress we’ve made so far."
Ed Randall clears his throat, indicating that he’ll like to speak first. "Our search for an unknown car or van in the vicinity of the Falen murder seems to have paid off," Randall says, at the same time gesturing to the uniformed officers at the back of the room to acknowledge their efforts. "A neighbor reported seeing a white four-door sedan parked near her home, which is two streets down from the Falen residence. She swears she’s never seen the car before, and haven’t seen it since the night of the murder. Said she noticed it at about 6 p.m., but it was no longer there at 10 p.m. when she came out with the trash. She didn’t pay much attention to the car, but did say it looked like a late model Ford Taurus with Florida tags. We’re working on that now."
"Good," George remarks to Randall. "Any news on the security camera tapes from the garage?"
"Unfortunately, no," Randall answers. "We see the victim’s car exiting the garage at 8:17 p.m., and there seems to be someone with her, but the images are so distorted, it’s hard to tell. The lab’s trying to enhance the images frame by frame as we speak. But, the tapes don’t look promising."
"Do we have anything else?" George asks the rest of the group.
"As a matter of fact, yes, George," Mac Horton informs calmly. "I believe Lance and Lorenzo have stumbled on something quite important, and which we’ve all overlooked—the killer’s calling card."
Horton looks at the couple to take the lead.
Rita takes a quick glance at Chris before speaking. "Chris thought the perp may have been leaving his or her calling card, so we went back to the Falen car to take a closer look. We found this in the car’s glove compartment," Rita holds up the evidence bag with the blue flower so everyone can see.
"And, we found these, too," Cassie says, holding up two evidence bags each containing the same colored flower.
"And, this," Horton says, holding up the fourth evidence bag with the flower.
Everyone in the room is too surprised and flabbergasted by these latest discoveries to say anything.
Tom continues, "We found flower number two hidden in Switzer’s briefcase. She’s the lawyer. Flower number three was found in a knitting basket Wolosky had in her bedroom."
"And, I found number four tucked within the pages of a paperback by Hollister’s bed. No one would have noticed too… looked like any ordinary pressed flower," Horton finishes.
"What the hell do these all mean?" Harry utters.
"We think we can help you there, Cap," Chris says. "Prof. Wiederman at the university was able to tell us quite a bit about the flower."
"It’s called the Myosotis Sylvatica Royal Blue," Chris continues. "Usually, deep indigo-blue with white and yellow centers, not very hardy, and very seldom grown in these parts."
"So?" Harry asks impatiently.
The two Sams look at each other and smile, before Rita turns to Harry to reply. "The flower’s more commonly known as …" she says, with Chris chiming in, "‘Forget-Me-Not’."
The room breaks out in excited chatter at this revelation.
"People, people," George tries to calm the excited group. "Perhaps it’s time we hear what Dr. Anderson has to say? Dr. Anderson?"
The group quiets down to hear the doctor speak.
"First off, I want to commend everyone on a job well-done so far," Lesley Anderson says, standing up. "I guess many of you already know or suspect what I’ll say about this perpetrator, but please bear with me all the same."
"The perpetrator in all likelihood knew the victims, and is about the same age as them. He feels a need to clean them up after killing them because that’s the closest he can get to replicating the kind of innocence or cleanliness he feels they had lost. I would say a very disciplined and tidy person. And the way his victims were killed—a shot through the heart—was probably a way for him to express his rage against them for wronging him. The flower you just spoke of is precisely his way of reminding them they should never have forgotten about him. There is a purpose to these killings – a need to avenge some wrong he feels they had done him. Even if Liz Falen is his last intended victim, he’ll not stop killing till you catch him. That emotional high he gets from these killings will keep him going. When he’s done with his intended victims, he’ll move on to strangers, and that’ll make it even harder for you to catch him. It’s my firm belief he’ll strike again. And, I’ll say very soon. There hasn’t been more than a one-week gap between the murders," Dr. Anderson concludes and sits down.
"So, all we need to do is find a common thread or connection between these victims, and we’ll catch the killer?" Mac Horton asks.
Dr. Anderson nods in the affirmative.
"Could it be an ex-boyfriend that all these women once dated, and it’s their rejection of him that caused this rage?" a uniformed officer asks.
"Very possible, but from what we know so far, no such connection has been established," Dr. Anderson replies.
While the doctor continues to field questions, Rita is deep in thought, staring into space. Chris notices, but knows better than to interrupt. He sees Rita continually drumming her fingers on a photograph on the table. She finally turns to look at Chris, her eyes bright with excitement.
"What?" he whispers.
"I think I’ve got it, Sam," she whispers back.
Chris looks at her, puzzled.
"The connection," she explains, looking down at the photograph.
Chris follows her gaze, and something suddenly dawns on him. "I get it, Sam," he whispers back, grinning. "Why don’t you let them in on it?"
Rita clears her throat, and speaks up. "Excuse me, everyone," she pauses for their attention, "but I think Chris and I know what that connection is."
Rita stands up, and walks to the chalkboard, holding on to that faded photograph. She feels the eyes of everyone on her.
She points to the photos of each victim pinned on the chalkboard. "They," she says, trying hard to contain her own excitement, "knew each other. And, if I’m co