 
IN MEMORIAM

By

Mac Zazski

Smashwords Edition

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Copyright 2014 Mac Zazski

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In Memoriam is the first sequel in the "Remembering" series

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Discover other titles by Mac Zazski at Smashwords.com

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it or it was purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Prologue

Doctor Nora Gate stood beside the grave as Father Roberts handed a flower to her to place on top of the casket. Glancing at the large crowd of mourners she pondered her next action. They had wanted her to use Father Santos, but she had refused; this would be an American funeral not some foreign affair. What would they want next, a mariachi band? No, this would be conducted with dignity and reserve. Aware that all eyes were upon her, Doctor Gate took the flower with a stoic air and gently placed it on the casket with a slight, dignified frown. Stepping back, she eyed the crowd, carefully noting the dignitaries in attendance and then slid to the priest's side to thank him for his services in a proper, reserved manner.

For the next several minutes she watched as the mourners placed flowers upon the casket, some stopping to offer a word of condolence or to be noticed, others offering her a nod and then retreating back to their vehicles for the ride home. After greeting several of the more important people, those she considered her true peers, the Doctor retreated to the waiting limousine, happy to escape the warm weather and take her place alone in its luxurious back seat.

With a roll of her eyes and a sigh, she placed her purse on the seat beside her and watched the last of the mourners scramble out of the growing heat and into their cars. A large manila envelope sat on the seat to her left. Retrieving it up, she stared at the words neatly written upon it in pen. From the funeral home director, yes, she remembered now. Opening the envelope she stared at the mock up of the tombstone, a granite slab with an angel across the top, draped majestically over the words "In Memoriam" and below the name, Ramon Gonzalez and the dates. She had toyed with saying something more but could think of nothing appropriate. No, that wasn't exactly true, it was not that she could find nothing appropriate; she could not find anything that she could stomach. They all considered Ramon a saint and they would all forget him in three weeks. No sense wasting good money on forgotten words.

Pulling a pen from her purse, she turned the mockup for the tombstone over and printed in large letters, "APPROVED", initialed it and returned it to the envelope. Calling to the driver, she handed him the envelope through the partition with the instruction that it be given to the funeral home director and then told him to close the partition. She wanted privacy now; she had been on display quite enough for one day.

So Ramon was dead, what did that change? He had dragged her off to her tomb a little over a year ago, using guilt to get her back into running his damn non-profit. "We started it together," he had whined, always making his mistake THEIR mistake. So she had come back to Vitatown, had buried herself at his agency for the homeless, had taken on the thankless job of running a company full of foreigners for the benefit of the homeless.

He had forced it on her, forced her to step back when all she wanted to do was stay where she was, enjoying the prestige and power of her position with the city. She shook her head, how far she had come and how far back Ramon had stayed. Now she was stuck with the responsibility of his legacy. She might as well carve "In Memoriam" on the façade of every building that the agency worked from because that was all Vitatown was, a memorial to Ramon, to his life, to his work. The whole agency represented a loving memorial for Ramon and a death sentence for her. No, she was too smart for that, she would make it her own, change it, craft it, tear away those words and put up new ones. In time, it would be known as her agency, it would become her new power base. So much to do, so much to change...

It was not only the pressure to keep the agency as a memorial that bothered her, it was the proximity to two women in particular that rankled her. Yes, Nydia and Doris. Ramon had made her promise, had forced them on her and she grimaced with the anger at the thought of having them near. Nydia who stopped at nothing and Doris who knew everything; she could barely contain the anger she felt.

Ramon would take nothing less than a promise, he knew her too well. He knew she never promised anything because she felt compelled afterwards to do it. It was what had made her perfect in public life, she never promised anything, the word promise never came up, was never uttered by her, was forbidden to be used by her staff. A promise was a solemn thing, a sacred vow, even to Doctor Nora Gate, a woman who held nothing sacred. No, he had known her too long, he knew he could trap her with that word, protect those two by exacting a promise. Well a promise was a promise, but how it was carried out, that was another matter. If they were to leave on their own, then that was their problem, not hers.

She looked out the window and watched the traffic as they slid through the streets, headed towards the highway and home. She would clear out Ramon's room, not today, but soon. She would remove him from the house in the same manner in which she would remove him from the agency. A little cleaning here, a little change there...she smiled to herself. Soon it would different; soon she would have her way...

Chapter 1

Mary Nelson sat primly at the reception desk of Tibbet Security preparing several stacks of papers for inclusion in folders for an upcoming conference. Mary was a new hire, a woman who two years ago had never even considered joining the workforce, that was until her husband and son had died in a car crash, leaving her alone and almost destitute. Her husband had been a good provider, but with a little one they had never had the chance to save any money. Before she knew it, she discovered that she had gone through most of their savings.

It had taken months of deep depression before Mary had been able to take the first tentative steps towards building a new life for herself. She had forced herself, painful step by step, to rejoin the world of the living even though there seemed no place for her in it. Taking stock of her financial situation, she became determined to find a job and with no experience or skills to offer, had gone looking for work.

After three discouraging weeks of rejection, she had entered the Tibbet Security office and applied for the receptionist position. As luck would have it, the woman who was going to train the new employee was available to speak to her and she found herself conducting only the second interview she had ever been on. She had answered the woman's questions truthfully having no idea that it might be better to do otherwise. No, she had no skills to speak of, no, she had never worked before, no, she had no references. Under questioning she had, as briefly as possible, explained her situation and what was driving her to seek employment. The woman had betrayed no sympathy, but instead, scheduled an appointment for her with the owner of the company, Mister Vance Tibbet, for the very next day.

Punctually arriving on time, Mary had been escorted into the owner's office, a surprisingly cramped room in the rear of the building. Vance Tibbet was a very large, extremely muscular man, with dark, short cropped hair who wore an unfriendly scowl. He looked mean and angry, but within a short time it became apparent to Mary that he was, in fact, a nice person. After speaking for about a half an hour, he offered her the position of receptionist. She had been working now for about two months and continued to work very hard at being as professional as possible. While she owned a computer, she had never "worked" on one before and she still had occasional problems accessing files and figuring out the system, but she was determined to learn. Her supervisor had noted her tenacity and dedication and she was becoming aware of the fact that she was earning people's respect. She had made it clear from the outset that she did not want a hand out, she only wanted a chance and she was determined to make the most of it.

A week ago the firm had closed an important case and Mister Tibbet had insisted on taking everyone to dinner for the fine job they had done. Though Mary did not understand much of what the company did and knew that she could only have contributed in a very minor way, Mister Tibbet had insisted that she come to the dinner. At dinner, she found that the majority of the people with whom she worked, while intense about their jobs, were normal, everyday people after hours. They joked and laughed and spoke with her as a colleague and Mary began feeling more and more like she was part of the team.

It was at the dinner that Mister Tibbet introduced her to his wife, Melissa. While she did not consider herself a judgmental person, Mary was a bit surprised upon meeting the boss' wife. While Mister Tibbet was not unattractive, she was not prepared for how very beautiful his wife was, with her long brown hair, her beautiful face and warm brown eyes. It was strange, but she felt instantly at ease with Mrs. Tibbet, who insisted that she call her Mel and the two had spent a large part of the evening talking and enjoying each other's company. After watching the boss and his wife, she understood that while outwardly, they seemed poorly suited to one another, that they were indeed very much in love.

Since the dinner, Mary had found people more relaxed and easier to talk too. Perhaps, she thought ruefully, she had begun to relax and maybe that was why, in part, everyone seemed nicer. She was part of the team now and everyone knew she was working hard to contribute and seemed to appreciate it.

As she sat preparing the papers, she could not help but feel a little more secure in her new life. It was not the life she had ever wanted or thought she would have, but it was her life now and she was determined to make it work in the best way she knew how.

At that moment, the door to the reception area opened and she immediately looked up to see who was entering. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to maintain her composure. The man who entered appeared to be about eleven feet tall and weigh close to a ton. He was the biggest person she had ever laid eyes on. His head was bald and he wore all black, a long sleeve black shirt with no collar, black jeans and huge black boots. Mirrored sunglasses covered his eyes and below his firm nose was a mouth that descended in a harsh scowl. He moved with the steady purposefulness of a freight train.

He did not stop at the desk, as was customary, but merely turned his head slightly as he headed towards the door leading to the offices beyond and muttered in a deep growl, "Tell Vance I'm here."

Mary was scared, but she had sworn that no matter whom she worked for, she would always do her best to be the most professional person she could be. Rising from her chair, she moved swiftly and got between the train and the door leading to the offices beyond. Drawing herself up to her full five foot six inch height (enhanced by her modest heels to almost five foot seven inches) she stood calmly before the behemoth and cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry sir, but if you wish to see Mister Tibbet, I must announce you. Those are the rules. Please wait here and I will call him."

She felt her knees growing weak as the scowl deepened and the huge man removed his sunglasses. The blackest eyes she had ever seen stared down at her with a mixed look of anger and incongruity.

"What?" sneered the giant, his deep voice dropping at least two octaves.

"Those are the rules," responded Mary, fighting to keep her voice from quivering. "You must wait until I have permission from Mister Tibbet to allow you to go to his office. Those are the rules and the rules apply to everyone."

Staring into his eyes, Mary came to several quick conclusions. Again, while not a judgmental person, she was sure that this man had driven several families out into the desert, murder them and then eaten them for fun. There had to be at least a dozen law enforcement agencies looking for him. If someone told her that he strangled babies and clubbed baby seals to death for exercise, she would have no trouble believing them.

The man, for his part, continued to stare at her as she slowly slid back towards the desk, his eyes unblinking. Without giving it much thought, he knew seven ways of killing her where she stood with his bare hands. From a lifetime of immediate assessment, he knew her to be between five foot six and five foot eight inches tall weighing at the most one hundred and fifteen pounds. In addition to her vital information he had noted that she wore an inexpensive pants suit, had short brown hair, grey eyes and a slight scar on her forehead above her left eye which she tried to cover with a thin application of makeup. He would guess her age to be between thirty and thirty five and she was either the bravest person he had encountered in a long time or she was completely insane.

Suddenly, the door to the offices opened and out stepped Vance, his head down looking at several files he held in his hands. Sensing something amiss, he stopped immediately outside the door and looked from the huge man to Mary and back.

Mary watched him carefully in case he made some subtle gesture indicating that she should immediately call the police. The huge man rumbled as if clearing his throat and then suddenly gestured towards Mary.

"Your watchdog here says I can't come back and see you until she's called you."

"Those are the rules," stated Mary primly. "They apply to everyone."

Vance looked at the large man and then at Mary and gave her a tight smile.

"This is my fault, Mary, not yours," stated Vance evenly. "This is Ben; he is the exception to the rule. When he comes in, just phone back to me and let me know he is on his way. He does not have to stop at the desk or wait for you to call me."

Mary eyed the large man, committing his face to memory. It never occurred to her that she would never meet anyone who looked remotely like this giant again; it was her job to allow him in without interrupting him and she wanted to make sure she did so the next time he came in.

"Very well Mister Tibbet," she replied, "I will allow Mister..." she gestured towards the large man.

"Ben," replied Vance, "just Ben. All you need do is call my office and say, "Ben is on his way back", that's all."

"Ben," she repeated.

Handing her the files, Vance could barely suppress his smile, "Thank you, Mary. Would you please file these when you have the chance?"

"Certainly, Mister Tibbet..."

Turning, Vance opened the office door for the larger man, who entered the hallway beyond without a backward glance. Mary took the files back to her desk and placed them gingerly on a stack of papers she was working on. Taking a deep breath, she sat down and tried to calm her nerves. She had never been so frightened before in her life.

***

Ben lowered himself into the chair opposite Vance, filling the room like a cloud of smoke. As big as Vance was, he always felt small next to Ben and easing into his chair, he looked up at the giant and nodded.

"Sorry about that," he stated quietly, "Mary is new."

Ben took the statement in with no comment.

"You have my money for the Jefferson job?" asked Ben.

Vance smiled, the man shifted subjects with the subtly of a locomotive.

"Right here," he stated, opening his desk draw and producing an envelope which he handed to him.

Ben stuck the envelope in his pocket without glancing at it, a compliment to Vance. With most people he would have stopped to count the money.

"I've got a situation," he stated. "Actually, I'm not sure it's a situation, but something about it doesn't seem quite right to me."

Vance gave him a small gesture to continue.

"I got a call about two weeks ago from a guy I've used for minor stuff, a local guy up in the Bronx. He calls me looking for a body guard for the CEO of a non-profit organization. Didn't really seem to be my type of thing, but he was insistent, so I checked it out. Figured the organization might fight something like sex trafficking or drug addiction, something that organized crime was into. Turns out it's a non-profit that houses the homeless."

Vance squinted, "Why would the CEO of a homeless shelter need a body guard? Rough neighborhood?"

"She doesn't work in the Bronx, works in the main office in Manhattan," replied Ben. "They've got shelters, apartments and halfway houses throughout the city, but it's all controlled from a place on the west side in the flower district."

Vance leaned back, "It does seem kind of odd..."

"Definitely not my type of thing, but I met with her," stated Ben. "I recommended you. I still don't understand why he was so insistent..."

"He's worked with you before..."

"A few times, yeah, he's a good guy."

Vance picked up a pen on his desk and tapped it slowly on the papers in front of him. Ben seldom worked as a bodyguard and when he did, it was because a client was in true, immediate danger. Anyone who had worked with him, even once, would know that Ben was not the guy to stand around in a suit behind some self important CEO while they had lunch with their cronies.

"What's the name of the organization?" he asked softly.

"Vitatown."

"I've heard of them, vaguely," replied Vance.

"The CEO is Nora Gate," stated Ben.

Vance shook his head, "Doesn't ring a bell..."

"She's in her fifties, early sixties, never had any trouble I could find..."

"Maybe it's a paranoid thing," shrugged Vance. "These people start thinking they're so important to the running of the world in general that people are after them."

"I've seen that before and I don't think this is it," stated Ben. "I spoke to her, she was nervous about something though she didn't want me to know it. She was trying to keep it all very quiet, that's why she approached me through my contact, met me in one of her field offices away from her staff on an excuse. Anyway, I'm giving you a heads up she's going to call..."

"Thanks for recommending us," replied Vance. "I may need your help on another job I'm working, I'm not sure yet, but I'll know in a few days."

"You know where to find me," replied Ben as he rose.

Thrusting his hand forward, he gave Vance's hand a quick powerful shake and turned to leave. Vance said nothing as he watched him move out the door and into the hallway beyond. A scary man, but one of the good guys, he mused. With a shake of his head, he went back to reading his paperwork.

***

Melissa Tibbet grimaced as she looked at her watch and began packing her briefcase for the ride home. She was running late yet again which bothered her because she had promised to cook tonight. Most nights Vance arrived home first, but she had gotten it into her head that she was being negligent and had stated this morning that she would be home early to cook for him. Vance had merely smiled that knowing smile of his, Melissa was always late, especially when she promised to be early but today she was determined to beat him home no matter what.

Ginger, Melissa's secretary, entered the office and stared at her with a look bordering on disgust. Checking her long, colorful nails, she glanced up at Melissa and with a suck on her teeth, her voice flowing outwards on the waves of her Jamaican accent.

"Gonna leave early today, gonna get home early and cook a meal for my man," she mimicked. "I don't suppose you own a watch. You're gonna need rocket boosters on the bucket of rust you drive to beat him home, you know that don't you?"

"I'm leaving now," stated Melissa, rising, briefcase in hand.

"Girl, don't let me stop you," stated Ginger. "Carlos is gonna pick me up in about ten minutes and it's better if you're not here because I've got to straighten his ass out and it ain't gonna be pretty."

"What did Carlos do now?" asked Melissa before thinking about the consequences of such a question.

"What did he do? What did he do?" replied Ginger, her eyes flashing. "I tell him bring me some curried goat for lunch, CURRIED GOAT! Does that sound like chicken to you? Does goat sound like CHICKEN? This is the third time this week he's brought me the wrong lunch and I'm tired of it! What does he think; I can't get a man to bring me lunch other than him? No, dear, no, no, no! If he can't get the lunch order right, what other things is he doing wrong? I don't need people who don't pay attention crowding up my life and making it harder than it already is; I work here, bust my ass all day, clean up your messes, go home and cook..."

"Clean up my messes?" asked Melissa.

"Who ordered lunch for you today?" asked Ginger. "You just ask me, "Ginger, could you order me a salad?" what do you think, that happens by magic?"

"I asked for a salad and you got me two burritos and some fries," replied Melissa.

"Yes, because a normal human being can't live on as much salad as you eat," replied Ginger. "What do you think you are; a rabbit?"

"I'm trying to eat healthier..."

"You know how long rabbits live?" asked Ginger. "People live longer than rabbits, so how long you think you're gonna live eating like a rabbit? It don't make no kind of sense..."

"I'm going to go now," replied Melissa with a smile. "I've got to get home and make dinner..."

"You give my love to Boxcar," smiled Ginger. Boxcar was her nickname for Vance based upon his no-neck, muscular build.

"I'll tell him," replied Melissa, gliding out of the office and heading towards the stairs.

Racing up the stairs, she found her car and began the trek home. What should I make Vance for dinner, she wondered. He ate just about anything and he always complimented her cooking, so it was hard to say what to make, it wasn't as if he had a favorite dish.

Steak, all men loved steak, didn't they? She would make him a real man's meal, steak and potatoes...did she have steak at home? She could stop at the store...checking the time, she flinched, no, she didn't have the time to stop, it would be close as it was, especially if this traffic didn't move. No, she would have to make something that they had...what did they have? She vaguely remembered something in the freezer, was it chicken or pork? She had missed going food shopping this week and it was dangerous to send Vance shopping because he never checked prices and he never bought what was on the list.

Chicken, she was eighty percent sure the thing in the freezer was chicken. She could make a nice chicken alfredo, that would be good. Did they have the ingredients for alfredo sauce? Probably not, scratch the chicken alfredo. Oh shoot, she had to defrost the chicken, it was frozen. Forget the chicken, no that wouldn't work. Pasta, how about some nice pasta with a homemade sauce? She made a good sauce, all she needed was some plum tomatoes, some...she didn't have any tomatoes, they were out. Forget the sauce. Did they have pasta? She thought she had put it down on the grocery list, no, no pasta.

Melissa sat back and thought for a moment, what was in the cabinets? Now that she thought of it, it had been two weeks since she had gone food shopping and they were running low on pretty much everything. Pasta was out, rice? No. Salad? No. Potatoes? She hesitated...no. She was sure she had a can of tuna in the cabinet, she would make tuna sandwiches. What type of "special" dinner was that? She had promised him a special dinner, a tuna sandwich wasn't special...oh shoot, did they have any bread?

***

Vance opened the apartment door and smiled at the sound of Melissa rummaging around in the kitchen. Life was never better than when he came home to his beautiful, talented wife. It might sound cliché, but he just loved that she was his wife and that they were married and he was thankful for it every day. He knew some people found it odd that they had married, she was a successful psychiatrist and he owned a security company, she was gorgeous and he was...bulky, but they loved one another and had been through a lot. She knew he would do anything for her and he knew the same and that was all that really mattered.

Striding through their living room he headed towards the door that separated their kitchen from their dining room. It was a large apartment and Melissa had furnished it beautifully; she had a real eye for decorating, mused Vance. From the very first, their home felt like a home, cozy and warm.

"Vance, is that you?"

"Yes," he smiled, "it's me."

"Don't come in!" yelled Melissa. "Stay right where you are!"

Vance ground to a halt. Taking a sniff, he didn't smell anything. What was she making?

"Do you need any help?" he called out.

"No, just stay there," she replied.

He stood, slowly shifting from one foot to the other like a school boy waiting to enter the principal's office. He could hear dishes clanking and the sound of something being dropped into the sink. As he continued standing there, Vance began to feel a bit foolish but he was unsure of how he should proceed.

"How was your day?" he ventured.

"I'll be out in just a minute," she replied.

Should he talk about his day? His day had been kind of boring now that he thought about it. The CEO that Ben had told him about had called and arranged a meeting, but other than that the day had been a routine one. He felt somewhat silly just standing there, should he just go sit on the couch?

"Okay, close your eyes!" she called out.

With a shrug, Vance closed his eyes and heard Melissa walk through the door that separated the kitchen and the living room.

"Okay, you can open them," she said softly.

Opening his eyes, he smiled. There was a dish in Melissa's hand but he could not care less about what was on it. She smiled seductively at him, twisting her hips slightly so that he could fully enjoy the view of her in high heels and a lacy, black negligee, cut high on the hip and low in front.

"Dinner is served," she purred.

Vance needed no more encouragement; in one motion he wrapped his arms about her and kissed her, his lips hungrily seeking hers. She seemed to melt against him, her hands nimbly sliding between them to unbutton his shirt. His hands slowly descended, feeling the wonderful curves of her body, the beautiful silkiness of her skin alternating with the delicate feel of the lacy fabric. Taking one of his large hands into both of hers, she stepped back and led him to their bedroom. From behind her, he delighted in her walk, in the sensual movement that came so naturally to her as she sashayed to their bed. As he removed his shirt, she crossed to the far side of the bed, removed her shoes and then stretched out upon the sheets, her brown hair fanning her face as she eased down onto her back and smiled at him. He removed his pants and was besides her in an instant, kissing her, nuzzling her neck, working his lips downwards towards her chest.

Her hands pulled his head towards her, massaging him, urging him. His hand moved down her side, over the beautiful flow of her hips and between her thighs to caress her mound through the fragile fabric. As she moaned and eased back into the softness of the mattress, Vance gently pushed the fabric away from her chest, revealing her beautifully proportioned breasts. Lowering his lips to tease and excite her nipples, his hand descended once again to her most vulnerable spot. He caressed her ever so gently, becoming more excited as her breathing grew more strident.

Pulling his head away from her for a moment, she redirected him upwards, her urgent kiss telling him of her desire. As his fingers sought her, he heard the rip of fabric. Oh crap...Vance was known, in his excitement, to have destroyed Melissa's nightgowns, negligees, under garments and on at least two occasions to have much destroyed her pant suit. Sometimes it was difficult being as strong as he was and he winced at the sound, remembering her requests to be gentle with her clothing during passionate moments. He heard her chuckle slightly and felt her stretch ever so gently towards his ear.

"Velcro, silly, to make it easier for you..." she whispered as she nibbled his ear and then returned to kissing him.

He had no idea who had invented Velcro, but if he or she were still alive, they were going to get a letter of appreciation as soon as he was done here. Not that he wanted to be done here, not that he ever wanted to stop making love to his one and only.

Sliding back downwards, he slowly, gently pulled the negligee away from her, his kisses following it as it trailed down her body. As the material passed her hips, his lips stopped at her opening, leaving the fabric to make its way down her exquisite legs alone. As she moaned, he caressed her more vehemently with his tongue until she could contain her passion no longer. He felt her release as her hands gently cupped his face and urged him upwards. Quickly he was above her, staring down, mesmerized by her beauty. Reaching between them, she gently guided him to her, a shuddered breath welcoming his entrance into her. Instantly they found their rhythm and together, insatiably join together, becoming one in body, one in thought, one in pleasure. Her second climax occurred just after his first, an electric joining of their love. Gently, Vance lowered himself onto his side as she twisted herself towards him in order to rest in his loving embrace.

"You ruined my dinner," she murmured.

"We'll order out," he laughed. "But first, dessert..."

As he began nuzzling her neck, she could not suppress a smile. She must have looked pretty good; there had been nothing on the plate...

Chapter 2

Mrs. Giamonte stood in foyer of her apartment building, watching her various tenants leave for work. Having reached her eighties she was vaguely aware that she was getting older, but she could not find anything to complain about...physically. She still cooked and cleaned and walked and shopped and did everything she ever did, her face, form and snow white hair as familiar to her neighbors as her opinions. This morning, however, Mrs. Giamonte was looking for someone and by her calculation he should be leaving for work shortly.

The elevator doors opened and out stepped Vance Tibbet, a large smile on his face and a spring in his step. Mrs. Giamonte paused for a moment, Mister Tibbet was the husband part of her favorite couple in the building and while she genuinely liked him and his wife, she was not used to seeing him smile. Someone his size should not be smiling, she mused; it reminded her of a dog walking on its hind legs. Sure, you knew they could do it, but it just looked wrong.

"Mister Tibbet," she called out.

Vance wheeled towards her and paused, "Good morning, Mrs. Giamonte."

"Good morning, Mister Tibbet," she replied, attempting to make her voice sound pleasant and finding it an unnatural activity so early in the morning. "I was hoping to have a word with you before you left."

Vance looked down at her, unsure of where this was going to lead. Any conversation with Mrs. Giamonte might lead anywhere and to a discussion of anything. His smile vanished as he made his way closer to her.

"Certainly, is something the matter?"

Mrs. Giamonte looked around the lobby to make sure that they were alone.

Drawing closer to him, she began quietly, "I suppose, Mister Tibbet, you've seen the signs."

"The signs?" asked Vance.

"They're everywhere," stated Mrs. Giamonte, "on the buses, on the billboards...everywhere. The circus is in town, Mister Tibbet."

Vance's eyes narrowed, "Okay..."

"The circus," she repeated, with emphasis. "As you know, whenever I think there's a possibility of trouble, I like to ask you to keep an eye open for things, what with your background and everything..."

"The circus?" he asked, confused. "Why do you think the circus coming to town signals some sort of trouble?"

Mrs. Giamonte looked at him with a mixture of pity and disgust.

"Oh you newly married people, so in love, so happy, everything is a rainbow." Her scrawny index finger appeared beneath his nose, "That's not life, Mister Tibbet, that's not reality. In Italy, where I grew up, the circus came to town once, it was a big deal. We didn't have TV's in those days, back then, if you wanted to amuse yourself you picked up a stick or a rock and you made up a game, there was no radio, nothing. The circus came to town and everyone was happy, "Oh, we're gonna have a festival, we're gonna have fun", they said. The next day, the men went to work in the fields and you know what happened?"

Vance shook his head no.

"The circus people came into town and they raped all the women and abducted all the children."

Vance frowned, "You were kidnapped?"

"No," replied Mrs. Giamonte, "I wasn't even born yet. My older sister, Maria, told me about it, God rest her soul. She heard it from old Mrs. Sartuchi. We used to call her "The Witch", not my sister, Mrs. Sartuchi, because she could tell the future, that and she was just as ugly as hell. What Mister Sartuchi saw in her, God only knows, because she was a miserable pain in the ass as well as being unattractive, but who knows why people get married? Anyway, that's not the point; the point is that I want you to keep an eye out, Mister Tibbet. You certainly can understand that I don't want any circus people coming in here upsetting my tenants or abducting their children."

"Mrs. Giamonte, the circus is in Manhattan, it goes there every year," replied Vance, "I've never heard of anyone being raped or abducted."

"Because we're vigilant," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "You're in the security business; you know what to look for. All I'm asking is that you do your part and I'll do mine, understand?"

Vance considered it and then slowly nodded, "Fine, Mrs. Giamonte, I'll keep my eyes open."

"Good, good," she smiled. "Together, we'll keep the building safe."

Vance smiled, "If you'll excuse me, I've got to get to work..."

"Of course," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "You go; I'll take the first watch."

Vance headed towards the door, waiting until he was outside to rub his forehead. A conversation with Mrs. Giamonte always seemed capable of giving him a headache.

***

"So how was dinner last night?" asked Ginger, handing Melissa a stack of files.

Melissa blushed slightly, "Delightful."

Ginger gave her a little slap on the arm, "I know that look. You didn't make dinner, did you?"

Melissa lowered herself into her chair, "I'm leaving early today, I have to do some shopping; we have nothing in the house."

Ginger shook her head and smiled, "Thank God that men have a one track mind. He made them that way so you don't have to waste time trying to explain things to them, you know. If you had to stop and explain everything to them, nothing would ever get done. God knows what He's doing, girl, don't forget it."

"How did things go with Carlos last night?" asked Melissa, her smile lingering as thoughts of last night drifted through her mind.

"I read him the riot act, darling," replied Ginger, her voice growing louder. "I told him, I don't need no man who can't take a lunch order in my life. He started whining and complaining, he's under pressure, he's under stress, I told him, I don't care, you ship up or shape out and I mean it! He was sorry, so I let him take me out for dinner to apologize. You have to let them know who's boss, but you have to forgive them too. Can't help it they're simple minded... like my Tete used to say, "Can't blame a donkey for being a jackass". "

"Well, it was nice that you forgave him," smiled Melissa, a feeling of pity for Carlos rising in her breast.

Ginger drew closer to the desk, "I've seen some names I don't recognize on the schedule today, what's that about?"

"Well, I thought I could take on a few more new clients," stated Melissa.

"More crazies?" asked Ginger. "Don't we work hard enough with the bunch we got already? You always running late as it is..."

"I have a colleague who has been turning patients away, he's thinking of retiring and I told him that he could recommend me," replied Melissa. "Things have been a bit slow lately and we need customers in order to stay in business you know."

"I understand business, don't need no lecture," smiled Ginger. "Now back to these new crazies, what's wrong with them? They ain't violent are they?"

"You know I don't take violent patients," replied Melissa. "I wouldn't put you in any sort of danger."

"Thank you," replied Ginger. "So we got a few more average, run of the mill crazies."

"Ginger, you shouldn't refer to our patients that way, it's not professional."

"All right, all right, don't shoot the messenger. You want me to call them?"

"I already scheduled them when you were out at lunch yesterday," smiled Melissa. "One of them is my first client this afternoon."

Ginger shrugged and sauntered out of the door and back to her desk. She loved Melissa like a sister but sometimes she wished she was a dentist. New crazy people always made her nervous.

***

Doctor Nora Gate was a small chubby woman in her late fifties crammed into a blue pants suit and ugly tight black shoes. Her hair was reddish blonde and her face was flabby and overly made up. She walked unhappily out of her massive office and confronted her secretary, a small, slight, attractive Latina woman with short grey hair dressed in a floral shirt and tan slacks.

"Carmen, I have an appointment in the Bronx this morning," she announced. "I'll be back in time for lunch."

"But Doctor Gate," began Carmen, "you are scheduled for two appointments before lunchtime..."

"Cancel them," called the doctor over her shoulder as she made her way towards the door.

Carmen pursed her lips and said nothing as the short, stout figure made its way towards the elevator. With a shake of her head, she began seeking out the phone numbers to cancel the doctor's appointments. With a deep breath, she shook her head and worked to remain calm. The doctor always acted this way, made plans and then changed her schedule without notifying anyone leaving Carmen to make the excuses and clean up the mess. Carmen counted to ten and took another deep breath. Just another day working for Doctor Nora Gate...

***

Doctor Gate drove her car through Manhattan's late morning traffic, the radio program a dull buzz in the background as she fought to distract her mind from her thoughts. Per usual, she was in a foul mood and as she always did when upset, she reviewed the problems she had faced in her lifetime. She always had to compensate for other's ignorance regarding her, she was too short or too heavy, not attractive enough or too intelligent; she had suffered all of her life from people placing subjective obstacles in her way.

In her memory, no part of her life had been pleasant. Women were not supposed to become doctors when she was young, women were not supposed to start companies when she was young, women did nothing when she was young, but she had done it all and now, someone was angry with her, angry at her success, angry at who she had become. She knew who hated her. Ingrates, they were all ingrates!

She was used to threats, she had been able to ignore the threats in the beginning, her company housed unstable people after all, but now the threats were different. This wasn't someone who was threatening her because they weren't getting enough toilet paper or because the soup was too cold, these threats were different, more specific and more personal in nature. This was a different type of anger, a rage that frightened her, though she would never admit it, not even to herself. She had shown no one the notes but had consulted her head of security at the Bronx center. He was too simple minded to confide in, he would have immediately suggested that she go to the police, but she would not risk a scandal, not now especially. Besides, she could not afford to have the police looking into things. What would happen if the news leaked to the media? A scandal could ruin not only the agency but all of her plans. If she could get a bodyguard, the threat would disappear, she was sure of that, but it had to be done in a certain way or all was lost.

She had wanted to avoid meeting the security people in person, but there was no one whom she could trust. She would meet with them, but they would learn nothing. Once they had frightened those who needed to be frightened they would be out of her life.

She shook her head, remembering the first fellow that her idiot security man had contacted. He was enormous, a frightening giant who had almost unnerved her. He ended the interview stating that he was not the right person for the job, but he knew someone who was and he gave her the information for the people whom she was meeting with today. The Bronx center offered a good location for the meeting; the staff were all afraid of her and would never question her meeting with anyone there, happy to not have to meet with her themselves. That and Doris was there; it had been a while since she had seen Doris, not since Ramon had died...no, on second thought, don't think of that.

She returned to her favorite theme, she had always been different, smarter than the rest, stronger than the rest...she had changed, evolved. After she had been appointed Deputy Health Commissioner for the city how they had fallen all over themselves to gain her favor. Then Ramon had gotten sick and had coerced her into returning to take over Vitatown. Things had been so much better before, before Ramon had gotten sick, before things had changed. She had never wanted to leave her job, but there was no one else and Ramon had begged, pleaded. She had returned to Vitatown and had been trying to make it relevant and important once more. It had launched her career once, it would do it again. She heard the remarks her underlings were making about her, heard how those who once feared her now had begun to criticize her.

She had shown them once and she was showing them all over again. The new program had changed their minds, there was nothing like it anywhere in the city. Suddenly they were falling all over themselves to give her awards again. If only she had not had to involve Nydia...

Nydia Sanchez was the type of person Doctor Gate hated most; attractive, bright and so ethnic! That type of person was usually repellant to Doctor Gate but Nydia possessed other qualities; she was willing to do almost anything to succeed and in that sense they were very much alike. Doctor Gate understood unbridle ambition and deeply admired it. All that she had done to make them see her as a real person, not some Latina interloper and then to be reduced to having Nydia Sanchez head her most important program. It had all been Ramon's doing, he had forced it on her and it still rankled. Unfortunately, she still needed Nydia, at least for the time being. Nydia could be manipulated and even as her world fell down around her, she would believe, she so desperately needed to believe... Doctor Gate laughed, once the program was set, once the reports finished, Nydia would find herself out looking for another job. She would know better than to open her mouth, they would never believe her, not a nothing like Nydia Sanchez.

Pulling into the parking lot, she took the handicapped parking space closest to the front door and retrieving a file folder from the seat next to her. As she entered the building she could see a flurry of activity, everyone wishing to appear busy because she had arrived.

A young woman with long, straight dark hair and large brown eyes sat at the battered reception desk that stood just inside the lobby doors. The foyer area was a large, rundown and cold place where poor people lined up to seek help or just reassurance that there was point for living another day. Looking up from the ancient computer, the receptionist tried hard not to show her surprise at the doctor's approach.

Doris had not changed, at least from the neck up, thought Gate as she shuffled closer. Such lovely hair, thought the doctor. She wondered if she still had those adorable dimples when she smiled. The poor girl could not hide her surprise, thought Gate, so much the better...

"Doctor Gate, welcome," said Doris, forcing a smile.

"Thank you," she replied, concealing her delight that the dimples were still present. "I will be using the conference room this morning. My guests will ask for me, just direct them to the conference room."

"Certainly doctor," replied Doris.

Gate hovered for a moment and then decided to say nothing more. With a nod she made her way down the corridor to a set of doors, through which one encountered another corridor. She heard the rush of activity increase as she entered the hallway, everyone suddenly growing busy at her approach. Gaining the end of the corridor, she opened yet another set of doors and entered the conference room. It was a large room desperately in need of a paint job. A video screen hung limply from the ceiling and in the center of the room stood two large tables pushed against each other, their chapped surfaces chaffing against one another. There was an odd assortment of battered metal chairs surrounding the tables on all sides, with one, lone cushioned chair on wheels at the head of the table. Moving to that chair, Gate sat down and frowned as she checked her watch. Ten minutes, these people had ten minutes.

A discreet knock at the door alerted her that her company had arrived. Checking her watch again, she frowned, they were early.

"Come in," she called out.

Vance entered the room and nodded at her, closing the door discretely behind him.

"Doctor Gates," he stated, extending his hand towards her. "I am Vance Tibbet of Tibbet Security; a pleasure to meet you."

"It is Doctor GATE, not Gates," corrected the doctor, offering him a limp hand, which he shook cordially and released. "Your company has been recommended to me."

"I understand that you are seeking a bodyguard," stated Vance as he took a seat which she had failed to offer him.

With a brief glance he took in the doctor and returned his attention to her face. Two facts immediately drew his attention. First, she was older than she wanted to appear and secondly, there was something unnatural in her speech, an over enunciation of words as if she had attempted to remove a speech problem.

"It is unfortunate, but we live in a dangerous world," she stated blandly. "I work with many people who are not sound mentally. I believe that it is time that I invest in some form of protection."

"Have there been any recent incidents?" asked Vance, retrieving a notepad from his pocket.

"Incidents?" asked the doctor, studying him with veiled eyes.

"Have you been threatened or has anyone acted aggressively towards you?" asked Vance.

"No more than usual," she responded.

"And what is usual?" asked Vance, his face impassive.

"One cannot deal with homeless people and not expect for there to be aggression," began Gate. "People who are living in a downward spiral have a tendency to be irrational and unstable. I am the face of this agency, Mister Tibbet; so naturally, they believe that I am aware of every problem and the cure to every ailment."

Vance leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him on the table, "It was my understanding that you no longer deal directly with your clients, but instead, act through program and department heads..."

"I am not in constant contact with them, no," replied Gate, glancing away. "Certainly you understand that there are aggressive individuals outside of the people who are our clients."

"Of course," responded Vance. He paused for a moment and waited for her to continue, but she made no effort to do so. "Doctor, I think that it is important that we are completely honest with one another. I can provide you with a bodyguard, but that person will not be effective if they do not know what it is they are up against. Just like you, doctor, we have to examine the situation objectively and find the best way of dealing with each individual problem. Now, doctor, have you been threatened in any specific manner?"

"No," she replied, a beat too quickly.

"No?" he asked.

"No," she replied more firmly. "I merely wish to have additional security because of the areas in which I must travel. Certainly you read the papers, Mister Tibbet. Some of my housing units are in high crime areas and I no longer feel safe in visiting them without additional protection."

Vance nodded, "You speak of additional protection, doctor. What protection is currently in place?"

"Every location has a security unit," replied the doctor. "They maintain order in each building and patrol the parking areas and immediate vicinity."

"Are these people your employees or an outside agency?" asked Vance. Upon entering the building Vance had noted no security guards, no cameras and no tell tale signs of any sort of emergency personnel.

"It is our own security division," she stated. "There is training for every member, they aren't allowed to carry weapons, but we equip them with walkie-talkies and flashlights and night sticks."

And apparently invisibility pills, thought Vance, "I see..."

"Also, the buildings are all alarmed and up to code. Finally, it is the responsibility of the program directors to report any misconduct by the clients to the police. I try to make sure that my employees are as safe as possible..."

Looking at the doctor, he could see that she was watching him. Vance had no idea of how good a doctor Gate might be, but she was a poor liar. It was obvious that there was more here than she was telling him; he suspected a threat, but from whom he had no idea.

"What do you expect from a bodyguard?" he asked quietly.

"I would want them to accompany me from my home to work every morning, remain with me in my office all day, follow me if my business requires me to travel about the city and make sure that I return safely to my home at the end of the day."

"So you do not want them to remain at your home or for us to provide security of any sort overnight?"

"No," she interrupted, "I only wish to have them about during the work day."

Vance mulled it over. The doctor was afraid of someone or something, this was not a casual request for increased security, but she was not going to give him the information he was requesting. His instinct told him to walk away from the request, but something made him pause. Perhaps in time she would grow to trust them and then, he might truly be able to help her more than she was currently willing to allow them.

"Very well, Doctor Gate," he said. "Today is Thursday, I'll have one of my men at your home Monday morning, say about seven o'clock?"

"That will be fine," she replied. "One other thing, Mister Tibbet; I want the bill made out to Vitatown, but I do not want it to appear for the services we have discussed. Perhaps the bill could appear to be for consulting work. I don't want anyone within the agency to know that I have a bodyguard. It would produce jealousy amongst the other executives...you understand..."

"We can submit the bill in any form that you desire, Doctor Gates, but don't you think your colleagues will get suspicious when they see someone standing behind you all of the time?" asked Vance.

"I was hoping that we might introduce them as my new assistant," stated the doctor. "We could say that they are working with me on a new project, it isn't anyone's business why they are there."

"What about when you meet with people outside of the company?"

"I can tell them that they are my new assistant and that I am acting as a mentor," stated the doctor. "All of my previous mentors merely attended meetings to observe, not to participate. No one will be the wiser, I assure you."

"Very well," he replied. "I will try to get someone who is younger and might appear to be someone you would mentor. They will be at your home Monday morning to escort you to work."

Opening a file folder on the table in front of her, the doctor removed an envelope and presented it to Vance.

"This should cover the first week's expenses," she stated.

Vance took the envelope and opened it, checking the amount and then placed it in his jacket pocket.

"Very well, Doctor Gates," he nodded. "If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me at any time."

Turning, he left the room. The doctor sat alone for a moment and then sighed. She had to be careful until Monday; it would all be all right on Monday.

Glancing at the door, she pondered her next move. Go back to the office and just stay there, she counseled herself; that would be best. Rising, she collected her things and began the journey back to her car. Approaching the front desk she hesitated and stopped. Doris looked up at her, hoping she would merely continue out the door.

"Doris," she hesitated, her face an unemotional mask, "I believe we should speak."

"Yes, doctor," asked Doris, the loathing rising within her. More than anyone at Vitatown, she had no wish to speak with Doctor Nora Gate.

"I would appreciate it if you would come to my home this evening, say about eight o'clock," stated the doctor, checking the appointment calendar in her phone. "No, no, make it seven o'clock, seven o'clock tonight..."

"I'm not sure..." began Doris.

"Seven o'clock," repeated the doctor. "I will be expecting you."

Doris watched her leave, what could she say? She would be there; perhaps after all, it would be the best thing to do.

Chapter 3

"The doctor will see you now," stated Ginger in her most professional voice. Opening Melissa's office door, she gestured the young man inside and once he had passed her, opened her eyes wide, pursed her lips and shook her head to Melissa disapprovingly.

"Thank you, Ginger, that will be all," stated Melissa, working mightily to suppress a smile. Why had she hired a lunatic as her receptionist?

The young man who stood before her appeared to be in his mid to late twenties. He was about Melissa's height, slightly built with fair skin and light brown hair. He looked at Melissa in a nervous fashion, obviously seeking direction.

"Won't you please sit down, Mister O'Leary?" asked Melissa, gesturing him towards a chair and taking the one opposite him. "My name is Melissa Tibbet; I am very pleased to meet you..."

"You're the doctor?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, I'm your doctor," replied Melissa. "I want to assure you, Mister O'Leary, that anything we discuss is strictly between us and will never leave this room." He seemed to relax somewhat, so she continued, "Now Mister O'Leary, how may I help you."

"I have a problem, doctor," he started rapidly. "I've had it all my life, my whole life,"

"I see," she replied, opening up her binder and preparing to take notes.

"It's not easy for me to admit this, I've never admitted it to anyone, I don't know..." he stopped speaking, obviously struggling to maintain his composure.

"You can do it, Mister O'Leary...Sean. May I call you Sean?"

He looked up at her, his eyes pained, "Yes, yes of course. Call me Sean..."

"You can tell me anything, Sean," she replied. "This is a safe place; I want you to remember that always. You are safe here."

Sean gulped and nodded, "Doctor...Doctor Tibbet, I'm...I'm..."

"Yes, Sean?" asked Melissa patiently.

"Doctor Tibbet, I'm transethnological," he sputtered. Taking a deep breath, he smiled, "I've said it, I can't believe I've said it!"

"Excellent, I'm glad were able to confide that to me," smiled Melissa, a slight confusion in her eyes. "But to be completely honest, Sean, I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that word. What is a transethnoligical?"

He looked at her, his eyes triumphant, "I'm not surprised Doctor, it's not something they teach in medical school. In fact, it's a word I coined myself because I could not find any word that accurately described my condition."

"What do you believe is your condition, Sean?" asked Melissa.

Hunching forward, he spoke in a low, confidential tone.

"Ever since I was a young boy, doctor, I knew I was different. You see, my mother is Irish, my father is Irish, my brothers are Irish, my sisters are Irish, my aunts, uncles, grandparents, friends, well, they are ALL Irish."

"You're Irish," replied Melissa, "I understand..."

"No doctor," replied Sean, "them...THEY'RE all Irish, but me... I'm not. Doctor, I'm not Irish..."

"Were you adopted?" asked Melissa, trying to hide her confusion.

"No, I'm not adopted," replied Sean. "If I were, it would be easy, wouldn't it? You see doctor, I'm transethnological; I'm a Norwegian trapped in the body of an Irishman."

Melissa frowned, "I'm afraid I don't understand..."

"Ever since I was a child, I didn't fit in," he lamented. "Even today, when I'm together with my brothers, they all fight and drink beer and argue sports but I stand in the corner, longing for lutefisk and pining for the fjords..."

"You believe that you're Norwegian?" asked Melissa, trying hard to maintain an even tone.

"I AM Norwegian," he replied. "I love everything Norwegian and I hate everything Irish. I hate the color green and pubs and potatoes, oh how I HATE potatoes..."

"Have you ever been to Norway?" asked Melissa, not completely sure of how to proceed.

"To the motherland?" asked Sean. "No, no, I haven't, I haven't the nerve. How could I go there when people think I'm an Irishman, I'd be living a lie!"

"I see," lied Melissa. "Have you ever considered changing your name or adopting Norwegian customs?"

"Once, when I was a teenager, my mother came into my room and caught me wearing cross country skis. I had a pair hidden in my closet...She walked in and there I was, adjusting the straps on my boots...She never said anything, but she knew, she had to have known..."

"And you were afraid that you had disappointed her?" asked Melissa.

"What Irish mother doesn't want an Irish child?" he replied. "How would you feel if after slaving all of your life to raise your child to be a good Irishman he suddenly announces that he's Norwegian? The shame, oh the shame..."

Melissa took a sip of water from the glass next to her chair and offered a brief smile to Sean.

"Perhaps there are other issues here that are manifesting themselves in your desire to become Norwegian," she offered. "Perhaps it would be best to start by discussing your relationship with your mother. Do you feel that in some way you've disappointed her?"

"How could she not be disappointed?" he moaned. "I hosted St. Paddy's Day last year for the whole family; all she wanted was some corned beef and cabbage and I served reinsdrysteik..."

A knock at the door interrupted them. Melissa rose and crossed to the door, opening it a crack.

"How's it going with the new patient?" whispered Ginger.

"Hold all my calls," replied Melissa. "This might take a while..."

***

Len Edwards sauntered into Vance's office with a weary smile. Len was tall, well over six feet in height with light blonde hair and light blue eyes. He gave the impression to the casual observer of being some sort of long, lanky poet. Beneath his willowy exterior and frail appearance, however, Len was the possessor of a quick and penetrating mind and was Vance's right hand man. Folding his lanky form into the chair that Ben had earlier used, Len handed Vance a folder.

"I'm thinking that we use Barry Todd for Doctor Gate," he said softly. "He looks like someone fresh out of college; it would fit in with her whole the mentoring scenario..."

Vance nodded, "Barry could pull it off. Besides, he's got experience and she's not telling us something."

"What do you think she's hiding?"

Vance leaned back in his chair, "I think she was threatened. I'm assuming it was at work because she doesn't want him to cover her at home."

"I did some background work on her," stated Len, pointing to the file. "There's a wide range of possibilities or none at all."

"What do you mean?"

"Originally she's from the Dominican Republic, came to New York when she was ten. Went to public school, City University graduate, started Vitatown with her partner, Ramon Gonzalez, about thirty years ago. They house homeless people, try to get them off the streets, get them healthy and productive. They have programs where they provide housing, teach job skills, offer job placement, that sort of thing. About five years into it, she was asked to take a post in the city government, gradually she worked her way up to deputy commissioner of mental health. In the meantime, her partner ran the agency for all those years until a few years ago when he retired due to health issues and she came back to run the company. Since her return, there have been quite a number of personnel changes at Vitatown. Finally, she's also trying to get a new program off the ground, a suicide prevention program for teenagers that has nothing to do with what the agency normally does."

"What about the partner?" asked Vance. "Might there be some sort of trouble there?"

"Died a little over a year ago," replied Len. "Apparently he was more than just a business partner. They lived together, a brownstone in Brooklyn in Park Slope..."

"Then that's out. So she's had a varied career," stated Vance. "I understand why you say a wide range, but why none at all?"

Len shook his head, "Frankly Vance, as far as I can tell, she's a bureaucrat. She's a doctor of psychiatry, but she's always held administrative positions, even in her own company I have no record of her dealing directly with the patients. Also, as far as I can see, she never made any truly important decisions when she worked for the city, she was a paper pusher. If she's known for anything at all it is for having always toed the party line. Her return to the agency offers some possibilities, but even there, I don't see anything that would cause this reaction on her part. You have to figure with a new boss there is going to be some defections and dissatisfaction..."

"You said there was a big change in personnel," replied Vance.

"I've spoken to some of those who have left," stated Len. "It's about evenly split between those who left on their own and those whom she has fired. Those who left felt compelled to leave, didn't like the change or the new regime and those who were fired felt they had been let go for all the wrong reasons. Apparently her partner, the old boss, let his department heads run things, he sounded like an easy going guy. The consensus is that she's petty, a nitpicker. Many of them just got tired of her looking over their shoulders so they bolted."

"Anything else about her personal life?" asked Vance.

"She and her partner never married," Len shrugged. "Other than business lunches or affairs that are in some way connected with work, she doesn't seem to have a social life, at least not one I can track at this distance. Doesn't seem to have any friends or enemies, I just don't see who would get that worked up over her."

Vance opened the file and perused it for a moment.

"What about this new program, the anti-suicide thing?"

Len shrugged, "It's supposed to target girls between the ages of thirteen and nineteen, the agency has been working hard to get the thing funded...As I said it has nothing to do with their homeless operation, it seems a bit of an odd stretch on the surface, but I don't think anyone would argue that keeping kids from killing themselves is a good idea."

"Seems a bit of a jump from helping the homeless though," mused Vance.

"The program started about a year after she took over. It is run out of their Bronx offices, not one of the Bronx homeless shelter they run, but their corporate office and doctor's center in the Bronx. The center is near the shelter, it's sort of a clinic for the people they house in the area, Vitatown supplies services and have their office staff set up there. They have a program director and a couple of other people working with a group of about thirteen girls, that's all I got," replied Len. "I agree it seems like a stretch from what the agency is known for, but I'm not an expert on this stuff. Frankly, I don't have any idea who might have threatened her or if she even was threatened; other than her evasiveness, we have nothing to go on."

"Did you speak to Barry about the job?"

"Not yet," replied Len. "I wanted to speak to you first."

"Put Barry on it," said Vance softly. "Tell him he starts Monday morning; have him at her house by seven o'clock. It may be nothing, but I'm confident that he can handle anything that might come up."

"Will do," replied Len. "Anything else?"

"No," replied Vance.

Len rose and left, leaving Vance alone with his thoughts. Something about this just didn't add up. He looked back down at the file and shook his head. Maybe he was just being over cautious. Either way, there was no more he could do at the moment. Placing the file in his in box, he went back to what he was doing before Len had interrupted him.

***

Barry Todd was a tall, well proportioned African-American man who looked to be in his early twenties, even though he was in his mid thirties. A former Marine, he had worked as a police officer before leaving the force at his wife's request and joining Tibbet Security. Dressed in a suit, his chiseled features drew admiring glances from his new female co-workers as he was escorted into Doctor Gate's office.

Barry disguised his surprise at the size of the corner office and everything in the room. The receptionist promised him that Doctor Gate would be along shortly and left him alone. With the receptionist gone, Barry looked about the room, laughing to himself that if the occupant had been a male, he would have been accused of trying to overcome some sort of inherent deficiency. Everything seemed oversized and completely disproportioned.

The doctor's office was larger than most conference rooms that Barry had been in, easily sixty feet by sixty feet. A corner office, the two outer walls were all glass from floor to ceiling offering the occupant a spectacular view of the river and a view up the west side of Manhattan. Along the wall upon which the door stood was the doctor's desk, a massive platform that seemed as long as a train car. The desk sported two computers and at least three laptops covered in copious amounts of paperwork and files. In the center of the room stood a long conference table that could easily accommodate twenty and on the wall to Barry's left, multiple file cabinets. All of the furniture appeared to be made of black glass, from the desk to the table to the chairs and the filing cabinets. The carpet was a steel grey and the lighting fixtures were recessed into a ceiling that hovered fifteen feet above him.

Despite multiple assurances from the receptionist, the doctor did not return to her office for well over an hour, ample time for Barry to peruse her desk and form some opinions. When the doctor did arrive, she merely retreated to her chair behind the desk and acknowledged him with a sullen nod of her head.

Barry rose from the conference table where he was seated and proceeded to approach the desk, his dark eyes examining his charge. Vance's assessment had been spot on as Barry knew it would be. Taking the seat opposite her, he brought the binder he held in his hand to his lap and opened it.

"Doctor Gate, my name is Barry Todd and I'm your new bodyguard," he stated. "I think it would be best if we got to know each other a little bit."

"It is a pleasure to meet you Mister Todd," stated the doctor casually, "I am afraid that I am rather busy right now, an emergency. If you can just wait a few minutes..."

"I've been waiting for over an hour doctor," interrupted Barry. "Perhaps you would prefer if I came back on Monday."

The doctor looked up at him and frowned, "That would not be convenient."

"My time is valuable, Doctor Gate and in order for it to be worth your while to pay for it, it would be best if you put your emergency aside for ten minutes and gave me the information I need right now," he stated flatly. Checking his binder, he began formally, "You phoned this morning requesting that my assignment be made this afternoon rather than Monday morning. Has anything happened that I should know about that caused you to change your request?"

"No, nothing," replied the doctor.

Barry leaned back and smiled, "Doctor, you've misunderstood my question. What has happened that caused you to change your request?"

"Nothing," she insisted. "My schedule provided me with some additional time this afternoon to discuss your duties with you so I requested that you appear today instead of on Monday. Unfortunately an emergency came up and I was unable to meet you at the appointed hour."

Barry considered it. He decided that he did not believe her story, but he let it pass.

"What project are you mentoring me on?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter," she replied.

"It does matter," he responded. "I have to appear to belong, doctor, if I don't people will become suspicious. If people become suspicious, I cannot do my job efficiently."

The doctor frowned, "Fine, then you will be learning about my new program, LockLife."

Barry smiled, "And could you give me some information about LockLife?"

The doctor gave a slight moan and rolled her eyes, "LockLife is a program aimed at reducing the incident of suicide in teenage girls. Currently, the program is housed in one of the rooms at our Bronx services center. The girls meet there five days a week and receive counseling and participate in a program to build their self esteem. Here," she snapped, searching about her desk and then finding a brochure, which she handed to him, "this will give you all of the particulars."

"Who is in charge of the program?" asked Barry as placed the brochure in his binder and casually returned to taking notes.

"The program leader is Nydia Sanchez; she is a social worker," Gate reported with barely contained distain.

"If the program is in the Bronx, why am I working with you here?"

"Because I am the creator of the program," she huffed. "When you are mentoring someone, they have to learn about the creation process before having any hands on experience."

Barry nodded, unsure if he bought into her reasoning, but willing to let it pass for the moment.

"One final question, doctor," he replied. "Do you have any particular reason to fear anyone? Is there anyone you are uneasy in regards too?"

"Mister Todd," she snapped, "a person in my position is threatened everyday; by dissatisfied clients, city workers, even the police! I do not put any stock in threats!"

Barry offered a cool smile, "And yet, I'm here. Very well, doctor, I think we understand each other. I will be here for your protection, if at any point something does occur, I would ask that you follow my instructions to the letter. In the meantime, I will be more than happy to follow your lead. Given my supposed position in your organization, I will speak when spoken to, but otherwise, I will do my best not to be noticed. Is there anything further that you would like me to do?"

The doctor looked at him blandly, "Nothing. For now, just sit there so that I can make a few phone calls. We won't be disturbed."

Barry nodded as he quickly reviewed his notes. He was certain that this was not going to be an easy assignment.

Chapter 4

Melissa eased herself down onto her side and peered over the edge of her husband's side of the bed.

"So much for my red nightie..."

"Did I tear it?" asked Vance, craning his neck for a better look.

"To shreds," she laughed, melting into his chest as he wrapped his large arms around her.

"It's your fault," he laughed, rubbing his cheek against her silky brown hair, "you're entirely too sexy."

"Hey, it takes two to tango," she giggled. "You just don't expect to get your clothing torn to shreds while doing it..."

They lay together for a time and then he spoke.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," he began softly.

"Well, if you're ready again..."

"Not yet," he laughed, "no, I wanted to ask you about something else."

"What is it?" she cooed, snuggling closer to him.

"Have you ever heard of a Doctor Nora Gate?"

Melissa frowned in thought for a moment and then nodded, "Yes, I've heard of her. I don't know her though we have met a few times, at seminars and things..."

"Do you know anything about her?" he asked.

She gave a slight shrug, "Not much. She worked in the city government; she was a big wig in the mental health division for many years. I heard that she runs some non-profit now, that's all I really know. Oh, and she's on the awardees' circuit..."

"Awardees' circuit?"

"When non-profits want to have a fundraiser, they give out yearly awards to people. Most of the time the people are well known, safe bets, you know, nothing too controversial, someone people either know and like or know and fear, so they go to the awards and pay a lot of money for a table to support the agency and kiss up to the awardees, that sort of thing."

"So she's well liked?" asked Vance.

"I wouldn't say that," she replied. "Again, I really don't know her so I can only tell you the rumors I've heard. As far as the awards go, she's a safe bet because of her connections; she can fill a banquet room. Other than her work for the city, I've never heard anything much about her. She always struck me as kind of bland; she likes the status quo..."

"Anything else?" he asked, pulling her closer.

"Well, I remember hearing a rumor about her from about a year ago," she confessed. "Why is this important?"

"It isn't," replied Vance. "She just became one of my clients today so I'm just trying to get a better idea of what I'm dealing with, that is all." Kissing her gently, he smiled, "So what did you hear?"

"Well, if I remember correctly she was trying to start a new program, something for teenagers," said Melissa, her hands gently caressing his chest. "A friend of mine told me that on paper it looked like a good idea, but she had heard that there were some problems. It sounded to her like it was being pushed too quickly, but again, it's a rumor. I don't know if it is true, it could have just been a case of sour grapes..."

Her hands descended lower and he smiled as she caressed him.

"Well, well, seems like you're ready now..."

He smiled as she rose up on all fours and straddled him, slowly descending onto his quickly growing manhood. It took him a moment to find his pace and then to gradually increase it. Melissa eased back, resting her hands on his legs and enjoying the sensations that were coursing through her body. Peering up at the ceiling, she moaned and then smiled to herself. This was wonderful, but she really had to stop doing this and get to the grocery store tomorrow...

***

"Have a good evening, doctor," smiled Barry as the doctor grabbed her briefcase, opening the passenger door practically before he stopped and exited the car.

Doctor Gate climbed the steps to her Brooklyn brownstone and fought with the door to get inside as quickly as possible to be rid of him.

"A strange and miserable woman," whispered Barry. He was happy to put this day behind him, smiling at the idea that he had the weekend to recover.

Doctor Gate entered her vintage brownstone, turning to lock her front doors behind her before then unlocking the interior set of doors. She entered the foyer, placing her briefcase on a small table to her left and then stopped to listen. The house was silent; it always seemed to be silent. She had quickly adjusted to living alone, perhaps because Ramon had been so quiet. She paused and then shrugged away the thought of Ramon; when he was well he had his uses, but it had been difficult once he had gotten sick. Oh well, the extra closet space had come in handy...

Removing her coat, she walked past the living room and out into the kitchen. Habit caused her to open the refrigerator, but she knew there would be nothing inside. Nora Gate did not cook, not for herself and certainly not for anyone else. Her frown deepened; what to do for dinner? Order in or go out? It had been such a miserable day with that "bodyguard" that perhaps it would be best to go out. A walk would clear her head before company arrived.

Doctor Gate trudged back to the front door and unlocking the doors, slid outside and descended the steps, heading up towards Fifth Avenue. The doctor lived in the fashionable part of Park Slope, an affluent Brooklyn neighborhood just over the river from Manhattan. Specialty stores, ethnic restaurants and bars dotted the major avenues in this section, her section. She often boasted of the rich variety in her neighborhood, though she almost never took advantage of it. Reaching the corner, she eyed the various restaurants she could see and tried to make up her mind, what would she have tonight? As she stood, she felt her feet beginning to throb.

"Fine," she muttered, her feet having made the decision.

Crossing the street, she plodded her way to the door of "El Greco", a Greek themed restaurant. After waiting fifteen minutes for her request for a gyro and salad to be fulfilled, she found herself back at her front door, thinking about the program expense reports that she had taken home with her. She would need to adjust them before she forwarded them to the finance department. A voice behind her startled her and she spun to see Doris approaching her stairs from the opposite direction from which she had come.

"Doctor Gate," state the younger woman formally.

"Doris," replied the doctor, examining the large, shapeless coat that the younger woman wore with a frown. "Please, come in."

Doris smiled stiffly, the falseness of the smile unable to mask the dimples that she sported. Following the doctor through the doors and into the foyer, she watched the older woman remove her coat and set her bag down upon the side table next to her briefcase.

"Take off your coat," stated the doctor. "I'll make us some tea."

"I wouldn't wish you to go to any trouble," replied Doris stiffly.

"No trouble," replied the doctor. "I appreciate you coming tonight. There are a few details I was hoping we might discuss."

The doctor moved off down the hallway towards the kitchen, leaving Doris to remove her coat and hang it on the hooks that protruded from the wall.

"I see that you had the house painted," Doris stated quietly, forcing herself to speak. She took note of the doctor's diplomas and the many awards decorating the walls with a disinterested air. "It's very nice..."

"Thank you," replied the doctor.

Doris followed the voice, slowly making her way to the kitchen. As she entered, she saw the doctor bent over the kitchen sink, just finishing filling a teapot with some water. Turning towards her, the doctor stopped and hesitated for just a moment before continuing to the stove.

The way Doris looked had caught her by surprise. It had been almost two years now and she had no idea of what to expect, but nothing had changed. While her face was pleasant, Doctor Gate had always felt that there was nothing particularly noteworthy or striking about Doris' face. What had given her pause was the fact that beneath her shapeless coat, Doris had been wearing a short, low cut sundress that emphasized her figure. She certainly had a beautiful figure, mused the doctor, her breasts large and firm and her legs sleek and shapely and such a tiny waist. Gate grimaced inwardly at her reaction; it was how the people she despised would have reacted. It didn't matter what was in the girl's mind, all they would think about was her appearance...

"Won't you come in and sit down?" asked Gate, trying to hide her annoyance with herself.

The younger woman moved smoothly to one of the chairs that stood next to the small table that sat in the middle of the kitchen. Lowering herself down onto the chair, she pulled awkwardly at her dress in an attempt to make sure that she was not immodest.

"It has been a long time," stated the doctor.

"Yes...yes it has," replied Doris.

"I have not seen you since the funeral," stated the doctor, her face descending into a frown.

"I thought it best," replied Doris.

Gate shrugged, "Perhaps you were right, perhaps...not."

***

Nydia Sanchez ran into the conference room and began quickly unpacking the two tote bags she was carrying. She had run out to the store because once again they were short on supplies for tonight's session. Fighting her growing frustration, she checked the clock that ticked quietly on the wall. The girls would be here in less than half an hour...

Stepping out into the hall, she moved quickly to retrieve some papers from her office. With a smile, she noted the admiring glances of several of her co-workers. Nydia was in her late twenties and while usually professional in her attitude, she skirted the line of propriety with her choice of clothing. If you had it why not flaunt it, she reasoned and Nydia had it. Her red dress was skin tight and appeared even brighter above her dark stockings and high black heels. Gathering her papers, she returned to the conference room and began organizing herself. The door to the room swung open and in stepped her colleague, Rachel Woods.

While sharing many of the same ideas, Rachel and Nydia could not have been more unlike each other either in appearance or approach. Rachel was in her mid thirties but looked older, married with kids and took no care in her personal appearance. Her wavy hair was always sprawling wildly about her head while her chunky body was usually badly camouflaged in worn sweatpants and a bulky shirt. Upon her round face sat narrow, black glasses and her large nose sat above a too small mouth filled with too small teeth.

"Nydia," called out Rachel, "Nydia, have you got a minute?"

"Not really," called back Nydia cheerfully. "Come with me, we can talk while I panic."

Rachel slowly checked her watch, "Don't sweat it; you have a half hour before the girls arrive."

"I'd have more time if they gave me the help and the equipment I needed," snapped Nydia. Her momentary frown was replaced by a forced smile, "Sorry, Rachel, I promised I wasn't going to bitch anymore."

"Good luck with that thought," laughed Rachel. "Anyway, I need your assessments on those last three girls we discussed."

"I thought I had until next week," replied Nydia, scanning some of the papers.

"Moby decided she wanted them sooner," replied Rachel, Moby being their code word for Doctor Gate.

Nydia shook her head in disgust, "Why, so she can go over them and check for spelling errors? Doesn't she have anything else to do?"

"She was here earlier today," replied Rachel, her voice dropping as she drew closer. "I spoke to Luis a little while ago."

"What was it, a surprise visit?" asked Nydia. Everyone feared and hated when Doctor Gate dropped in for a surprise visit. It didn't happen often, but when it did...

"She didn't even stop to speak to anyone," replied Rachel. "Seems she had a meeting with some big guy; just the two of them. Luis thinks he was with some government agency, maybe an inspector. It was all very hush-hush and she got out of there right after they met."

"He wishes it was a government inspector," replied Nydia sullenly.

"We all do," replied Rachel. "Except for Chico, I can't think of anyone who doesn't want Ramon back."

"We all miss him," replied Nydia. "Oh, by the way, did you see what she did to the website? She had them change the history part. I couldn't believe what I was reading; it now says Vitatown was founded by Doctor Nora Gate, no mention of Ramon at ALL!"

"No," whispered Rachel.

"Yes," replied Nydia, "take a look for yourself. It makes me sick; he made this place what it is today and she comes in and tries to erase his memory."

"It's like Big Brother," replied Rachel. Looking about the room, she smiled mockingly, "I wonder if we're being recorded."

"I asked for recording equipment for this room," replied Nydia. "We should be reviewing videos of the girls as they interact with us and one another, not just tape recording our sessions..."

"That's a great idea," interrupted Rachel, "I can't wait until you get your degree..."

"I do not need the degree," snapped Nydia. Her degree was a sore subject. Due to Gate's demanding schedule and cost cutting, she no longer had the time or money to go to school.

"We won't get recording equipment anyway, it costs money," continued Nydia, rolling her eyes. "Could you do me a favor; could you get me the magic markers? They're in the bucket in the closet."

"Sure," smiled Rachel, moving to comply. "So when do you think you'll have those reports done?"

"I'll stay late and have them..."

Nydia's words were lost in the sound of Rachel's scream. Looking up, terrified, she saw the double doors to the big closet thrown open and Rachel staggering backwards into the room. The closet was a large, walk in room, about seven feet by seven feet with a ceiling some twelve feet high. The top of the doorway shielded Nydia from seeing the ceiling of the closet, but looking past Rachel, she could see a pair of legs dangling from near the light fixture in the center of the room.

"Oh God," she gasped, "not again..."

Chapter 5

Mrs. Waters stood before her building, a scarf wrapped around her head, her housedress flapping lazily near her knees in the light summer breeze.

"I hope to God it doesn't get cold already," she complained. "Summer is short enough without winter coming early."

"You hate the summer," replied Mrs. Giamonte, arms folded across her chest as she eyed the young boy across the street. She liked to keep an eye on the neighborhood for intruders and miscreants. No, she knew him, he was Pam's son, and she acknowledged him with a formal, judgmental nod as he sauntered by.

"I hate the cold more," replied Mrs. Waters. "Ever since starting this damn chemo, I get cold all the time."

"Did you hear about that little girl up in the Bronx?" asked Mrs. Giamonte suddenly. She had compassion for her friend's battle against cancer, but it was all they ever talked about anymore.

"Which one?" asked Mrs. Waters.

"The little girl who hung herself," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "Her teachers found her in a closet..."

"Yeah, I read about that," replied Mrs. Waters. "When we were kids, the teacher never let you go to the closet by yourself. These damn new age "educators" with their slick new ideas, see, this is what you get..."

"Hello Mister Tibbet, Doctor Tibbet," smiled Mrs. Giamonte as her favorite couple approached, each carrying several bags of groceries. "What, you rob the store?"

"We haven't gone shopping in a while," confessed Melissa as they drew closer. "Hello Mrs. Waters, how are you?"

"Disgusted," replied Mrs. Waters. "First the circus comes to town and now this little girl..."

"What little girl?" asked Vance.

"A little girl killed herself up in the Bronx," responded Mrs. Giamonte. "It's all over the news, very sad..."

"How old was she?" asked Melissa quietly.

"I think they said fourteen, but I'm not sure," responded Mrs. Giamonte. "At first when I heard, I thought it had something to do with the circus, but apparently, no, she hung herself in a closet. The place where she was, they had a program to help girls not commit suicide, ironic, huh?"

"What has the circus..." began Melissa, but a hard stare from Vance stopped her question. Undoubtedly it was yet another strange story concerning Mrs. Giamonte...

"Do you know the name of the place they found her?" asked Vance, his face descending into a scowl.

"I don't remember the name," replied Mrs. Giamonte.

"It was something like those happy pills"," stated Mrs. Waters.

"Happy pills?" asked Melissa.

"Yeah, I'm sure you give them to your patients," replied Mrs. Waters. "You know, when people get depressed 'cause they don't ever win the lottery or something, what do you call them?"

"Valiums," volunteered Mrs. Giamonte.

"Yeah, that's it," replied Mrs. Waters. "She was at Valiums or something like that..."

"Could it have been Vitatown?" asked Vance.

The two elderly women considered it.

"Could have been," replied Mrs. Giamonte finally. Gesturing to the bundles they were carrying, she smiled, "With all this crap you bought, you didn't get the newspaper?"

"I don't like the paper," replied Vance.

"How do you know what's going on?" asked Mrs. Giamonte. "Thank God I read the paper or we wouldn't know about the circus being here."

"I thought you saw the signs on buses," replied Vance.

"Yeah, but I read about it in the paper first," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "You have to keep up with the world, Mister Tibbet. The television news, they don't tell you everything. If you want in-depth reporting, you go to the newspaper."

"I buy the Enquirer every week to keep up on things," confessed Mrs. Waters. "Did you see that couple with the twenty three kids? The wife wants to have at least two more!"

"Can you imagine their toilet paper bill?" asked Mrs. Giamonte suddenly. "They must have to buy it by the truckload!"

"If you'll excuse us," smiled Melissa. "I want to get this upstairs before the milk goes bad."

"You go ahead, sweetheart," replied Mrs. Waters. "You go ahead..."

As they entered the building, Melissa turned to her husband with a quizzical look.

"What is all this about the circus?"

"I thought I had told you," replied Vance with a frown. "Mrs. Giamonte thinks that circus people are going to come and rape all the women and abduct all the children in the building."

"Why would she think that?" asked Melissa, pushing the button for the elevator.

"It's a long story," replied Vance. "It's kind of interesting, there's a witch involved and her older sister..."

"Forget I asked," replied Melissa as she stepped onto the elevator.

"When we get to the apartment, I've got to give Len a call," said Vance as the elevator doors closed, leaving them in silence.

"Is something wrong?"

"That girl," replied Vance. "If she died at a Vitatown center, it might have something to do with Doctor Gate's sudden need for a bodyguard."

***

"We did try to call you," repeated Carmen for the tenth time. "Nydia was able to reach me at about ten o'clock last night, she had been trying to call you but your phone just kept going to voice mail..."

"Don't tell me again, Carmen," snapped Doctor Gates. "I don't want to hear it again! Who gave her permission to call the police, WHO?"

"I believe it was Elaine..." began Carmen.

"Who the hell gave Elaine the authority to make that decision?" snapped the doctor, her angry reaching a new level. "She's the damn CFO, she doesn't make policy decisions! She doesn't make decisions concerning the patients..."

"She was the only executive that we were able to contact," replied Carmen, working hard not to lose her temper. "It says in the rules, Doctor, that before the police are summoned to any office for any reason..."

"An executive who deals with the PATIENTS!" screamed Gate. "Someone with some knowledge of psychiatry, damn it, not some stupid WASP whose sole purpose in life is to play with numbers!"

"We could not reach you!" snapped Carmen. "What the hell were we to do? You tell me, what we should do! Should we have let the girl hang there until we could reach you?"

Carmen took a deep breath, she almost never raised her voice to the doctor, but she had had enough. Carmen's outburst brought Gate back to a more even keel.

The phone remained silent for a moment and then the doctor's voice streamed out of it, still angry but under control.

"You get that jackass we pay to do public relations for us and tell him to meet me in my office in an hour," fumed Gate.

"It's Saturday," replied Carmen. "I don't know..."

"Find him," hissed Gate. "Find him now; I don't care what you have to do."

With that, Gate slammed down the phone. The press would be all over her now, just when she thought it was safe...glancing up the stairs, her frowned deepened. Stalking her way to the kitchen, she found a piece of paper and wrote a quick note, leaving it on the table in the foyer as she grabbed her briefcase and headed out the door.

A short while later, Doris came down the stairs, dark circles beneath her eyes which were heavy from lack of sleep. They had talked well into the night, pointless, endless talking. Gate had offered to allow her to sleep in Ramon's old room, but she had refused. She would not sleep over for any reason, but she had ended up spending the night. They had been interrupted numerous times by lengthy phone calls, which had given Doris and even more uneasy feeling about being there again. When the sun had begun to rise in the sky, she had retreated to the bathroom to wash her face and prepare for the long subway ride home.

"Doctor Gate?" she called out softly, praying there would not be a reply.

Making her way towards the front door, wrapping her shapeless coat around her, she saw the note just as she reached the door. With a grimace, she stepped back and grabbed it.

Dear Doris,

I had to leave on some urgent business. I will be in touch.

Nora

Doris shuddered and with a deep breath, she stole out the front door and down the stairs. She moved swiftly down the pavement, a few times breaking out into short running spurts until she reached the subway entrance. Descending the steps, she quickly retrieved her Metrocard from her purse and swiped it at the turnstile.

Rushing to the platform, she found the Saturday morning crowd much sparser than the population on a regular weekday morning. For some reason, a feeling of euphoria overtook her as the subway train lumbered into the station, easing to a halt at the platform. Entering the train, she took a seat and suddenly exhaled. Without knowing it, she had been holding her breath. She needed to get away, as far away as she could get from Nora Gate.

***

Len stretched his long arms, yawning and then adjusted the phone back near his ear.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "I wasn't expecting to be up this early..."

"Busy night last night?" asked Vance, feeling a bit odd after he said it.

Len very seldom confided details of his love life to Vance; he very seldom discussed his personal life beyond a few words about his activities over a holiday. It seemed stranger still to Vance considering that Len had served as a sounding board during his own difficult courtship of Melissa.

"I partied harder than I had intended too," confessed Len with a gruff chuckle. "And I have a houseguest..."

"I'm so sorry..." began Vance.

"No biggie," whispered Len. "Gives me some extra time to try and remember her name. God, I'm getting too old for this... anyway, I've put calls into Barry and Ben and I've spoken to my police contact in the Bronx. There are some questions about exactly what went down."

"Anything specific?"

"Not at the moment, the investigation is still too new. The only specific thing they mentioned was that they were trying to find out how the girl got into the room. The session wasn't scheduled to start for another half hour and no one remembered seeing her come in, but there are security cameras which should answer that question."

Vance nodded, "Look, if you hear anything from anyone call me on my cell. Also, please ask Ben to meet me at the office on Monday. I'm going to call George and see if he can sit in as well."

"Will do," replied Len. "I doubt I'll have much before Monday though, you know how these things work..."

"I understand," replied Vance. "Do you remember her name yet?"

Len chuckled, "It's Millie. I'm a data guy, sooner or later I find the information I need..."

Vance laughed, "Fine, if I don't hear from you, I'll speak to you on Monday."

"Later," replied Len and the line went dead.

Putting the phone down, Vance turned to find Melissa standing behind him, arms folded, a look of concern on her face.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"She really thinks that circus people abducted children?" asked Melissa.

Vance blinked, what? Oh...

"Yeah, her sister told her a story when she was a little girl..."

"If she thought about it she would probably realize that it is nonsense," murmured Melissa thoughtfully. "She probably continues to act upon the idea because it came to her from a beloved authority figure. It's how myths are created; it reinforces the bond and affection that she shared with her sister, allowing it to continue to grow despite the fact that her sister is no longer here."

Vance frowned at her and squinted, trying to follow her thoughts.

"Or, she's just plain nuts," shrugged Melissa.

Wrapping her in his arms he smiled, "I love when common sense beats out science..."

Pulling her close, he kissed her. Slowly his hands made their way down her back, slowly lifting the back of her blouse, his left hand caressing the bare skin of her lower back as his right began to glide slowly upward.

Leaning away from him she giggled, "Easy, tiger, let's put the groceries away first..."

***

Doctor Gate entered her office in a blind fury, Carmen trailing her at a respectful distance.

"I contacted Alan, he's on his way, he should be here in about an hour," she stated. "I also told Nydia to come in and to avoid reporters..."

Doctor Gate wheeled on her, "She had better say nothing to anyone! What about the police?"

"They're still at the Bronx location, it's a crime scene," replied Carmen softly. "I received a call from the message service. The police called asking to speak to you."

Gate dropped into her chair, eyes narrowing, "Call Mister Bristol, our attorney. Get him on the line; I need to ask him what we should do. Until I speak to him, I'm not speaking to the police."

Carmen nodded and left to make the call.

Gate picked up her phone and searched for the number for the Bronx center. Would there be anyone manning the switchboard today? Punching in the numbers, she waited as the phone rang and rang repeatedly. Finally, a female voice picked up on the other end.

"Vitatown, Carol speaking."

Carol? Who the hell was Carol?

"Carol this is Doctor Gate..."

"Doctor Gate," repeated the woman softly. "Doctor Gate, the police are here and they are asking to speak to you. I spoke to your secretary and she said to tell them that you could not be reached."

"Good," snapped Gate. "Say nothing to them, do you understand?"

"Yes doctor," replied Carol.

"What are they doing?" asked Gate.

"Most of them are in the conference room," replied Carol softly. "There are forensic people and people taking photos and asking questions. They have Mrs. Woods in one of the offices, asking her questions."

"Can you get a message to her?" asked Doctor Gate.

"I believe so, yes," replied Carol quietly.

"Tell her to say nothing, to wait until our attorney gets there," stated Gate. "Tell her that our attorney is on his way and that she is to say NOTHING!"

"Yes, I'll do that," Carol replied, her voice taking on a strange tone.

"Is someone there?" snapped Gate anxiously.

"Yes, that's correct," replied Carol.

Gate hung up the phone and stared for a moment at the receiver. Damn them, damn them all!

Carmen reentered the office, trailed by a large man in a pair of khakis and a polo shirt. He seemed almost as wide as he was tall, with a round, jowly face. His hair was thinning and just beginning to gray at the temples and he peered at Doctor Gate through thick, rimless glasses.

"Alan's here doctor," reported Carmen. "Mister Bristol is on his way."

"Good, good," replied the doctor. She turned on Alan with a look of fury; he was fresh meat to be put through the grinder. "Carmen, shut the door."

Carmen closed the door, retreating to her desk. She could not make out what was being said, but she could hear the doctor's voice growing louder and louder. This week was going to be hell. Two more years to retire, just two more years...

Chapter 6

Willie Rivera wandered down the street, a large smile on his happy face. Willie was about twenty five years old and no one in the neighborhood could recall a time when Willie had not seemed happy. He possessed a wonderful smile, large and sincere, emphasized by his dark, thin mustache and goatee. Everyone loved to see his brilliant white teeth set against his mocha colored skin. His eyes were dark, almost black, but with a shine to them that made others smile despite themselves. He was short and stocky, his size emphasized by the long shirts and baggy blue jeans he wore. His New York Yankee cap covered his shaved head and there was a bop in his step as he walked.

Willie had grown up as a likeable tough guy in this neighborhood. It was unusual for a man from this neighborhood to appear happy all of the time, it was a place where one needed an edge to survive, but Willie had been able to get by due to his attitude and his enormous physical strength. The boys in the neighborhood still talked about how Willie had lifted Raul over his head and thrown him off a roof. True, he had merely tossed him onto the neighboring roof, but it was enough of an event to have cemented his reputation and guarantee that most of the tough guys in the neighborhood would offer him a wide berth. Raul was a tough bastard, if Willie could toss him off a roof, better not to find out what he could do to you.

Willie sauntered into the parking lot of the local supermarket as if he were a king sliding on by to check out one of his palaces. A few people called to him from a car rolling down the street and he waved at them having no idea of who they were. The sun had just risen and the neighborhood was quiet, well, what was perceived as quiet here. The day had just barely begun. Standing to the side of the lot near the corner, Willie leaned against a concrete barrier waiting for his connection to arrive. He did not wait long.

A sound like thunder echoed down the street, reverberating in the early morning calm, growing louder as it drew closer. A huge, black motorcycle lumbered into view and on its back sat an enormous, angry looking man. The few cars on the street seemed to shy away from the pair as they slowly rolled into the parking lot and made their way over to where Willie was standing. The thunder suddenly stopped and the huge man swung his leg over the bike, rising to his full height and taking a moment to scan the neighborhood. With a slow, steady stride, he advanced on Willie, who walked up to him, grin firmly in place.

Wrapping his arms around Ben's waist, he hugged the larger man good-naturedly.

"Big brother Ben," he called out, "good to see you, man."

Ben patted him on the back, "Willie..."

"I know why you wanted to meet," stated Willie, shuffling slightly side to side. "It's about that little girl, isn't it?"

"Yeah," stated Ben. "I need you to level with me Willie; what's going on?"

Willie's head moved side to side continuously as he spoke and he looked down at Ben's feet, "I don't know, you know? I mean, when I heard, well, it made me think things don't quite add up, you know? That girl, she been in the program for about three, four months, see and I seen her. She was a cute little girl, would have made a pretty woman, you know?"

"Why did Gate ask you to arrange to get a bodyguard?" asked Ben flatly.

"I'm not sure man and that's the truth," replied Willie. "It's not like we're friends, you know, so when she asked to see me, I figure she's going to ream me out about something. She's not anyone's favorite person, you know? So I went to see her, she was in Nydia's office..."

"Nydia Sanchez, the program director?"

"Yeah, yeah, Nydia," replied Willie, his smile widening at the thought. "Nice girl, Nydia, easy on the eyes, great legs. Anyway, I go in and Gate starts telling me that she needs some "personal security", which kind of threw me, you know? I mean, she's got a reputation, so I wasn't sure what she was driving at..."

"A reputation?" asked Ben, "What type of reputation?"

Willie's side to side motion increased, "Look, man, I'm not saying I know, you know, I'm just saying some people say she likes personal attention from some of the people working for her, but I can't say for sure if that's true or not, it's a rumor, man, that's all I'm saying."

"What sort of personal attention?" asked Ben.

"Well you seen her, man," laughed Willie. "She ain't going to win no wet t-shirt contest, know what I'm saying? I never heard nothing really, just that she makes some of her staff go out to dinner with her and stuff, you know, act like she's got friends 'cause she don't. Anyway, when she said she needed personal security, I wasn't sure what she was driving at, you know?"

"Yeah, I get you..."

"Anyway, I said, "Doctor Gate, what are you looking for, like home security or an alarm system or something like that?" cause she wasn't making any sense. She just kept going on and on about how people resented her and shit, so she goes, no, no, I'm not asking about that, I need someone to come with me when I go around 'cause the neighborhoods are dangerous and stuff, but I need him to be undercover, can't no one find out about it."

"Did she say why it had to be hush-hush?" asked Ben.

Willie shook his head no.

"I tried to find out, I even asked around, but no one knew, you know? But I do know someone who might know."

"Who?"

Willie leaned closer and continued in a confidential tone, "Her secretary, Carmen. She's a sweetheart man, great lady, she's helped me out more than once, you know, warned me that the dog was off its chain, know what I'm saying? If anyone knows the real shit, its Carmen, but she can't talk at work, you should call her at home, it's the only time old Moby lets her alone."

"Moby?" squinted Ben.

"Doctor Gate, they call her Moby," laughed Willie. "You know, she's Dominican but she wants to be the great white whale..."

"What about the girl?" asked Ben.

"Look, all I can tell you is what I heard," replied Willie, drawing even closer. "This ain't the first time something like this went down. About a year ago, before I worked here, they say another girl took some pills in the bathroom in the Bronx center. They got to her in time and she's okay and stuff, but the doctor didn't let them call the cops or an ambulance or nothing. Like I said, I didn't work here then, so I'm just telling you what I heard. Then about six months ago, another girl cut herself bad in a storage room in the basement. I got a call in my office telling me I had to take some kid to the hospital, they told me it was an accident, but none of them went with me, they just sent me and her to the hospital. When I got to the basement, they were all cleaning up; there was a lot of blood. I kept asking but they wouldn't tell me what happened. I found out on the way from the kid that she had done it on purpose, which scared me, you know. When we got to the hospital, her mother was there and then I got a call on my cell to get back to the center right away. I didn't think too much of it at the time, you know, but then I got to thinking, why did they send me with the girl and not one of the counselors or something? I asked Nydia and she was pissed, dude. She told me that they didn't want any connection to the program or the center, so they sent me because they could say I was from the neighborhood and I was just helping out someone I found hurt."

"How's that girl doing?" asked Ben.

"Ain't seen her since that night," replied Willie. "I heard she was okay, but she ain't been back to the program."

"You know anything else about this latest girl?"

Willie considered it as he shuffled foot to foot.

"She was pretty dude, but real sad, you know? I don't know what they did for her, but I guess it wasn't enough. I never talked to her or nothing, I would see her and stuff, with the other girls and with Nydia, but I never talked to her or knew her name. The cops were at the center all weekend, but Moby, she lawyered up and kept them from talking to anyone much. I know some of them guys, I told them what I could after hours, but it's what I'm telling you, which ain't much. It's sad, man and a bit scary. Between you and me, I keep thinking this has something to do with why old Moby wanted a bodyguard, but I can't see the connection, man. I'm sorry, that's all I got."

"Do me a favor, Willie," said Ben, moving closer to Willie and discretely handing him an envelope. "If you hear anything, you let me know. If you see anything, you let me know, you got it?"

Willie smiled more widely at the envelope as he forced it into his pants pocket, "You know I will, man, you know I will."

With a quick hug, Ben mounted his bike and the thunder began again. Willie waved to him as he roared out of the parking lot, terrifying the people on the street. What the hell was going on, thought Willie. What the hell was going on?

***

Mary Nelson for once had enjoyed a very nice weekend. She had visited a friend from New Jersey and had even had a few glasses of wine with dinner, something she almost never did anymore. For a few hours she had laughed and reminisced about school and remembered a time when she had been young and pretty and had no sorrows and no painful memories. It had been fun, a quiet, dignified, heartfelt fun that had refreshed her and made another Monday alone seem not so bad. She was surprised to find so many people already at work when she had arrived, but apparently some sort of emergency had happened over the weekend. With a sip of her coffee, Mary began to dial the code to retrieve the messages left on the answering machine from over the weekend.

The door to the reception area opened and she felt the room suddenly fill, as if a crowd of people had suddenly rushed in. Looking up, she saw the towering presence of Ben moving towards her desk. Picking up the phone, she dialed Vance's extension.

"Good morning, Mary," she heard Vance say.

"Good morning, Vance," she replied. "Ben is on his way back."

"Thank you, Mary."

She placed the phone back in its cradle and looked up, surprised to see Ben hovering above her. Looking up at her double reflection in his glasses, she cleared her throat nervously.

"Is it all right if I go back?" he growled.

Mary blinked. For a moment, she thought he might be trying to be sarcastic, but no, his tone did not indicate that. Was he actually asking her permission?

"Yes, Mister...Ben," she replied seriously. "Mister Tibbet is waiting for you."

"You announced me," stated Ben.

"Yes," she replied. "You don't have to stop here, you can just go in."

Ben nodded at her and she could almost detect the faintest hint of a smile on his face. Without another word, he stepped to the door and was gone. Mary looked down at the phone again and then stopped, looking back at the door that had closed behind Ben. Something she could not quite explain had happened, something very odd. It was as if that massive, frightening man was doing his best to show her that he respected her. Was that correct?

Tori Summers, Len's second in command, stepped out into the waiting room to say good morning as she did every day to her new buddy, Mary. A pretty young woman in her mid-twenties with short brown hair and warm brown eyes, she had become one of Mary's best workplace friends. She was surprised to see Mary sitting, lost in thought. Mary always seemed so busy that to see her sitting motionless was a new experience.

"Everything all right?" asked Tori as she drew closer.

Her question brought Mary out of her reveries.

"I think so," she replied. "That man, Ben, he just came in."

"Scary dude," replied Tori with a smile. "He didn't give you any trouble, did he?"

"No," drawled Mary, "not at all, in fact, well...it was sort of strange. The last time he came in, I stopped him from going back; I didn't know that he was allowed to just walk in..."

"You stopped BEN?" asked Tori, her eyes going wide. "How the hell did you do that? What did you use, an elephant gun?"

"No," replied Mary, "He tried to go through and I just stepped in front of him and told him he would have to wait until I called Mister Tibbet, those were the rules..."

"And he didn't pick you up and crush you?" laughed Tori. "I've literally seen him go through walls without blinking an eye and I'm not talking those fake walls like on television. Oh my God, you are the bravest girl I know!"

"Vance told me that everyone had to be announced..." began Mary innocently.

Len stepped out and smiled, "Hey Tori, we need you in this meeting. Mary, we're going to order some breakfast, would you like anything?"

"She stopped Ben," hissed Tori. "She told him he had to wait to be announced like everyone else..."

"You stopped BEN?" asked Len. "Are you crazy?"

"Well, Vance said..."

"And he stopped!" interrupted Tori.

"Well, yes, the first time he did because I made him," replied Mary. "That's what was so odd today..."

"YOU made Ben stop," laughed Len. "A tank couldn't MAKE Ben stop."

"Yes, I made him stop," replied Mary a bit stiffly. "I told him that the rules applied to him as well as anyone else."

"Priceless," laughed Tori, "you are absolutely priceless. So tell me, what was so odd about today, did you tackle him or something?"

Mary didn't get the joke, "No, that's the thing. Vance said I wasn't to stop him, that he was the exception to the rule and that I was just to call back when he came in and that's what I did. He came in today and I called and let Vance know he was here but he stopped anyway."

"Maybe he was afraid you'd stop him again," replied Tori, barely able to suppress her smile.

"No, I don't think so," replied Mary innocently. "He heard what Vance said..."

"Well, how about breakfast, we have to get back to the meeting," stated Len.

"I'll take coffee and a muffin," smiled Tori.

"Is it all right if I get a coffee and a bagel?" asked Mary.

"YOU can have anything you want," smiled Len. "If you can stop Ben, you're far too dangerous to say no too."

"Make sure you tell the delivery guy to stop at the desk," stated Tori to Len. "We don't want Mary landing him in the hospital for breaking the rules."

Mary watched them retreat behind the door and shrugged her shoulders. She could not stop wondering however, why had he stopped?

***

Doctor Gate had entered her office building through the freight entrance with Barry by her side. Quickly, they mounted the freight elevator and pressing the button stood as far apart as possible for their ride. Barry had explained to the doctor that Vance wanted to speak with her when he had picked her up, but she would have none of it, stating that she had talked to the police and that nothing that had happened was any of their concern. When Barry had attempted to discuss the weekend incident with her, she had refused to talk to him.

Reaching their floor, the elevator opened and they found themselves in a rear area, behind the large room used for storing office supplies. Negotiating their way through the shelving units that lined the room, Barry peeked out and saw that the hallway was clear. With a subtle hand motion, he began moving down the hallway, the sound of voices growing louder as he approached the end of the hall.

Peering around the corner, he saw Carmen at the reception desk, speaking to several men who appeared to be newspaper reporters. Using his body to shield their view of the doctor, he stood with hands folded in front of him as Doctor Gate slid behind him and entered her office. Slowly, he backed away from the growing clamor at the desk and slid into the office, closing the door behind him.

Doctor Gate sat stoned faced at her desk, checking a large pile of messages that Carmen had placed there. Newspapers, television shows, parents, even old colleagues from the city government had called asking questions, making comments, showing support and vilifying her.

"Damn her," muttered Gates to herself.

"Excuse me?" asked Barry.

"Nothing," she snapped, "nothing at all. I was talking to myself, it's the only way I can have an intelligent conversation anymore."

Picking up the pile of messages, she dumped them in the trash and then hit the buzzer for Carmen. A moment later, Carmen entered the room looking worn and tired.

"I want no messages and no phone calls today," snapped the doctor. "I want you to contact Nydia, tell her to get here as soon as possible, to come in the back way and remind her to talk to NO ONE!"

"Yes, Doctor Gates," replied Carmen mechanically.

"Also, get Mister Bristol on the phone..."

"He phoned a little while ago, he's at the police station this morning, doctor," replied Carmen. "He said that he would be down there most of the morning and then he will come here to give you an update."

"Why is he down there this morning?" asked the doctor, obviously concerned. "He was there all day yesterday..."

"He said it had something to do with needing to speak to someone who they could not contact yesterday because it was the weekend," interrupted Carmen. "I'll call Nydia."

The doctor watched her as she left the room, seeking but not finding any sign of insolence. Turning to Barry, she opened her mouth as if to speak but thinking better of it, turned her attention to her emails. Flipping through her business account, she quickly slipped over to her personal account. Nothing. Her frown grew deeper, why hadn't Doris responded to her emails? Doctor Gate did not like loose ends. If she had not heard from her by tonight, she would find her after Barry had dropped her off.

Chapter 7

Lieutenant George Davis peered into Vance's office and shook his head.

"Either you intend to knock out a wall or we need to move to a larger room," he stated, his warm brown eyes smiling.

Davis was a large, heavily muscled man, six foot four and three hundred pounds, the dark brown skin of his arms rippling with each gesture. Peering into the office which already contained Ben, Vance, Len and Tori, his suggestion was one that made a huge amount of sense.

"The conference room..." began Vance.

"I know, down the hall," laughed Davis as he sauntered down the hall followed by the others.

Entering the room, he decided to place his back to the wall of windows opposite the door and was lowering himself into his chair by the time Vance, the last to enter the room, had closed the door.

"George, you know Len and Tori. This is Ben; he works with us on various cases..."

"I've heard a lot about you," stated Davis, extending his hand to the giant.

Ben took it and nodded. Even though Vance had given Davis a high recommendation, Ben had a dislike for police officers in general that was hard to hide. He had run into too many police officers just putting in time and Ben had no respect for that type of person.

"I got your message about the suicide up in the Bronx," stated George. "I know the guy running the show up there, Detective Wallace. He's a good guy, but the people at Vitatown are not cooperating."

"What can you tell us about what happened?" asked Len quietly.

"Pretty much everything that has been on the news," replied George, easing back in his chair. "The girl snuck into the room about an hour before the teacher got there to conduct the class. No one else entered the room. No one left or entered the building that did not have an alibi for the time of the incident. It looks like a clear cut case of suicide."

"You understand our concern..." began Vance.

"I've looked into that as much as I could," replied George. "I've got nothing, no idea why your client suddenly needs a bodyguard and no idea as to why the girl decided to kill herself where she did. Doctor Gate has filed no complaints with us and we can't find any particular reason why anyone would be after her. I don't think the suicide and the enhanced security are connected events; if they are, I can't see where."

"Ben spoke with the man who initially contacted him," stated Vance.

All eyes turned on Ben, who shrugged, "He had nothing. Rumors, suspicions, but nothing concrete...He did say that if we were going to get any additional information, the only person who might have something for us would be the doctor's secretary, Carmen."

George frowned, "Maybe you guys can do something regarding the secretary. The doctor's lawyer isn't letting any of the Vitatown people talk to us. Another thing is that even if we could speak with her, we could technically only ask her about the suicide unless there was some clear connection with what you guys are doing. Personally, even if we had access to her, I doubt we would be able to segue into anything meaningful without at least some sort of prior information."

"Something had to have happened," stated Tori. "I've been checking into her background and it doesn't add up. She's received all sorts of threats over the years and never reacted. Now when supposedly nothing has happened, she needs a bodyguard and then this girl dies..."

"There are such things as coincidences," stated Len with a shrug.

"There are other coincidences," stated Ben. "This isn't the first time this has happened, it's just the first time it has been fatal."

"There have been other suicide attempts?" asked George, his interest rising.

"At least one, possibly two," stated Ben. "Each time, Vitatown covered them up, no police reports, nothing."

"Maybe someone who knows about the other two attempts is threatening her with exposure," reasoned Len.

"It has to be more than exposure," replied Vance. "You may ask for a wiretap to stop a blackmailer, but not a bodyguard."

"Has Barry come up with anything?" asked Tori.

"She won't talk and he hasn't been there long enough," replied Vance. "One peculiar thing he did mention. Last week at the end of the day Friday, Gate had her department heads call in for a telephone conference.. Apparently they do this every week. Anyway, she introduced Barry over the phone as her bodyguard. He said she tried lamely to cover up what she had said, but he has a suspicion that she might have done it on purpose. As to her work routine, he said that most of the time, he just sits in her office, just the two of them while she conducts business on the phone or works on the computer...he can't tell if it's how she normally works or not yet. He says the staff does their best to avoid him; he figures they're afraid that anything said in front of him will get back to the doctor. All in all it doesn't sound like the most chummy work environment."

"Look, I'm willing to keep you informed if you'll do the same," said George quietly. "I'm sorry I have nothing much to share, but if anything comes up, I'll let you know..."

"Same here," replied Vance. "Thanks for coming, George..."

George rose and said his good-byes, sure that there would be a discussion after he left. He trusted Vance and had a sneaking suspicion that it might be better if he did not know what they were going to discuss. He had worked with Vance before and had profited by his friend's ability to skirt the edge of the law.

After returning to the conference room, Vance took his seat.

"I still think there is more to this than we know," he stated. "So here's what I think we should do..."

***

Melissa was at her desk making notations in the file of her first patient of the day when she heard slamming yet again. It was the unmistakable boom created by a cabinet draw receiving more than its fair share of Ginger's attitude. When sounds of this type began to fill the office, it was a sure sign that Ginger was less than pleased. With the help of an early appointment, Melissa had been able to avoid Ginger all morning. Having noted the signs of the coming storm, however, she felt that she could no longer avoid the inevitable and called Ginger into her office.

Ginger entered, not attempting in the least to hide her anger.

Melissa smiled, trying to keep things light, "I've got a few minutes before my next session. How was your weekend?"

"Worse DAMN weekend of my life!" snapped Ginger, lowering herself down into the chair opposite Melissa, eyes flashing. "Damn Carlos and his stupid ideas!"

"What happened?" asked Melissa.

"Do you know what he did?" replied Ginger, leaning forward angrily. "He asked me out for a dinner on Saturday night, a beautiful dinner, candlelight, checkered tablecloths, the works!"

"Sounds nice," replied Melissa.

"Then he goes and ruins it! Ruins the whole damn weekend! Let me tell you girl, if I had had a gun it would have been open season on his dumbass. You can bet your bottom dollar that ain't no lie!"

"What did he do?" asked Melissa. Carlos was usually so even tempered and level headed, what could he have done?

"The waiter comes and brings some wine and we're looking out the window at the city below, beautiful, most damn beautiful thing you ever saw," replied Ginger, her anger growing. "I'm halfway through a bread stick and the dumbass drops to his knee and asks me to marry him!"

Melissa squinted and asked softly, "Congratulations?"

"What the hell are you saying that for?" snapped Ginger. "You as muddle headed as him? What the hell do we want to go and get married for?"

"Well you guys have been dating for a while," replied Melissa.

"Eight years!" roared Ginger. "Eight beautiful, no problem years! He gets my lunch, he takes me to dinner, we go on vacation, he gets some a little something-something and it's perfect! Now he goes and throws a monkey wrench into the sand!"

"Don't you mean sand into the works or a monkey wrench into the works?" asked Melissa.

"Excuse me mister doctor," replied Ginger, eyes rapidly blinking. "Who the hell cares where the monkey or the sand goes, huh? This dumbass man asked me to marry him, stay on point!"

"I thought you love Carlos..."

"Of course I love Carlos," replied Ginger. "Ain't no better man, I tell you all the time, ain't no better man!"

"So what's the problem exactly?"

Ginger rolled her eyes in disgust, "How the hell did you get through school is what I want to know? How can someone be so educated and still not know nothing about the world? I love him; don't mean I want to marry him! Things are perfect as they are now; if I don't want to see him, I go home! I clean my house; let him clean his own damn house! I cook for me..."

"I can't recall you cooking," stated Melissa honestly. "I've never heard you say anything about cooking..."

"Fine! I don't cook for me, but if I didn't want him to take me out, I can tell him, DON'T TAKE ME OUT! Soon as you marry them, they forget all about going out! Suddenly their asses are made of stone and they can't get out of the chair and they're looking at you like some sad eyed donkey and asking, "What's to eat?" Life ain't like you live it, girl and God knows I ain't YOU! You run out of food, you feel bad about it! You dress yourself up, meet Boxcar at the door in some little nightie and forget about food! If I run out of food, I meet Carlos at the door with a grocery list and he damn well better be back in time to take me to dinner!"

"So you want things to remain as they are," replied Melissa.

"Hell yeah!"

"But didn't you think that at some point, things might progress?" asked Melissa. "I mean, you've been with him for eight years; didn't you think he might want more at some point?"

Ginger considered it, "Look, I ain't against him being happy, I WANT him to be happy, but I want ME to be happy first! I understand he wants us to be together all the time, if I was him, I'd want that too! Let's face it; he's a damn lucky man! If we're together all the time, he's with ME! What the hell do I get out of it?"

"You get him," replied Melissa. "Like you said, ain't no better man..."

"That's true, but what's that got to do with it?" asked Ginger, genuinely perplexed. "Ain't no better man, so what? Think about it; the best they got to offer is Carlos! What the hell does that say about them? It's like saying that purse you've got is your best purse! It's a fact, but it's still a butt ugly purse!"

"Let's focus on you and not my style choices," replied Melissa. "Besides, I paid a lot of money for that purse..."

"Landscaper pays a lot of money for manure, don't make it gold," replied Ginger.

"Focus," replied Melissa. "Focus on you; it's your strong suit. So what are you going to do?"

Ginger shrugged, "What can I do? He said he wants me to think about it. If I say no, he'll be miserable and if I say yes, I'll be miserable. Why did he have to go and start this?"

"He wants more, Ginger," replied Melissa.

Ginger shook her head, "I can't blame him, who could? If I had some of me, I'd want more too."

Rising she sauntered back towards the door.

"I'll let you know when the next crazy arrives," she called over her shoulder as she closed the door behind her.

"We don't..." began Melissa. With a shrug, she stopped, "Correction, I don't call them crazy. I should be happy that is all you call them..."

***

Nydia Sanchez had left Doctor Gate's office in a raw fury. That selfish old bitch didn't care about the program, about all of her hard work, about the child who had just died or her family or their loss, all she cared about was that she was legally protected. She practically danced when Mister Bristol, her attorney, handed her a copy of the signed waiver that Nydia had given to each family prior to their allowing their children to join the LockLife program.

Nydia had run into Alan, the public relations specialist, just prior to meeting with Gate. She had always suspected that Alan had a crush on her, most men did, but today there was no sexual tension, just mutual despair. The doctor was hounding him to find some way out of this public relations nightmare and it was obvious that the long hours were taking their toll. They had spoken only briefly but he had done his best to warn her as to what to expect, not that she really needed the information. She knew Doctor Nora Gate, she was the original two-faced politician. She was all smiles and kind words when she wanted something and then a hellacious fury when she didn't get it.

Now the meeting was all a blur. She remembered being in the office, the doctor screaming at her, having a complete meltdown in front of the guy she claimed to be mentoring and her lawyer. At least the lawyer tried to speak, the other guy just sat there, saying nothing, taking in the entire screaming session as if he were reading a book. Well, she reasoned, what could he say? Behind that mask, he must be praying to get out. If Nydia was him, she would have left to go to the bathroom and never returned.

"We will suspend the program for this week," sneered the doctor. "You make sure none of those girls show up at the center for at least the next week! I don't need the news people interviewing them at our doorstep, if they want a story let them go look for it!"

"I will contact all of the participants..."

"Damn right you will," roared Gate. "I want you and Rachel to have a report on my desk by this afternoon explaining how NONE of this is our fault, do I make myself clear?"

"The police have the video tapes," began Nydia, working hard to control her temper. "They already know that she snuck in..."

"I don't care what the police know or don't know," snapped the doctor. "You get me that report TODAY! Not tomorrow, not next week, TODAY! Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," murmured Nydia.

"Miss Sanchez," began the lawyer, "while the police..."

"You don't need to explain anything to her," stated the doctor. "I don't give a damn if she likes it or not or if she understands it or not, just get that report on my desk today!"

"We really need to speak with the head of security at the center..." began Mister Bristol.

"Willie? You can forget about Willie," fumed the doctor. "I will fire him myself, TODAY!"

"That might not be the best idea," replied Mister Bristol. "We don't want to be hasty."

The doctor glared at him, but said nothing.

"Perhaps, if you are done with Miss Sanchez, I can explain to you our options," stated the attorney.

The doctor looked up at Nydia with distain, "Go!"

Nydia walked with quiet dignity to the office door and let herself out. She said nothing to anyone, holding it together until she had gotten on the train. The subway car was almost empty when she had entered and she had curled up in the seat in the corner, as far from her fellow passengers as she could get. It was here that she allowed herself to feeling the blinding rage that was consuming her. She felt her temperature rising, her fists clenching and unclenching, a raw fury consuming her. After all of her work, all of her effort, all of her struggling had gone for nothing! She had no doubt that the program was facing cancellation. Once the media scrutiny was gone, Doctor Gate would pull the plug and do her best to blame everyone else connected with the program for its failure, especially her.

Regaining her composure, Nydia thought of Ana. They had been making progress, real progress, why had she done it? That is what the police should have been looking into, not the program. If things had been arranged in real life as they had been on paper, none of this would have ever happened. Shaking her head, she tried to calm herself. How would she begin her report? What could she possibly say?

Chapter 8

It had been the day from hell at work, thought Doris. The police, the news cameras, the questions and then...the emails. With everything going on, with all of the problems that were happening she could not believe that she had received that email. She had read it a dozen times, had memorized it and then deleted it. Sitting on the bus, headed for home, she shuddered beneath her coat. She needed her job, but she could not put up with this... no, she was done. She needed a job but not this job, not anymore. It was her time to move on. She would quit; she would leave her job and find a new life.

As the bus approached her stop, Doris stood and made her way towards the rear door, the enormity of her decision making her legs unsteady. It was well after the heat of the day, a touch of autumn whispering in the air. Smiling, she pulled the large shapeless coat closer to her. She had purposely purchased a large, ugly coat to reduce the chance of being harassed on the buses. She would live bravely, that was what she had to do now, to honor herself. She would quit Vitatown, quit her past and take hold of her future. She felt a rush of excitement as she made her way down the street. Today was the day!

In an instant she knew that Nora Gate held no power over her anymore. She would not wait: she would go to Nora Gate and tell her in person, tell her tonight that she was no longer a Vitatown employee. Turning from her normal route, she headed for the subway station. She was going to Brooklyn, to Nora and Ramon's home. She would quit her job; she would have her life on her terms.

***

Barry slowed the car, seeking a parking spot near the doctor's home.

"You can drop me off in front," she stated sullenly.

"There might be reporters out front..." began Barry.

"There's no one out front," she snapped. "Let me off here."

Barry pulled to the side and watched her grab her briefcase, disembark and slam the door shut, leaving him without a word. Barry watched her get to her door and then slid the car back into the middle of the street and pulled away.

It was now evident to him why Doctor Gate would have people threaten her. He could not think of a person for whom he had worked that he liked less. In addition to being rude and arrogant, she never thought of other people. The way she spoke of that girl, Ana, the little girl who had taken her life, you would think that she had acted merely to annoy the great Doctor Gate. His jaw hurt from biting his tongue all day. He had listened to her phone calls, had sat in on her meetings and could barely contain his disgust.

The oddest thing, however, was that there did not seem to be anything they could have done to prevent the tragedy. As much as he hated to admit it, objectively, Vitatown and Doctor Gate seemed completely blameless for what had happened. He had listened to her attorney, had spoken to Vance and had even gotten some feedback from a cop friend and there seemed like nothing could be found. Vitatown was in the clear, or so it seemed.

The only thing that told him different was the doctor herself. The doctor's panic, the doctor's fury, her entire reaction to the situation was completely at odds to what everyone seemed to be telling her, which made Barry curious. If she wasn't afraid of what everyone already knew, then she had to be afraid of something they didn't know, but what? Her own attorney kept saying that proper security protocol had been followed, that there were no grounds as far as he could see for a lawsuit. The girl had snuck in, was not under supervision, had acted without anyone's knowledge. Sure it was a black eye for the program, but it need not be fatal and yet, he had heard her discussing the program's future and he was convinced that she was intent upon pulling the plug. You would think that something like this would get a psychiatrist more motivated to help young girls, to protect them from the same fate. It did not add up and Barry had a very mathematical mind; it bothered him when things did not add up.

***

Hours later, a figure descended the front stairs of Doctor Nora Gate's Brooklyn brownstone leaving the front door open, neither stopping to look back, nor hesitating in any way. The evening had gotten chilly, an odd feeling for this time of year. There were still many weeks of summer left, but suddenly, it felt like autumn and after the heat of the last few weeks, the lower temperatures felt colder still.

No one took any notice of the person moving rapidly down the street, headed for Fifth Avenue. At the corner, the person pulled their coat collar higher around their face and headed down the street towards the subway station, moving quickly in the evening gloom. No one seeing the person gave them any notice, everyone too busy with their own lives to give them a second glance.

The person's steps increased in speed until they were practically skipping over the pavement, moving rapidly until reaching the top of the stairway that led down to the subway. There the figure paused and glanced quickly back down the street to make sure that no one was watching. They need not have bothered, no one was paying attention; no one was in the least bit interested in their progress. Moving quickly down the stairs, they fished out their Metrocard and swiped it, rushing through the turnstile and across the platform to the waiting subway car. Taking a seat, the person in the coat slid down into a seat and took a deep breath. They were free...

Chapter 9

Mrs. Giamonte plopped down on her couch, arguing with herself. It was two o'clock in the morning and she had no wish to be awake, but she was stuck being awake. Now came the awful question; what could she do at two o'clock in the morning? Her doctor had told her that waking up in the middle of the night was nothing to worry about; people her age had to expect to wake up in the middle of the night for no damn reason at all. Mrs. Giamonte decided that her doctor was an ass. Whenever he didn't know something he blamed it on her age. Getting wrinkly at her age she could understand, her skin had been fighting gravity for years, it was entitled to slip a little. Peeing when she didn't want to pee she could understand, she owned a building and knew from experience that plumbing wore out. Not being able to sleep, however, well that was just bullshit! All she ever wanted to do was sleep and now that it was night time and time to sleep and the whole WORLD was asleep, she was wide awake.

Perhaps she should make herself a cup of tea.

"Why do old people always drink tea?" she wondered.

Coffee has too much caffeine, no good if you want to sleep and she had decaffeinated tea, so that made sense. Besides, it wasn't the tea's fault that she was wide awake. She put the water on and walked back out to her living room, grabbing her remote control and flipping on the television.

Nothing! Not a damn thing on at two o'clock in the morning. You think all the old people who could not sleep would get together and call the television station and tell them, "My doctor said it's perfectly natural for someone my age to be up at this hour, so could you please put on something a human being would be interested in watching? Would it kill you to put a "Golden Girls" rerun on?"

Mrs. Giamonte liked old movies; give her a Bette Davis picture or a Clark Gable marathon and she was in heaven, but at two o'clock in the morning it was like no one she had ever heard of any of the big stars. They were having a Robert Armstrong Marathon on Classic Movie Television. Who the hell remembered Robert Armstrong for anything other than King Kong and even in that picture he had gotten second billing to a rubber ape! What jackass came up with this idea?

Clicking the remote she paused at the weather channel, what genius came up with this, she mused? A whole channel devoted to weather. They had today's weather, tomorrow's weather, next week's weather, how much weather did a person need? You can only have one weather at a time, it wasn't like you could choose, you got what you were given. The good Lord didn't take requests regarding the weather; they couldn't change it so why did it have its own channel? Stupid, plain stupid...

Clicking the remote again she frowned, it was a picture of a young woman eating ice cream. What was this, a commercial? No, there's music but she's not saying anything. Oh shit, there's a guy behind her with an ax.

"Turn around, stupid, turn around," whispered Mrs. Giamonte, frantically waving her arms to get the girl's attention.

The stupid girl didn't listen to her and the guy brought the ax down on her head. Just as it connected the picture changed and showed the wall in front of her as it got sprayed with blood.

"Great," Mrs. Giamonte griped, "wonderful, now I'll never sleep. Son of a bitch, who the hell needs to see that? Would it be too much to ask that they put "Gunsmoke" on? It was only on for a hundred years, you'd think there would be a few episodes to use as reruns instead of that garbage."

Mrs. Giamonte froze, what was that sound? Damn it, stupid tea kettle has got to boil now?

"Scared the hell out of me," she mumbled. "Damn thing almost made me crap my pants..."

Returning to the kitchen, she shut off the stove and placed a teabag in her mug. Pouring the water into the mug she thought she heard something in the lobby. Did someone just come in?

Shuffling to her front door, she peered out of the peep hole and saw a large black man staring intently at the name cards near the buzzers in the foyer. The front door was closed behind him, so he was between the front door and the locked glass doors that led into the hallway. At this time of night, the doors automatically locked, someone would have to buzz him in, but what did he want at this hour? The man was well over six feet tall and had arms like tree trunks. This could be trouble, she thought. Picking up her cane, she decided she'd go find out what he wanted.

She suddenly thought of her son, he was always warning her not to go out at night, that it wasn't like the old days, that it wasn't safe. He always got so nervous when she did things like this, "You should be careful", he'd say. "Why'd you do that for?" he'd ask. She wasn't sure if she was touched by his concerned or annoyed by him telling her what to do...

"Fine, fine," she muttered finally. Going back to the kitchen, she picked up an enormous knife and then, finding her cane again, she went to her door, opened it and entered the hallway.

The large black man didn't see her until she was halfway across the lobby.

"Hey, you," she yelled so he could hear her through the glass, "what are you doing there? You know what time it is?"

"I'm a police officer, ma'am," said the man politely as he took in the strange vision. "I'm trying to get in touch with Vance Tibbet, I know he's in this building but I don't know what apartment he's in."

"Let's see some proof," demanded Mrs. Giamonte. "Anyone can say they're a cop. Besides the circus is in town, I'm not taking any chances."

The man frowned as he reached for his shield; the circus?

"Watch it there," said Mrs. Giamonte, getting confused and raising her cane instead of the knife. "No funny business..."

"No ma'am," smiled the man, holding up his shield and pressing it against the glass door. "My name is George Davis, I'm a detective with the New York City Police Department and I need to speak to Mister Tibbet."

"Why, did he kill someone?" asked Mrs. Giamonte. "Let me tell you, if he killed someone, they probably deserved it. He's a nice person, Mister Tibbet, graceful as a rhino, but a nice person. You ever meet his wife?"

"No ma'am..."

"She's a doctor, a beautiful girl. Nicest person you could know, a real sweetheart," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "I helped get them together. He wanted to ask her out but he was too shy, probably thought she wouldn't go out with someone who looked like they could tip over the building, but I helped him out and now they're married. Are you married?"

"No ma'am..."

"Why not?" asked Mrs. Giamonte. "You're nice looking for a colored fella, some girl would be lucky to get you. Let me tell you something, it's not like in my day, you can marry anyone now a days. Say you like some Chinese girl, you can just go up to her and ask her out, it's crazy. In my day, my sister was considered a rebel because she married a man from Milan. Milan is in Northern Italy, we were southerners, from Calabria; it's the toe of the boot..."

"That's nice ma'am, but I really need to speak with Mister Tibbet," interrupted George.

"I don't know where he's from," commented Mrs. Giamonte. "I don't think he's Italian, I know she's not, though she's so beautiful you'd think she's got to have some Italian in her..."

"Please ma'am," replied George, "it's an emergency..."

"Oh," replied Mrs. Giamonte, "sure. Push the button for apartment three H. Mind you, they're probably asleep at this hour. Most people under eighty are, unless you're in your twenties and then you never sleep, all you do is play those damn video games..."

"Thank you, ma'am," replied George, thankful for the information and the chance to end the conversation.

"When you're finished, if you want stop by for some tea," stated Mrs. Giamonte, shuffling back towards her apartment. "I'm old so I'm up all night, not that my doctor can tell me why. I get up, I drink tea and then I get sleepy but I can't go to sleep because I drank too much tea and I've got to pee. It's not easy being old..."

"No ma'am," replied George, pushing Vance and Melissa's apartment buzzer button for all he was worth.

"Remember, you're not bad looking," replied Mrs. Giamonte with a wave of her knife as she gained her door. "I know a girl at the laundry who would love to meet you. She's not Chinese, she's Spanish, a beautiful girl but has no luck with men. You let me know."

"I will, I promise," replied George.

A sleepy voice called out over the intercom, "Hello?"

"Vance, it's George Davis, I need to speak to you."

"George, what is it?"

"Something has happened," replied George. "I hate to bother you but we need to talk."

"Sure, come up," replied Vance. The door buzzer sounded and George opened it, moving quickly towards the elevators.

Vance was waiting for him at his front door in a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, his hair sticking up at odd angles. He squinted at George as he drew closer, his eyes trying to adjust to the light.

"What happened?" asked Vance, ushering him into the apartment.

"It's Doctor Gate," replied George. "She's dead."

***

Doris slid quietly into her apartment and placed her handbag on the counter of her tiny kitchen. She walked softly to the couch and taking off her coat, slid down onto the cushions. Hugging herself, she tried to calm her nerves. She would have to find a new job, she had enough for this month's rent and a little left over, but she could not survive without a job. There was so much to think about now, her mind was a whirl.

A knock at the door startled her and she rose gingerly and stepped to the door. She cleared her throat at the second knock and spoke.

"Who is it?"

"It's me, Hector," replied a voice. "Can I come in?"

Doris hesitated. Hector was her boyfriend, why was he here so early in the morning? Slowly, she opened the door and saw him, standing casually, glancing about the hallway. Hector was a little taller than her, clean shaven with short black hair, well proportioned and handsome. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and as he turned, he smiled shyly at her.

"The boss called," he said softly. "A car took out the utility pole on the corner, there's no electricity at the shop, so I got the day off. I was hoping I'd catch you before you went to work, maybe we could have breakfast together."

Doris ushered him in before replying softly, "Hector, I have to tell you something."

"Yeah, what is it?" he asked.

"Hector," she began quietly, "yesterday...I quit my job."

It took a moment for Hector to process the information. His features dropped into a slight scowl, "Why, babe?"

"I'm sorry Hector," she replied, her features suddenly worried, "I just couldn't take it anymore. The people who were coming in...they got me nervous..."

"Did anyone do anything?" he asked, drawing closer, alert.

"No, no, nothing like that," she replied softly. "I just...I just couldn't do it anymore. Hector, I'm scared, I need money and all, but I couldn't stay there another minute..."

Wrapping her in his arms he smiled, "It's okay, baby, it's all right. We'll work it out; don't get upset, I've got your back..."

"Are you sure you're not mad at me, Hector," she said, hugging him more tightly.

"I promise, I'm not mad at you. It was a shit job anyway, I'm glad you quit. You'll find something; we just got to ask around. Any place would be lucky to have you..."

She smiled shyly at him and gave him a quick kiss, "Thank you, Hector..."

"We'll be fine," he said softly.

Kissing her he could not believe how tense she felt, so keyed up. Pulling her closer, he rocked her gently in his arms. To his surprise, she suddenly reached up and pulled his face to her, kissing him anxiously. His surprise increased as she reached down and undid his belt buckle and unzipped his pants.

Sliding his hands up her back, he found the zipper of her dress and pulled it gently down. She broke their kiss and taking his hand, led him to her bedroom. As they reached the bedroom, he pulled his t-shirt over his head, astonished to see her dress already on the floor. Kicking off her shoes, she mounted the bed and then turned to him, removing her bra. Hector loved her breasts, they were round and full and he quickly cupped them, lowering his face to them to, alternately giving attention to each. She moaned and slid down to the mattress as he turned away to remove his pants and shoes. He turned back just in time to see her panties slip off her feet. He had never known Doris to be this aggressive, this forward. She was usually so shy and even a little frigid in the bedroom.

Pulling herself to her knees, she reached out for him, her arms slipping around him, directing him down onto the mattress. Before he could catch his breath she was on top of him, draping her body over him, the feel of her smooth skin on his driving him mad. Slowly, achingly, she slid down onto his manhood, their bodies fused from lip to hip. It was her motions that set the rhythm, her gyrations and caresses that drove them. Hector found himself doing his best to keep up, to match her, but it wasn't easy. She had totally taken over, had abandoned herself to the feelings and sensations of their love making. As he moaned his climax, she began to wriggle and twist, driving him to new heights. She came a moment later, much louder, much more dramatically than she had ever reacted before. As she slid off of him, he twisted, staring at her incredible body, sweet sweat glistening on her perfect skin.

For a long time, Doris stared at the ceiling, lost in the sensations of her climax. She finally felt her body begin to relax. She hated to use Hector in this way, but she needed distraction, anything not to have to think.

***

Victor Garcia was still a handsome man. He had gained weight as he had aged, but with his dark hair tinged with gray, his rugged features and kind eyes, he still received the admiring glances of women where ever he went. His wife Ana had been the prettiest girl in his village and had also aged well, her figure still attractive, her face fuller, but even more lovely than the first time he had seen her all those years ago. The two of them sat in the living room of their small apartment and listened as the police detective spoke to them. He was a squat, heavy man with a fleshy face, clean shaven and tired looking. Victor naturally took the lead, Ana saying little, her eyes shielded by a pair of large sunglasses, an ever present tissue in her hand often covering her mouth.

"They refuse to speak to you about our daughter," he stated softly. "They care more for their company than for the life of our little girl."

"I'm afraid so," stated Detective Wallace, pulling out a handkerchief and mopping his brow. "But we're not giving up, no matter how long it takes. It may take some time, but we will find out what happened, I promise you."

"My daughter was sick," replied Victor, staring ahead, seeing nothing. "We did not understand her illness, did not understand what was troubling her. That is why we went to the professional people, so that they could help her." He paused as he took a deep breath, "It was no accident that she went there detective, to...to do this thing. They had something to do with her dying, I know it..."

He turned as his wife began to weep, placing his arm around her as Wallace spoke.

"I don't know why your daughter chose to go there, Mister Garcia. We may never know, but I promise you and I promise your wife, that I will do all in my power to see that justice is done. We are investigating and we won't stop until we have some sort of answer..."

"Now that the doctor is dead, everyone will forget about our daughter," interrupted Mrs. Garcia. "She was so important, but us..."

"No, Mrs. Garcia," stated Wallace. "No one is more important to ME than your little girl, than Ana..."

Victor nodded, hearing the truth reflected in his words.

"I trust you to do what you say," he replied softly. "Still, even if you do what you say, if you find out the truth, you cannot give us our daughter back."

Wallace wiped the sweat from his face and nodded solemnly, "No, sir; that I cannot do. I am sorry, I wish that I could, but no, I can't do that..."

As he held his wife closer and felt the shaking of her body as the sobbing took control of her, one thought consumed Victor Garcia; God forgive him, but he was glad that Doctor Nora Gate was dead.

Chapter 10

Carmen walked towards her car, parked near the rear gate of the cemetery far from the prying eyes of the news cameras. She was surprised by the turnout for the doctor, well, by the number of people anyway. She suppressed a smile thinking of how many people in the city government had sent "a representative" but could not be bothered actually showing up themselves. She had never seen so many "deputy" this and "assistant" that's in all her life. Doctor Gate would have been deeply offended, both by who did turn out and who did not. The people of Vitatown might all be foreigners, but they were decent people. They may not have liked her, but they came themselves and showed her the respect she so desperately craved from the people who had sent their deputies.

Now it was time to wait. The board would convene in a week or two and choose the new CEO, who it would be Carmen could not imagine. She had already been told via their attorney that she would be kept on as part of the transition team and then "they would find a spot for her" afterwards. She had given a stoic nod and had said nothing, realizing that saying nothing was her best protection now. They were afraid of what Carmen knew. Any more scandals and Vitatown would be lost. She would be given a quiet, cushy job and left alone for the next two years, each board member had made that clear in the messages that they had sent her, just as she had made it clear that she would say nothing, it was in her best interest to do so.

"Carmen, hold up," called a familiar voice.

Carmen turned and saw Nydia Sanchez walking towards her, trying to pick up speed in a pair of high heels that would argue against the idea. Carmen liked Nydia, Carmen liked everyone; why not? She saw what hating everyone had gotten the doctor over the years; it just wasn't worth the effort. She almost laughed as Nydia drew closer. The young woman was dressed in a tight, short black skirt, a white blouse with a plunging neckline and was done up for a party. A beautiful woman, but what was she thinking, wearing that outfit? These kids, she mused...

"How are things going?" asked Nydia as she drew closer, slowing to a pace that allowed her to feel more secure in her balance.

Carmen merely gestured back towards the gravesite and shrugged.

Nydia glanced around and then began to speak to her in Spanish.

"Do you think the police are watching?"

"They're at the front gate, aren't they?" asked Carmen, slowly resuming her walk to her car with Nydia beside her.

"Have they questioned you?"

"No, Mister Bristol won't let them. How about you?"

"Not since Ana died. They began to question Rachel and me but then Mister Bristol came in and they let us go."

The two continued on in silence.

"Carmen," said Nydia, stopping, "do you know if they are going to keep LockLife?"

Carmen turned to her, "I'm sorry, but I don't know anything. Nothing has been decided, Nydia, nothing CAN be decided until the new chief comes in. The board will meet soon to discuss it. I've received calls from the members, they want to get past the funeral first, let things die down a bit and then they'll set up a meeting and make a decision."

"Do you think they'll keep my program?" asked Nydia hopefully.

Carmen shrugged, "I'm sorry Nydia, but I have no idea. I wish I could tell you more, but if I said anything at this point, it would be a lie."

"The rumor is that they'll wait until the media coverage dies down and then they'll kill the program," replied Nydia. "They can't do that, Carmen, not to these girls. The girls need this program..."

"You need to tell them that yourself," replied Carmen sympathetically. "I was only the doctor's secretary. If Ramon were still here, things would be different, but those days are over."

Nydia stared at Carmen for a moment and fought the urge to become defensive. Carmen was not implying anything by what she had said. Nydia had heard the rumors, how she had gotten her position by seducing Ramon, but no, Carmen was not suggesting that, that was not Carmen's way.

"What about you?" she asked quietly, resuming their walk.

Carmen shrugged, "They say that they'll find a place for me and I have no reason to not believe them. I've only got a short time left and I can help the new people a little bit."

"Will you stay in New York once you retire?" asked Nydia, happy to be changing the subject.

"I always wanted to live upstate," replied Carmen. "My daughter and her husband live up there; they're going to have a baby soon. I would like to be near my grandkids. I like the city, but I'm getting older..."

Nydia nodded her understanding as they reached Carmen's car.

"Can I give you a lift?" asked Carmen as she slid behind the wheel.

"No, thank you," replied Nydia. "I drove here with Rachel. I should go and find her. Thanks, Carmen, I'll talk to you soon."

"Soon," replied Carmen as she closed her door and put her key in the ignition.

With a wave, she drove off leaving Nydia alone. For a moment, Nydia stared off in the direction of the gravesite and then slowly began to walk back towards the front of the cemetery. Damn these shoes, she looked great in them but they were horrible to walk in. Still, she knew that the cameras would be here today and if they were going to take her picture, she wanted to look good. Rachel would be waiting at the car, hopeful of some sort of information. Nydia swore to herself, unfortunately she had learned nothing.

***

Len, George and Vance took their seats in Vance's cramped office, each lost in his own thoughts. Davis could barely contain his disgust, his frustration evident in his tone.

"Their lawyer is trying to keep them all buttoned up," he crabbed. "The commissioner placed me in charge of the murder investigation and I'm coordinating with Wallace. He's been dealing with the same stone wall since Ana died. Vance, I came to you because I think you and your people can help. I have no right to ask because in the end, I can't do anything but say thank you, but I'm hoping you'll help us crack this case."

Vance glanced up at George, he knew the tone. George wanted this one very badly and so did he. Barry had done all that he could to protect Gate, but she had hampered him, hampered all of them. He would not hamper George in the same way.

"We're in," he said simply. "What can we do?"

"She was murdered," stated George flatly. "Overdose of an SSRI..."

"Happy pills?" asked Len.

"What is an SSRI?" asked Vance, feeling a bit left out.

"Serotonin-specific reuptake inhibitor," replied Len, "it's a class of anti-depressants..."

"Well, from the amount in her blood stream she was extremely depressed," replied George. "It's what killed her."

"Was she on anti-depressants?" asked Vance.

George shook his head, "There were none in the house or in her purse. She has no medical history of taking them..."

"She was a doctor, was she self-prescribing?" asked Len.

"No," replied George firmly. "We checked that. She was having coffee with someone and they slipped some into her coffee and then over time force fed her a massive overdose. She was murdered."

"So why can't you get around this lawyer?" asked Vance. "What's his name, Bristol?"

"He's got friends and we have nothing to tie Vitatown to the murder as of yet," replied George. "While they do write prescriptions at some of their locations, they don't dispense medicine from any of their centers. Until we can track where the pills came from, we don't have enough to get them to open up to us; at least that's what the judge is saying."

"And I take it the judge is a friend of the lawyer," smiled Len.

"And of the late doctor," responded George. "He doesn't want us "besmirching the lady's reputation" or some such nonsense. We need a break, something to go on, but no one is talking to us."

"I'm not surprised that you can't get to anyone," mused Vance. "Barry said everyone who works there is afraid of their own shadow and now with the doctor dead, they'll be even more skitterish. What about planting someone on the inside?"

"The only inside person we currently have is Ben's friend Willie but he's not positioned correctly to obtain the information we need. Besides, I would have to think most people are going to avoid him, especially since his job was hanging by a thread because of the girl's death. If he starts asking questions they'll only get suspicious. As far as getting one of our people undercover, the captain won't even consider it; it's too political because of the doctor's associations. They'll claim we're trying to blame the victim, it's too risky."

"Where are you thinking of putting someone?" asked Vance. "Willie is up in the Bronx, not down in Manhattan in the main office..."

"Yes, but the place they write prescriptions is up in the Bronx," replied George. "In the same center where the little girl died; I think it would be better to get someone in there."

"Perhaps we could get one of our people in," suggested Len. "Maybe we could send Tori in as an IT person."

"They're IT people are in Manhattan and besides, we'd have to fake Tori's background which I don't know if the captain will do," replied George. "The only people they need right now are receptionists and secretaries and until they hire a new CEO it's doubtful they will hire anyone on a higher level. God knows what we'll be missing in the meantime."

"Still, trying to get someone inside sounds like the best way to get some sort of break," replied Len.

"Wait a minute," smiled Vance, a thought growing in his mind. "What we need is someone with no background, someone they can't trace to either you OR us." Leaning over the desk he picked up his phone and hit a button. "Mary, could you come in here a moment?"

Len began to shake his head, "Wait a minute, Vance, if you're thinking what I think you're thinking..."

"She has no background," replied Vance reasonably. "They're looking for a receptionist and with her personal background she'd be especially attractive for them, a hard luck case with no experience, non-profits eat that up."

"What are you talking about?" asked George.

A knock at the door checked Vance's reply. The door swung open and Mary stepped in. Glancing about the room, Mary thought that Vance might be asking her to put together a breakfast order.

"What can I do for you?" she asked pleasantly.

"Mary, have a seat," responded Vance. "We need to discuss something important with you..."

***

"We're dead meat," stated Rachel without emotion. "It was a nice run..."

Nydia paced about the conference room like an angry leopard, distractedly picking up items and putting them down.

"Carmen said she would let us know if she heard anything..."

"Until then, we're just waiting for the ax to fall," stated Rachel, dejection creeping into her voice. "You know what? We should start looking at the job board, see if there is anything else we could apply for..."

"I won't give up on the program," stated Nydia. "I've given too much to this program to have it fail. I did all this without a degree, with nothing...."

"What can we do?" asked Rachel. "We don't make the decisions..."

"Alan!" snapped Nydia. "Besides public relations, he was hired to be the funding guy, he would know..."

"He's not going to say anything," laughed Rachel. "He's running scared shitless like everyone else at the main office. The only person who is assured of staying is Carmen. This thing has blown up into a huge public relations nightmare; you don't think they're going to let him go? The new CEO is going to clean house and I'd be VERY surprised if he isn't the first one to see the door."

"Still, he would know where we are funding wise," replied Nydia, turning towards her anxiously. "Think of it, if they were in line for any sort of funding, they wouldn't close the program. We might be a media circus at the moment, but when has this agency EVER given up the money?"

"Our jobs would still be on the line," replied Rachel, sitting down at the conference table dejectedly. "You don't think Gate told the board that this was all her fault, do you? That bitch will sink us from the grave..."

"If we could only know for sure," replied Nydia, pulling out a chair but not sitting in it. "If we could weather the storm and show the new CEO how much progress we've made, especially if they find out how little they gave us to work with..."

"You forget about Ana," replied Rachel sadly. "Someone has to pay for that."

Nydia lowered herself into the chair, her features growing angry, "The parents don't blame us, they blame Gate and frankly so do I."

"We know it's true, but if we say anything it's going to look like we're trying to save our own hides..."

But Nydia wasn't listening. It was the doctor's fault; the whole thing was her fault. What about the girls? What about Rachel and her? All of it was the doctor's fault; she had gotten off too easy...

Chapter 11

Ben sat near the bar watching the stripper gyrate around the pole in the center of the raised stage. She was wearing a pink spangled bikini with matching shoes and was throwing her hair side to side in time to the music as she wiggled into a squat and then pulled herself back up the pole.

The owner of the club had not been seen in two weeks and his girlfriend was interested in finding him. Ben had a sneaking suspicion that the girl on stage knew the manager's whereabouts so he was keeping close tabs on her. She seemed to be completely unaware that he had been following her and while he prided himself on being good at his job, he was also pretty sure that the young lady in question was none too bright. Motioning to the bartender, he waited for his next beer. He felt a vibration under the leather vest he was wearing and reaching inside, pulled out his cell phone.

He peered a moment at the number and then answered the phone.

"Talk..." he grunted into the phone.

"It's Willie," replied a voice on the other end.

"I know who it is," replied Ben, "you got something for me?"

"I don't know," replied Willie. "It might be nothing, but it might be something."

"What is it?" asked Ben, watching his quarry remove her bikini top and place her surgically enhanced breasts on either side of the pole.

"Like I said, it might be nothing, but it might be something," replied Willie. "See, I needed to find out from someone if I was right and I am, but I don't know what it means. There was a girl, a receptionist, her name is Doris. She worked here in at the center, at the main desk, you know? Anyway, she hasn't been in and no one's seen her since the night the doctor died. She just never came in the next day and hasn't been back since."

"Do the cops know?" asked Ben, watching as the stripper eased forward, allowing some business man seated by the stage to stuff a twenty into her G-string. She pushed her breasts together just out of the reach of his hand in appreciation and continued to work the crowd.

"I don't think so," replied Willie. "That lawyer, Bristol, he's here almost every day and he won't let the cops ask anyone nothing."

"You got a last name for this girl?" asked Ben.

"Martinez," replied Willie, "Doris Martinez. She lives in an apartment on Tremont Avenue. I told one of the other girls that she owed me some money and that I needed to speak to her and she gave me her address."

"Can you send me the info?" asked Ben.

The stripper finished her set and slipping into a sheer jacket with spangles, sauntered over to the far side of the club where a row of dark booths lined the wall. The lights on that side of the club were especially low and out of the darkness, a man leaned forward and touched her arm. The girl turned away, her back to Ben and then slid into the dark booth next to the seated man.

"You want me to text it to you?" asked Willie.

"Yeah," replied Ben, finishing his beer with one gulp and then making his way across the club.

"I'll send it to you right now," replied Willie.

"I'll be in touch," replied Ben and disconnected.

Approaching the table, he placed the cell phone back inside his vest and peered into the darkness. The girl was giggling as the man leaned in closer, whispering excitedly into her ear. It was the boss, no doubt about it. As Ben approached, one of the bouncers drew closer.

"Private party," stated the bouncer, placing himself between Ben and the table.

Ben said nothing, instead snapping the bouncer's head back with a sudden, violent jab. The bouncer rocked back into the table and then stumbled back towards Ben, who grabbed him by the back of the neck and threw him halfway across the room. Behind him, Ben heard the girl scream and the man try to clamber away, but it was too late. Ben twisted and caught him by the back of the neck, jerking him back into the booth in one smooth motion. Turning back to look at the others in the club, he noted that everyone was looking his way and that the music had stopped. The other bouncers suddenly appeared, but upon taking stock of their colleague's condition, they eased back, unsure of what to do.

"Nothing to see here, folks," stated Ben. "Go back to your drinks."

Seeing the size of the orator and what he had done to the bouncer, everyone immediately followed his advice, including the other bouncers. A moment later, the music started once again.

Sliding into the booth, Ben gave a slight smile to the frightened man, the girl wrapping her arms around her chest, staring at him like a frightened deer.

"Shirley sent me," stated Ben.

"I don't owe her anything..." began the man.

"She doesn't see it that way," stated Ben.

The man's eyes grew shifty, "Doesn't matter how she sees it, it matters how you see it. So tell me, mister, how do you see it? I mean, if I were to double what Shirley is paying you to find me, maybe you could tell her that you never saw me."

Ben considered it and then, reaching across the table, grabbed the back of the man's head and pulling him forward forcefully, slammed his face hard on the table. The man reeled back in the booth, blood streaming from his nose.

"We'll take that again," stated Ben quietly as the girl tried with difficulty to suppress her squeal. "Shirley wants what is hers and she hired me to see that she gets it. Now get out your checkbook and write her the amount that she thinks she is her due and you'll never see either of us ever again."

"What makes you think that Shirley is telling the truth?" asked the man, trying to stanch the flow of blood from his nose with some cocktail napkins.

"Shirley didn't run and hide, you did," replied Ben. "Now write me the check."

The man fumbled inside his coat and pulled out his checkbook. Pulling out a pen, he opened the book and began to write.

"How much does she want?" he asked.

"You should know," replied Ben.

"Didn't she tell you?" asked the girl in a frightened voice.

"Yes," replied Ben. "The thing is your boyfriend knows the amount, I don't need to tell him."

"But what if he doesn't know?" asked the girl, hugging herself more tightly.

"Then a lot more than his nose is going to be bleeding," replied Ben.

The man immediately bent over the checkbook and finished writing the check, handing it to Ben for his approval. Ben eyed the amount for a moment and then slowly placed it inside of his vest.

"Don't try to cancel this check or I'll be back," stated Ben, rising from the table slowly. Leaning back over he smiled at the stripper, who shrunk into the booth. "You're a good dancer, very graceful. Have a nice afternoon."

With a glance about the room, he stepped over the sleeping bouncer and made his way outside, everyone careful to avoid his gaze. Mounting his motorcycle, he removed his cell phone and checked the address that Willie had sent him. He would call Vance and tell him to meet him there.

***

Doris washed off the knife and placed it in the drain board. Picking up the two plates, she returned to the couch, handing Hector his sandwich. He barely looked up, too engrossed in the video game he was watching to pay her any mind.

"Hector," she began softly, "I was thinking. Maybe we should move..."

"Move?" he asked, not truly paying attention.

"Move," she repeated. "It's so expensive to live here and there aren't that many jobs and the people here..." she let the thought go. Trying to take a different approach she began, "Wouldn't you like to own a house?"

The suggestion brought Hector out of his game, "House? How can I afford a house? You know I don't have any money..."

"A house Hector," she replied earnestly. "We could own a house together..."

"Doris, what are you talking about?" he asked. "We don't have the money for a house. We'll never be able to afford one here..."

"Not here," she interrupted, "away...we could move away someplace cheaper. I've been reading about Pennsylvania..."

"Who do we know in Pennsylvania?" he laughed. "We don't know anyone there. Our friends are here, our family..."

"I don't have any family," stated Doris quietly.

"No, but I do," he replied. "Why am I going to leave them to go somewhere else?"

"We could build a new life, Hector," she replied, feeling she was losing him. "Just think of it, you and me..."

"And bills and debt," he laughed. "No, Doris, I'm not looking to spend the rest of my life paying for a house, no way."

Doris picked up her sandwich and took another bite. She would speak to him later about it. They could have a good life together if he would only grow up and show a little maturity. She had to give him time; she knew that...unfortunately, she just didn't have that much time to give him.

***

Vance exited the elevator and turned to his right, heading towards Ginger's desk. Looking up at his approach, Ginger motioned him to her side.

"Did you get my message?" she asked quietly.

"No," replied Vance, surprised. "I was just going to surprise her and take her to lunch."

"She got a letter," replied Ginger, her facial features hardening.

"A letter?"

Ginger frowned, "Yes, Boxcar, a letter...from her mother."

Vance drew closer, "Are you sure?"

"How many people she know in prison?" asked Ginger. "Of course I'm sure!"

Vance hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. Melissa's mother had betrayed her in the worst possible way, had wounded her and destroyed her trust. On top of all the wrong she had done to her own daughter, she had joined in a conspiracy to have her husband's mistress killed. Since her conviction, Melissa had made no effort to speak to her. Her mother had not reached out to her since her conviction as an accessory to murder.

"Do you know what the letter said?" he asked finally.

"I'm sure it's full of motherly advice and cooking tips," replied Ginger with a roll of her eyes. "How the hell should I know? Now go in there and be a good husband to that poor girl! Go now!"

Vance quickly crossed to Melissa's door and knocked gently.

"Come in," said Melissa softly.

Vance opened the door, moving swiftly into the office and closing the door behind him. Melissa sat distractedly staring at a paper in her hand. Looking up at him, she offered him a sad smile.

"What are you doing here?" she asked softly.

"I thought I'd surprise you, take you to lunch," he replied, drawing closer.

"Oh," she replied, peering up at the clock on her desk, "is it lunchtime?"

"Sure is," he replied, drawing closer. "I thought we might go to the Mustang Saloon, they're supposed to have a hell of a burger."

"Sure, that would be fine," she replied, placing the paper down on the desk and rising to kiss him.

"What's that?" he asked softly.

"A letter," she replied, "from my mother."

There was an awkward silence as the two of them stared at the paper. Vance placed his arms around her and for a moment more they said nothing, watching the paper as if it might suddenly move or speak.

"What did she say?" asked Vance finally.

"She was hoping I might write a letter supporting her request for a new trial," said Melissa, bitterness creeping into her voice.

"Did she say anything else?" asked Vance softly.

"Nothing else concerned her, so no," replied Melissa, hurt evident in her eyes.

"What are you..."

"I don't know," replied Melissa, stepping away from him and wrapping her arms around herself. "I don't think I can...I don't think in good conscience that I could even consider writing such a letter."

Vance stood by, feeling helpless.

"Did she say anything about..."

"She only asked about me writing the letter," interrupted Melissa. "It's all she cares about."

"But it is not all there is worth caring about," replied Vance pointedly. "Don't give her any power over you Mel, not even for a second."

Melissa looked up at him as if she had been struck, her face angry for a moment and then, "You're right, Vance; you're absolutely correct. I'm falling into a pattern here...no, no I'm not writing a letter and I'm not replying to it. Take it off my desk please, get rid of it, I don't want to look at it."

Vance moved quickly to remove the letter and the envelope from her desk, folding them and stuffing them into his pocket. She was about to tell him to put them in the trash, but no, he would take it and dispose of it somewhere else where she would not see it or be tempted to retrieve it.

Moving to her, her pulled her close and kissed her gently on the forehead.

"Come on, angel, let's get some lunch," he stated softly.

She nodded, not answering him, just going to pick up her purse. Meeting him at the door, she was surprised when he leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips. Reaching up, she touched his face and smiled at the look of concern.

"I love you too," she said softly as she opened the door.

Chapter 12

Mary Nelson entered the office for the head of the human resources department for Vitatown and stood primly before her desk. The woman was dark skinned, short and heavyset with a jowly face and dark, angry eyes. Her black hair was pulled back in a painful looking bun and peppered with gray and she was dressed in a business suit at least a size too small. Perched stoutly behind her desk, she seemed as if she were angry at the world in general and Mary Nelson in particular.

"Have a seat," she snapped as she picked up Mary's application.

Mary lowered herself into the chair and cleared her throat nervously.

"You have no experience," drawled the woman.

"Not paid experience," corrected Mary. "I do have volunteer experience."

"May I ask how is it you have never worked?" asked the woman, ignoring Mary's correction.

"I have always worked," replied Mary. "I volunteered while in school and I was a mother, which is the hardest job of all. I never had to work for money because my father and then my husband provided for me. My husband and my little boy died and...well I have to earn my own keep now."

The woman's face softened slightly, "I am sorry."

"Thank you," replied Mary primly.

The woman looked at the application with renewed interest.

"Do you speak Spanish?" she asked, her tone slightly less harsh.

"Yes, my husband was in the navy, we traveled a good deal. We were stationed in several places in South America..."

"I suppose you have heard all about what has been happening here," stated the woman.

"I've heard about it, but if I might be blunt, it has nothing to do with me," stated Mary. "Vitatown is a stable company, I've done some research on the internet and what I need is a steady job with a reliable company. I've had enough unwanted change in my life, I don't need to work somewhere that might have layoffs or close."

The woman nodded at the wisdom of the statement, "You realize that the position is in the Bronx..."

"Yes, I understand," stated Mary. "I am moving there next month, the rents are cheaper there and I can't afford my current apartment. A job in the neighborhood will be more convenient for me."

"Will your move affect your ability to work?" asked the woman. "You have to work some weekends..."

"I rent a furnished apartment," replied Mary. "All I have to move is my clothing, I can do that in a few hours, so no, there will be no problems."

"I have a two o'clock doctor's appointment," snapped the woman suddenly in Spanish. "I have been waiting for over an hour!"

Mary looked at her calmly and then offered her a slight smile, "Please allow me to check and see what is causing the delay," she replied in perfect Spanish. "I will find out right away, I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

The woman offered her a begrudging smile coupled with a slow nod.

"Fill out this paperwork," she grunted. "You begin tomorrow..."

***

Moving slowly down the street, Alan perused his car keys. It had been another fourteen hour day and he was glad to be out of the office and away from the sheer insanity that had descended upon him. He had worked his way up, spending years raising money and doing public relations for a number of non-profit organizations and after finally becoming a director in his own right, suddenly found his whole world falling apart. The death of the little girl and the death of Doctor Gate had both been public relations nightmares, donations to Vitatown dropping by more than thirty percent in the past few weeks. Nothing he had planned, nothing he had attempted seemed to be able to counter the negative shift and if he didn't come up with something soon, he knew he was going to be dropped as soon as the board of directors elected a new CEO. Added to that was that with the police investigation underway, he was limited as to what he could and could not say. For a public relations and fundraising person, silence was death.

Slumping into his car, he offered himself a weary smile. The late nights sucked but on the plus side, he didn't have enough time or energy to fall into complete and utter despair. Also, the late nights meant that he arrived home after rush hour, so the drive from the station to his house was only about fifteen minutes long instead of the usual half an hour. Alan's home was on a quiet side street in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn, his apartment on the second floor of a two family house. His downstairs neighbors were his landlords, an extremely elderly couple whom he seldom saw. He found parking about a block from the house and lumbered up the street to the gate leading to the backyard. The entrance for the second floor apartment was in the back on top of a set of six stairs.

Heading towards the stairs, he flipped through his keys once again, finding the one for the front door as he mounted the stairs. Locating the lock, he eased the door forward and slid behind it, shutting the door just as he thought he heard the gate open. He hesitated a moment and then decided just to wander upstairs too tired to care if someone was in the backyard. Turning on the light switch just inside the door, he made his way up the stairs to his apartment door and unlocked it. Just as he placed his briefcase on the floor and removed his suit jacket, his doorbell rang.

"What the hell, do they smell me come in?" he grumbled, turning and lumbering back down the stairs. "Be right there!"

Opening the door, he could not contain his surprise, "Nydia? What are you doing here?"

Nydia smiled at him, "I was afraid to call you at work, Alan, I'm so sorry to bother you at home but I need to speak to you. Can I come in?"

"Sure, of course, where are my manners," replied Alan. He gestured for her to go up the stairs and closed the door behind them.

"How did you find out where I live?" he asked as they gained his apartment door.

"I'm so sorry, Alan, like I said, I needed to speak to you and I remember you said you lived in Brooklyn, so I Googled you. I remember you said you lived near Erskine Street, near the mall, so it narrowed down the search..."

"Please," he interrupted, "make yourself at home. Can I get you something to drink? I just got in..."

"Yeah, I saw you coming up the block, I'm parked down the street," she said, gesturing. "Do you have any wine?"

"Wine?" asked Alan. He hated wine, but he might have a bottle somewhere, "Let me take a look..."

Rummaging through the cabinets in his kitchen, he found to his surprise a bottle of red and a bottle of white wine.

"I've got red or white," he called out, searching the draws for a corkscrew. "What do you prefer?"

"White, please," she called back from the living room.

Alan opened the bottle, smelling the cork suspiciously. Where the hell had he gotten a bottle of white wine? How old was this thing? Quickly examining his cabinets he found two similar wine glasses and quickly wiped the dust off of them.

"I'm really shocked to see you," he called out. "I suppose with everything that's been going on, I shouldn't be shocked by anything..."

"Did you see the news?" she called back. "The police are saying that Doctor Gate was murdered!"

"Mister Bristol told me today," replied Alan as he returned to the living room.

Forcing himself not to stare, he handed Nydia her drink. He had not noticed her outfit when he had let her in, too surprised at seeing her to register much of anything. She was wearing a low cut orange top with the tightest, shortest green skirt he had ever seen. She smiled at him and took the glass from his hand, watching him lower himself into a chair opposite the couch on which she sat.

"Everyone is running scared," she stated. "The news just keeps getting worse and worse."

Raising his glass, he offered her a frown, "To the late Doctor Gate..." taking a sip he gave an angry chuckle, "I think most people would rather toast whoever did her in..."

"Have you spoken to the police?" asked Nydia, leaning closer and offering him a better view of her cleavage.

Alan leaned back and shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts.

"No," he replied casually. "Bristol is keeping them away from us, but I don't know how much longer he can manage that now that it's a murder investigation." He smiled at her and tried to ask in his friendliest tone, "Nydia, you didn't come here to tell me that the doc was murdered. You live up in the Bronx, this isn't around the corner for you; what is it that you came here for?"

Nydia smiled, leaning back, her eyes meeting his, "No one will tell us anything Alan. I spoke to Carmen at the funeral and she said she doesn't know anything..."

"If Carmen doesn't know, there is a good chance no one knows," replied Alan.

"You would know," she countered. "You handle the funding and the public relations stuff. I know you had several proposals out regarding LockLife..."

"Is that what this is about?" laughed Alan. "You're worried they're going to cut your program?"

"I've busted my ass for this program, Alan," replied Nydia, suddenly angry. "I've given my all for it; I work my ass off for those girls! She would never release the funds we needed, never hire the help we needed and now, when we're starting to make real progress, when we're starting to make a real difference, they're going to close down the program!"

Alan shrugged, "Look, Nydia, I'm sorry; I didn't mean to sound flippant, I'm just tired. I'm afraid I can't tell you much, believe me, if I could I would, but there just isn't much to tell. We submitted a request for another year of funding from all of the sources that we received money from last year. With the loss of that little girl, I'd be real surprised if we got half of it and with the doctor gone, I doubt we'd get that much..."

"So you think we're done," replied Nydia dejectedly.

Alan filled her glass again and topped off his own.

"I'm sorry," he replied. "I was working on a proposal to one of the docs friends, a Mister Grishom, he runs the Sycle Foundation."

"I never heard of them," she replied.

"They were formed about two years ago; this is their first funding year. She had come to me all excited because she had an in with the guy and thought we could hit them up for full funding for your program. I had submitted a rough draft of a proposal to her just before the young girl died. Unfortunately, it never went forward because the little girl did die and then she told me to forget about grant writing and fix the publicity we were getting." He took a sip of his wine and continued, trying to weigh how much he should say. "She went ballistic on me, basically blaming me for the pr mess that the girl's death had caused. I told her that what we needed to do was to focus attention on the fact that the program was desperately needed and that the girl's death proved it. I don't mean to sound cold, I really don't, but from a public relations perspective, the girl's death highlighted the need for a program such as LockLife."

"Exactly!" snapped Nydia. "Exactly! These girls need this program, even as shitty and incomplete as it is!"

"She didn't see it that way," replied Alan, pouring the last of the wine into Nydia's glass. "Well, that's not exactly true..." He hesitated; oh what the hell, it didn't matter now. "My suggestion was that we feature you as the face of the program. We get you in front of the cameras; use you as the front runner."

"What do you mean?" asked Nydia. She had never heard anything about this, not even a rumor suggesting it. She knew that Gate loved being the "face" of the agency and would probably never allow anyone to get any public relations exposure. She had done her best to keep Nydia out of sight and in the background whenever a news report was done about the program, but this...

"Look," he replied, shaking his head, "Gate was an ego maniac. She was "THE FACE" of the organization. I swear, I hear her saying that in my sleep, "I AM THE FACE OF THIS ORGANIZATION!" good Lord. Let's be honest, no disrespect intended, but who the hell wanted to look at that face? My suggestion was to put you out there with the reporters. You're a passionate speaker for the program; you're young, intelligent, well-spoken and attractive. We'd highlight the fact that yes, the girl's death was a tragedy, but the real tragedy was that the program that might have saved her was woefully underfunded and understaffed. Both Bristol and that new guy, what's his name, Barry, were there when I made the pitch. Good Lord, you'd have thought I shot her mother, she went insane, absolutely frigging insane." Rising he started for the kitchen, "I'm going to open the red, I'm sorry, I'm out of white."

"That's fine," replied Nydia. "Red's fine..."

He returned and refilled her glass, "I ran into Bristol the other day and he told me that he thought the idea was an excellent one. I suggested that we try it now, better late than never, but he said nothing that major could be done until the new CEO came in. By that time, it will be too late; they'll have fired my ass already."

Nydia shook her head, "They won't fire you..."

"Whoever comes in will clean house," replied Alan. "The public loves a good house cleaning after a scandal, even if the people cleaned out had nothing to do with the problem." He leaned forward and smiled, "I'm not stupid, Nydia and neither are you; we both know I'm as good as gone."

She sipped her wine thoughtfully.

"So you think the little funding we have will dry up..."

"Unless they pull off some miracle and bring in a CEO with connections to a lot of money," he replied, slowly sipping his wine. Even after a couple of glasses, this wine was still crappy. Undeterred, he refilled both of their glasses.

"What about that other proposal," she asked, drawing closer to him. "The Sycle Foundation..."

Alan shook his head, eyeing her through the rose colored cloud the wine had left on his glass. He had always had a thing for Nydia, she was that odd combination of "out of your league" and "borderline slutty" that guys fantasized about.

"If you finished it and submitted it," she said, sliding off the couch and sliding onto the arm of the chair he was seated in, "do you think they would consider it?"

"Can't do it," replied Alan. "I've been ordered to cease all fundraising outreach activities until the new CEO arrives and concentrate solely on damage control, which is a joke. They refuse all of my press releases, they yell at me to write them, fight with me over what they should say and then refuse to issue them. As for the grant, even if I had the grant in final form, which I don't, I don't have Gate's signature on it."

"I'm sure you have copies of her signature," Nydia suggested, leaning closer to him, brushing her breast against his cheek.

"Even if I forged it, Grishom would know that it was finished after she died," he replied reasonably. "I doubt he would even consider it..."

"But he might," she whispered, her soft, sweet breath caressing his ear.

Alan hesitated. He knew the score, understood what was taking place here. The wine, after all, was not that good and had not given him that much of a buzz nor was his reality distorted in any meaningful way. While not hideous, he knew he wasn't good looking enough nor did he make enough money to score a woman like Nydia Sanchez. She was offering him a business proposition, plain and simple. She needed him to finish that grant proposal and instructions to submit it on the off chance that Mister Grishom might fund her program and save her job. It was a simple offer, her ass for his expertise.

As she nibbled his ear, Alan considered it. He knew that no matter who the new CEO was, he had no friends on the board of directors and they would be crying for blood. He would be amongst the first casualties of the new regime, of that he was certain. Because he knew he would lose his job anyway, that was a mark in Nydia's column. A mark against Nydia was that he had to think of his future. After Vitatown, there would have to be other jobs and he would be leaving under a cloud as it was, thanks to the whole suicide/murder scenario. If on top of that, they accused him of submitting a grant proposal with a forged signature, well, that would not help future employment opportunities.

As her hand slid under his shirt and she began to kiss his neck, he thought of the possible repercussions. Now if anyone charged him with using a forged signature, he could deny it, because he had copies of Gate's signature on forms that no one knew about, inter-office nonsense that he had the only copies on. Secondly, nothing in the proposal profited him. His job was not paid for through the proposal, there was nothing that anyone could say profited him in anyway should Vitatown get the money requested.

As Nydia slid to the floor in front of his chair and undid his belt buckle and unzipped his pants, he leaned back in the chair and set about the final phase of the decision making process. He had said he would not send out any new fundraising attempts, but technically, the Sycle Foundation proposal was in the process at the time; it was not new. Unless he missed his guess, Gate had never told anyone anything about her direct orders to him regarding it. Yes, Bristol and Barry had both been in on the initial meeting, but he had spoken to Gate at least a half dozen times on the phone after that and he was sure that no one could dispute his claims of what was discussed or ordered.

He felt his heart beat increase as Nydia took his swollen member into her mouth and began to gently caress it with her tongue. The final piece of the puzzle, he reasoned, was that he still had two alternatives. Say the sex was lousy or he just felt like being an asshole. He could always claim that he had sent the proposal and that it had been rejected, leaving Nydia unable to ever prove that he had failed to fulfilled his part of the bargain. At the moment, they didn't even have an oral agreement; no pun intended he chuckled to himself. Of course, if he did follow through on it, if he did what she was asking and Vitatown DID get the money, well then, he could point to the success of the proposal in his future job searches. Besides, how often would this opportunity present itself in his lifetime? Hot Latinas did not entice out of shape, underpaid grant writers with sexual favors in the real world. Let's face it, it just did not happen outside of telenovela's or porn movies; this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. As he reached his climax he also reached a decision. Looking down at Nydia, kneeling before him in her bra and panties, her hot body on display for his eyes only, he smiled.

"That was a nice start," he conceded, "but we're both going to have to put in a lot more hours if I'm going to finish that proposal."

***

Vance handed Ben a sandwich and took one for himself from the bag in the front seat of the van. Ben peered out the blacked out glass panel in the back with a pair of binoculars, staring at the door of the apartment building where Doris Martinez lived.

"The super said she was in earlier," stated Ben, opening the sandwich and then smelling it with distrust. "If she went out looking for a job, I'd think she'd be back soon."

"Davis wants us to contact him as soon as we speak to her," replied Vance. "Apparently, they have some questions for her. I remember seeing her the day I met with Gate, she was the receptionist at their Bronx center."

Ben checked the photo again and grunted.

He studied Vance out of the corner of his eye for a moment and then said, "What made you send your watchdog undercover?"

Vance munched on his sandwich thoughtfully, "She had the perfect cover and we desperately need someone on the inside. Oh that reminds me, we rented an apartment for her about three blocks up, she told them she was moving to the Bronx to make it seem more legit. She leaves work and enters the building in case anyone is watching and then I meet her out back and take her home. We have to go and pick her up at five."

"Pick her up?" asked Ben. "We're leaving a stake out to drive your receptionist home?"

"My watchdog," replied Vance, with the hint of a smile. "Don't you think she's worth it?"

Ben said nothing, returning his attention to the front of the building.

"She hasn't had it easy," commented Vance as he peered at the building. "Her husband and little boy died a while back in a car accident. She's never worked anywhere before she came to work for me, but she's a tough lady."

He saw Ben take in the information. Glancing at Vance for a moment, he returned his attention to the building without another word. Vance took another bite of his sandwich and thought back to his lunch with Melissa. He hated her mother, hated her for the things she had done to his wife, his angel. God, all he wanted to do was protect her, to keep her from any...

"There," snapped Ben.

Vance jerked his head up and stared at the building, bringing his binoculars in line.

"Yes, that's her..."

"Want to do this now?" asked Ben.

"Give her a moment," said Vance, pulling out his phone and sending a text to Davis. "It would be better if she's in her apartment, we can talk more privately there."

The two men waited while Doris entered the building, leaving the van only after seeing her take the elevator. Upon reaching the door, they found the front door locked, a series of buttons lining the wall next to it with apartment numbers listed on them. Ben stepped up to the buttons and pushed a half dozen of them. The door lock buzzed to life and they slipped inside and took an elevator up to the floor on which Doris lived.

The doors opened on a dark hallway, the smell of cooking in the air. Music blared from one apartment, a television show barely discernable from another as they advanced down the hall to her door. Vance knocked lightly on the door, Ben taking up a position to the side of the door, glancing up and down the hallway.

The door opened and a young Latino man stood in the doorway in jeans and sneakers, bare-chested. He looked up at Vance, who dwarfed him and then at Ben, who dwarfed Vance.

"I'd like to speak to Doris Martinez," said Vance.

"She's not home," lied the young man. "Why do you want her?"

To his surprise, Ben reached over and placing his hand on his chest, forced him backwards into the apartment. The swiftness of the movement caught the man by surprise; it appeared entirely effortless, like Ben was swatting a fly, a fact that was not lost on the smaller man.

"I don't think you understood my friend," stated Ben as Vance closed the door behind them. "She's here, go get her."

The young man stood wild eyed, "She's not here..."

"Who is it?" asked a soft, feminine voice from down the hallway.

Vance pushed past the young man who made a move to follow him but found himself on his back at Ben's feet.

"We can do this the hard way if you want," stated Ben flatly. "Frankly, I don't give a fuck."

Vance made his way down the hall and to the bedroom door where a young woman was pulling a blouse over her head. She was wearing a pair of jeans and was barefoot. She jumped back upon seeing him, but he held up a restraining hand.

"I'm sorry, Doris, but I need to speak to you."

"Where is..."

"He's inside with my friend," replied Vance. "We don't want to hurt him, or to hurt you, do you understand? We just need to ask you some questions."

She looked at him, her eyes wild with fear, "What kind of questions?"

"Why did you stop showing up for your job at Vitatown?" asked Vance.

The young woman looked about the room but there was no place to run, no weapon to grab.

"Again, I'm not looking to hurt anyone," stated Vance as he watched her eyes. "I just want some answers..."

"I didn't like my job," stated Doris pulling at her blouse. "Why do you care?"

"Because you stopped coming to work the day they found Doctor Gate's body," stated Vance. "Some people might find that a bit of a coincidence."

"I didn't just leave," stated Doris, her eyes growing wider. "Is that what you think? I told her I was going, I told her that I quit!"

"Who," asked Vance, "who did you tell?"

"Doctor Gate," she replied, moving closer to him, "I saw her that night. I told her, I told her that I could no longer work there..."

"Why would you go to Doctor Gate and tell her you quit?" asked Vance. "Why not just tell your supervisor?"

Doris looked about, fear and confusion on her features.

"I got the job from Ramon, the former CEO; he was the one who hired me..."

"Ramon, yes, he was the CEO before Doctor Gate..."

"Yes," she nodded, "yes, he was kind enough to hire me when no one else would...She knew that Ramon had hired me, he had been very kind to me...I felt it only right that I tell her personally that I was leaving. I never thought about it...I guess she died before she ever got to tell anyone that I had quit..."

"So you went to her office on the night of the murder..."

"No," she replied. "I went to her home."

"DORIS, ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?"

The sound of Hector's voice made her panic, jumping back next to the bed where she had been getting dressed.

"Look," said Vance softly. "Why don't you come out and sit down in the living room so he can see you and you can see him?"

Doris absorbed the information and then slowly nodded, allowing Vance to lead her into the living room. Hector was seated on her battered couch, a giant standing over him. The giant looked up at her, his expression made of stone. Slowly, she lowered herself onto the couch next to Hector and took his hand.

"They don't want to hurt us," she said softly, "they only want to know why I quit my job."

"Why is that important?" asked Hector.

Doris shrugged and looked up at Vance.

Vance glanced at Ben and then spoke to the two on the couch, "Look, Doris, don't you see that the police are going to find it suspicious that a receptionist went to the CEO of a multimillion dollar corporation to quit her job on the very night the CEO was murdered?"

Doris looked at Vance for a moment and then at Hector, "Oh my God..."

"You don't think..." began Hector.

"I don't think anything, but the police might," replied Vance. "This is a high profile case and they want to solve it. Now your wife..."

"Girlfriend," corrected Hector.

"Girlfriend said that she didn't like her job, went all the way to Brooklyn to the doctor's home to tell her that she didn't like her job and was quitting," stated Vance. "Why didn't you go to the police when you heard of the murder?"

"Because I didn't do anything," replied Doris. "I went to see her and told her what I had to tell her and I left. I didn't think anything of it, I mean, I told her I quit and from that point on, I just didn't work there anymore."

"How long were you at the doctor's house?" asked Vance.

"About three quarters of an hour, an hour at most," replied Doris.

"It took you three quarters of an hour to tell her you quit?" asked Ben. "They're not going to like the sound of that..."

"I knew her," replied Doris. "You don't understand, I knew her, I knew Ramon...it's complicated..."

"You said Ramon got you the job," stated Vance.

"Yes, Ramon helped me, he was always good to me," replied Doris. "He wanted to help me, so he got me a job working for his company."

"Why not just call her on the phone to tell her you were quitting?" asked Ben. "A lot easier than hitching a ride from the Bronx to Brooklyn..."

"I couldn't do that," replied Doris, glancing nervously at Hector. "You can't just tell someone you know that you're leaving over the phone..."

"Did she offer you anything while you were there?" asked Vance.

Doris looked at him, confused, "Offer me anything? I don't understand..."

"Did you have dinner with her or a drink," he asked.

Doris looked at the floor, trying desperately to remember, "We had coffee, she made coffee and we sat in her kitchen and I told her that I didn't want to work for Vitatown anymore."

"How did she react to the news?" asked Vance.

"She got a bit upset," replied Doris. "She was a bit angry, mad that she had to find a replacement I think. I don't know..."

"Who cares?" asked Hector. "Doris didn't do nothing!"

"You were there the night she was killed," said Vance. "The cops are going to want to talk things over with you."

"But she didn't do nothing," replied Hector. "Doris wouldn't hurt anybody!"

A knock at the door ended the conversation. Ben moved slowly to the door, opening it. Two police officers entered the room.

"Lieutenant Davis said you'd be expecting us," stated one of the cops.

"Her name is Doris Martinez," said Vance softly. "George is going to want to speak with her."

"We should get going," stated Ben suddenly.

Vance looked at him, surprised, "Why?"

"It's almost five," replied Ben. "We have to pick up your watchdog."

Chapter 13

Dinner was on the stove, it would be ready in about an hour. Vance had called, he was running a bit late, but he would be home soon. Melissa moved wearily from the kitchen to the living room, lowering herself onto the couch and glancing about aimlessly.

Ever since receiving the letter from her mother she had felt out of sorts, lethargic. Normally she would have contacted her best friend Beverly and had lunch with her. Beverly always had a way of driving her doldrums away and of making her see reason, but Beverly was away. She and her husband and her daughter Tara were out visiting relatives in Colorado and would not be back for another few weeks.

Melissa did not want to give way to depression, just wanted to forget about the whole thing, but it was incredibly hard. Anything to do with her mother twisted her up in knots. She had told her mother that she wanted nothing to do with her, ever since that day, that horrible day...

The knock at the door drew Melissa out of her memories. Crossing to the door, she opened it to find Mrs. Giamonte standing in the hall, a sympathetic smile on her face.

"Doctor Tibbet, may I come in?" she asked, pushing her way past Melissa and entering the apartment.

Melissa shrugged he shoulders, "Sure, why not?" bowing to the inevitable.

"I hope you don't mind me stopping in, dear," she continued, dropping down onto the sofa and patting the place next to her. "I just felt we needed to talk."

Melissa lowered herself next to the elderly woman, preparing for the revelation that they were about to enjoy a rent increase.

"As you know, I don't like to interfere in my tenant's lives," began Mrs. Giamonte. "I also don't like to play favorites, it would be unseemly, but I think you know that you and your husband hold a special place for me."

"Thank you," smiled Melissa, unsure if this was good news.

"Don't get me wrong, I like all of my tenants," continued Mrs. Giamonte, "though if some of them left tomorrow, good riddance to bad rubbish, you understand?"

"I think so," lied Melissa.

Taking Melissa's hands into her own, she smiled at her; such a lovely girl.

"I noticed that you're a little quiet lately," said Mrs. Giamonte. "And I wanted to find out if you are okay."

Melissa smiled sadly, genuinely touched that at the elderly woman's concern.

"I'm fine; it's just that I received a letter from my mother..."

"That nut bag wrote to you?" asked Mrs. Giamonte.

Melissa frowned, "Uh, yes. I didn't reply, of course, it's just got me thinking, that's all..."

Mrs. Giamonte nodded her head knowingly, "Doctor Tibbet, did I ever tell you about my cousin Anthony?"

"I'm not sure," confessed Melissa, "you've told me about a few of your cousins..."

"My cousin Anthony's father was a man named Rocco," began Mrs. Giamonte. "When we were little kids, cousin Anthony would sometimes visit us with his father. Rocco was a strange man, he wore a black suit all of the time, even on the hottest days and he didn't talk much and he had a face that would scare Satan himself. Not bad looking, mind you, he just looked evil. All the men in the village would call him Cravatta, which means necktie, but never to his face. He was scary looking and they were chicken shits, so they talked about him behind his back, you understand?"

Melissa nodded, having no idea what Mrs. Giamonte was talking about.

"Anyway, one day when I'm about fourteen, my mother comes home and tells my father that the carabinieri came and took cousin Rocco into custody. Turns out he was a mass murderer, killed about a hundred people," stated Mrs. Giamonte happily. "He used a garrote, which is why the men in the village called him Cravatta. Apparently they had suspicions about his after hour activities, but they could never prove anything until he got sloppy and the police caught him. During the trial, his wife, our cousin Antoinette and his son, cousin Anthony, came to live with us because our home was closer to where the court was than their house. I'll never forget one day running to the lake near the house to go swimming with Anthony. He got to the lake all excited and then he didn't want to go in and all of the kids started calling to him, "Come on in Anthony," you know. Finally he took off his shirt and jumped in. We tried not to stare, but his back was just all cut up from where his father used to beat him, it was horrible, a terrible thing."

"I'm sorry..." said Melissa, unsure of what she should say.

"Well, anyway, his father was sentenced, the lunatic admitted everything and they locked him away for life. When Cousin Anthony grew up, he got married and had seven children. One day, not too long before my husband and I left to come to this country, Anthony's oldest son, Vincent, decided to try some of his father's homemade wine. Now you have to understand, Anthony was known for his homemade wine, two glasses of his wine would knock an elephant on its ass. Anyway, Vincent took a sip and decided that it was the worst thing he had ever tasted, so he emptied about a dozen bottles of it into the donkey's watering trough."

"The donkey's watering trough?" asked Melissa, completely lost.

"Yeah, yeah, there was a trough in the village for the donkeys that the farmers used to pull their wagons into town. So Vincent, he pours Cousin Anthony's wine into the trough and the donkeys drink it and get plastered. At first, no one could figure out what was wrong with the donkeys and then someone smelled his donkey's breath and realized, my donkey is drunk! Until this day, everyone in our village remembers Cousin Anthony as the man who got the donkeys drunk! I spoke to Vincent on the telephone last week and we were talking about it and about his father and he got all choked up, you know? He said he thought once he confessed to pouring out his father's wine, his father was going to get mad and hit him, but cousin Anthony, he just laughed, he thought it was funny. Vincent said his father never hit him when he was growing up. He got all teary eyed about his father, kept telling me what a great guy he was and he's been dead for thirty years. Thirty years and his son still misses him, you understand?"

Melissa blinked slowly, "Honestly, Mrs. Giamonte, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Mrs. Giamonte rolled her eyes in exasperation, "Cousin Anthony's father Rocco was a mass murderer, an animal, but Cousin Anthony is still remembered with love. He didn't let his father's life dictate who he was, that's why the memory of one of them is still used by angry mothers to terrify village children into doing what they want and the memory of the other brings a laugh to everyone in the village, even the donkeys."

Squeezing Melissa's hands, she smiled a knowing smile, "Forget that nut bag you had as a mother. I'm sure it wasn't easy for Cousin Anthony and you're going to hit some bumps in the road too, but go out, Doctor Tibbet, go out and get your donkeys drunk."

Melissa smiled and leaning forward, gave Mrs. Giamonte a big hug. She might be insane, but she did have a point.

Leaning back, Mrs. Giamonte smiled, "There's that beautiful smile. Good, good... I've got to go now," she stated, rising from the couch and heading for the door. "UPS is supposed to be delivering a package for me, I ordered some curtains and the lying bastards said I wasn't home last time they tried to deliver."

Melissa walked her to the door and hugged her again, "Thank you, Mrs. Giamonte."

"My pleasure dear," she smiled.

Opening the door, they almost ran into Vance who was fiddling with his keys in the hallway.

"Hello, Mrs. Giamonte," he said.

"Have a nice dinner, Mister Tibbet," she replied as she shuffled down the hallway.

Vance leaned over and kissed Melissa, pleased to see a smile on her face.

"How was your day, honey?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her tiny waist.

"It just got a lot better," she smiled, kissing him again. She giggled and touched his face shyly with her hand, "Let's have wine with dinner tonight..."

***

Doris Martinez sat in her bedroom and tried to think. The police had questioned her for hours, she was exhausted but she could not sleep. She had called Hector as soon as she had gotten home, but he had not wanted to speak, that much was obvious. She was losing him, he was pulling away and she did not know what to do. She felt trapped and alone and scared, very scared.

If only Ramon were still alive, she could count on Ramon, count on him for good advice. He had always been so kind to her. All she wanted to do was protect his reputation, she owed that much to him. Glancing up, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Be truthful, the image taunted her, be truthful, it isn't only Ramon's reputation that you want to protect, it isn't only Ramon...

She forced herself to look away. She needed a job, she needed to make some money and get away from here. She would leave the Bronx, move somewhere out west and never come back here. She would start over and live the life she should have led. She would live like she had never met them, Ramon and Doctor Gate, like they had never existed.

She thought of Gate, thought of the last night. She had tried so hard to make her understand, to make her see reason, but she just wouldn't listen; she never listened. She had made herself into something that was unseeing and uncaring. All she had wanted in the end was to be obeyed, that had been Nora's problem. People were just tools that accomplished tasks; she had no humanity left in her at the end, not for a long time.

She wondered what it had been like for Doctor Gate at the end. She had always had such a belief in the power of her intellect, what hellish corridors had her intellect taken her down when the drugs had taken effect? Doris had read up on the effects of overdosing, they could tell you what the body did, what the outward effects were, but they could not tell you what was happening on the inside, what dreams or nightmares the person saw who was going through it. She could not decide if she hoped it was pleasant or if it could not have been too painful.

Doris stripped off her clothing and eased back onto the cool sheets, nude. She remembered doing this as a little girl, resting on her bed nude as a young girl, feeling the air and stillness and darkness caress her and make her feel like one with the universe, clean and whole. She no longer felt clean and whole; she had not felt that way in a long time...

***

Mary tried to remain positive but it was not easy. No one at work spoke to her outside of asking a work related question or giving a work related order. Retreating to the dingy room that acted as a lunchroom, she ate her sandwich and tried to avoid eye contact with anyone else. No one spoke here, there was no camaraderie. She heard whispered arguments all of the time, but it seemed as if everyone was afraid to speak above a whisper.

Checking her watch, she made no outward sign of her disappointment that time was not moving faster. She was going to go outside and get some air, she decided and rising, made her way out into the hallway and headed for the front door.

A man stood before the reception desk. He was tall and gaunt and his clothes were worn, but clean. He turned and Mary recognized him, he had visited yesterday. In fact, he was here every day, but he never approached the desk, he always waited in the reception area and then seemed to disappear as suddenly as he appeared.

"Can I help you?" asked Mary, noting that there was no one at the reception desk.

The man turned towards her and hesitated, "I'm here to see someone..."

"Do you want me to call them?" asked Mary.

"Uhhh," the man replied, obviously torn.

"It's not a bother," replied Mary, thinking that he was hesitating because he did not want to disturb her lunch. "What is your name?"

The man looked at her, unsure of what he should do, "My name is Edgar, Edgar Jennings..."

Just as Mary stepped around the desk, Nydia stepped out of her office.

"Is there a problem?" she asked, hurriedly coming forward.

"This gentleman is looking for someone," replied Mary.

"Come with me," snapped Nydia at the man, who looked panicky from Mary to Nydia and then fell into step behind her.

"It's all right, Mary," said Nydia, a smile plastered on her face, "I'll take care of him."

Mary watched Nydia sashay into her office followed by the man. With a shrug, she made her way out the front door and stood in the fresh air. She would be happy to get back to her desk at Tibbet Security. She missed her morning chats with Tori and she did not like this place.

***

Inside Nydia's office, the man stood cowering while Nydia whispered at him angrily.

"You know you're not supposed to talk to anyone else," she scolded. "You're supposed to come in and wait for me!"

"You weren't here," whined the man, "I didn't know what to tell her..."

"Damn it, Ed, I'm ALWAYS here," she hissed. "You know better than to open your mouth to anyone else! What the hell made you talk to her? You wait for me and you talk to NO ONE do you understand?"

"I panicked," he replied. "She came up behind me..."

"There won't BE a next time, do you understand?" snapped Nydia, glancing about the room as if the walls had ears. "Now get out of here and don't say anything to anyone, speak to NO ONE, do you understand?"

"Yes," he replied sullenly.

She watched him shuffle out the door and sat back down at her desk, forcing herself to compose her emotions. This was for the program. She had sworn to do anything she could, anything it took to save the program, HER program. Glancing down at her computer, she shook her head; she had to consider the email that had just arrived from Alan. Pulling out her cell phone, she clicked onto her text messages and typed quickly, "2nite,7" and hit send. She would have to stop at home to pick up a few things; apparently Alan wanted to see what she looked like in lingerie...

Chapter 14

George Davis sat down opposite Clark Grayson and smiled at the city's Chief Medical Examiner while inwardly groaning. Clark Grayson was a respected expert, a decorated war hero, a true American, a good father, a fine tennis player, a good Christian and for all George knew the world's greatest flamingo dancer, a championship bull rider and the only man alive who could make playing the accordion sexually alluring. He was, however, without a doubt the most bone numbingly boring speaker that George had ever laid ears on. The only reason that his colleagues did not run screaming at the sight of his approach was that Clark was a genuinely kind and sweet man who had no idea of how truly boring he was. George scolded himself, realizing that it was not Clark's fault that he spoke in the most unemotional monotone this side of a computer and used scientific jargon that meant nothing to anyone outside of his field. That the man possessed the most expressionless face God had ever created only added to the painfulness of any discussion with him.

To make matters worse, George had gotten almost no sleep last night. Not for any particular reason but because he just could not stop turning the Gate case over and over in his mind, trying to find the piece of the puzzle that he knew he was missing. He was sure that something was being hidden from his view, either intentionally or unintentionally, but what, he could not fathom. The only thing he was sure of was that it was out there, just beyond his vision.

"Good morning, George," began Clark formally. George smiled. He had been blessed with perfect pitch and it had kicked in just now. Clark spoke in E-flat, every word, every syllable. George would be bored to death by a recital in E-flat.

"I wanted to speak to you," continued Clark, "regarding the toxicology report that we completed yesterday at approximately six thirty pm."

"Thank you, Clark," replied George, already struggling to keep his eyes open. "I got the toxicology report a few days ago."

Clark showed no expression, "We did not finish it until yesterday; it is inconceivable that you could have received any information prior to its completion."

"Wait a minute," replied George, "WHOSE toxicology report?"

"The girl's," replied Clark. "Ana Garcia, the young woman who committed suicide. You requested that I contact you with the toxicology report as soon as it was completed. Unfortunately, we were unable to complete it until last night due to a backlog of prior cases."

George grimaced. Gate had died after Garcia, but her report had been done first. Even in death the wealthy and well connected retained their privileges...

"Oh," replied George, "I had forgotten that I had asked you about that; I was referring to Doctor Gate's report..."

"Your confusion is understandable," replied Clark, opening the folder in front of him and barely glancing down at the information. "I decided to request this meeting rather than commit this information to an email summary because I found an anomaly in the report that I believe would be of interest to you."

"All right," replied George, feeling himself growing sleepy.

"It was while I was reviewing the toxicology report for the subject and reviewing the listing here, in the right hand column for controlled substances that I became aware of the anomaly to which I previously alluded," began Clark. "As you can see, the percentage of the selective serotonin uptake inhibitor located in the blood stream is consistent with the normal elected dose prescribed by a qualified mental health practitioner in the early phases of treatment for a diagnosed state of depression in a teenage subject of the size, age and weight of the deceased..."

"We know that the girl suffered from depression," stated George. "So her doctor put her on an SSRI. I'm sorry Clark, I don't see the anomaly."

Clark betrayed no emotion, staring at George through dull, gray eyes, "It was in the course of reviewing the medical records provided to me by the law enforcement officials of your department currently assigned to the prosecution of the case that I discovered the anomaly."

"So the blood work is not the anomaly," replied George, struggling not to yawn.

"The toxicology report expresses the information that points to the anomaly," explained Clark. "Upon review of the medical records provided by the competent law enforcement authorities in relationship to the deceased, I was unable to find mention of or records from a qualified medical professional either describing or implementing the aforementioned course of treatment."

George squinted, a dull headache beginning just over his right eye.

"You're saying that you have no record of a doctor prescribing anti-depressants for her?" asked George. "But she was in the program..."

"In examining the program itself, I was able to discover some discrepancies arising from the presentation of its primary objectives and its actual ability to accomplish said goals," Clark droned on. "While the outline and scope of the program initially described in the reading material provided by your office to me for review in association with their investigation suggests that a competent medical authority would be available for the benefit of all participants, there is no documentation in the profile of the deceased provided by the program suggesting that she was treated or became the patient of a competent medical authority. Also, in conjuncture with this observation, there is no notation, no record and no documentation found in the file of the deceased to suggest that the deceased's file was ever reviewed by any certified mental health authority above the marginally trained social workers who administered the program."

"So you're saying that she was taking the medication, but no one prescribed it for her."

"That is correct," replied Clark. "Additionally, I am stating that there was no one involved in the daily operation of the program who could legally prescribe medication, not only that which falls into the controlled substance categories, but medication of any kind requiring a prescription."

"But there are doctors at the center," countered George, his interest growing.

"None of whom are associated with the program, either formally or informally," replied Clark. "An additional review of the personnel's biographies at the location furnished indicates that none of the medical professionals with the capability of writing a prescription for the medication found in the deceased's toxicology report had the prescribed legal specification to examine or prescribe medication for a child in any situation other than a medical emergency."

"So they lied about what the program was attempting to accomplish," whispered George.

"I could not draw a comprehensive conclusion from the materials submitted as to the legitimacy of the program as a whole," replied Clark dully, "but if the profile provided is an accurate reflection of the level of care provided to the participants as a group, then I would be forced to conclude that the materials provided by your department to this office indicate that the agency in question acted intentionally to deceive. Please note this brochure. It plainly states, and I quote, that "every participant will be evaluated by a board certified psychiatrist" end quote. In the following paragraph it states, and I quote, that "each participant will be monitored by a board certified psychiatrist whose recommendations and course of treatment will be provided at no charge to the participant", end quote. There are further examples in the literature."

"So they promised the parents that their kids would be under a doctor's care, but there was no doctor. Clark, if there was no doctor, then where was she getting the medication from?" asked George.

"The medication described in the toxicology report is a controlled substance that can only be obtained legally through the use of a prescription written by a competent medical authority," replied Clark. "Any other means of obtaining this medication would be illegal. There are no records of her having received this medication in a legal manner."

"Clark, can you determine if the drug found in her system is the same SSRI that was found in Gate's system?" asked George.

"I anticipated your desire to know that information," replied Clark. "While there are slight discrepancies between the manufacture of any medication created by competing companies and given the differences in the age, weight, ingestion times and amounts of the two subjects, I would be comfortable stating that the likelihood that the medication ingested by the two subjects being the same would be in the ninety six to ninety eight percentile."

George rose, "Can you send me a copy of your report via email?"

"I will send you a copy of the written report momentarily," replied Clark. "I believe that is all of the information I can provide you with at this time."

"Thank you, Clark," smiled George, his headache clearing. Great, he thought, now he had a possible connection between the two incidents. George sighed; all it did was create more questions than it answered.

***

Carmen stood respectfully as Mister Gordon, the head of the board of directors and Mister Bristol, the corporate attorney sat at the conference table in Doctor Gate's office. As the two men continued to try and stall the police, rumors and innuendo continued to be reported in the papers, forcing the men to try and do something to calm the rising storm. If the press did not relent soon, they would have to begin assisting the police in their investigation. To her surprise, Bristol offered her a seat with a gesture and Carmen sat down, hands palm down on the table top.

"Carmen," began Mister Bristol, "because of the suddenness of Doctor Gate's passing, we find ourselves in a bit of a situation."

"You see, Carmen," began Mister Gordon warmly, "we are not sure what the doctor was working on or what she was doing at the time of her death as regards to Vitatown."

Carmen smiled. She had known Mister Gordon for years now, it was the first time he had deigned to address her. He was the wealthy president of a pharmaceutical company, a man who saw no one who wasn't worth a million dollars and now he was crawling to her because he had no idea what Doctor Gate had been doing and the cops were getting close to finding something.

"Perhaps if you could be a bit more specific, I could help you," she replied politely.

"Do you know what Doctor Gate was doing with the LockLife project, specifically?" asked Bristol.

"I could not say," replied Carmen, "but the files are here, all of her directives and orders. Would you like to look them over?"

The two men exchanged anxious glances.

"If you could get us those files, that would be wonderful," replied Mister Gordon.

Carmen rose and located the files, bringing them six folders, each between and three hundred pages. The two men thanked her profusely and allowed her to go.

Returning to her desk, Carmen waited for the eventual summons. They would want her to do the dirty work; of this she had no doubt. It was several hours later that the intercom buzzed and Mister Bristol asked her to step inside.

As she entered, she noticed that the all powerful Mister Gordon was trying his best not to look anxious. Mister Bristol smiled as she retook the seat she had taken before, not waiting for them to offer it to her this time. She smiled pleasantly as Mister Bristol cleared his throat.

"Carmen, do you know what is in these files?" asked Bristol.

"I worked with the doctor on some of the information they contain," replied Carmen. "Most of it, however, was what she worked on with the program head. She usually liked to work with each program head and then I was brought in, mostly to do the filing. I don't know the content, I was told to file it, that's all."

"So you don't know what these documents..." began Mister Gordon. Stopping himself, he smiled broadly, "Carmen, these documents are not really what we were looking for, are they Bristol?"

"No," replied Bristol, shaking his head, "we were looking more for the financial records, accounting and so on..."

"That would be in the finance department," replied Carmen evenly. "Elaine would have that information."

"With Doctor Gate gone, these program notes are of no value," stated Gordon. "You might as well dispose of them, they're only taking up space and the new CEO will need the room, don't you think so Bristol?"

"That would be the new CEO's call," replied Bristol, unwilling to be accused of giving the order for them to be destroyed himself.

Gordon grimaced and then, returned his attention to Carmen, "If you don't mind, Carmen, please dispose of these, they have no value."

"As you wish, Mister Gordon," she replied. "Would you like me to contact Elaine for you? I believe that she's still in her office. Perhaps she could pull those records you were interested in..."

"No, thank you," he replied, rising. "You know, Bristol and I will just walk over there and speak to her ourselves if she has a minute."

"Certainly," replied Carmen, rising from her chair.

"And you'll take care of these..." asked Bristol, motioning to the files piled on the table.

"Certainly," smiled Carmen.

She watched the two men saunter out of the room, their troubles at an end. Closing the office door, she returned to the table and rearranged the files back in their respective folders. Walking back to the door, she checked to make sure that she would not be interrupted. Returning to the files, she quickly picked them up and returned them to their proper place in the file cabinets. Picking up a plastic bag, she stuffed it with the brochure and flier extras that the doctor always kept in a large pile in one of the cabinets and then exited the office. Crossing to a cart, she loaded the bag on to it and wheeled it down to the shredder at the end of the hall.

It was an industrial sized shredder, capable of shredding a book to confetti in seconds. Piling the brochures into it, she pushed the on switch and watched it grind the paper into little squares. As the machine wound down, she heard the two men making their way down the hall towards her. Mister Gordon stopped in the doorway of the room and looked over at the large pile of paper in the barrel beneath the shredder.

"You got rid of the files I see," he said happily.

"All taken care of," smiled Carmen.

"Good, good," replied Gordon. "Thank you Carmen."

"Anytime, Mister Gordon," she replied. "Anytime..."

***

Melissa entered the reception area of Tibbet Security, surprised to see Tori seated behind the receptionist desk. Offered Tori a large smile, she drew closer.

"Why do they have you manning the phones?" asked Melissa.

"Your husband has Mary working undercover, so we're all pitching in," laughed Tori. "Vance didn't tell you?"

"No," replied Melissa.

"I suppose he didn't tell you that she stopped Ben then," stated Tori.

"Actually, he did," she replied, leaning against the desk. "How did Ben take it?"

"Ben?" asked Tori. "I have no idea. She survived, how I don't know. I remember the girl we had as a temp, she was so scared the first time he walked in, she forgot to do anything; she just froze."

"I remember the first time I met him," said Melissa. "Vance was there and armed and I still was shaking in my boots. Mary seems so quiet, when he told me I could not imagine how she managed it."

The phone on the desk rang and Tori held up a finger and answered it.

"Yes, she just walked in. Okay, I'll send her back," she stated, pointing Melissa to the door.

Melissa gave her a wave and went through the door. Vance would not tell her what he needed her for; he had just called and asked if she could come over right away. Fortunately she was not that far away and she had had a cancellation. Entering his office, she smiled as she watched his face light up. He always seemed so happy to see her; it was one of the many things she loved about him.

"Honey, you remember George Davis," he said, crossing to her and offering her a quick kiss.

Melissa turned to shake hands with George, suppressing a laugh.

"So nice to see you again, Mel," stated George.

"I hope I look better than I did last time," she replied, taking a seat next to him. "I'm afraid I'm never at my stylish best when you wake me out of a sound sleep..."

"I've kept Mel up to date on everything in the Gate case," began Vance, returning to his chair. "George has a file here that we would like you to take a look at if you don't mind."

"It is a file we were given during the course of our investigation," stated George, handing a brown file folder to Melissa, who took it and opened it, scanning the top sheet. "It concerns a young girl being treated for depression. I was hoping you might give me your professional opinion on it."

"Sure, if you think it will help," murmured Melissa, reading over the report.

For several minutes, the two men remained quiet as she looked over the report. At the end of it, she closed the folder and looked up at them and shrugged.

"What is it that you want to know?" she asked.

"What is your initial take on the report?" asked George.

"I don't think it was written by a mental health professional," replied Melissa. "I think it was written by someone with a rudimentary knowledge of mental health practices, a social worker or a secretary who has worked in the field for a good many years. I could imagine my secretary Ginger writing something similar..."

"What is your overall impression of the report?" asked George.

Melissa shrugged, "If someone had sent this report to me, I would suggest that the young woman they are describing be sent to someone who specifically deals with teenage depression issues immediately. It is not my specialty, Lieutenant, but there are multiple red flags here. The person writing the report seems to have caught some of them, but I suspect not all of them. From what I have read, I would suggest to you that this young woman is in serious danger. I have to say that the person writing the report is very compassionate and empathetic to the subject and has picked up on many of the more obvious problems, but if what is written here is any indication, I would probably suggest immediate hospitalization for this young woman. If the writer is to be believed, and I have the sense that they are a sincere and intelligent person, this young lady is in a very dangerous place."

George took out a second folder and handed it to Melissa, "Would you mind doing the same thing with this report?"

Melissa took the file and glanced at Vance, who gestured for her to continue.

After reading the file, she looked up at the two of them again, "The report is similar. I would say that this subject is in a better place than the first subject, but I would still insist that they see a mental health professional. Part of it depends upon the person writing the report and how observant they are, but to tell you both the truth, both of these reports are inadequate..."

"Why do you say that?" asked George.

"They're both hit or miss in several ways. The follow up is incomplete, things that should be asked aren't being asked, unimportant things are being reported..." Melissa shrugged. "I'm sorry, but the best way I could explain it is if I were to write up an accident report and submit it to your captain. I would get some of the details, possibly most or even all of them, but I wouldn't phrase it in the proper way or know everything that is important."

"The first file I handed you was the file of a young lady who is in the LockLife program that Vitatown runs in the Bronx," stated George softly. "The second file is a copy of the file of Ana Garcia, the young girl who committed suicide up there a short time ago. We finally were able to subpoena the program files and this is what they were able to come up with."

"None of the girls in the program have ever been seen by a psychiatrist," stated Vance. "All they have are these program notes, nothing else..."

"Also, we were able to subpoena the medical records of each of the girls and they are currently each receiving a blood test," stated George. "Two of the girls recently had blood work done because they're trying out for sport teams at their respective high schools. Both girls tested positive for SSRI's in their blood, but neither were ever prescribed the medication by a doctor."

"Those are controlled substances..." began Melissa.

"We know," stated Vance. "We have a feeling that all of the girls are going to test positive for it. Ana Garcia had it in her bloodstream and it is the medicine that Doctor Gate overdosed on."

"And none of them have any medical record indicating that they were prescribed the medication," stated George.

Melissa shook her head, "But how could that be? Are the girls denying that they knowingly took the medication?"

"We've only interviewed a few of the girls and their parents, but so far, all of them claim that they never knowingly took any medication," replied George.

"Also, other than the program, the girls are not a group of friends or even acquaintances. They don't all come from the same neighborhood and they don't all go to the same school," stated Vance. "Their only reliable connection to one another is the program."

"So you're saying that most likely, they unknowingly received the medication while at the program?" asked Melissa.

"It's the only logical explanation," replied George. "We're not sure how, but we suspect that it was administered through the snacks that they were given. What we don't know for sure is who gave it to them."

"Also, whoever gave it to the girls might not be the same person who killed Doctor Gate," stated Vance.

"I'm going to recommend to my boss that a panel of experts look over the girl's files," stated George. "Hopefully we can get them the help that they need before another tragedy occurs. I was hoping you might agree to help us out..."

"It isn't really my area of expertise," began Melissa.

"You would not be a member of the panel," replied George. "I would ask you to go over certain files for my benefit. A formal panel will take a little while to put together and in the meantime, I need answers to questions I don't know how to ask."

"If you could help out, honey, it would be greatly appreciated," added Vance. "And we might be able to stop another tragedy."

"Well, I am a bit slack at the moment," replied Melissa. "Plus it will give me a chance to work with Vance..."

"Thank you, Doctor Tibbet," smiled George.

"I just hope I can help," replied Melissa, sadness in her eyes. "I hope George that the rest of the files are not like these; we might already be too late."

Chapter 15

"Shit, you're amazing," moaned Alan as he increased the rhythm of his love making.

He had never had a woman like Nydia before and he knew in all probability that he never would again. Standing behind her, he admired the shape of her body, from the sweet shape of her shoulders to the way her breasts swung with each thrust to the curve of her waist to her perfectly shaped butt. Sex had never felt this good before, but he knew tonight would be the last night.

In the living room, sign, sealed and ready to go was the proposal he had promised. He might be a lewd, lust filled, horn bag with extremely questionable morals but he would not be an asshole; he would deliver what he had promised. He had it signed, sealed and packed up and he would give it to her tonight, certain that he would probably never see her again after she walked out the door. Still, this was incredible and he was going to enjoy it, no matter how much he loathed how he had accomplished it. She was moaning and swearing in Spanish now and that just made the sex that much better. Yes, he was a pig, but no man on the planet would condemn him for it.

Nydia was on all fours on the bed, her mind lost on other thoughts as Alan thrust into her from behind. She had seen a package when she had come in and hoped that it was the proposal; at least that was her suspicion. Glancing over her shoulder, she felt Alan increasing his pace. He was not the worst lover she had ever had and at least he wasn't into anything kinky. She had reluctantly agreed to mount the bed on all fours, fearing that he would attempt anal sex, something she did not enjoy, but no, he was only interested in doing it doggy style which had been a relief. He actually wasn't a bad guy and had surprising stamina for someone in questionable shape. Still she wondered; if she had acted differently could she have gotten off more cheaply? If instead of being aggressive with him, if she had played her part differently, perhaps she would have been able to seduce him with tears instead of sex. He surprised her by bringing his hand underneath her and gently rubbing her clit as he picked up his pace once again. Yes, that was very nice, very nice indeed. No, this wasn't too bad, especially if she got the proposal tonight. Yes, that actually feels good...She leaned back slightly more, enjoying the sensation. Must stay focused, she warned herself, keep your eye on the prize. This is for the program, your program.

She imagined herself standing at a podium as she had seen Gate do countless times, a plaque in hand, the applause in the room rising, accepting yet another well deserved award. They were all there for her, her colleagues finally all there to acknowledge her contributions, her work, the long hours, the hard decisions, the doing without to save others. The applause increased and Nydia felt the rising excitement, the rising tension in her body. She closed her eyes and heard the applause, the acclamation... She heard herself moan as she and Alan climaxed together.

"Damn it," groaned Alan. "You are fucking amazing..."

"Thank you," whispered Nydia to the unseen room of attendees, "thank you very much..."

Alan collapsing on her back brought her out of her reveries. She heard the gasping breath, felt the moist, sticky skin on hers and taking a deep breath, reminding herself what she was doing and why she was here.

"Come with me," he whispered.

She got up obediently and followed him to his bathroom, where he turned on the shower. Taking her hand, he pulled her into the tub, handing her the soap as he stood beneath the nozzle, wetting his hair. She soaped her body slowly, letting him enjoy the show, watching his member re-inflate as his lust grew. He kissed her, pulling her closer, mashing her body to his own. He seemed to have hands everywhere and then he forcing her back against the cold tile wall as he lifted her slightly to enter her. Shit the tiles were cold and she shivered as he entered her. He mistook her reaction as pleasure and began to thrust into her wildly as he groped her butt and thrust his tongue into her mouth. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she steadied herself and closed her eyes again, searching for the award room once again, for the applause, for the acknowledgement. This time she did not even get to the podium before he sighed and stopped thrusting.

As he backed away, she took the soap and the wash cloth and washed herself slowly, allowing him to enjoy her body with his eyes. Finally she stepped out of the shower and grabbed his towel, drying herself and leaving the bathroom before he was finished cleaning himself.

He found her in the bedroom, almost completely dressed, putting her shoes on. It was over, he acknowledged with a shrug. She looked up and smiled at him, hoping he would be a good sport and as he reached for his clothing, she knew that he would be.

"I've got the proposal inside," he said as he pulled a t-shirt over his still damp hair. Sitting on the bed, he pulled on his socks as he continued, "All you need to do is mail it to them, it would be best if you did next day service and make sure that you get a return receipt for it. Make out the receipt to go to your house, they won't keep track of it, but this way if it doesn't arrive back at your place in a few days, you can let me know and I'll call to see if they received it, okay?"

"Great," smiled Nydia, rising from the bed anxiously.

He stood and led her into the living room and picking up the package, handed it to her.

"I did my best, Nydia, but there is no guarantee that we'll get the money," he stated softly.

"Thank you, Alan, I appreciate it more than you know," she replied, eyeing the package with unrestrained glee.

Making her way to the door, she turned suddenly and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"If you need anything, you know where to find me," he said softly.

He followed her down the stairs and watched her walk up the driveway and out the gate. Making his way back into his apartment, he sat on his couch and shook his head. He had busted his ass to get that proposal ready, had risked his career by giving it to her and would probably catch hell for it, but damn it, she had made it worth his while...

***

Mister Bristol sat at the conference table in Doctor Gate's former office, Carmen to his right, Lieutenant Davis and Barry Todd across the table from him. Pressures had mounted on several elected officials regarding the cases of the doctor and Ana Garcia and he had been forced to grant access to the police to both the files and employees of Vitatown. At this point there was little he could do but submit to the various subpoenas and hope to keep the damage to a minimum.

George had decided to bring Barry with him to present a familiar and friendly face to Carmen whom he considered a potentially valuable witness. Reports were coming in from sources and Vitatown would most likely be facing a variety of charges regarding the death of Ana Garcia. With the possibility of a drug connection in the two deaths, he felt that anything they learned might be of use in the doctor's murder investigation as well.

Carmen sat quietly, apparently at ease, as George explained her rights and why he Barry and Mister Bristol were present. Sitting down, he asked her permission to tape record their session and after looking at Bristol, she agreed.

"Miss Soto, may I call you Carmen?" asked George politely.

"Certainly," she replied softly.

"Carmen," he began. "We are looking into the death of both Vitatown's former client, Ana Garcia and of your former boss, the late Doctor Nora Gate. Any information that you could provide regarding these cases would be extremely helpful."

"I wish to cooperate with the police completely," replied Carmen. "I don't know what it is you want, what you're curious about, or if I know anything that could help you, but if I can, I would like to help. I feel awful about that little girl, so young..."

"And Doctor Gate?" asked George.

Carmen showed no emotion, "Doctor Gate too..."

"How long did you work for Doctor Gate?" asked George.

Carmen leaned back and thought about it, "Off and on for about ten years. See, I met her when she worked for the city; I was one of two secretaries that worked for four different officers in the mental health division. When the doctor was promoted, she asked me to become her personal secretary, you know, just for her, so I said yes. Then when Ramon got sick..."

"Ramon is Doctor Garcia, the former CEO of Vitatown?"

"Yes, Doctor Ramon Garcia, the former CEO," repeated Carmen. "When he got sick and they asked Doctor Gate to take over, she asked me to come back here with her."

"Who asked Doctor Gate to take over as CEO of Vitatown?" asked George.

Carmen grimaced, "Technically it was the board of directors. In truth, Ramon asked her first and then the board approved his choice."

"Now, Ramon and Doctor Gate lived together, did they not?" asked George.

"Yes, that is correct," replied Carmen.

"Was Doctor Gate pleased to come back and take over Vitatown?" asked George.

Carmen grimaced again, "I can't say for sure, but personally, I don't think so. She was happy as the Deputy Commissioner, she liked working for the city, the perks..." she gestured with her hands, "she felt important, I suppose. You know that when you work for the city, you park where you want, you flash your I.D. and you get treated differently and I think she enjoyed that."

"So she didn't want to come back to Vitatown," replied George.

"I think she did it because it was important to Ramon, but I don't think if there had been someone else who could have taken over the way he wanted them too that she would have agreed to come back," replied Carmen. "Mind you, that's only my opinion; she never said anything directly to me about it."

"She didn't speak a lot about her personal life with you, did she?" asked Barry quietly.

Carmen considered the question and hesitated a moment before answering.

"Not in the beginning and not at the end," she replied after some thought. "She was a very private person when I first met her and then, over time, she spoke to me more and more about her life and then over the last few years, she sort of withdrew. It was almost as if she felt that she had said too much and wanted to take it back."

"Do you know if Doctor Gate ever attempted to establish her own practice in psychiatry, a private practice?" asked George.

"No, not that I know of," replied Carmen. "She was a doctor and she wanted you to know it, believe me, but she never wanted to deal directly with patients, no."

"What do you mean when you said she wanted you to know it?" replied George.

Carmen gave a light laugh, "You can ask your friend, Mister Todd. God forbid someone call her Miss Gate or Ms. Gate, not Doctor Gate, you were in for it. Everyone addressed her as Doctor Gate, everyone who met her, everyone who spoke to her. Even Ramon called her Doctor Gate. If you asked people here, I bet you half of them didn't even know her first name. She was a person who needed a title..."

"So as far as you know, Doctor Gate never practiced psychiatry," replied George.

"Doctor Gate was a manager," stated Carmen.

"When you arrived at Vitatown, there was no LockLife program," stated George.

"I know it was under discussion at the time we arrived here. As far as I know, the doctor instituted the program, it wasn't an active program until we arrived here," replied Carmen.

"I never understood why she would institute a program for teenagers when Vitatown is a care for the homeless organization," stated Barry. "When I asked her, she wouldn't answer me or explain her reasoning. Do you understand it?"

Carmen pursed her lips, "There was an incident a while back I think affected her more deeply than she would admit."

"What sort of incident?" asked Barry.

"There was an article in one of the Spanish language papers, I forget which one, that criticized Vitatown because we ONLY took in adults. If you were a child, we would turn you away. In theory, they called the city authorities who sent you to another program for children, but the paper did an investigation, sent someone undercover and they claimed that they were just sent away, that no help was offered." Carmen shrugged, "I don't know if it was true, I couldn't say, but it made us look bad and as the new CEO, it made HER look bad. She did not respond well to criticism and she felt that any criticism of the agency was a criticism of her, so when the article came out, she got very angry. She decided to come up with a program that would help teenagers, but the problem was that it would be too expensive to replicate the homeless program for teenagers. See, you can't put them in the same buildings as the adults, too much could happen, so she would have to replicate the program with all new people and all new buildings, it would be a logistical nightmare and extremely costly. That's when she decided to come up with another way to help them. She met Nydia through Ramon and they came up with the outline for LockLife."

"Nydia Sanchez, you mean," stated George.

"Yes, Nydia Sanchez," replied Carmen. "I don't know the exact chain of events, you'd have to ask Nydia, but suddenly, she had this idea for this program and she hired Nydia to head the program."

"Don't you find that strange?" asked George. "Nydia is a social worker and we are talking about teenagers with possible severe depression. Don't you think that a mental health professional would have made a better choice to head the program?"

Carmen shrugged, "Look, Lieutenant, no disrespect, but I never went to college. I finished high school and had to go to work to help support my family. Who should head what is not my call so I have no opinion on it. Believe me, I've spent years with Doctor Gate and I've learned that I don't understand what the criteria is for making that call and I wouldn't assume to know. I gave up making suggestions long ago, you live longer that way." She smiled, a genuinely friendly smile, "I never questioned anything she did. In the beginning, I would say, "Don't you think this would be better?" and I got my head handed to me. You learn. I'm sure you've had a captain you couldn't talk to or who made you handle everything his way. I didn't ask and I didn't waste my time thinking about it. She said Nydia was in charge, so that was who was in charge."

"How did they get the girls for the program?" asked Barry.

"She called her friends in the mental health department in the city," replied Carmen. "She asked them to refer kids to the program. She sent them the brochures and information and they handed them out to the doctors and nurses in the emergency rooms and in some of the city programs. After a while, they started receiving phone calls and interviewing girls."

"Who made up the brochures?" asked George, trying not to sound too anxious.

Carmen thought about it a moment, "Alan and the doctor."

"How did they come up with them, did they work together on them?" asked George.

"You mean what was the process of it?" asked Carmen.

"Yes, how did they put them together," asked George.

"They worked the same way on everything they did," replied Carmen. "The doctor would have Alan go and speak with the head of the program or the department or whatever and he would go and sit with them for several days and get a feel for the program, get the specifics and all the facts. Then he would come back and write the brochure, a rough draft and send it to the program head and ask, does this sound right? They would say yes or no or change it or whatever and then after they had it the way they thought it was best, they would submit it to Doctor Gate. She would then rip it apart and change it. After she made it the way she wanted it, she approved it and they sent it to the printer."

"You said she would rip it apart," remarked Barry. "So it wasn't exactly a collaborative effort."

"I used to feel sorry for Alan," laughed Carmen. "When he first got here, the poor guy would work so hard and then she would end up throwing out ninety percent of what he had done and redoing it. He would get so frustrated in the beginning, he just wanted to do good work, but she made it impossible for him, so he learned; don't argue, don't question, to a certain extent, don't even try. Just give her something, anything, because whether it was garbage or Shakespeare, she wasn't going to like it and she was going to redo it anyway."

"Do you think her management style caused resentment?" asked George.

Carmen smiled and pointed at Barry, "Ask him. Tell me, Barry, were you happy working here?"

Barry leaned back and laughed, "It wasn't all the fun I thought it would be."

"Doctor Gate made the decisions," stated Carmen. "She documented everything, everything had to be approved, every decision had to be sanctioned by her. You see those file cabinets?" She pointed to the file cabinets on the far side of the desk, "They're filed with approved files. Everything in them is initialed by her, nothing in there got done without her seeing it, reviewing it, initialing it and approving it. Nothing."

"Counselor, we'd like to get a look at those records," stated George. "Especially the ones concerning LockLife..."

Bristol leaned back for a moment, looking away as if debating his reply.

"You may look at any file you desire, Lieutenant," he replied softly.

"Is Alan in today?" asked George.

Carmen shook her head, "He's not here, he's in the field; I think he's up in Brooklyn today. There was one of our donors who had asked to meet with him, ever since what happened, they all are unsure if they will donate, so he's trying to calm them and keep them involved. Do you want me to call him?"

"Will he be here tomorrow?" asked George.

"Yes, he's supposed to be," replied Carmen.

"That'll be fine; we'll speak with him tomorrow. One last thing before we start going through the files, Carmen," smiled George. "To the best of your knowledge, was there ever a psychiatrist or a mental health professional ever assigned to the girls from LockLife?"

Carmen shook her head, "No. I remember Nydia asking the doctor to assign one in the very beginning when the program started, they had a big fight about it, but the doctor said she was already spending too much money on the program and that until we received additional funding to help with the cost, no one would be assigned."

"You're sure of that?" asked George.

"Absolutely," replied Carmen. "It's in the meeting notes that I made up and she corrected and signed. It was one of the first meetings just after the program opened, it would take me a couple of minutes, but I can try to find it for you..."

Bristol smiled at what he was sure would be the futility of Carmen's search. Davis was too late; he would never see any proof.

"If I'm not needed here anymore, gentlemen," he began as he rose, "I have quite a bit to do."

"Of course, Mister Bristol," replied George. "We don't want to keep you from anything."

"Then I'll be off," smiled Bristol. "Detective, Mister Todd, Carmen..." With a slight wave, Mister Bristol exited the room, working hard to suppress a smile.

George and Barry watched the door close behind him and exchanged a glance. Attorney's seldom seemed that happy without some reason behind it. Turning to Carmen, George offered her a sincere smile.

"Please," he began. "If you could locate that file for me, Carmen that would be a huge help..."

***

Hector had not returned her phone calls. Doris fought back her tears and held onto the pole as the subway chugged down the tracks towards her stop. She had been out on an interview today, it seemed to have gone well but one could never tell. Even if it had gone well, it did not mean she had gotten the job, still the experience was good. Hector had not returned her phone calls.

The subway paused outside the station like a shy child hiding behind its mother's skirts and then inched its way to the platform. One more stop, thought Doris, one more stop. If she got this job, things would be so much different. She could pay her bills and save a little money and then leave New York and never come back. She had heard about how beautiful it was in Pennsylvania, how much cheaper it was to live there and she would have a little apartment and no one would know her. She could start over and she could feel clean again, all new and clean. She checked her watch, maybe ten more minutes; maybe less if they didn't make the train stop again. Hector had not returned her calls.

No, she wouldn't think about that, only about leaving, about saving her money and leaving New York and her past, all of her past. What could the police say, what could they say to her? The doctor was dead, Nora was dead, so what? No one lives forever, everyone dies. The point is to live before you die, to live proud and happy and without shame before you die.

That little girl, that little girl who had died, she had seen her. Yes, she remembered her, remembered the look of shame and pain in her eyes. Doris did not know what had caused the pain, what caused her to feel shame, but she saw it as clearly as if the girl had written it on her face. Doris understood, understood it all. That little girl had never lived, she had died in shame and confusion, had never lived proud and happy. The rope had not killed her, it was not the rope that had ended her life, it was the shame that she carried, the shame that reached around her throat and choked the life out of her. Doris understood shame, understood what it meant, but she would not give into it. She would not be like that little girl. Hector had not returned her calls.

No, no she would not be like the doctor either. The doctor had not lived proud and happy. Nora would never be happy, was the unhappiest person she had ever known. She was unhappy because she too was ashamed; she too was lost in a sea of shame. Ashamed of who she was, ashamed of what she was, she had lived longer than Doris but she had never been alive, had never lived proud and happy. That would not be Doris; she would not allow that to happen. Six months, all she needed was six months at a decent paying job and then she would leave this all behind, she could reinvent herself, she would be clean and new and anything she ever wanted to be. Hector had not returned her calls.

No, Hector had not returned her calls. He was ashamed of her, ashamed that the police had come to question her. Did he suspect her? Did he think that she had killed the doctor? What did Hector suspect? Who cared? Who cared anymore what Hector thought or why he was ashamed of her? She would not carry her shame anymore; she would leave it here in the Bronx with Hector. Everyone one here could live in shame, but not Doris, no NOT DORIS.

She looked up and the train had ground to a halt, the doors sliding open to reveal her platform. She swiped at the tears with the back of her hand and stepped off the subway train and headed for the stairs. It didn't matter if the people she had interviewed with called her, because she would just keep trying and going on interviews and applying for jobs until someone hired her. Six months, all she needed was six months and then Doris Martinez, shameful and sad Doris Martinez would die and Doris Martinez, no past, all future Doris Martinez would emerge, proud and happy. To hell with all of them, she was determined to be proud and happy.

Chapter 16

Ginger picked up her pocketbook and frowned. She hated to eat lunch alone; she liked to talk with someone when she dined. Walking over to the door, she knocked until Melissa said to enter and she sauntered in.

"You really going to eat that salad?" she asked, eyeing Melissa's lunch.

"I was going to, why?" asked Melissa.

"I was thinking it's been a while since we had lunch together," replied Ginger. "Maybe we should spend some time together socially."

Melissa smiled, "Got no one to go to lunch with, huh?"

Ginger came over and plopped down in the chair opposite her.

"Carlos and I are taking a time out, whatever the hell that is," she replied. "He said he needs to do some thinking. It ain't his strong suit, so I got to give him some time..."

"Have you considered his offer?" asked Melissa.

"What? To get married? Hell no, what am I going to consider that for?"

"Didn't you tell me that your parents had a long and very happy marriage?" asked Melissa.

Ginger leaned back in the chair, "Of course they did, they had me as a daughter. They had no worries..."

"But don't you think that you and Carlos could have a good marriage?" asked Melissa. "He's dependable, steady, attentive..."

"All good things in a lap dog, but maybe I want more in a man," replied Ginger.

"If you want more in a man, then it's only fair that you tell him that," replied Melissa. "I don't believe in playing games with someone's affections and that would be what you are doing if you just strung him along."

"I'm not stringing him nowhere," replied Ginger. "He's had the best years of his life with me. Things are fine the way they are, if anyone is stringing anyone it's him stringing me! He never said he was going to propose and make things difficult."

"Do you really want to lose him?"

The thought stopped Ginger for a moment.

"No," she replied, "but I don't want no man telling me what I'm about. I make my decisions, not him!"

"He asked you a question, he's waiting for your decision," replied Melissa. "He can't marry you or move on until you make a decision."

"And what about afterwards?" snapped Ginger. "Does he think he's going to be in charge of me after I say I do, because that is NOT what I'm saying I do too!"

"Why don't you ask him?" asked Melissa. "Or are you afraid to find out?"

Ginger squinted at her, "Don't try that psychiatrist mumbo-jumbo on me. I ain't crazy and I don't need someone acting like I am. You stick with the crazies and I'll stick with Carlos!"

"If you're going to stick with Carlos, you're going to have to make a decision," replied Melissa happily. "It's up to you, Ginger. As per usual, it is ALL up to you!"

Ginger got up with a frown.

"I hope your salad has a bug in it," she replied as she turned away sullenly.

"Have a good lunch," replied Melissa.

She watched Ginger stomp out of the room and slam the door. It didn't happen too often, but she honestly felt like she had won an argument with Ginger. What an odd feeling...

***

Mary picked up her purse and glanced about the small lunchroom, watching as her co-workers looked away to avoid eye contact. Moving amongst the tables, she heard the conversations stop until she had moved past them and then resume in hushed tones. The police were coming to ask questions, word had been sent from the main office that they were to cooperate fully. Many people seemed nervous about the newest development, others anxious for the opportunity. Rumors were ripe and no one trusted anyone. It was a good time to have no past; she could sit back and just watch all of the infighting.

There seemed to be hundreds of little groups suddenly, people darting into each other's offices or cubicles for a quick word, either in confidence or in anger. No one spoke to her; no one wanted her to know anything about them and had no desire to learn about her. She had been unable to uncover anything for Vance, but he knew that she had done her best and she still remained alert and willing. He had told her yesterday that she was doing a good job and for that she was thankful. He understood the situation and in a week or so, she would return to the reception desk at Tibbet Security and could put all of this nastiness behind her. If nothing else, she was sure it would raise her reputation amongst her true colleagues and that was important to her. They seemed to genuinely care about her and she found herself wanting them to care.

As she walked back toward her desk to take on this afternoon's events, she saw that man again emerging from Nydia's office. The two were talking in low tones and as he looked up and saw her, his eyes darted away and he increased his pace. Turning quickly past the desk, he gained the front door and was gone. Glancing back, she saw Nydia examining her and then turn away and head back towards her office. The image bothered her, but she made every effort not to show it.

Forcing herself to be patient, she waited for an hour and then typed his name into the client data base. There was no Edgar Jenkins, or Ed Jenkins or indeed any Jenkins listed in the data base. She tried several variations and nothing emerged. Again she forced herself to be patient, waiting until Nydia had left for lunch with Rachel and then she went to the secured patient files. She had just gained access to this area this week and was not completely familiar with it, but within ten minutes, she had made her search and was satisfied that she had done a competent job. There was nothing in the files, no Jenkins, no profile, nothing at all. She would have to speak with Vance about this; perhaps she was grasping at straws, but it would not hurt to mention.

***

"It's not proof of anything," stated Vance into his office phone. "Just because the same medication was used doesn't mean the person drugging the girls was the one who killed Gate."

"I agree with you, but unfortunately it does raise the possibility," replied George as he maneuvered his vehicle through afternoon traffic. "Can you meet me at Gate's place?"

Vance checked his watch and groaned, "I need to pick up Mary..."

"Can't you get someone else to pick her up?" asked George. "This is important."

"Can you hold a minute?" asked Vance.

"Sure, put me on hold," replied George sarcastically. "I hope you have some decent music to listen to at least. Don't give me any of that crappy white music; I swear if you put me on hold and I hear the Barry Manilow on this thing, I'm hanging up..."

"Just hold," replied Vance and hitting the hold button he called out to Len. "Len, can you come here a minute?"

Len sauntered into the doorway, "What is it?"

"Could you go pick up Mary?" he asked. "George has a lead and wants me to meet him at Gate's home."

"Sorry," replied Len, "today is the Abrams meeting, remember?"

"Oh shit, sorry," replied Vance. "I forgot all about you doing that, my bad."

"Maybe Barry could go and get her," suggested Len.

"No, Barry is in Manhattan going over some of Gate's files," replied Vance. "George just left him in the doctor's office..."

"Could you call her, perhaps tell her to meet you somewhere else?"

"She got no transportation and I don't want her trying to negotiate a bus or subway," murmured Vance. He did not want to ask Tori, it was a rough neighborhood and while she could take care of herself, he didn't want to frighten Mary. All of their other operatives were out on other cases.

"Isn't Ben in that area?" asked Len.

Vance stared at him a moment, "I don't..."

"The worst he could do is say no," replied Len. "He understands that she needs to be handled with kid gloves, she a newbie..."

Vance hesitated, "Oh what the hell, I can ask the guy for a favor I guess..."

Picking up the phone he made the call. George owed him big time...

Chapter 17

Melissa entered her building carrying a bag of groceries. Sauntering over to the mailbox, she picked up their mail and headed towards the elevator when she saw the door open. There was no escape, she laughed, Mrs. Giamonte had been waiting for her.

"Good evening, Doctor Tibbet," called out Mrs. Giamonte.

"Good evening, Mrs. Giamonte," replied Melissa. "How are you this evening?"

"Not too bad," she replied, drawing closer. "We had a bit of excitement this morning. The ambulance came and got Mrs. Waters."

"Is she all right?" asked Melissa.

"They adjusted her medications yesterday and she became dizzy," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "They're keeping her overnight for observation."

"Well, I hope they get that straightened out," said Melissa as the doors to the elevator opened.

"Mind if I join you?" asked Mrs. Giamonte, stepping onto the elevator with her. "I got to go upstairs to the Reynolds's apartment. He says they have a leaky faucet; I want to take a look before I call the plumber. He's a nice man, but he can't change a light bulb..."

"They are a nice couple," replied Melissa.

"She's not as bad as he is," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "Trust me; it's the ones who come across as nice who are the biggest pain in the asses. Everyone loved my husband; he was such a sweet man...if they only knew!"

The door slid open and Melissa disembarked, hesitating. The older woman seemed to want to say something more, but then thinking better of it, restrained herself.

"You have a nice night, sweetheart," she smiled.

"You too, Mrs. Giamonte," replied Melissa as the doors slid shut.

Moving to her apartment door, Melissa put the groceries and mail on the table and checked the answering machine. A message from Vance, he would be late, but hopefully not too late. Another message from a cruise offering her a fantastic deal on a cruise if she booked today, not a likely event, she thought slyly. The final message was from Ginger, asking her to call.

Melissa put away her groceries and called Ginger.

"Who's this?" asked Ginger.

"Is that how you answer your phone?" asked Melissa.

"You can complain when I answer your phone about how I answer the phone," replied Ginger. "When I answer my phone, you just answer the question."

"What can I do for you?" asked Melissa.

She heard a heavy sigh on the other end.

"First off, I hope you know that I really didn't want you to have a bug in your salad," stated Ginger.

"Apology accepted," smiled Melissa.

"Who the hell is apologizing?" asked Ginger. "Just making a statement is all. People change their minds you know..."

"I see..."

"Anyway, I've been thinking a bit and maybe you've got a point."

"A point about what?" drawled Melissa.

"Well, I was thinking that maybe Carlos wouldn't be the worst husband I could have," stated Ginger. "Now don't go thinking that I want to get married 'cause I don't. Only fools and children want to get married, as my Tete used to say."

"On behalf of the fools I thank you..."

"I'm not saying I'm saying yes and I'm not saying I'm saying no, I'm just saying I'm thinking about it," stated Ginger.

"Have you told Carlos you're thinking about it?" asked Melissa.

"What the hell I got to tell him for?" asked Ginger. "Damn man needs to mind his own business or how is he ever going to learn how to act?"

"So you're not going to tell him that you're considering his offer?"

"Look if you want to tell him..."

"Oh no," laughed Melissa. "I'm not getting involved. This is strictly between you and Carlos. I'm keeping out of it."

"Well, give my love to Boxcar and tell him I'm sorry for him being married to you," replied Ginger.

"I'll let him know you miss him," smiled Melissa. "See you tomorrow."

"The good Lord willing," replied Ginger.

Melissa shook her head. Life was so much easier for men, she decided. Even on the most important occasions all they had to do was pull out a suit that had been hanging in their closets for the last ten months and get dressed. Now what would she wear to the wedding...

***

Mary stepped through the lobby of the building as quickly as she could, glancing at the graffiti that littered the walls. Some of it was very colorful, but the rest of it was just ugly and none of it made any sense. Who cared if VaunD was the man? If he was a real man, he would work on his spelling...

Exiting the rear of the building, she felt a wave of panic as she realized that the van was not there to pick her up. Where was Vance? Taking a deep breath, she realized that there was a black pickup in the spot where the van usually was and a large arm was waving to her from outside the driver's window. Crossing the parking lot, she cautiously approached the passenger side door, stopping beside the truck as she peered in and realized that something was very different.

"Get in," said a deep voice.

Looking up she saw the evil reception area giant seated in the driver's seat. Looking around the cab of the vehicle she saw, to her surprise, no one else.

"Where is Vance?" she asked, trying not show her surprise.

"He had to go on an assignment with the police," replied Ben. "He couldn't make it so he called me."

"He wants you to take me home?" she asked, not sure if she should get in the truck or not.

"Yeah," replied Ben.

Mary ran it over in her mind for a moment.

"Do you want to call him?" asked Ben, a bit annoyed.

"He's never done this before," she replied reasonably. "I would think, being a security professional, you could understand my hesitation."

Ben looked at her, his scowl deepening. The woman was crazy. For her part, Mary considered his silence. If he were an ax murderer, he would have tried to talk her out of calling anyone. Vance had said that he was one of the good guys, though she was absolutely certain that no one looked less like a good guy than this man.

"Very well," she stated and opening the truck door, she climbed in.

"Thank you," he stated, quietly shaking his head as she put on her seatbelt.

"Do you need me to give you directions to where I live?" she asked.

"No," he replied, starting the truck and putting it in gear.

"You know where I live?" she asked uneasily.

He looked at her a moment before putting the van into drive, "If I don't, you'll find out."

Pulling out of the parking lot, she sat looking forward, feeling uneasy. What did one speak about to a person who presented themselves to the world as an ax murderer? To her surprise, he solved the dilemma.

"Did you learn anything today?"

Mary considered it. She knew he was assisting on the case, but his level of involvement was something that Vance had not shared with her. Still, he had placed no restrictions on her in regards to speaking with Ben.

"Everyone is frightened," she stated confidentially. "There is a lot of infighting occurring now that the police are able to question the staff. There is a tremendous amount of strife. Unfortunately, because of this no one speaks in front of anyone, so I don't have very much to report."

He said nothing and then reconsidered it. He should say something or she would think that he thought she had failed and that would upset her which would upset Vance. God, he hated dealing with newbies.

"That makes sense. People clam up when shit like this happens, there is nothing you can do about it."

She nodded.

"There was one thing," she said. "I don't know if I should bother to mention it..."

"Always mention it," he counseled. "Better to say something and have it turn out to be nothing..."

She shrugged, somehow feeling silly. She would have to explain that it was a hunch or intuition and she doubted her companion had much faith in those things. Still, now that she had spoken, she was committed.

"There is a man who visits the center, I've seen him several times," she began. "He comes in to see the head of the suicide prevention program..."

"Nydia Sanchez?" asked Ben.

"Yes," she replied. "When he came in the first time, or at least the first time I spoke to him, he intimated that he was a patient, but I checked the files today and he's not listed."

Ben's eyes narrowed, "Has he done anything that makes you suspicious?"

Mary hesitated, "No, well...maybe. It's hard to explain...you see, he always comes in when the receptionist isn't at the desk, whether it's me or the other girl. He always comes in on our breaks and waits to see Nydia. He spends maybe five, maybe ten minutes at the most in her office and then she walks him out."

"Okay," growled Ben, "explain to me why that is suspicious to you."

"I don't really know..." she began.

"Yes you do," he replied. "You are suspicious because he's doing something out of the ordinary. What is it?"

She considered his words, "Well, no one else does what he does, not a patient, not a delivery man, not a relative of anyone who works there, no one acts in that way. Secondly, Nydia acts differently as well. He's never announced, she always comes out to get him and she always walks him as far as the reception desk, as if she does not want him to speak to anyone else."

Ben nodded, "Now why do you think she would do that?"

"I'm not really sure," she replied.

"You said you spoke to him, tell me about that," he ordered.

"Well, I asked him if he needed help and he said he was waiting for someone. She came out as we were speaking and told him to go to her office and then followed him in."

"Did she say anything to you when she did that?"

Mary thought back, "Something about she would handle it if I remember correctly."

"Did she walk out with him when he left?" asked Ben.

Mary hesitated, wanting to be certain, "Yes, yes she did."

Ben nodded, "You're better at this than you realize. The only reason she walked out with him and with no one else is that she doesn't want you speaking to him, she's running interference. She blocked you when you were talking to him, told you she would take care of it. You should be suspicious. Even better you checked into his profile at the center and found nothing, so we know he isn't a patient there."

"Unless he gave me a false name," stated Mary. "I checked the name he gave me, but what if he lied?"

A slight smile broke on Ben's face, "Very good. You're learning. You have to learn to trust yourself more and the other guy less, that's the name of the game."

Mary smiled and looked down at her hands, "I didn't think you would appreciate me having a hunch about something..."

"You didn't have a hunch about it," he stated. "You made an observation and drew a logical conclusion. If you said he made you uneasy because he was tall or had a beard or because he stooped or had an accent, then that's a hunch. You made a valid observation don't sell yourself short."

Mary considered his words. He might have been speaking about how she had perceived him, she realized. He was a large, frightening man to look at, but he obviously was intelligent and from what everyone said, a good man to have around.

"How long have you been doing this?" she asked quietly.

He glanced at her and then returned his attention to the road.

"About twenty years," he growled. "I started working straight out of high school. I was the muscle for some bad people for a few years and then I got tire of being the one running. I figured it was easier to be the predator than it was to be the prey."

"Do you have a family?" she asked.

Ben laughed, "Never had a family. It made me better at what I do, no one to worry about but yourself."

Mary looked down at her hands, "I'm sorry for you, but perhaps it's better that you don't know what you've missed...maybe that is a good thing, because once you've had it and lost it...it's very hard to find anything worth getting out of bed for in the morning."

"I heard about your husband and your little boy," he said softly. "I'm sorry but that's one reason why I don't think about having a family. In this line of work, there's a real good chance that you're going to leave someone behind and that's not good. If that's what you're worrying about, you can't concentrate on your job and sometimes, that split second is the difference between coming home and not coming home."

The two rode in silence through the gathering dusk, each lost in their own thoughts, each surprised that they felt sorry for the other.

***

The police car rode down the block a second time and Doris peered out the window, a sinking feeling in her stomach. There were never any police cars in this neighborhood, not until afterwards. You saw them after the fire or after the shooting or after the accident, but never before, but for some reason, this one was meandering around the parking lot as if it were looking for something.

She did not doubt that someone in the building was in some sort of trouble. People here found ever new ways of getting into trouble. Just when you thought you had heard it all before, someone found some new way to get themselves arrested. Shaking her head, she backed away from the window and looked at the coffee table in the living room. It was covered in newspapers, job listings circled and crossed out, pages torn and folded over one another, a haphazard pile of paper and hopes.

Out of habit, she glanced at the answering machine, the light was not blinking, no message. She understood and at that moment, her anger and sadness gave way to acceptance. Hector's mom had worked hard to raise him right; he had never been in any sort of trouble, no small accomplishment in this neighborhood. He was one of the few men in the building who had never been arrested, even when he was young. She shook her head; she should have known it would never last. Hugging herself, she looked out the window again, no police car, nothing. The kids would not go back out for a little while, until they were certain the car was gone for good. Until then, the parking lot would be a ghost town. A knock at the door surprised her.

Fighting hope, she crossed to the door and called out, "Who is it?"

"It's the police, Miss Martinez," said a harsh voice. "We'd like to speak with you."

Doris took a deep, shuddering breath and then opened the door. Two uniformed officers stood outside of the door, stern but polite.

"Doris Martinez?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Lieutenant Davis would like you to accompany us to the station, we have some questions for you," stated the officer.

Doris nodded, "May I get my purse?"

"Yes, ma'am..."

Doris turned back to the table and took her purse from beneath the pile of papers. Returning to the door, she ventured slowly out into the hallway and locked her door. She could see the neighbor's doors opened ever so slightly as they peered out into the silent hallway, watching her and the police officers. One of the officers led the way to the elevator, the other lingering slightly behind her as she followed the first officer. Entering the elevator together, they took the short ride to the ground floor. They escorted her to the car, opening the back door for her. Glancing up she could see faces at all of the windows watching her as she slid into the back seat. The two officers entered the car and soon, they left the parking lot. Doris glanced back to see the dirty bricks and the windows smudged by faces, watching her being taken away. She forced herself not to think of it, just to think of nothing at all...

Chapter 18

Vance was later than she thought he would be. She understood that his work occasionally called him away and sometimes quite late, but this evening for some reason she had a feeling of anxiety. His call had been casual and he had even called again to say it was no big deal, just helping George, but something inside said it was more.

Melissa paced the apartment, unable to concentrate on the files he had brought home from work and asked her to look over. She had even tried to distract herself, imagining what type of wedding Ginger would put Carlos through, but she had been unable to take her mind off the feeling. With Beverly still away and no real desire to talk to anyone else, she sat down and turned on the television. Nothing but the news and reruns, not even a good old movie to check out. She didn't feel like reading...where the hell was Vance? It was funny, she seldom thought of how dangerous his job could be, seldom feared anything, but today for some reason...

The sound of a key in the lock startled her and she spun around to see the door open and Vance walk in. Before he could say hello, she was at his side.

"What's the matter?" he asked, surprised by her reaction.

"I just missed you," she replied and wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him.

"I missed you too," he replied gently, sensing there was more. "Are you all right?"

She shook her head, "I just had this feeling...I don't know. I just felt like something was wrong..."

Pulling her closer, he kissed her again, "Everything is fine, especially now. I'm sorry I'm so late. George wanted me to review some files with him, to share some ideas. He thinks he has a suspect, but he's not sure..."

"A suspect in the doctor's murder?" asked Melissa.

"Yeah," replied Vance, walking with his arm around her to the couch. "He thinks the receptionist who quit had something to do with the murder, but somehow it doesn't feel right to either of us."

"Did he arrest her?" asked Melissa.

"Not yet," replied Vance. "He was going to question her some more, but it just doesn't seem right somehow. On the surface it all fits, but...I don't know..."

Melissa smiled, "I saved supper for you."

"Thanks," he smiled, "I almost forgot how hungry I am."

Together they retreated to the kitchen. Pulling a plate from the microwave, she took the aluminum foil off the top that she had placed there while he searched the draw for utensils. Moving to the dining room table, they both took seats as Melissa placed the plate in front of him.

"Did you eat?"

"Yes," she smiled, watching him dig in with gusto. "So what makes you so unsure about things?"

"Well," he began, "we know she had some sort of relationship with the doctor and her husband; he got her the job in the Bronx. She's the only staff member who was on an SSRI, some sort of Valium, but it was only for a short time and she hasn't been on it for over a year. She was in the house just before the doctor died, she admits being there, but she said she left about two hours before the murder and there is a neighbor who saw her about that time leaving. According to the neighbor, the front door was shut at that time and then when he looked later, the door was open. After a while, he called the police, Gate was a fanatic about keeping her doors locked, never mind leaving one open. George isn't sure what to make of all of it and frankly, neither am I..."

"Didn't you think there was a connection between the medication found in the girl's blood and the medication found in the doctor?" asked Melissa.

"We don't know. It's very possible that it could just be a coincidence," replied Vance. "What we don't understand is if the receptionist killed the doctor and it had nothing to do with the girls, then who was feeding the drugs to the girls? It doesn't make sense."

Melissa shook her head, "Sounds like you're missing something."

"Feels like we're missing something," replied Vance, "but what? We've got all their records, the cops are still checking them and we're hoping that they turn up something new. This girl also occasionally handled prescriptions. Sometimes the doctors would leave them with her to give to their patients, but there was never an accusation of anything wrong or a suspicion of anything missing..."

"Would you like something to drink?" asked Melissa, rising to go to the kitchen.

To her surprise, Vance grabbed her hand and pushing his chair back, pulled her down onto his lap.

"I'm not thirsty as much as I need a kiss."

Placing her arms around his neck, she kissed him, softly at first and then more passionately. She had been worried about him, scared for his safety on some level but now he was here, the man she loved and who loved her and she was in his arms.

She felt his hands roam slowly beneath her blouse, their passion rising. Running her hands down his massive arms, she slid them around his back, feeling him move gently forward in the chair. Seeking the bottom of his shirt, she gently pulled it up and finally, over his head. For a moment she stared at his well defined chest, his powerful abs. Her hands roamed over the muscles of his torso as they kissed, his hands gently unbuttoning her blouse, pulling it down her arms and free from her body. Unbuckling her bra, he gently maneuvered it down her soft, gentle arms, pulling her close to nuzzle her beautiful breasts.

Pulling his head to her chest, she felt her breathing become more rapid, the sensations of his lips on her body making her moan softly. He needed no further encouragement, slowly lifting her in his arms so that they stood before the chair. As he stood, feasting on her breasts, he felt her hands descend to his belt buckle, undoing his belt and then pulling more urgently at his zipper. As his pants fell, he searched for the zipper on her skirt, gently forcing it downwards and then stripping her of her skirt and panties as she dangled above the floor in his arms.

He kicked their clothing away and then to her surprise, lowered them both back down onto the chair, him seated with her straddling him. Lowering her face to his, she kissed him fiercely as he sought her out, finding her opening and guiding himself to her. She exhaled slowly as he entered her, his hand sliding down her legs and then up to cup her buttocks as she wrapped her legs around his waist and the back of the chair.

It was urgent now, an animal need, desire overcoming them both. They grasped each other, their bodies undulating against one another in an ever increasing frenzy. Nothing mattered to either one but this moment, this timelessness spent in each other's arms. She cried out as he filled her, reaching her own climax a moment later. Slowly, ever so slowly, they relaxed in each other's arms, staring into one another's eyes, each mesmerized by the other, lost in the other's joy. Nuzzling her neck, he drew a trail of kisses to her lips and then began kissing her more passionately than before. It would be a night of love they would both long remember.

***

Willie smiled at Ben, "Yeah, I know him..."

Ben lifted his sunglasses and squinted at the building. They were outside of the Bronx center, out behind the building in the parking lot. Ben took a look around and shook his head. They were standing on the edge of an empty lot, a burned out building to their left, the center to their right and garbage everywhere.

"What do you know about him?" asked Ben.

"I know no one calls him Edgar," laughed Willie. "He'd get his ass kicked wanting to be called Edgar up here, you know? He ain't much, just one of the shady characters in the neighborhood. Used to work for T-Bone running errands and shit..."

Ben nodded, T-Bone was a local pimp, had a stable of three or four girls, a low level small timer. He usually kept a low profile and used people who knew how to do the same.

"Anything else?" asked Ben.

"Not really," replied Willie. "I mean, you see him around, kind of weird to see a white guy in this neighborhood, you know, no disrespect understand, it's just how it is. Anyway, everyone knows him, even the kids. No one messes with him 'cause they know he's working for T-Bone and keeps his mouth shut. Well, I should say he WORKED for T-Bone, he don't no more as far as I know."

"They have a problem?" asked Ben.

"T-Bone had the problem man," laughed Willie. "He's upstate, my brother. Going to be there for a few years, know what I mean? Every Monday, one of his girls goes up to see him but he's going to be away for a while. Sliver hasn't seen him since he left far as I know..."

"Sliver?"

"Like I said, ain't no one going to call him Edgar, dude," laughed Willie. "T-Bone calls him Sliver 'cause he slides in and out; that's what everyone calls him."

"Willie, does this guy have anything to do with drugs?" asked Ben.

Willie thought it over, "Can't say for sure, man, don't know...See, T-Bone don't do no drugs, don't let his girls do no drugs. He's small time, but he supplies guys with money, mostly Manhattan suits, you know, so he keeps his people clean. Sliver just does odd jobs for him but T-Bone don't play, so I'm sure around HIM he ain't doing any drugs, but he might be doing a little something on the side. I mean, what he gets from T-Bone is enough to survive, but he ain't exactly living the high life. Besides, with T-Bone on vacation, he might be doing a little more stuff, you know, man's got to live..."

"You ever see him around the center trying to sell anything?" asked Ben.

Willie shook his head, "No man, no. See, when they first opened this place, it was a great place to sell and to buy. A lot of these homeless guys would trade what they got from the doctors for what people are selling out here in the streets. Now I put a stop to that stuff, at least on the property and then when they started the thing for the girls, well, I got to say, they kind of backed off. No one wanted one of those girls who was already having trouble hooked on any stuff 'cause if anything happened to one of them, it would be bad for business. They ain't saints up here, you know, but they don't want the law rolling in here for something stupid."

"Is Sliver stupid?" drawled Ben.

Willie's smile grew, "Hey man, anyone can be stupid, you know? There's a frigging epidemic of stupid all over the world and Sliver isn't immune, most people up here aren't, you know?"

Ben nodded, he had what he needed.

"You want me to talk to him?" asked Willie.

"No," replied Ben. "Just do me a solid and keep an eye on him. See who he sees and if you can, find out why, but don't be obvious."

"Got it, man, no problem. You think Sliver's involved in something?"

Ben shook his head, "Too early to say...too early to say..."

***

It had been a long day, what with the police poking around into everything and reporters calling to try and get an official reaction regarding the rumor of an arrest. Carmen shook her head and turned on her television while she went into the kitchen to see what she could make for dinner. Opening her refrigerator she found nothing enticing. She would have a cup of coffee and think over her options, she decided and crossing the small kitchen, she plugged in her coffee maker and went in to her living room to wait for the familiar beep.

Sitting on the couch, she thought about the last few days. Why had she not destroyed the papers that Mister Gordon and Mister Bristol had ordered her to destroy? It put her job on the line, true and with only two years left...it had been a tough decision but Carmen had never flinched from doing what was right. Besides, all those bastards were trying to do was set her up to take the fall with the police. They were more than willing to tell the police that she had destroyed the files without authorization, there was nothing in writing, no order to destroy the documents and they would, of course, deny any knowledge of them. Now it would be their problem, they should have known what Doctor Gate had been doing but they had decided to look the other way. With the doctor dead they were left holding the bag but they weren't going to hand the bag to her, no way, no how. Carmen returned to her kitchen just in time to hear the coffee maker beep. Pouring herself a cup, she added a little milk and then returned to her couch to ponder things.

Her phone rang and Carmen leaned over and stared for a moment at the display on her answering machine. She recognized the number and hesitated a moment; no sense waiting, better to deal with this now.

Picking up the phone she took a deep breath, "Hello."

"Carmen?"

"Yes, this is Carmen. Who am I speaking too?"

"It's Mister Gordon, Carmen. I just got off the phone with Mister Bristol; he's been with the police all day..."

"I know, Mister Gordon, so have I. They are taking the doctor's files and asking a lot of questions..."

"Carmen, I thought you destroyed the files," replied Gordon anxiously. "I mean, I was under the impression that you had removed certain files..."

"Mister Gordon, you saw me remove the files you and Mister Bristol said to remove," said Carmen unemotionally. "I think the problem is that there were duplicate files in the doctor's computer. They took some of her computers the first time they came in and they took the rest of them today."

She waited a moment, smiling to herself. Gordon had a staff who did all of his computer work for him. For a very wealthy man, he was almost completely computer illiterate; the machines to him were akin to magic.

"Why would she store duplicate files in her computer?" he asked finally.

"Mister Gordon, I cannot speak to the practices of your business," she said softly, "but many business people store duplicate files in their computers. If you asked your assistant, I am sure he has a great many of your files on a back up file on either your computer or his. I have certain files that Doctor Gate ordered me to maintain both in a hard copy and on the computer. Those files in the doctor's office, however, those were HER files. I'm afraid that I have no idea of what she had on file in her computer..."

She let the words sink in, the possibilities suddenly descending upon Gordon like a plague. Carmen was certain that she did not know all of the doctor's dealings with Mister Gordon, but what she knew was bad enough. Gordon was not above asking for favors and the doctor kept meticulous records of such things, she never gave anything away for free.

"Do you have access to ANY of her computer files?" asked Gordon, his voice strained.

"I'm afraid that except for certain office files, the doctor was kind of secretive," replied Carmen with a smile. He knew why she was secretive and the police would know if they did not already. "I'm sorry, Mister Gordon, even if I did know how to access her files, the police took all of the computers."

"Why didn't you say anything about this the other day?" he moaned.

"I'm sorry, Mister Gordon," replied Carmen. "I thought that Mister Bristol had charge of those files, so I thought they were accounted for and safe with him. I thought it was under his control so I did not give it any thought..."

"Bristol," snapped Gordon. "He had the doctor's computer files?"

"Yes," replied Carmen. "He had possession of all of the doctor's business and personal files, as far as I know. I can't say he had access to the files, but he had possession of them."

"Thank you, Carmen," replied Gordon, certain now of whom to blame for his predicament. "Have a good evening."

"You too Mister..." she stopped, hearing the phone click to silence.

With a smiled she put the phone back in its cradle. Let them fight it out amongst themselves; she was in the clear now. The blood was in the water and the sharks would turn on their own wounded now. She took a deep breath, the agency would take a big hit, lose credibility and business for a while. There would be cutbacks, but she was secure, positive she could ride things out for the next twenty four months. She still had cards to play and they knew that and feared it.

Her mind turned to Doris Martinez. What to do about Doris? She would have to give that situation some thought...

Chapter 19

Doctor Gate's office was a hive of activity, multiple police officers removing boxes, others pulling and packing the last of the doctor's files and transporting them to a van in the street below. George Davis stood with Barry Todd, watching the progress as Alan entered the room.

Crossing to where the two men stood, he looked up at George, "You wanted to see me again, Lieutenant Davis?"

George nodded, "Let's go speak in your office; it's a bit crowded in here."

The three men left the office and walked across the reception area to the far side of the building. Alan's office was a small room made smaller by his desk and the three file cabinets he had lining the windowless walls. Alan took his spot behind the desk and offered the two chairs opposite to the others.

"What's up?" he asked casually.

"I just wanted to ask you a few questions," replied George. "Do you have any copies of the grant proposals you created prior to the corrections that Doctor Gate made to them?"

"My earlier drafts?" he asked. "Sure. I kept a copy of every proposal I submitted for approval and every corrected version. God forbid something happen to the latest version, you can always fall back on the previous version and hopefully save some rewrite time."

"Why would you keep ALL of the versions after it was submitted?" asked Barry.

Alan smiled, "In case there was ever any question about what I personally written. I've had some bad experiences in this game, people inserting things that you never put in and then trying to blame you when their additions blew up in their face. You see, funders like you to state things very specifically. If you say you are going to do something, you had better do it because that is what they are paying for."

"Did Doctor Gate ever insert things in your proposals?" asked George.

"No, she just destroyed anything I ever wrote and then rewrote it herself," laughed Alan. "Oh, she would occasionally use some of the basic information that I had gathered, charts and the like, but why explain it when you can compare the original to the finished product. Are there any proposals in particular you are interested in, or would you like all of them?"

"Before we get to that, Alan, I'd like a little more background on the process. Where did you get the information for the proposals you wrote?" asked George.

"From the department heads," replied Alan. "Like I had told you the last time we spoke, I would sit with them and they would describe the program to me and I would put it into layman's language. Funders aren't necessarily insiders, so they don't always understand the professional jargon that the people administering the program use, it can be confusing. What I do is put it into plain English for them."

"And where would the department heads get their understanding of the program from?" asked George.

Alan frowned, "I'm sorry, I don't quite follow you..."

"What I'm asking is who ultimately decided what the programs' priorities would be and how the program would be run?" replied George. "Who said what personnel would be used and things like that?"

Alan shrugged, "In the housing programs, they were pretty much established all ready by the time I got here, so I can't say what that process was in the past. If they wanted a new person or to add people, I don't know who would ask or discuss it, but I do know they had to go through finance to get their budget approved and the addition okayed and then they went to human resources with a description of the job and it was posted. Once that was done, then they would ask human resources to start interviewing candidates..."

"What about on a new program like LockLife?" asked George. "You were here for that, right?"

"LockLife was the only completely new program that I worked on here, yes," replied Alan. "Doctor Gate and Nydia got together and set the parameters, though I doubt Nydia had much of a say in the final product. She complained to me when I went to learn about the program from her that a lot of what had originally been discussed had been changed by the time the program launched."

"Do you remember specifically what she said had been changed?" asked Barry.

Alan thought back to their conversations and for a fleeting second thought of her in the shower... so hot, "Well, uh, she had said that the original launch was supposed to take place once we had secured half of the budget, but that they had rushed the program ahead with only a quarter of the budget in place, which led to all sorts of cuts and compromises. She told me that most of the time she was desperate just for supplies for the girls. Also, I know personnel were cut after the proposals went out. In the proposals that were sent out, we had stated that we would provide a much higher counselor to girl ratio, but in the end it was just Nydia and Rachel and Rachel was actually assigned to work part time at another program in addition to her work on LockLife."

"Do you know who came up with the idea for the program?" asked George.

Alan shrugged, "For LockLife? Officially it was Doctor Gate. What Nydia's contribution to the program was as far as the creation of it, I could not say..."

"Did Nydia say what her contribution was?" asked George.

"No," lied Alan, "she never told me who came up with the initial idea... She only told me that she had worked very hard on the program and like everyone else here, felt she was being undercut in what she was trying to do. In truth, all of the program heads I spoke to felt that way. Everyone's budget was smaller than they had been promised if you ask them, all of them were understaffed, to tell you the truth I don't know if it's true or just what they say. I was never involved in the planning stages, gentlemen, I only heard about what was promised and what was given after the fact, so it's all hearsay, but it's very consistent hearsay."

"We understand," stated George.

"I can only tell you this and be sure it is true," replied Alan. "My budget was cut when Doctor Gate came on board by ten percent. Since I'm a one man shop, I had to cut supplies and reduce the outlay on some of our special events, but everyone took a hit the first year. After that, there were other cuts in the larger departments and a lot of rumors. Some said the executives got increases, I know I didn't, but the others might have. Some said that Doctor Gate alone got an increase, I don't know, I couldn't say, but you might want to ask Elaine in finance, she would know the truth about those things."

"Thanks, Alan," said George, rising and extending his hand. "I appreciate the information."

"Anything I can do, gents," replied Alan. "Happily, I have nothing to hide."

The two men headed back toward the doctor's office.

"I think maybe we should speak to Elaine again," stated George.

"We might want to speak to Nydia as well and some of the other department heads," stated Barry. "I know a lot of people here were unhappy with the good doctor."

"I'm keeping Doris Martinez in custody for the time being," stated George matter of factly.

"Probably for the best," offered Barry.

"Somehow, I'm not sure it is," replied George. "But we'll see..."

***

Nydia entered Rachel's office triumphantly holding a green index card above her head.

"They received it and signed for it," she announced happily.

"Who received what and signed for it?" asked Rachel, pausing to look up from her on-line shopping jaunt.

"The Scycle Foundation got our proposal," stated Nydia, glancing about to make sure no one else was listening. "Let's keep our fingers crossed!"

Rachel grimaced, "Nydia, don't you think you're putting a lot on this proposal? I mean, if it goes through and we get the money, that's great, but isn't it a lot more likely that it isn't going to happen?"

Nydia grew serious, "Why would you say that? We need that money..."

"Yes, we do," interrupted Rachel. "but you have to be realistic..."

"Why?" snapped Nydia suddenly. "We can't afford to be realistic! If we don't get more funding, the board will cut this program, MY program and then what happens to the girls? No Rachel, I've worked too hard to have this fail now. Fail for what? Because the DOCTOR didn't see the true value of my program, because she couldn't see the value of it to the people it was helping? All she cared about was her precious reputation and getting her picture in the paper. The great Doctor Nora Gate..."

"Calm down," urged Rachel, moving past her and closing the office door. "You don't know who's listening!"

"I'm tired of saying everything in a whisper," hissed Nydia. "You know it's true..."

"I know that people can take things out of context," replied Rachel. "I also know that the police are still around. What do you think; these people are your friends? Everyone is looking out for themselves; they're already looking at us like we're gone, why give them more fuel for the fire?"

"We're going to prove them all wrong," replied Nydia, her eyes growing dark. "I've been proving them wrong all along. No money, no staff and no degree, but it didn't stop me. We have eighteen girls growing and excelling. Even with Gate killing one of them..."

"Nydia, please," begged Rachel. "I know what you're saying, believe me I do. I'm proud of what we've done here too, but we have to face facts. There is a very good chance we are going to be cut. If we're smart, we'll make ourselves available for other programs..."

"And just forget about what I've accomplished?" snapped Nydia.

"No," whispered Rachel, retaking her seat. "Look, say they DO ax the program; what good will you do the girls if you're unemployed? If a new CEO comes in and gets rid of the program but keeps us, the girls still have a chance. In a year or two, we could come up with a suggestion for a new LockLife, we could do it the way you originally envisioned, the way it was supposed to be, not what it became after Gate gutted it. We have to hang on first before we can do anything constructive for the girls, don't you see that?"

Nydia rose up haughtily, "You don't believe we'll get the money, but I do, I KNOW we will. I gave up everything for this program, my time, my life, my education, even my body..."

"What are you talking about?" asked Rachel, perplexed by Nydia's last statement.

Nydia shook her head, "Never mind, Rachel. I'm telling you, we're going to get that money and with Gate gone, nothing is going to stop us from being the best program in the city, period!"

Rachel threw up her hands; there was no sense in arguing with her when she was like this. She wasn't open to hearing the sense of what she was saying.

"I hope you're right, Nydia, I really hope you are right."

"I am right," replied Nydia. "We're going to get that money, you wait and see..."

***

Vance entered his office to find Ben seated opposite his desk.

"Good morning," said Vance. "I want to thank you for yesterday, picking up Mary..."

"Not a big deal," replied Ben. "We need to talk."

Vance lowered himself onto his chair and looked at Ben, unable to read anything on his face. He was not surprised, Ben rarely showed emotion and if he did, it was usually anger.

"What's the matter?"

"I think your watchdog is on to something," stated Ben. "She's seen this local guy several times in the center and he doesn't seem to belong there. I spoke to Willie, he knows the guy, a local gopher for a pimp named T-Bone. On the surface, he doesn't seem to have any reason for being at the center, but he's there almost every day."

"Hold on," replied Vance. Picking up his phone, he hit a button, "Len, could you come in here?"

A moment later, Len entered the room and eased into a chair, "Hey Ben."

Ben nodded, all business. Vance had Ben repeat his information to Len, who listened, lost in thought.

"I don't know," Len began softly, "Just because he shows up doesn't mean he's doing anything shifty, though it's probably naïve to think that he isn't. He has no connection to the place?"

"None that anyone knows of," replied Ben. "I think we should check it out."

"What would a guy with those type of connections have in common with what we're investigating?" asked Vance.

Ben shrugged, "Maybe they were attempting to drug the girls to take advantage of them, turn them towards prostitution..."

"They haven't uncovered anything along those lines, but I could suggest it to George," replied Vance. "How might he be involved in the doctor's death?"

Ben shook his head, "No idea. It doesn't seem that the doctor and this guy would travel in the same circles..."

"True," smiled Len, "but we all know that drugs make strange bedfellows. Still, we're assuming that this guy has something to do with drugs. I mean, just because he works for a pimp..."

"According to Willie, T-Bone wouldn't let his people mess with drugs," stated Ben. "There's no connection there, but if this guy is working a little something on the side..."

"Even if he is, he might be supplying someone on the inside with something," mused Vance. "It may have nothing to do with us..."

Ben nodded, "Still, we're not going to know until we check it out."

"How should we go about it?" asked Len.

"If Mary knows his schedule, we could have someone there to talk to him when he came out," suggested Vance. To his surprise, Ben shook his head no.

"We might blow her cover if we had someone waiting for him. Maybe what we could do is have someone he knows go to him, tell him that they heard he was the guy to talk to for a little action and then keep close to him."

"With all the cops in the area, he might bolt if he thinks anyone is talking about him," replied Len.

"Not if we send someone he knows to him," replied Ben. "If we sent Willie, it might not raise his suspicions."

Vance considered it for a moment, "All right, send Willie. See what he can find out. In the meantime, if Mary can establish a pattern for him, perhaps we can keep an eye on him."

"Are you going to tell George?" asked Len.

"Yeah, we should keep him in the loop," replied Vance.

"Fine," stated Ben, rising like an ominous cloud. "I'll go speak to Willie. I'll keep you posted."

"I'll speak to Mary and George and let you know what they say," replied Vance.

"I'm going back to my office and drink coffee," stated Len with a shrug.

Chapter 20

Barry leaned back on his chair, a surprised look spreading on his handsome features. George, engrossed in thumbing through his own file at first did not notice the change on his face. Glancing up, he finally saw the change and squinted hard at Barry.

"What did you find?"

"I think I found the threats," snapped Barry. "I think these are the threats she lied about!"

George rose from his chair and moved quickly to Barry's side, staring down at the papers he held in his hand.

"What file were these in?" he asked.

"This one," he stated, gesturing towards brown folder sitting in front of him. "She entitled it, "Consultation Fees" and had it in with the receipt she received from Vance. She told Vance to bill her as if we were consultants."

George took the paper from his hand and read the note. It was a standard eight by eleven piece of paper with what looked to be standard printing on it. The note read;

You care about no one but yourself, you selfish bitch. It is not too late, make amends now.

Barry picked up another note and then another, reading them and then in turn handing them to George. It was odd; on each full sheet of paper were no more than two or three lines. The final note struck George as the most threatening and had to have been the most recent;

I tried to warn you bitch, but you won't listen. The death of that girl is on your hands and you know it. You will pay for all that you've done.

"I need to get these to the boys in the lab," stated George. "Maybe there is a fingerprint we could use."

Checking the rest of the content of the file, Barry frowned.

"There are no envelopes in the file and no dates on the notes themselves," mused Barry. "I'm sure this is what led her to call us."

George nodded his agreement, "I've read some of the threats she received and these are definitely different, no wonder these caused her to act. These did not come from her usual group of admirers, no wonder she was scared. Let me get these to the lab, I'll get copies of them to Vance."

George picked up the letters, placing them in a manila envelope. He eyed each of them as he slid them into the envelope and then looked back at Barry.

"There are no creases on these."

"So?"

George sat back down, "I don't think these came in the mail, or if they did, they came in a large envelope because they weren't folded to fit into anything." He stared into the envelope again, "No, no creases, none of them."

"Maybe they didn't come in the mail at all," stated Barry.

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe they're printouts of threats she received on her computer," replied Barry.

George took a moment to consider it, "I don't think so. If they were printed from an email, they would have titles and address on them, there is nothing on these but the threats themselves."

"Maybe she cut and pasted them," replied Barry.

"Why would you cut and paste a threat?" asked George.

"What if it wasn't someone she didn't know," reasoned Barry. "What if she knew who sent it and merely made copies in case the person made good on their threat?"

"If that's the fact, why didn't she give us their name?" asked George.

"I can't say for sure. None of it makes sense. At least we know one thing," stated Barry.

"What's that?" asked George.

"If these are from the same person who killed her, it wasn't a spur of the moment thing," replied Barry. "Her murder was premeditated."

***

"Ginger, do you have the file..."

Melissa stopped and then slowly wandered to a spot behind her secretary, staring in amazement at the pile of bridal magazines that were covering Ginger's desk. Ginger, oblivious to Melissa, sat staring intently at a picture in a magazine she was holding.

"Vera Wang, very nice," ventured Melissa as she looked at the photo in the magazine from over her shoulder.

Ginger shook her head, "Ten thousand dollars for a dress that looks like my Tete's slip. You can keep it sugar, I'm not buying it."

"So you've decided to become a bride?" asked Melissa.

"The hell I have," replied Ginger, glancing at her with distain. "Have you seen what weddings cost?"

"I got married last year, remember?" asked Melissa. "I kind of remember what it cost..."

"Well these people are crazy," replied Ginger. "Read an article in that magazine," she said, pointing at the pile to her right, "they said you need ice sculptures or you're a heathen. If I was to make this mistake, I'd want to make it in Jamaica and where the hell am I going to get ice sculptures in Jamaica?"

"I'm sure..."

"I'm sure too," replied Ginger. "I grew up there. We only got two kinds of weather, warm and tropical storm, neither one is good for ice sculptures. And what the hell am I getting an ice sculpture of? They say, "Get something that expresses your true love", and then they show a dolphin humping a wave. What the hell has that got to do with my true love?"

"So you've decided to go to Jamaica for the ceremony?" asked Melissa.

"Where else would I get married?" asked Ginger. "If I'm doing this, and I'm not saying I am, I'm going to do it with my family and my friends around me. What do you think; I'd go down to city hall and have some judge marry me? No sir, not me, I'm not starting married life like that! I'm going to do it proper if I'm doing it at all."

"How does Carlos feel about it?" asked Melissa, making a mental note to check out the website that was showcasing the shoes the bridesmaid was wearing on page one fourteen.

"Who? Oh, Carlos," replied Ginger, flipping a few pages. "He said he would do whatever I wanted as long as I said yes. Well, I haven't said yes, but I think if I do, I should be able to give him an idea of what it is I want right away. It's only fair, don't you think?"

"Seems completely fair," replied Melissa. "Oh, do you have the file on Mr. Appleton?"

"It's in the file cabinet over there," pointed Ginger, not raising her eyes from the magazine.

"Do you think you might get it for me?" asked Melissa.

Ginger looked up at her, a puzzled expression on her features.

"You're up already..."

"Yes, but I'm supposed to be working."

Ginger shook her head, "What do you think looking for a file is, vacation time?"

"I mean I'm supposed to be working at my desk," replied Melissa, unsure of why she was explaining herself.

"Well, before you go back to the desk, you could go and get the file," replied Ginger reasonably.

"Yes, I could," replied Melissa. "But then I would not need a secretary and if I didn't need a secretary, you'd have nowhere to read your bridal magazines."

Ginger frowned and nodded, "You've got a point."

"Thank you," replied Melissa. "Could you please find the file and bring it in to me?"

"Fine," drawled Ginger, rising. "But do me a favor and try to keep it down this afternoon. I have a lot of reading to do and it's not going to do it itself."

Melissa nodded and head back to her office, "I'll do my best not to disturb you."

"See that you do," replied Ginger.

Melissa settled back at her desk and shook her head. She would need to hire a temp while Ginger was away. She squinted her eyes and shook her head, no; she would have to hire a temp while Ginger was PLANNING to go away...

***

"Hey Sliver..."

Ed stopped and peeked over his shoulder anxiously. Few people spoke to him, which is how he preferred things. He had learned that it was better to be unnoticed, to be forgotten. No one hurt the person they had forgotten was there.

His eyes narrowed as he watched the large man saunter up to him. He realized that he knew him, but it took a moment to come up with his name.

"Willie?"

"Yeah, dude, you remember me," smiled Willie. "How are you doing?"

Sliver eyed him uncomfortably, "Fine, why?"

"Oh, no man, no big thing," replied Willie. "I heard T-Bone is doing some time, I was just wondering how things were going for you."

Sliver nodded slightly, keeping his side towards Willie, his head down like a man preparing to receive a blow.

"Look man," continued Willie in a friendly manner, "someone told me you might be able to help me."

Sliver's eyes darted about like a frightened animal seeking an escape route.

"I can't help you if you want a girl," he replied, eyes moving rapidly. "T-Bone don't let me near the girls..."

"No man, no," laughed Willie. "No man, I don't need no girl. I got girls, you know, that ain't my problem. I was told you might be able to help me out. See, I'm having a little party, you know and someone told me that you might be able to help me get some stuff."

"A party?" asked Sliver, shaking his head. "I don't know anything about parties..."

"You know," said Willie, his voice growing softer, "you know, a party. My boys, they like a little drink or a little smoke and some of them, well they like something a little harder, you know?"

"No, I don't know," replied Sliver, crouching slightly as he answered.

"It's cool man, it's cool. I'm just asking if you might be able to help me score some stuff, you know?"

"I don't know," replied Sliver mournfully. "If T-Bone heard you saying that, I'd be in trouble..."

"But T-Bone ain't here, man," replied Willie. "It's cool..."

"Who told you I could help you?" asked Sliver.

Willie looked over his shoulder meaningfully at the Bronx Center and then back at Sliver. He was taking a chance because he had no real knowledge of what the situation truly was, but he had to make some sort of response.

"You know I can't say no name here," he replied, glancing meaningfully at the building again, "Someone told me you might be able to help me, you know?"

Sliver watched his eyes and shook his head, "I don't know, I don't know nothing..."

"Come on, Sliver," replied Willie softly. "I'm cool with T-Bone and all, but he ain't here. You know me, we can keep this between us, you know?" Willie decided it was time to go all in, "Come on, Sliver, she said you could help me..."

He watched as Sliver took in his words, processing the information, weighing his options.

"I don't know..."

"Look, if it's the money man, I got the money..." Willie stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills to his belt level before thrusting it back into his pocket.

Sliver looked around, "I don't know...."

"Look, I'm talking five hundred, man, five hundred," smiled Willie. "You don't like money?"

Sliver seemed to rise slightly out of his crouch, turning towards Willie, sizing him up.

"What else did she say?" asked Sliver suspiciously.

"She said it was between us, you know," replied Willie smoothly. "She didn't want to get involved, you know. Your thing is your thing and our thing is our thing, that's all. She didn't want nothing to do with it, she just said you might be able to help, nothing else, you know?"

Sliver nodded, "Yeah, I understand..."

"So can you help, man?" asked Willie.

Sliver eyed him a moment more, "I'll let you know."

Willie smiled, "Don't take too long, man, I don't have the time, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah," replied Sliver. "I'll let you know tomorrow..."

"Cool, man, cool..."

Willie watched Sliver shuffle off down the block, glancing at his surroundings. He'd have to call Ben, unless he missed his guess, Sliver would go to Nydia to ask her if she had said anything and then his bluff would be exposed.

Chapter 21

"What the hell are you talking about?" asked Mrs. Giamonte.

"I'm just saying that I thought Vivian Vance was just as funny as Lucille Ball," replied Mrs. Waters.

"I know you just got back from the hospital and your medication might not be quite right yet, so I'm going to help you with this. The name of the show was "I Love LUCY,"," explained Mrs. Giamonte. "If Vivian Vance was as funny as Lucy, it would have been I love Vivian..."

"She probably was never given the chance. She probably didn't have the same connections," replied Mrs. Waters.

"What connections?" asked Mrs. Giamonte. "Desi and little Ricky?"

"Good evening, Mrs. Giamonte, Mrs. Waters," said Vance as he tried to maneuver past the two ladies as quickly as possible.

"Good evening, Mister Tibbet," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "Who was funnier, Lucille Ball or Vivian Vance?"

Vance stopped, caught unawares per usual.

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't think about it," snapped Mrs. Waters. "It's something you need to go with your gut on, just answer immediately."

"Who is Vivian Vance?" asked Vance, confused.

"Ethel," snapped Mrs. Giamonte. "Ethel Mertz, everyone knows that!"

"You were probably named for her," stated Mrs. Waters, attempting to jar his memory in her favor.

"I was named for my father's brother, I think..." replied Vance.

"Who the hell cares who you were named for?" snapped Mrs. Giamonte, angered by his lack of focus. "Who was funnier?"

"Ethel or Lucy?" asked Vance for clarification.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Giamonte.

"Personally, I always liked Fred..." began Vance.

"FRED?" screeched Mrs. Waters. "When the hell was Fred ever funny?"

"The pants alone," smiled Vance, having no idea of how angry he was making the two women. "I mean, he always wore them up under his armpits..."

"Fred was not an choice!" replied Mrs. Giamonte. "No one asked you about Fred!"

"Hi honey," stated Melissa, wandering up to Vance and planting a kiss on his lips. "Mrs. Giamonte, Mrs. Waters..."

"Doctor Tibbet, what is wrong with your husband?" asked Mrs. Waters.

Melissa frowned, "I don't know of anything wrong with him, why do you ask?"

"Well for one thing, he can't answer a simple question," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "We asked him who was funnier, Lucy or Ethel and he says Fred!"

Melissa considered it and then replied, "I don't know who was funnier, but Ricky was the sexiest."

The two women eyed her for a moment.

"Come on, when he used to sing "Babaloo" and do that little dance, step left, step right..."

"He WAS a handsome man," giggled Mrs. Giamonte.

"It was a shame he always wore that suit jacket," added Mrs. Waters. "I bet he had a tight little backside..."

The three women squealed and laughed.

"I'm going inside," stated Vance quietly. "I'm not sure if I need to know any of this..."

"I liked the suit," murmured Melissa, waving Vance towards the door. "It made his shoulders look so big..."

"I'd have loved to grab his maracas," laughed Mrs. Waters.

After a few minutes of Ricky Ricardo fantasy sharing, Melissa made her way upstairs to find Vance sitting on their couch, a perturbed look on his face.

"I look nothing like Ricky Ricardo," he stated as she put her briefcase down and joined him.

"I know," she smiled. "So?"

"You seem to have a thing for Ricky Ricardo..."

"I only said that to get you out of a situation," she replied reasonably. "I really don't feel like moving and you had upset Mrs. Giamonte."

"I didn't do anything," he replied. "I like Fred..."

"I have no idea of what you are talking about and I'm not going to let it bother me," she stated airily.

"I'm not comfortable with you having a crush on a man whom I look nothing like," confessed Vance.

"First off, I married you, not Ricky," stated Melissa. "Second off, if we follow your logic, you're saying that I need to look more like Fred Mertz and if you are saying I need to look more like Fred Mertz, we have bigger problems than the fact that you can't sing "Babaloo"."

"I didn't say I was attracted to Fred Mertz, I said that I thought he was funny," replied Vance.

"So are you saying that I'm not funny?" asked Melissa.

"No," replied Vance. "I didn't say that..."

"It's time to shut up, honey," advised Melissa, taking pity on him with a kiss.

Pulling her closer, he kissed her, happy to not have to think about anything but kissing his wife.

***

Rachel looked over from the papers she had in front of her, debating whether to go and speak with Nydia. It was the first week back for the program and only three girls had shown up for the LockLife class today. Additionally, all of the parents had called to say that they would be picking them up earlier than usual. The last few days had been harsh; the most participation they had received was two days ago when the total had topped out at six. Yesterday, not a single girl had shown up and the program, besides being scrutinized by the police and the media, was inching closer to closing.

As the parents came in, Nydia would make an impassioned plea to each one, begging them not to abandon the program, but the response had been lukewarm at best. As the last of the parents took their child home, Nydia had retreated to her office and Rachel had remained in the conference room, unsure of what to do. Finally she rose and made her way to Nydia's office door, knocking on it softly and easing her way in.

Nydia was behind her desk, her hands over her face, gently weeping into her palms. Rachel lowered herself into the chair across from her and sighed.

"This can't go on," she remarked softly.

"If they would just hang in there," moaned Nydia. "What are these stupid people thinking? Their daughter's are on the verge of killing themselves and they think that the media is going to help them? Don't they know that all the media does is lie?"

"They're spooked, Nydia," replied Rachel. "In a sense, you can't blame them. No matter what we do, the news people turn it around..."

"Why isn't Vitatown fighting back?" snapped Nydia, dropping her hands and slamming the desktop violently. "The parents don't fight back; the damn agency doesn't fight back! They tie our hands, we can't say shit and they won't fight for us!"

Rachel shook her head as Nydia stood angrily, pointing out towards the conference room.

"Why the hell won't they let Alan put out a press release or try to put a positive spin on things at least?" she hissed.

"I hate to say it, kiddo, but I think we're done for..." replied Rachel.

To her surprise, Nydia stalked to the place beside her, towering over her, an epic rage building.

"Don't you EVER say that!" she screeched. "We are NOT giving up, do you understand ME?"

Rachel recoiled, frightened that Nydia might actually strike her, "Nydia, I'm on your side, you know that..."

"NO ONE IS ON MY SIDE!"

Nydia spun away and stalked her way back to her chair, "Go, go now!"

Rachel rose and eased her way towards the door, never taking her eyes off of Nydia. She had never seen her like this and it frightened her.

As the door closed behind Rachel, Nydia felt the rage growing in her chest, knotting in her throat, making her breathing tighter. She was not letting the program go, not like this, no way. She didn't care what she had to do, she had already crossed that line, it didn't matter anymore. Who could save the program? She thought of Alan; no, no he wasn't able to do anything else. Mister Bristol had closed down everything, no press releases, no talking to the media, just sit and take it! Son of a bitch, she had given everything, EVERYTHING for this program and they were letting it die by inches! If she could only speak to the board...no, no they'd never let her speak to them.

Nydia threw herself back in her chair and slammed the desk with her hands. There had to be something, SOMETHING she could do!

***

George sat down at Doctor Gate's desk and scanned yet another file regarding the girls of LockLife. Nothing here, nothing at all...Shaking his head he looked up as Carmen came in and closed the door behind her. Approaching the desk, she kept her eyes on him, lowering herself into a chair opposite him without a word.

"Is there something I can do for you?" asked George.

"There's a lot of pressure on you to close this case, isn't there?" asked Carmen softly.

George nodded, "You of all people know how it is to work for a demanding boss..."

Carmen eased back in her chair, keeping her eyes on him, "In my culture, policemen are feared..."

"In my culture, it's the same," laughed George softly.

"You don't seem to fit the profile of a typical policeman," confessed Carmen. "You seem trustworthy..."

"I hope I am," replied George, sensing something important was coming.

"As you know, I usually don't give opinions," stated Carmen. "I keep my opinion to myself, life is easier that way."

"I agree..."

"If you don't mind, I'm going to break my rule and give you my opinion about something."

She hesitated until George gestured for her to continue.

"I don't think Doris Martinez had anything to do with killing Doctor Gate," she stated softly.

Leaning towards her, George smiled his most sincere smile, "To tell you the truth, Carmen, I don't know what to think. The girl was there and admits it, she says she didn't do it, but as far as we can tell, she was the last person to see the doctor alive. Also, she's hiding something, but at the moment, we don't know what it is. Now why don't you think she did it?"

"Because I know her," replied Carmen. "Oh, not to talk too...perhaps know her is a little misleading. I know OF her, you understand?"

George shook his head, "Not really, Carmen, no..."

"See, when I got here, the whole agency was in transition. Ramon was stepping down and Doctor Gate was stepping in and for about six months, I was secretary for the both of them."

"Did you know Ramon?" asked George. "I mean, I sort of figured you did. He lived with Doctor Gate..."

Carmen smiled slightly, "I knew about him before I came here and after I got here, I knew about Doris Martinez. Ramon got Doris a job here and when Doctor Gate came in, it was one of his stipulations for stepping down that Doris always has a job here."

"Why did he have to specify that, didn't Doctor Gate like Doris?" asked George.

"I don't think Doctor Gate thought too much of anyone," laughed Carmen softly, her dark eyes sparkling. "I don't know what you know, but Doris Martinez lived with Doctor Gate and Ramon for a while."

"She had said that, yes," replied George. "I was a little surprised by that, I have to admit. Here is an attractive young girl who comes to this country and this man just happens to take pity on her and invite her to live with him and his girlfriend. To a cop, that's kind of suspicious. Then he gets her a job and basically sets her up in an apartment, that's an awful lot of good heartedness right there..."

"Did Doris happen to mention that she was Ramon's niece?" asked Carmen.

George sat up, his dark eyes staring at her, "No, she did not." Eyeing Carmen, he continued to process the information, "Why wouldn't she mention that? I've asked her these questions and she only says that Ramon was a kind man."

"That I can't say," replied Carmen. "There is also something else you should know..."

"What else?" asked George.

"Doctor Gate was not Ramon's girlfriend," she stated softly. "They were brother and sister."

George stood and stared down at the little woman peering up at him from across the desk.

"Are you sure?"

"Doctor Gate's original name was Gonzalez, just like Ramon's," she stated calmly. "When she came here, she had nothing and her older brother took her in. He paid for her to come here, paid for her schooling, helped her to make contacts, let her get her start in his business and she hated him for it."

"Why?" asked George, lowering himself back into his chair. "Everything I heard about Ramon was that he was a nice guy and if he was just helping his family out..."

"We all come to this country with dreams," stated Carmen. "I wanted a better life for me and for my kids, to make something of myself. You go around to all of these offices and you ask the people who work here, the story is all the same or similar, but Doctor Gate didn't want that, she wanted something else. She wanted to be an American. Not a new American, like me, but an old American. Being a foreigner embarrassed her, she felt ashamed. She hated that Ramon had staffed the agency with people like me, foreigners. When she got here, she didn't start getting rid of people to signal a new regime, she got rid of them because of where they had come from, because it was a reminder of who she was. That's why she changed her name. That's why she took classes to try and get rid of her accent. She wanted to be a respected AMERICAN mental health authority. While Ramon was alive, she held back a bit, but with his death, she wanted to get rid of a majority of the staff. The funny thing is that I don't think she would have ever touched Doris, only because of her promise to Ramon. She hated promises, she felt bound by them. It's odd, because she didn't feel bound by anything else, but if she promised something, she felt compelled to do it. It was a personality quirk that Ramon exploited for his niece's benefit; he made her promise not to fire Doris."

"So you don't think that she would have ever done anything to Doris," stated George.

"No, I don't believe she would have," replied Carmen. "Besides me, no one knew that Doris was her niece. Doris never told anyone and as far as I could see, she never wanted anything to do with her aunt. She loved Ramon, but she and Doctor Gate, there was no connection there, not that I saw anyway. Between her and the doctor, Doris had her life up in the Bronx and the doctor had her life in Brooklyn and that was that. After she left and got her own place, from what Ramon told me, he would go up and visit her, check on her, but she would never go back to the place in Brooklyn and Doctor Gate never went up to her place in the Bronx."

"It doesn't make sense," stated George. "If this is all true, if they're all family, why wouldn't she say anything? What is she hiding?"

Carmen rose, "That, lieutenant, I can't tell you. I don't know what Doris is thinking, I don't know if she did or didn't do it, but I don't think she did. I had a suspicion that she hadn't told you everything, but until you arrested her and held her, I didn't think it was my place to interfere. I don't know what her reasoning is, but I feel that you will dig a bit more deeply into it, that's why I spoke."

George nodded, "I understand. Thank you, Carmen, you've been a huge help."

"I hope so," replied Carmen. "I don't know if what I've said makes it better or worse for her, but I hope it made it better. She was always such a sad girl, Ramon used to worry about her so..."

Turning, she made her way out of the office and closed the door softly behind her. George leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Things were making less sense than ever. On the surface this could speak to motive, except that he knew that Doris gained nothing from the doctor's death. The doctor left her nothing and a new boss might get rid of her, so why chance it? If it was a family squabble, it wasn't reflected in the murder scene. Premeditated, yes, but this was a cold blooded, calculated killing, not the action of a person seeking revenge against a family member. All of his evidence seemed to be building a trail to nowhere.

Chapter 22

Another early morning meeting had broken out at Tibbet Security and Vance's office was once again getting crowded. Ben had brought Willie and George had shown up, followed by Barry and Len. George's revelation that Doctor Gate was Doris Martinez' aunt had added spice to an already confused conversation.

"Let's settle down," stated Vance, attempting to get a handle on things. "First things first; what are we going to do about Sliver?"

"I can handle that," stated George. "I'll have Nydia Sanchez brought downtown for questioning today, she won't get back to the Bronx until after Sliver scores something for Willie."

"You've got to cover me," stated Willie. "If it gets around the neighborhood that I'm setting up people for the cops, I'm going to have trouble..."

"Once he's given you the stuff, my people will come in and take you both," replied George. "If anyone sees anything, you keep quiet; just say the cops needed to speak to you about stuff going on in the center. We'll make him think that you're covering for him so that nothing gets back to T-Bone."

"Well, you better get it set up fast, man; we don't have a lot of time. Nydia comes in at ten and I think he'll be in early to see her to make sure I'm on the upside, you know?"

"You and Ben get up to the Bronx," stated Vance. "George can set up what the cops need to do from here."

"What about your watchdog?" asked Ben. "Things are starting to get involved. If the plan for Willie doesn't work out, they're going to suspect she ratted out Sliver..."

"I'd feel better if we pulled her out of there today," stated Vance.

"I could go and get her after I take Willie back," stated Ben.

"We need to give her an excuse," replied Vance. "If we just pull her out of there, people are going to get suspicious as to why she was there in the first place."

"Perhaps we could make a call and tell her to tell them that her brother was injured in an accident," stated Len. "We could say that one of his friends was coming to get her to take her to the hospital, this way there would be no questions."

"Sounds good," replied Vance. "Okay, Len, you call Mary, explain what we're doing and work the brother story. Barry, you get in touch with Carmen, tell her to instruct them to let Mary go and to keep her place open for a while, just in case."

"I'm on it," replied Barry.

"Look, Willie," began George, "I'm going to let my guys know that you're one of us..."

"Maybe you shouldn't," interrupted Ben. "Not before hand. It's got to look like a real drug bust..."

"I don't know, man," whined Willie. "You know, I don't trust no cop to go easy on me to begin with and now they're going to think I'm a buyer and shit? I don't know Ben..."

"I'll make it worth your while," replied Ben. "Besides, if it looks real, Sliver isn't going to question your cover story."

Willie shrugged, obviously not happy with the arrangement but feeling powerless to do much about it.

"Willie, I'll let their captain know," stated George. "He'll let them know as soon as you get to the station and it'll be cool, trust me."

"Trust a cop," laughed Willie humorlessly, "you don't know my neighborhood, do you..."

"I'll be up there too," replied George. "I need to speak to Sliver, so play it cool if you see me."

"I'll swing by after I get the watchdog back here," stated Ben. "It will look better if I come and get you out."

Willie nodded, feeling a bit better, but not much.

"If you don't need me, I'll be on my way," stated Barry.

"Before Barry goes, George did you find any fingerprints on the threatening notes?" asked Vance.

"No," he replied. "The only prints on the papers were mine, Barry's and the doctor's. There was nothing else on them, they were clean."

"Fine," grimaced Vance. Pointing to Barry, he gestured for him to go, "Stay in touch."

"Okay, Ben, you'd better get going and get Willie in position, I'll take care of the rest of it from here," stated George.

Ben nodded and headed for the door. Pausing for a moment, he looked back at Len, "I'll go get the watchdog, make sure she's got her alibi in place."

Len looked up at him and smiled, "I'll be on the phone before you get out the door."

"Good," growled Ben as he moved out into the hallway.

"Let me call my office," said George, grabbing Vance's phone. "I'll get someone to pick Nydia up before she leaves her apartment. In the meantime, you should get going."

"On my way," replied Len.

Vance watched the room empty with a slight look of amusement.

"So I stay here and play operator?" he asked George.

"If we don't coordinate this thing right, you might have to play doctor," laughed George. He heard the phone on the other end pick up. "When we're done here, you come with me. Hello, Wallace? George. Now just listen, I need you to do a lot for me this morning..."

***

Doris Martinez sat on the bed in her cell, separated from the other prisoners and alone. She found the idea that people believed her to be a dangerous murderer strange, but she tried to be rational about it, what else were they to think?

Pulling her legs up on her bunk, she thought of Hector and sighed. He had been her friend and lover and her confidant, but now, he was gone. She was sure of it, there could no longer be a question or hope for that matter. She was alone, completely alone.

She had been completely alone before, before she had arrived in the United States, before she had found Ramon...Those had been frightening times, a new country, a new language and then that bright light, that welcome feeling she had experienced when she had met Ramon. It was as if the whole world would be perfect, the stars had aligned and if she only worked hard and kept her eye on the prize, the world would be hers. She remembered those early, heady months, the thrill of becoming a part of this great American experience, this great drama. So many new people, so many new places and things, so much, oh so much...

She forced the thoughts of what happened next out of her mind, no sense in reviewing that, no sense at all. She had her own apartment and a job and overtime, the feeling of having choices returned, the feeling of being normal...almost normal began to return. It was odd but when Ramon had died, she began to feel more as she had when she had first arrived, as if anything were possible, as if the world was hers to take with and do as she pleased. He had always wanted to be so kind to her, to be so close...No, no sense in thinking of that now...

What would he have thought of her now? How would he have felt, seeing her here, in jail, in a cell, waiting for the police to charge her? She laughed, the big black detective had spoken to her and afterwards had taken her to his desk and had told her that she had the right to make a phone call and for the life of her, she could think of no one to call. He had suggested a family member, but who, where? Her mother was alive, yes, her body was alive, a cell of her own, a prison of her own, back home. Yes her mother's body was there, but she could not answer a phone or speak a sentence. Her disease had robbed her of her mind and all she had left was her mind's jail cell, her body, aimlessly wasting away, waiting to join the mind that had died inside of it so long ago.

He had suggested calling a lawyer, but what lawyer? She was a normal person, not a big shot, not anyone important. Did they think a receptionist had someone on retainer, like some wealthy industrialist or congressman? Yes, she laughed to herself; let me get my lawyer on the phone. Wasn't that what they always said on the bad television shows? Someone walked into an office and accused someone of something and they immediately picked up the phone on their desk and called their lawyer. Yes, she would do that, just pick up the phone and call her lawyer. She shook her head, no, there was no lawyer. The court would appoint one, that would be nice, then she would have someone to call with her one phone call.

A guard stuck his head around the corner and stared at her for a moment before slipping back out of view. What was he hoping for? Was he hoping she was crying or talking to herself? Maybe he was hoping she had decided to take off all of her clothes and dance around the cell naked. She thought of the stories she had heard about the prison guards in her country. She glanced around at the walls, if she had to be accused of murder, better it was here. She didn't need a prison guard's baby in her belly when her trial came up. She chuckled to herself, did it matter? She was poor, so she was as good as guilty anyway. Justice did not change in that sense from a third world country to a first world country. Poor people received no justice, just the wealthy, just the important. If Doctor Gate had remained nothing but the poor daughter of a poor man, no one would have looked for her murderer; no one would have cared. But she had money and friends and power. She also had hate and misery and anger. Doris curled up on her bunk and sighed. Given the choice, she would still rather be a poor man's daughter than a rich aunt's niece...

***

"But why?" asked Nydia, holding her short, silky robe closed and eyeing the police officer angrily.

"I was instructed to pick you up for questioning," replied the officer, a good looking young man of about twenty five. "I don't know why miss. All I know is that I need you to come with me now."

"Can I get dressed at least?" asked Nydia. "I just got out of the shower."

"Certainly, miss," replied the officer with a sly smile.

Nydia shook her head and sauntered to her bedroom. Why did the police want to talk to her? She had told them everything she could about the program and the doctor. Opening the robe, she checked her body in the mirror, cupping her breasts and admiring her profile.

"Could you hurry please, miss," called the officer from the living room.

"Of course," replied Nydia, crossing to her bureau and opening the top draw.

She found a lacy white bra and a matching white thong and smiled. She wanted to feel sexy today; she wanted to feel like a wrapped surprise. Slipping her feet through the thong, she gave a little hop as she pulled them up and adjusted them, admiring her reflection once again. Pulling her bra on, she adjusted her breasts for maximum effect and then sauntered to her closet and examined her wardrobe. She chose a pair of snug dark slacks and a cream colored top and dressed quickly, finally pulling on a pair of cream colored heels. A little makeup and a quick brush of the hair and she reentered the living room to the policeman's obvious pleasure.

"How long will this take?" she cooed.

"I'm not sure, miss," replied the policeman, "but don't worry about it. I'll make sure you get home all right."

Nydia smiled, she was sure he would...

***

Barry watched as Carmen placed the phone down and momentarily stared at Doctor Gate's former chair. With a shake of her head, she stepped around the desk and took the seat next to him.

"You won't believe this, but that was Nydia, she is with the police, they are bringing her in for questioning," she stated sarcastically.

"Have you heard anything from the Bronx center?" asked Barry.

"Seems there was a family problem for the new receptionist," stated Carmen. "Her job will be waiting for her when she gets back."

"Thank you, Carmen."

"I hope it helped," she replied.

"So Doctor Gate and Ramon were brother and sister," stated Barry, shaking his head. "When George told me..."

"It surprised me too," replied Carmen. "I worked for that woman for years and never knew she had a family. We'd come back to work after vacations or holidays and she never said what she had done or where she had gone." She gestured about the room, "No pictures, no personal mementos, see? The only thing she cared about was her degrees and titles and that you pronounced her name Gate and not Gates."

Barry leaned back in his chair, "So why did you stay with her?"

Carmen shrugged, "I knew what I had, you never know what you're going to get. She was miserable, but I knew my way around her." Carmen shook her head, "It must be horrible, to live your life that way."

"Miserable?"

"Ashamed," corrected Carmen. "Ashamed of who you are..."

"You mean being ashamed that she was a Latina?" asked Barry.

Carmen squinted, shaking her eyes, "No, that wasn't all; at least I don't think it was. Yes, she was ashamed of being a foreigner, that's true. I never understood the need for the whole deception with Ramon, why she would pretend that they were a couple instead of brother and sister. She would go on after he died about how she did not need a man, that a woman should be able to be self sufficient, so why hide behind your brother?"

"Maybe he was hiding," suggested Barry.

"Ramon?" Carmen laughed, "I don't know. She might have been a buffer for him in the sense that he could say he was married, a lot of women liked Ramon and if the rumors are true, he liked them as well. Who knows, maybe that is it. He wanted to play the field and how better to hide your intention then to say you are married? I don't know, I never really thought of it originating with him. I guess if you don't like someone, you have a tendency to blame them for things..."

"She didn't like a lot of people," remarked Barry, "and she wasn't shy about assigning blame..."

"No, she didn't like anyone," replied Carmen. "Still it's sad. She could have done so much good..."

Rising, Carmen headed towards the door.

"I have to do some work, I can't sit here all day and assist the police," she stated ruefully.

"I'm going to stay here for a bit," replied Barry. "I have a few calls to make."

"Go ahead," she replied as she gained the door. "No one will disturb you, they're all too afraid..."

Chapter 23

George Davis smiled across the battered table in the interrogation room and leaned forward ever so slightly.

"You've been informed of your rights and I understand that you want to speak with me, is that correct?"

"Yeah," replied Sliver nervously. "Look, I can't go to prison..."

"I'm not the person who decides that," stated George, his handsome face breaking into a look of humble honesty, "but I can try to help the judge see things in your favor. The thing is this, you've got to help me or I can't help you, you understand?"

Sliver nodded his head, "I understand, but YOU got to understand. If I go to prison, I'll die, they'll kill me!"

"Who will kill you?" asked George.

"T-Bone! If T-Bone finds out I got tapped for drugs, he'll kill me whether it's true of not," replied Sliver. "I won't last ten minutes in prison, not ten minutes!"

"I can't guarantee you no prison time," replied George, "but I can do everything in my power to see that you're safe. Do you understand?"

"Without a guarantee, I'm not saying anything," stated Sliver.

"We don't need your statement," laughed George. "We've got witnesses and if we put a little pressure on Willie, I think he'll talk. I didn't get the impression you two were so close that he'd go to prison so you could go free, or am I wrong about the relationship you two share?"

Sliver looked at his hands, "I'm not saying nothing..."

"All right, then, if you can't help me..." stated George, rising slowly.

"No, no, wait," cried Sliver. "Look, you've got to help me!"

"I'll help you if you help me," replied George. "That's all I can do."

"Fine," replied Sliver, shaking, "fine."

"Now, for the record, you sold those pills to Willie, didn't you," stated George.

Sliver looked at him, "No, no I didn't..."

George looked up, genuinely surprised, "This is your idea of cooperation?"

"I'm telling you the truth," replied Sliver. "I don't sell drugs; I'm not a drug dealer."

George's eyes narrowed, "We just caught you selling them to your pal Willie..."

"I didn't sell Willie nothing," replied Sliver. "I don't sell the drugs, that isn't me..."

"Then what do you do with them?" asked George, working to control his temper.

"I'm not a pusher," replied Sliver, the sincerity of his tone catching George by surprise. "Look, Willie came to me and asked me to get him drugs and I said I would and I did, but I didn't sell him nothing. I just drop and pick up, I don't sell..."

George squinted, "You're the mule?"

Sliver shook his head, "No, I don't transport like that, I don't bring them into the country or nothing, I've never been out of the Bronx. I'm the guy who goes from one guy to another guy, understand?"

"Not completely," stated George. "Spit it out, in plain English."

Sliver rolled his eyes, "Look, you come to me and say, "I want this," and I go to the guy who has it and say, this guy wants this and then he tells me the price to collect and gives me the stuff. I go and deliver it and then give him the money and he pays me a fee."

"Oh, so you're the drug dealer version of UPS?" asked George.

"I don't sell drugs, I just pick up and deliver," replied Sliver. "I'm a middle man."

"Who's the dealer?" snapped George.

Sliver shrugged, "Depends, depends upon what you want. Not everyone has everything, you don't go to Macy's to get WalMart shirts, you understand?"

"Who else have you been delivering too?" asked George.

"Before this, I only delivered to one person," stated Sliver.

"You expect me to believe..."

"It's the truth," interrupted Sliver. "I only delivered to one person."

"One person," growled George. "You expect me to believe that you did this only once before..."

"No, no, I'm not saying that," replied Sliver anxiously. "It was a couple times a week that I delivered, for the last year or so. See, that's why I can't go to jail. T-Bone will find out I was doing it while he was out on the street, he'll know I was doing it behind his back!"

"So for the last year, you've been delivering what from who to who?" asked George.

Sliver leaned forward, his voice dropping to just above a whisper, "The dealer, he's a friend of T-Bone's, name of Delray. He's got connections in the hospital and stuff, gets real medications, not just street stuff. Someone approached him and he asked me to play go between, so I said okay. Each week I deliver to the center the same stuff and pick up the money and give it to him and I get paid for my services."

"What stuff?" asked George.

"I don't know what it is," replied Sliver. "Some sort of pills, deca...decameta somthing. They're all the same, he gives them to me in a clear plastic bag, blue tablets with a number ten on them and a split on the other side, like you can cut them in half, see. There's usually like a hundred in the bag. I pick them up from him and then I go to the center and I see Nydia and she gives me an envelope with money in it. I take the money back to Delray and he counts it and if it's okay he gives me my fee and I go away until the next week."

"Nydia is the lady you get the pills for, Nydia Sanchez?" asked George.

"Yeah, she's a pretty girl, works at the center," replied Sliver. "I go in every week and give her the pills and she gives me the envelope."

George shook his head, "Stay here."

Rising he left the room and walked down the hall to the observation room behind the interrogation room. As he entered the room he saw Detective Wallace and Vance looking through the one way mirror at Sliver.

"So if what he's saying is true, Nydia was getting the pills, but what for?" asked Wallace.

"Unless I miss my guess, the pills he's taking to the center are dexamethasone, generic Valium," began George. "You've read the charts..."

"The girls all began to improve almost immediately AFTER the first review," stated Vance. "So they go to the center, Nydia spikes their snacks with the pills and then they do a write up showing that the girls are doing better and credit it to their involvement in the program."

"There's only one problem," replied George. "In some cases, the person has the exact opposite reaction. You've seen all those commercials for all the drugs their pushing on television now a days. The first side effect is an increase or worsening of symptoms."

"Exactly," replied Vance. "So she gave it to Ana and the poor girl's depression became worse instead of better. Instead of getting her happy, it increased her depression..."

"And without a doctor there to monitor her condition, the kid committed suicide," finished George.

"It's still no good," stated Wallace, lowering himself into a chair. "You know his word isn't going to be worth anything in court. We've got to catch her with them or buying them or something..."

"You're right," replied George. "The thing we need to do is get to her before she hears about Sliver getting arrested. News travels fast in that neighborhood and she was released about an hour ago."

"And it doesn't prove that she did anything to Gate," mused Vance. "You're going need more than this if you think there is some sort of connection between the two situations."

George's raised his eyes heavenwards, "I have no idea at this point if there is a connection between the two. I doubt it is a coincidence, but I've got nothing to go on as of yet."

Vance nodded, "I agree with Wallace, we're going to need more that his word." Squinting his eyes, he continued, "Did Nydia go back to work do you know?"

"No, our man was taking her home."

"That gives us a little more time," stated Vance. "We should go and check out her office while she's not in."

Turning back to Wallace, George gestured, "Get us a warrant for her apartment. In the meantime, I'll be at her office trying to find something, anything."

"I'm on it," replied Wallace.

Looking at Vance, George smiled, "Let's go see what we can find."

***

Nydia gave a little smile and a wave as she sauntered from the patrol car back into her apartment building. She had given the officer her number, certain he would call shortly. The interrogation had offered nothing new, the same questions, and the same answers.

To her surprise the police had ordered her to cancel the girl's class for that night explaining that they needed to conduct an additional search at the center. Nydia felt the life of her program ebbing away with each new setback. She had lost herself for a time in flirting with the young officer, but now, alone, the idea of losing yet another chance to work with the girls seemed to close in on her. The more disrupted the program was the less chance of recovering it would have in the long run.

Entering her apartment, she could feel the walls closing in, desperation constricting her chest. All she had sacrificed, all she had done and now...no. No she would not fall into that trap again. She would pull herself back from the brink of despair, it served no purpose. Sitting down on her couch, she punched her answering machine button and listened to the messages. There was nothing important, just the sales pitch of a local carpet cleaner and a call from her bank trying to entice her to try their new credit card. The third message was from Rachel, a whispered description of the police shutting down the program yet again but with a new twist. The police were not tearing apart the conference room yet again, but were in Nydia's office, going through draws, looking through her desk.

Nydia gasped for air, suddenly realizing that she had stopped breathing. Why were they in her office? She had given them the girl's files long ago, they had reviewed her files, what else could they want? She thought back to the questioning today, it was a repeat of everything they had done before, why were they wasting her time, keeping her away from the center? Like a hammer a new realization thundered harshly down upon her brain. The police weren't interested in the girls, they were looking at HER.

Wrapping her arms about herself, Nydia began to rock as she forced herself to think, THINK! What would they find there?

"There is nothing to find," she hissed, trying to calm herself.

"Sliver's last delivery!" screamed her brain. "You left it in your office. If they find that they'll just assume..."

"They have Doris," snapped Nydia. "Don't panic, don't PANIC!"

"You can't stay here," cautioned the voice in her mind. "You've got to get out of here. If they're looking at your office, they'll be here soon!"

"I've got to pack," whispered Nydia. "I've got to get out of here, but where can I go? Think, THINK!"

Scrambling into her bedroom, she grabbed a backpack and threw some clothes into it. Grabbing her keys and some jewelry, she ransacked her bureau until she found her checkbook. Stuffing it into her purse, she headed for her apartment door. Something made her rush back and grab her see through on piece nightie. Who knew what she would have to do...Cautiously opening the door, she peered into the hallway. Finding it empty, she streamed out into the hall, desperately trying not to look panicky. By the time she hit the street, she had formulated a tentative plan. She had to get to the subway; she had to get underground...

***

Mary sat in the truck next to Ben as he wound his way through traffic, headed for Queens and home.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah, go ahead," he growled.

Taking a deep breath, she continued, "Was I really in danger?"

Ben grunted, "Men weren't going to kick in the door with guns blazing... We were worried that if the plan we're working backfired, you would be the obvious information source which is why we needed to get you out."

"Then why did Vance send you to get me the way you did?"

"Well," replied Ben. "It wasn't because you were in eminent danger. It was because we might you to go back at a later date. If you just quit, later there would be no option."

"Oh," replied Mary thoughtfully.

"You seem disappointed."

"No, no, not disappointed," she replied softly. "I just, well... I just hope I don't have to go back. It is not a pleasant place to work...truth to tell, I miss my own reception desk."

Ben nodded, "I think your information was a big step forward in the case. Besides, Tori has let it be known that she wants you back. She doesn't like answering phones and she hates filing."

She nodded; it was nice to think that her co-workers missed her and needed her. She had come to really like Tori and Len and Vance, everyone and they seemed to like her.

"I have to admit that I was very nervous, but I'm glad that I was able to help."

They sat for a moment in silence.

"They think you did a good job," stated Ben gruffly.

"I'm glad if they think I did a good job," replied Mary. "This is all so new to me..."

"They seemed pleased," stated Ben.

To his surprise, Mary reaching into her purse, pulled out a tissue and then turned away from him.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I fought so hard with myself just to try and find a job, just to get out and try to get on with my life...there was so much to learn...then they made me feel like I was part of the team...I'm sorry..."

Ben could think of nothing to say. The realization began to grow in him that the life she had forged for herself, the life she had fought so hard to create was probably the last thing she had ever wanted to do. How much easier for her would it have been to have just sunk below the waves, to curl up and stop living. After losing all that she loved, this incredible woman had fought back, had fought everything; depression, fate, her own inclinations and forced herself back to life. His job had allowed him to see many brave people do many brave things, but he had never known anyone braver than the quiet woman sitting next to him, dabbing at tears with a crumpled tissue.

"No never to apologize," he said softly.

Reaching out tentatively, he gently patted her hand and then drove her home without another word, realizing that sometimes the only thing you can offer a true hero is your awe filled silence.

Chapter 24

Ginger sat at her desk and stared at Melissa with the look of someone who smelled something bad.

"Those shoes are fine, girl, if you're a whore," she stated, pointing to the picture that Melissa was holding up. "You can't walk in those. The only thing those are good for is putting your feet up in the air..."

"FORGET IT!" snapped Melissa. "I'm sorry I said I liked them!"

"You can LIKE them," replied Ginger. "You're a married woman and we all like to get naughty once in a while..."

"I thought they went nice with the bridesmaid dress on page sixteen," replied Melissa.

"Darling, can I tell you something?" asked Ginger. "I hope you don't take offense, but you have no fashion sense at all. You're either picking out clothes from Queen Victoria or Victoria's Secret, there's no in between!"

"Ginger, you are a crazy person," replied Melissa defensively. "I never dress inappropriately..."

"HERE," stated Ginger. "You always look professional, darling, but a wedding isn't the office."

"How did I look for my wedding?" asked Melissa.

"You looked like a princess," stated Ginger, "and why is that? Because I was there to help you shop. If it were up to you, you'd have gotten married to Boxcar wearing a slip and some leg warmers..."

"That is so NOT true," huffed Melissa.

"I can't take all the credit," replied Ginger. "Beverly was there, too. Now she's got some fashion sense, maybe I need to speak with her. You seem to be getting upset and I've got to keep working with you..."

"I'm not the one who has the problem," replied Melissa, retreating back towards her office. "Everything I point out is either too matronly or too wild. It's not me; YOU'RE the one who see's everything as Queen Victoria or Victoria's Secret!"

"I love you like a sister, but a college education hasn't improved your fashion sense..."

"Could you please just send my next patient in when they arrive," replied Melissa.

"Don't even know if there's going to be a wedding and you're getting all upset," stated Ginger with a dismissive wave.

"And that's another thing," replied Melissa, stepping back out of her office. "I'm not going to help you look at anything anymore until you publicly make a final decision as to whether you are marrying that poor man or NOT! How he puts up with you, I'll never know..."

"I don't like to be rushed," replied Ginger. "It's an important decision, I'm not buying a skirt you know; I'm going to be stuck with this man for the rest of my life."

"You're going to be married ten years and have five kids and you'll still be saying, "I didn't say yes yet" and you know it," replied Melissa.

"You make me sound indecisive," replied Ginger haughtily. "I'm a modern woman, I have options. I can get married or stay single or get married AND stay single..."

"You can't get married AND stay single," replied Melissa.

"There you're just being naïve," replied Ginger. "Don't you read "People Magazine"? The stars do it all the time, get married and then six months later they're divorced because they never saw one another."

"So am I to take it that there is a chance you will be getting married and leaving to shoot a movie?" asked Melissa, unable to completely contain her sarcasm.

"Don't be surprised," replied Ginger with a smile. "If we get married and honeymoon in Jamaica, I'll be wearing my two piece on the beach and heaven knows who will see me and what they might propose. I look good in my two piece girl, as long as I'm not standing next to Carlos. The man's got his fine points but he insists on wearing a Speedo to the beach and as much as I love him I can't lie and say he looks good in it. I keep telling him, get yourself some shorts, big as you are, they'll look like a Speedo anyway, but he don't listen."

Melissa took a moment to examine the mental picture this information produced.

"Not really a Speedo type of guy, is he?"

"The world don't need to know that his ass cheeks come complete with double chins running down the back of his legs," replied Ginger pointedly. "We went to Coney Island last Fourth of July and set up a blanket on the sand near some teenagers and he took his shorts off and scarred them teenagers for life. I wouldn't be surprised if some of them ended up coming here in a few years seeking treatment. I told him, ain't no shame in leaving something to the imagination, but he just says he likes to be comfortable. How the hell having to walk like a duck so your balls don't flop out onto the sand is comfortable..."

"T.M.I, WAY too much information," stated Melissa, her hands fluttering to her ears.

"Don't shoot the messenger, girl," replied Ginger, returning her attention to the bridal magazine with a disinterested air. "Everyone at the beach suffered through it, don't go thinking you're so special..."

Melissa retreated to her office and closed the door, trying desperately to get the mental image of Carlos in a Speedo out of her mind. She thought of Vance in his swimsuit and smiled. He was so muscular and he looked so hot in his shorts, those massive legs and sculpted torso...She wondered what he would look like in a Speedo. Another mental image took shape in her mind, obliterating the previous picture of Carlos she had held. Yes, there were definite advantages to having a muscle bound husband, she giggled. Sitting at her computer she pulled up her next patient's profile and then on an impulse jumped on the internet. Where did one even purchase a Speedo...

***

Willie stood outside the police station with Ben, shaking his head, "Got to tell you man, that sucked. Those cops were assholes to me..."

"They don't like drug busts," stated Ben.

"They don't like Latinos either," replied Willie mournfully. "It seemed like forever before you showed up..."

"It wasn't..."

"I know, but it sure seemed it, you know?" Willie kicked at the pavement and then offered Ben a small smile, "So what's next?"

"I get you back to work and then check in with Vance," replied Ben. "Remember what you're supposed to say, we don't want people starting rumors..."

"I know man, but there were some people hanging around when I got pinched," stated Willie. "They were too far off to see anything, but I hope I don't have to explain too much."

"I wouldn't worry about it," replied Ben. "Come on."

The two walked towards Ben's truck. Climbing in, they looked around at the police officers making their way to and from the station house.

"Come on, man, let's go," said Willie. "I know we're on the same side and all, but all these cops make me itchy."

Ben nodded; he knew understood what he meant. Starting the truck, he put it in gear and slowly made his way out onto the street and away from the station.

"Am I supposed to know anything about the receptionist?" asked Willie suddenly. "I want to keep my story straight, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," growled Ben. "No, it's all news to you. If anyone asks, the cops took you in to ask you some follow up questions. You don't mention Sliver or the receptionist."

"No problem," replied Willie.

After traveling a distance, Willie shrugged, "I hope it helped man. It wasn't fun, but I hope it helped. I keep thinking about that little girl, you know, and it bothers me. She seemed like such a nice kid. I hope they nail whoever got her messed up..."

"Yeah, me too," replied Ben, "me too..."

***

Doris Martinez sat up and slid slightly towards the head of her cot as her cell door opened and the large, black detective entered the space. Closing the door behind him, he sat down on the bed next to her and pursed his lips a moment before speaking.

"Are they treating you all right in here, Doris?" he asked; his voice smooth and sympathetic.

"Fine," she replied softly, unsure of what to say or why he would be here.

"Doris, I need to ask you a few questions," he stated. "Are you all right with that?"

"Sure," she replied. "I have nothing to hide..."

"Really?" asked George. "Seems to me you've been hiding quite a bit..."

Doris recoiled slightly, her large brown eyes looking down at her hands.

"I don't know what you mean..."

"I think you do," replied George. "Look Doris, I'm going to put my cards on the table. I don't understand why you lied to me."

"I didn't lie to you," she said, looking up uneasily.

"You didn't tell me that Doctor Gate was your aunt," he replied.

"I didn't consider her my aunt," replied Doris, her agitation evident.

"And Ramon?"

"Ramon was a wonderful uncle and a good friend," she snapped defiantly. "He was never anything less than good to me..."

"But Aunty Nora wasn't so sweet, was she," replied George.

"That doesn't mean that I killed her," replied Doris.

"I didn't say that you did," replied George. "You have to admit, however, that not mentioning the family connection doesn't help me to think that you didn't do it."

Doris looked up at him, unsure of what to say.

"Look," stated George. "The doctor's friends want someone caught and convicted and they want them yesterday. You admit to being there that night with her so you are the obvious suspect. You said you left around seven thirty, quarter to eight, which is early, but doesn't eliminate you as a suspect. Your fingerprints are all over the house, but in all the right places for what you've told us. I want to believe your story, Doris, but if you don't tell me ALL of it, I'm stuck in the same position as all of the doctor's friends. I'm stuck thinking you had something to do with her death. I have little hard evidence that you DIDN'T do the killing, but I have little hard proof that you did. I need to know why you lied to me."

"I didn't lie to you," she began.

"Okay, didn't tell me the whole truth," he countered. "So why did you keep the family relationship a secret."

Doris shrugged, "She kept it a secret, why shouldn't I? Besides, it would make it look like it was some sort of family squabble, which it wasn't. I knew I was never getting anything from her and believe me; I didn't want anything from her."

"You worked for her..."

"I was looking for another job," she replied quietly. "You can ask...you could have asked my former boyfriend. I told him I wanted to move out of New York, go somewhere and start over BEFORE she died. I didn't want anything from her."

"But you were working for her," he replied softly.

"I only took the job because Ramon offered it to me and promised me that no one would know," she replied. "He promised me that I could have the job for as long as I wanted, but I wanted it only to get on my feet. I was looking for another job."

"I believe you," replied George. "I've searched your apartment and I've seen the help wanted ads circled and crossed out. But back to your story, you lived with them for a while..."

"I don't want to talk about that," replied Doris. "I lived there when I first got here, I didn't like her and she didn't like me and that's all there was to it. If I say more than that, you'll just think I killed her. I might have said too much already..."

George shrugged, "Lots of people don't like people and manage not to murder them."

"Well, lots of people aren't sitting in a prison cell telling a police officer about who they don't like," replied Doris. "It sort of puts a different spin on it, don't you think?"

George laughed softly, "Yeah, I guess it does. Still, you quit the job the night of the murder, went to her house to tell her that you were leaving. How did she take it, you leaving the job I mean?"

"I told you, she was a bit upset, but not because she cared," replied Doris. "It was just going to be an inconvenience for her to find someone else, that's all. I think it was a relief to her. She told me that she had promised Ramon that she would let me keep the job, those were her words, "LET ME KEEP THE JOB", like it was the best job in the world and I didn't deserve it. I worked hard at that job, I never did less than what I was supposed to be doing, you can ask anyone...let me keep the job..." For a moment Doris fumed and then forced herself to regain her composure, "She said if I quit now, she wouldn't honor her word to Ramon beyond that, in other words, don't think about coming back. I told her I would never come back, I was leaving and that was that. I got up and took my coat and left and never saw her again."

"Did she say anything to you about anyone else coming over that last night?" asked George.

Doris shook her head, "Believe me, if she had, I would have said so. No, she didn't say anyone was coming over. I left her in the kitchen and never looked back."

"Was she surprised to see you? I mean, you weren't supposed to be there that night..."

Doris looked down at her feet, "She was surprised, I wouldn't say displeased, but surprised. When we had spoken the time before, I think she thought that would be the last time that we would speak, at least for a long time."

"Did you argue at that time?"

Doris shook her head no, but said nothing.

"Did you tell her you were thinking about quitting then?" asked George.

"No," whispered Doris, "I didn't say anything that time."

"What did you discuss with her at that time?" asked George.

Doris looked away, "Family things. She wanted to speak to me about Ramon...it didn't matter..."

"You stayed that night," coaxed George.

"Yes," she replied, "I stayed in Ramon's old room. It got late and she insisted and I was tired..."

He waited but she said nothing more.

"Doris, if there is anything else..."

"I've told you everything," she replied.

"One last thing," he said softly. "When you first began work at the Bronx center, you were taking a prescription for dethamexasone..."

"It had been a difficult transition, learning to live on my own, I had never lived on my own before," she stated defensively. "Ramon arranged for me to see one of his doctor friends. I only took them for a little while and then I got rid of them and I never took them again."

George nodded and rose. There was nothing more to be gained here at the moment.

"Okay, I'm going to go now. Look, Doris, if you need anything, even to talk..."

"Yeah," she replied, looking away.

He called out and the guard opened the door. There was still a lot missing here. Nydia Sanchez was his new prime suspect in Ana's case. Nydia giving the girls the drugs was a reasonable deduction; the program needed to show results, so she gave them the drugs in order to speed up the process. Was she in anyway involved in the killing of Doctor Gate? She had the drugs to give her, true, but what had pushed her to do it the? Did she blame Gate for the little girl's death? If so, why?

The search of her office had provided a stash of the pills she had gotten from Sliver, he had identified them as the pills he had given her, and so George's reasoning was on safe ground there. A search of her apartment had led to the discovery of an even larger stash of pills, so she had the amount necessary to do the murder, but why? What was the motive? The notes spoke of knowing what Gate had done. What had been going on between those two?

Carmen had said that the doctor didn't like Nydia, but for what reason he had no idea. Nydia Sanchez was everything that Doctor Gate was not; young, personable, attractive, social...he was missing something, but what?

Chapter 25

Alan Stuart opened his door and did a double take.

"Nydia?"

"Hi Alan," she smiled, pushing her way past him and up the stairs towards his apartment.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his confusion growing.

"Alan, I need some help," she said, dropping her backpack on his living room floor and turning to blind him with a brilliant smile.

"If I can," he laughed, lowering himself onto his easy chair.

Nydia glided down onto the couch opposite him and leaned forward slightly, arching her back and in general making herself quite appealing.

"Alan, I'm having a little problem with the police," she said softly.

"The police?"

"Yes, Alan, you see," she looked down at her feet. "You see, the police found drugs in my office, Alan and they think that I was giving them to the girls in the program."

"WHAT?" Alan bolted upright in the chair.

"Yes," she confessed, "someone planted them there, Alan. I was about to get ready for work this morning when the police showed up and took me downtown to be questioned. It didn't make any sense, they asked the same questions that they had before and then they took me home. They told me that they had canceled my program for tonight, that they were doing further investigating. I didn't think anything of it until Rachel called me and told me that they had searched my office and had discovered drugs there. Alan, I would never do anything to endanger the girls, you HAVE to know that, you know how I feel about the program..." She reached into her purse and pulled out a handkerchief and swiped at her eyes. "Alan, someone set me up..."

"Oh my God, Nydia," replied Alan. "You need to tell the police..."

"I can't Alan, don't you see?" she asked, rising from the couch and sauntering over to his chair only to slide down onto the armrest next to him. "I have no proof. They'll blame me for what happened to Ana...they might even accuse me of MURDERING her. Don't you see Alan; I can't go to the police." Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him to her breasts, "Can't I stay here, Alan, pleeeeeeeeease? At least until we figure something out?"

As she nibbled his ear, Alan found his thoughts reeling. Writing a rogue grant proposal was one thing, but hiding a person who was considered a possible suspect in the death of a teenager, that was something else entirely. Still, if he turned her in, the entire grant writing episode would become public knowledge and then it would come out what he had done and why he had done it. As she slowly worked her way down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt and fondling him, he tried to imagine how that story would play out with both potential future girlfriends and future employers. Hi, I'm Alan Stuart, I'm the guy who forced a woman to have sex with him in order to get a grant proposal, can I buy you a drink? With his friends, he knew, it would not matter. The male brain was so wired that it would only hear the words, "slept with a hot Latina" and would never catch the following, "blackmailed her for sex in order to write a grant proposal". Of course future employers might not all be male and even if they were, it would place his questionable morals on display, possibly not the best thing for his career advancement.

As she unbuckled and opened his pants, Alan found himself considering his dilemma. On one hand, he had missed Nydia's body something fierce and on the other hand, he did not want to become someone's wife in prison. The two scenarios, worst case and best case, stepped respectfully forward and presented their closing arguments.

"She could be telling you the truth and be the victim of a cover up orchestrated by the police because they have no real suspects," stated best case scenario. "If you stand by her, she will see you for the decent guy that you are and the oral sex she is currently performing on you could be something you enjoy well into your married life together. Additionally, you will get to enjoy that body for years to come, no pun intended..."

"Or she could be lying to you and not only have bought the drugs and given them to the girls, but could be responsible for that young girl's death," stated worst case scenario. "Not only will you become an accessory after the fact, but you will become the girlfriend of the serial killer who becomes your cellmate in prison. If that doesn't happen, there is a really wonderful possibility that you will never work again and not because you hit the lottery, but because no one will hire a horn bag with absolutely no morals."

As he climaxed, Alan arrived at his verdict. As his member slumped, the rest of him rose and taking Nydia by the hand, he pulled her gently to her feet and led her to his bedroom. Upon entering, he pulled her closer and kissed her, feeling her smile growing as he groped to remove her clothing and shed his own. He had made his decision.

***

"I told you, I don't know where she is," replied Rachel, slumped at her desk and looking as if she had just finished crying. "I had no idea any of this was going on."

"Please take a look at it from my perspective," replied George, leaning back in his chair and offering her his best "being reasonable" look. "You two worked together every day, you had lunch together, you planned lessons together, you worked with the girls together and somehow, you never saw her or suspected her of drugging those girls..."

"I'm not a narcotics officer," huffed Rachel. "My focus wasn't on Nydia, it was on the girls! So was hers, everything she did, everything she said was about the girls!"

George leaned forward, "So everything she did was for the girls..."

"Ask anyone, it was all she ever talked about, she was obsessed," replied Rachel. "I never heard about her personal life, I don't know any of her friends, I don't know if she has brothers or sisters, all we ever discussed was the program. It was Nydia's life..."

"Why was she so involved in a program created by a woman she did not like?" snapped George.

To his surprise, Rachel laughed.

"Are you kidding me? Nydia LOVED the woman who created the program."

George stared at her, uncomprehendingly as Rachel continued to laugh at him.

"Nydia never loved anyone the way she loves herself," continued Rachel.

"I was talking about Doctor Gate..."

"I know, but you're wrong," smiled Rachel. "Doctor Gate didn't create this program; that witch didn't have a creative bone in her body. She was a bureaucrat, plain and simple. Nydia went to Ramon with the idea and he suggested that Gate do it. Nydia was desperate for a job at the time and Ramon introduced her to the doctor at some event where she was being honored. Gate told her that she would help her create the program and then took all the credit for it. Nydia cared about the credit, but she didn't get angry about it until Gate started gutting the program..."

"Gutting the program?" asked George.

"The program was supposed to be set up with a psychiatrist in attendance," replied Rachel. "That was the first thing to go; Gate said it was too expensive. There was supposed to be no more than a four to one ratio in the classroom, there were supposed to be multiple social workers helping us, but again it was too expensive. Gate cut the program to the bone, but Nydia was sure that if we hung on, we'd get a big grant to cover all the expenses, so she did anything she had to do to keep the program going. Coming in early, staying late, using her own money for supplies..."

Rachel leaned back and a look of realization passed over her features.

"It makes sense now..."

"What makes sense?" asked George.

"During the trial period, at first our reports went to one of the psychiatrists here in the Bronx and he recommended discontinuing the program to Gate. He said it was dangerous until we could afford at least one fulltime mental health professional. He said the program was useless, the delusions of someone who wanted to be helpful but wasn't qualified. After that first review, suddenly the girls started to show rapid improvement. We didn't change anything we were doing, but the girls all of a sudden were getting better. Nydia kept saying to me that it just took a little time for the program to work, that she had been right all along. I never thought of it, I just sort of believed that it had taken a little longer than had been expected for the program to work but now I understand. She was drugging the girls to get the program through the trial period so they wouldn't cancel us..."

"And you had no idea," replied George.

"No, none at all," replied Rachel. "We were understaffed and under financed. We had to scramble each and every day to make the program work. Besides, I wasn't always here, especially for the set up, because I work on another program and split my time, half here, half with them."

"So Gate took credit for a program she did not create..."

"She had nothing to do with it," spat Rachel. "The only thing that concerned her was the public relations possibilities the program offered. "VITATOWN HELPING DAMAGED CHILDREN", "NEW PROGRAM SAVES LIVES", you should have seen the bad press releases she came up with, poor Alan..."

"What else can you tell me about Nydia and the program?" asked George.

"I've told you, it was her life," replied Rachel. "She'd do anything for it. There was a rumor that she had even seduced Ramon in order to get him to endorse the program, though I never believed that was true. Ramon was sick at the time, I don't think he was thinking about things like that then, but who knows. Nydia knows how to play with men to get what she wants. She was so determined to make something of herself. Before Gate had cut the funding to nothing for the program, back when she had a little time, she used to take classes at night. She wanted to be a psychiatrist, to have a title and recognition, to be called "Doctor"; it was a very big thing to her."

"But Gate cut the funding and she had to work more hours..."

"She hated Gate for what she did to the program and how she stole any little bit of credit we produced. She had such a thin skin..."

"Nydia?"

Rachel smiled, "Take your pick. This poor program, it never was about the girls, was it?"

George rose and smiled, "I'll be in touch..."

Rachel looked up in surprise, "No handcuffs?"

"What you do in the privacy of your own home is your business," smiled George. "Things are starting to make some more sense now..."

***

"There she is!" yelped Tori, jumping up from behind the receptionist desk to greet Mary as she entered the room. Wrapping her arms around her she laughed, "Boy, am I glad to see you!"

"Really?" laughed Mary, surprised at the reception.

"I don't know how you do this all day," confessed Tori, eyeing the reception desk with distain. "Personally, I want to reach through the phone and strangle some of the people who call."

"Truthfully, they can be a handful," replied Mary.

"You have a gift for understatement," laughed Tori. "So how did things go on your big assignment?"

Mary gave her a quick grimace, "I'm very glad to be back."

"That good, huh?"

"There are a lot of unhappy people in the world," replied Mary. "I understand it was a difficult time for them, but they seemed intent on making it worse for themselves."

"A very human failing," stated Tori.

"Anything new here?" asked Mary, smiling as she slid behind her desk once again.

"A lot of police activity and I'm way behind on my work load," replied Tori. "We were supposed to take turns filling in for you, but I got the brunt of it because we work with men and they don't know how to answer a phone." Mary laughed as Tori continued, "You think I'm kidding, I'm not. They're so used to picking up the phone and grunting at one another that when they have to actually converse with someone it stumps them. One day Len was out here attempting to switch an incoming call to his own phone line, it took him ten minutes!"

"No," laughed Mary.

"I've seen him hack into government computers in ten seconds, he could not figure out how to transfer a call," replied Tori. Leaning over, she hugged Mary again, "It's great to have you back. I have to warn you, some of the filing is probably screwed up. Vance asked me to file some stuff yesterday and I was trying to work on a security plan for one of our clients, so I'm not sure what went where..."

"I'll keep an eye out for your handiwork," smiled Mary.

She watched Tori slip through the door and into the back and then looked out at the reception room. Little had changed, the same old Time magazines sat on the tables, the same uncomfortable chairs were lined against the walls. Tori, or someone, had moved some of the things on the desk; the pen holder belonged on the right, not the left, note pads were tumbling in a stack in the corner, they belonged in the draw, but otherwise it all pretty much looked the same. Gliding her hands over the desktop, she smiled and gripped the ends of the desk, a warm feeling spreading over her. It was so good to be home.

Chapter 26

Vance entered the lobby and stopped to check their mailbox, no, nothing but junk mail. Closing the box he headed for the elevator when Mrs. Giamonte's door swung open and she stepped out into the hallway.

"Good evening, Mister Tibbet," she called out happily.

"Good evening, Mrs. Giamonte," he replied.

"I saw you on the news earlier," she called out, crossing slowly towards him. "Did they catch that woman yet?"

"Not yet," confessed Vance. "They're checking the airports and bus stations and roadways, but so far, no luck."

"Now there's someone the clowns should get," mused Mrs. Giamonte. "Giving drugs to children, there ought to be a law..."

"There is," replied Vance.

Mrs. Giamonte considered his remark, "Yeah, but it won't do any good if they don't catch her."

"True," replied Vance.

"Tell me," asked Mrs. Giamonte, "are you two doing a vow renewal or something?"

Vance shook his head, "No. It would be a bit early, wouldn't it? I mean we've been married less than two years..."

"Your wife was walking around with some bridal magazines..."

"Oh, that's for Ginger," laughed Vance. "You remember Ginger, Melissa's secretary? You met her at our wedding..."

"The colored girl with the tight clothes," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "Yeah, yeah..."

"She's engaged, or at least she's almost engaged to her boyfriend," replied Vance. "Mel is trying to help her plan her wedding, but it doesn't sound like they're making much headway."

"It was so much easier in my day," mused Mrs. Giamonte. "You went to the parish priest and told him you wanted to get married and then they announced it and on your wedding day, the whole village showed up at the Church and followed you back to your farm for dinner and drinking and dancing. Your mother and your grandmother and all your aunts made your wedding dress and your husband showed up in a suit he borrowed from someone in his family who was two sizes smaller and you got married and you stayed married."

"Now a days, you spend a million dollars on cupcakes for the reception and you give everyone gifts and you have fourteen special songs and your dress has to be made by some fancy designer and it costs a hundred thousand dollars and you invite half the family 'cause you don't like the other half and no one in your neighborhood and your bosses cousin gets invited 'cause he has money and the marriage lasts a week and a half."

"I'm glad we had a small wedding," stated Vance. "Just family and friends...Mel and I decided early on that we weren't inviting any of our clients or people we did business with to the wedding..."

"Of course not," laughed Mrs. Giamonte. "Your business associates are all ax murders and hers are all crazy, why would you invite people like that? Still, I really enjoyed your wedding, it was beautiful, she made such a beautiful bride, just like a princess."

"She is beautiful, isn't she," replied Vance with a smile.

"You're a lucky man," replied Mrs. Giamonte. Pointing a scrawny finger at him she closed one eye and shook her head, "Don't forget it!"

Vance made his way to the elevator and pushed the button, anxious to see his lovely bride. Entering the apartment, he found her in the bedroom, exchanging her shoes for a beat up pair of slippers she liked to roam around the house in. He kissed her, smiling down at her. She was even more beautiful than on their wedding day.

"Oh," she said, her smile widening. "I got something for you on the way home."

"What? I don't need anything," he laughed.

She ran to the living room and returned with a plastic bag, a sly smile on her face, "I hope it fits."

Vance smiled as he looked in the bag, his face dropping into a perplexed scowl.

"What is it, a handkerchief?"

"No silly," she laughed, "it's a swimsuit."

Vance took it from the bag and looked at her, "Where's the rest of it?"

"It's a Speedo," she chimed. "Go try it on!"

"I don' think there is enough of it to try on," he replied.

"The salesgirl said it stretches," encouraged Melissa as she shushed him towards the bathroom.

"It's going to have to stretch an awful lot," he complained as she closed the bathroom door on him.

Melissa stood excitedly outside in the hallway, waiting to see what he would look like. After a few minutes a plaintive voice called out to her.

"Mel, I can't wear this..."

"Oh come on out and let me see," she giggled.

"I don't know..."

"Come on, let me see, it's just me silly."

The door opened and a large shadow entered the hallway, tentatively followed by a large almost completely naked man. Mel stood back, admiring the view.

"You look wonderful!" she squealed.

"I look like I'm wearing a slingshot," he replied, trying desperately to cover ANY part of his body. He was afraid to inhale too deeply because his manhood was on the verge of popping out of the front but on the other hand, he was afraid to exhale too much because it might dislodge the tiny bit of fabric covering the crack of his ass.

"Oh, Vance, I love it!"

"Mel, I can't wear this outside, I'll get arrested," he pleaded.

"Turn around," she commanded.

"Hell no," he replied, "I'm not going to moon my wife."

Skipping past him, she looked at him from behind, "Oh my God, you look so hot."

"I'd have to be to wear this," he replied. "It covers absolutely nothing!"

"Carlos wears one," she stated informatively.

"In PUBLIC?" he whispered. "How is it he does not get arrested?"

"Yes, in public. He wears it to the beach," replied Melissa.

"Thanks for that image," he said rubbing his temples with his finger tips.

"You're gorgeous," she whispered, slipping her arms around him and kissing him passionately.

He looked down at her and smiled, "Wonderful, you activated the launch sequence and I just fell out of the damn things..."

"Wonderful," she replied as she anxiously pulled him towards the bedroom.

***

Len placed his coffee on his desk and slowly lowered himself down onto his chair. He had four meetings with new perspective clients today and he was just not looking forward to it. The agency had been growing quickly and he needed to speak to Vance about expanding their office space and hiring some help, but at the moment, he was too busy to formulate a plan to present to him. Len did not like to make suggestions without presenting something solid, but the agency was getting close to the tipping point where either they got bigger or scaled back.

Sipping his coffee thoughtfully, he began to open the file to review their proposal for the first client when to his surprise, Tori stormed into his room, excitement dripping from every pore. He knew Tori and she never got this excited about nothing.

"TEXT MESSAGES!" she snapped happily.

"Text messages to you too," he replied, sipping his coffee, having no idea of what she was talking about.

Responding to his weak attempt at humor with a raised eyebrow, she returned to the excited state via a large smile, "The threats that were sent to Gate, they were sent via her phone, they are text messages!"

Len snapped to attention, "Are you sure?"

"I've been reviewing the sheets you gave me and talking with Barry," she replied excitedly. "Gate was older and less tech savvy, but she carried her phone with her where ever she went. She had a blog which Alan wrote, she had a website, which her IT people ran and she had two email accounts, personal and corporate which revealed nothing. Finally, she had her cell phone. According to Barry, it has a ton of apps on it, but she only used it for two things, the phone and her TEXTS! The reason George didn't find any finger prints wasn't because whoever threatened her didn't leave any, he didn't find them because they were not written on paper! SHE typed them into a word document, printed them and then filed them. I checked her printer; it's a match for the notes. Not being tech savvy, she didn't know how to save files or delete them, so once a month or so, she told Carmen to delete all of her messages for her. Since she couldn't figure out how to save a message, she wrote out the messages and filed them!"

"Text messages," murmured Len. "So the phone..."

"The phone holds the key!" snapped Tori. "I know I'm right on this, it's the only thing that fits the whole scenario. What have the police done with the phone?"

"George has her phone in evidence," began Len. "With all the files they took, they haven't had time to look at the phone. As to the phone itself, I know it had recently been cleared by Carmen, about a week before Gate died, I remember reading that in her statement, if I'm not mistaken..."

"Perfect! Get me that phone," she replied. "I'm sure I'm right and if you get it to me, I'll prove it!"

Len nodded and picked up the phone. Where the hell did he have George's number?

***

Nydia looked up anxiously as she heard the door downstairs open and close and footsteps begin the ascent to the apartment door. Calming herself, she retreated into the hallway that led to the bedroom, just in case she needed to run. The door opened and Alan stepped in, calling out her name before lifting his eyes and spotting her in the hallway.

"Hey," he smiled. "How was your day?"

"Have you seen the news?" she asked.

"Some of it," he replied. "There are a lot of people looking for you it seems. There are a lot of theories about what you did and did not do..."

"All lies," she snapped, returning to the couch and dropping down angrily.

Alan took his seat opposite her and frowned, "Nydia, you can't hide here forever. Have you considered what you are going to do?"

Nydia grimaced, "I need to get out of here, Alan, but where can I go? If I could just get out of New York..."

"Nydia," he began softly, "have you considered going to the police..."

"No!" she snapped, rising and pointing at him. "No Alan, I'm NOT going to the police! They're the ones trying to frame me and for what? Because Ana died? Gate killed Ana; she's the one who destroyed the program so that Ana could not be saved! I didn't kill Ana and I'm not responsible for her death!"

"I didn't say you were," replied Alan softly. He rose and put his hands on her shoulders, "Nydia, you have to know that I'm on your side..."

Nydia looked at him and forced a smile, "I'm sorry Alan, I just...I just can't go to the police. I have to get away. They'll blame me for Ana; all I ever did was tried to help her..." She wandered towards the hallway, trying to force herself to think. "Alan, if you drove me to Baltimore, I could catch a bus for the west coast, I could get away, Alan. No one would suspect anything if you took a little trip this weekend..."

Alan stood, undecided, "How far could you go? You have limited funds; I could give you some, but nothing much..."

"I could get a job waitressing," replied Nydia. "Get somewhere out west and be a waitress under a false name. I can dye my hair, change my name, they'd never find me. Once I was settled, I could contact you, send you a message. You could come to me; we could be together, Alan."

Sliding into his arms, she pulled him close, letting him enjoy the warmth of her body next to his as she purred, "We could be together and no one would ever part us, Alan. You want that, don't you?"

Alan kissed her, his hands rubbing her back, "Of course I do, you know I do..."

Her hand descended to his zipper and pulled it down.

"Promise me, Alan," she said, her eyes locked on his as she lowered herself into a kneeling position. "Promise me that you'll take me to Baltimore this weekend."

"We'll go to Baltimore this weekend," he replied. "I promise..."

Chapter 27

George stood in the hallway with Vance and Melissa at his side.

"Doris is in that room," he stated quietly. "She won't talk to me, Melissa, but maybe she will talk to you. If this doesn't work, I don't know what I'm going to do or where I'm going with this investigation. I need her to tell me the truth, whatever it is. We need an answer, Melissa..."

"I wish I could guarantee something, George, but I can't," replied Melissa. "I'll do my best."

With a glance at Vance, she entered the room and closed the door behind her. Turning, she saw the surprise on Doris' face as she took a seat opposite her at the interrogation table.

"Hello, Doris," said Melissa softly. "My name is Melissa Tibbet; I'm a psychiatrist and a friend of Detective Davis'. He was hoping that we might speak with one another..."

"While he listens in?" asked Doris, pointing to the two way mirror behind Melissa.

Melissa smiled, "Yes."

"So why is he asking you to ask his questions?" asked Doris quietly. "Haven't I answered enough questions already?"

"You've answered a lot of questions, but not the most important ones," replied Melissa. "George wants to help you if you will let him."

"How can he help me," replied Doris. "How can anyone help me? They all think I did it..."

"I hope I can help you," stated Melissa, her voice low and sincere.

"I don't need any help," replied Doris. "I didn't do anything wrong."

Melissa nodded, "I understand that you were not close to your aunt, Doctor Gate, but you did have a good relationship with your uncle, Ramon, isn't that correct?"

"Yes."

Melissa grimaced, "I'm sorry, I heard that he passed away not long ago. You must miss him..."

"It's been a while," replied Doris softly. "Yes, I miss him. He was the only real family I had left. My mother, his sister, is back home in a hospital. She has Alzheimer's, she doesn't know who she is, never mind who I am. With Ramon gone, I'm alone..."

"I have to say," continued Melissa. "I'm a little surprised that he started you out in his agency in the Bronx. I would think that he would want you closer physically..."

"It was the only position available," replied Doris. "Besides, I didn't like Brooklyn or Manhattan."

"So you wanted to live in the Bronx?" asked Melissa.

"I wanted to be as far away from my former home as possible," stated Doris.

"From where your uncle lived?" confirmed Melissa.

"Yes."

"But not because of him, right?" asked Melissa.

"I loved my uncle," stated Doris. "He was a good man..."

"So you didn't want to be near your aunt, Doctor Gate, correct?"

Doris hesitated, "Yes."

"But your aunt invited you to visit her, didn't she?" asked Melissa, looking down at her notes and then glancing up at Doris with a friendly smile.

"She asked me to come see her, yes," replied Doris.

"Would you say that the problem between you two was more on your side than on hers?" asked Melissa softly.

"No, she had the problem," hissed Doris angrily. Looking up at Melissa, she controlled herself with an effort.

"The argument between you two, how did it start?"

"I don't remember," replied Doris evasively.

"Did it start with an unkind word or did she do something..."

"I said I don't remember."

"But whoever started it, you were the one who wanted to be as far away from her as possible, is that correct?"

"Yes," replied Doris. "I didn't want anything to do with her."

"But she didn't want to be as far away as possible from you," stated Melissa.

Doris glanced at her with frightened eyes and then looked away.

"What was her relationship with Ramon?" asked Melissa. "Was she unkind to him?"

"She wasn't kind to anyone. Ramon did everything for her and she was never appreciative, she always spoke down to him..."

"Because of you?" asked Melissa.

"No," replied Doris sullenly. "She spoke down to everyone, him, me, everyone..."

"Is that why you wanted to be as far from her as you could, because she was verbally abusive?" asked Melissa.

Doris shrugged, looking like an angry teenager.

"What did she say when she spoke down to you?" asked Melissa.

"She spoke down to everyone," replied Doris.

Melissa's eyes narrowed, "What did your uncle do when she would talk down to you?"

"He always stuck up for me, he always told her to stop..."

"And did she stop?"

"She would stop when he told her to stop."

"And when he wasn't there?" asked Melissa. "What did she do when he wasn't there?"

"I would avoid her," replied Doris.

"But I'm sure there were times when you couldn't avoid her, weren't there," replied Melissa. "Did you tell your uncle?"

"I told him she wouldn't leave me alone," replied Doris.

"And he said nothing," replied Melissa, searching for the truth and feeling that she was closing in on it.

"No, he stuck up for me," she replied.

"He said nothing to her, he did nothing," replied Melissa.

"No!" rejoined Doris.

"He didn't stick up for you, he just let her do it, to talk down to you," accused Melissa suddenly.

"NO! No, he stood up for me!" wailed Doris. "He told her, he told her to stop, he told her not to touch me anymore!"

Melissa leaned back slightly, giving Doris some air, "She touched you..."

Doris looked down at her hands and began to cry.

"How did she touch you, Doris?" asked Melissa softly. "Did she strike you?"

"She touched me," whispered Doris. "She came into my room and touched me while I was sleeping... I woke up... I didn't understand...I told her to stop and she wouldn't...I was so ashamed...I finally told Ramon..." she was sobbing, "When Ramon found out, he made her stop... he took me away to a safe place, to my own place...Ramon was good to me, he made her stop..."

Melissa took a deep breath and asked softly, "Did you kill her?"

"No," sobbed Doris, "I didn't kill her...I promised Ramon not to tell anyone...not to disgrace him... The day I went to see her...I quit that day... I was free of her and I was whole again. She couldn't touch me anymore...I didn't need to kill her..."

"The last time you saw her before the night that she died," said Melissa softly. "What did you two talk about?"

Doris shrugged. She felt ashamed of her secret, but there was no sense hiding it now. Now they knew, they all knew...

"Doris, what did you two speak about during the time before..."

"She was talking about the future," began Doris as she struggled to compose herself. "In two years Carmen will retire and she would need a secretary and perhaps I could come and work for her. She never acknowledged what she did to me; she acted as if it never happened. She kept asking me why I wouldn't want to work for her and finally, I told her, told her that I never wanted to be near her again after what she had done and she said that she had done nothing, that I was being foolish and this was a great opportunity for me. She refused to acknowledge that she had done wrong. After I said no and she finally realized I meant no, she tried to say that we should work together for Ramon's memory, in his honor. She was delusional, she thought because of who she was, there were no consequences to her actions."

"It was late, I couldn't get a subway back to the Bronx, so I stayed over. It was a mistake, I know it, I know how it must look, but I had no choice. I had no money, no place to go...I stayed in Ramon's old room, I locked the door and stayed up all night, waiting to see if she would try something, but thank God, she never did. Then she got the call about the little girl's death and left before I came down that morning. But she kept emailing me as if I had said nothing to her..."

"Do you have the emails?" asked Melissa.

"I saved them in my computer at home, even though some came to me at work; I sent them all to my home account, just in case. It was then that I decided I had to go, I had to leave and find something else to do. When I came back, she was surprised, she thought she had won. Instead, I told her that I wanted nothing more to do with her or Vitatown and that I was giving up my job and leaving. She got angry and said I was ungrateful. I told her that I saw things differently and I left. I marched down the stairs and never went back and that's the truth."

Melissa nodded and then glanced back at the mirror. Behind the mirror, George and Vance stood in stunned silence. They now had their answer.

***

Nydia lay down in the back seat of Alan's car and pulled the sheet up around her neck. It was four o'clock in the morning and the sun was still at least another hour from rising. If they could get out of New York before sunrise, all would be well, she was certain of it. Alan finished putting her bags into the trunk and then slid around to the driver's seat and lowered himself in.

"All set back there?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she replied. "Let's get out of here."

Alan nodded and started the car. Nydia listened to the engine rumbling through the seat cushion as Alan put the car in gear and pulled out onto the deserted streets. A truck lumbered by the other way just as they gained the Belt Parkway and soon, she felt the car accelerating as it merged onto the parkway, fighting for a place in the early morning traffic.

She would catch a bus from Baltimore to Oklahoma, she had decided. She would lose herself for a time in some small, western town until things died down. She could work as a waitress or maybe as a domestic for some wealthy rancher. She smiled at the idea of adding a cowboy to her conquests. Once she had established a new life and a new identity, she would work her way west, hoping to end up in California. She would have to start her schooling again obviously, but her dreams of being a psychiatrist were undiminished. Doctor Gate and Vitatown had been a setback, nothing more. Her program would come back to life in a new place under a new name. The only flaw was that she would not receive credit under her own name. She was fiercely proud of her name, it would be the hardest thing in life to choose a new one, but it was a necessity.

"Duck down, we're almost to the Verrazano Bridge," cautioned Alan.

Nydia snuggled down under the sheet and smiled. She would never see Alan again after today if all went well. He would never speak, how could he? He had been a big help, but she had to be realistic, if she were going to start a new life, her past had to be just that, past.

Suddenly she sensed the car slowing and then pulling off of the road.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

Before Alan could answer, a voice from a microphone called out to him to keep his hands where they could see them.

"What's going on? What's going on?" asked Nydia.

"It's the police," managed Alan, just before his door was ripped open and he was forcibly removed from the car.

A split second later, the back door swung open and Nydia looked up to see the biggest policeman she had ever seen standing at her feet, gun drawn, staring straight down at her.

"Get out of the car!" he barked. "Let me see your hands!"

Nydia glanced past him and saw Alan on the ground, his hands being cuffed behind his back. Sliding out of the back seat, the officer spun her around and ordered her against the car. A female officer stepped up and frisked her and then pulled her hands behind her back, cuffing her. As she tried to comprehend what had happened, the female officer pulled on her arm and led her to the back of a patrol car, where she placed her in the back seat. She looked about but could not see where they had taken Alan.

To her surprise, she did not feel panic or anger or regret or much of anything. A calm thought took hold of her and became her new focus. She would have to find a way to escape...

Chapter 28

Detective Wallace leaned back against the interrogation room chair and shook his head, "You're an asshole."

Alan shrugged and then laughed, "Yes, sir, yes I am."

"You realize that you're still probably going to get indicted," stated Wallace. "George didn't promise you anything..."

"I know," replied Alan. "I know it probably doesn't make much of a difference to you, but I'm an asshole, but not a complete asshole. That's why I called George as soon as I got to work the day after she arrived. It was the first opportunity I had to do so..."

"Oh, I suppose it had nothing to do with you keeping her for the night and banging her like a drunken monkey," replied Wallace.

"Let me ask you, Detective Wallace," replied Alan with a smile. "If she asked you to have sex with her would you say no? Especially if by saying so, you would tip her off that the cops were on to her? I'm not saying what I did was honorable and I'll take my lumps for that, but there were other reasons that I did what I did."

"You're breaking my heart," replied Wallace. "You're just a poor, misunderstood, patriotic American."

Alan laughed, "I make no claims. I did what I did and I'm prepared to pay for it. I'm sure that I will..."

Wallace offered him a begrudging smile, "George will talk to the district attorney. Until then, get comfortable, you are a guest of the city of New York."

Alan nodded, "Thanks detective. I'll try to be a good guest."

"See that you do," replied Wallace, rising and motioning to the officer at the door to take Alan away.

He imagined the plea bargain appeal to the judge reading, "The defendant, realizing that he was helping to harbor a dangerous criminal, agreed to have sex with her in order to detain her until police officers could arrange for her incarceration." Wallace shook his head and fought his inclination to smile. Sometimes it really was very difficult NOT to envy the criminals...

***

George Davis sat down opposite Nydia Sanchez and tapped the file folder he held in his hand on the table for a moment.

"Nydia, you've been a very naughty girl," he said softly. "You've given us a lot of trouble."

Nydia smiled demurely, "I have no idea what you mean, Lieutenant Davis. I've been truthful with you from the very start..."

George held up the folder, "Nydia, do you know what these are?"

Nydia shook her head, "How would I know, Lieutenant?"

"No, I suppose you wouldn't," he smiled. "These are transcripts, Nydia. Transcripts of text messages that Doctor Gate received on her cell phone..."

"That has nothing to do with me, I'm sure," replied Nydia, preparing to play his bluff.

"It's over, Nydia," replied George. "No sense trying to deny it. Everyone at Vitatown thought you had seduced Ramon in order for him to push for your program, but you didn't seduce Ramon, did you? You seduced Doctor Gate..."

Nydia's smile faded, but she remained silent.

George tapped the file on the table top again, "It sounds like quite the tempestuous coupling, if I read these correctly. Reminds me of that song, "there's a thin line, between love and hate" and from what I'm reading here, Nydia, you crossed that line..."

"So I had an affair with my boss," replied Nydia, "that doesn't mean anything. Lots of people have affairs with their bosses..."

"And some of them kill their bosses when the affair doesn't get them what they wanted," replied George. "You thought she was going to share the glory with you, thought it was a partnership. As the junior partner, you were willing to let her steal most of the spotlight, as long as you got your idea, your program off the ground. Not a bad deal so far, but then she decided she wanted ALL of the spotlight. You found yourself doing all of the work as she ignored your ideas, ignored you and then gutted your program. She was getting what she wanted all right, but you; you were just being used..."

"No one uses me," snapped Nydia.

"No, you're the user," replied George. "You used Alan to get the grant proposal you thought would save your program and to get you out of the city. You used Sliver to get you the drugs you needed to show that your program was worth keeping..."

"I had to do that because of her," replied Nydia angrily. "She wouldn't give me the counselors that she promised me and if I didn't come up with numbers we had agreed upon, she was going to cancel the program. I was desperate, what else could I do? I toiled in that hole every day, every day trying to help those girls and she did nothing! Then I realized the one advantage of being in that neighborhood, you can get things, things you can't get in most parts of the city. I was spending my money on supplies, on everything for the program, so why not on drugs? I bought the drugs, I admit it, but I did it for the girls. They had no place else to go..."

"But you couldn't monitor them the way they needed to be monitored..."

"I know just as much as any of those so called "doctors" that she hired," replied Nydia. "I was doing fine, I had everything covered..."

"What about Ana?" asked George.

"Some patients don't respond the way they are supposed to," replied Nydia. "It happens one time in a million..."

"A professional would have caught it..."

"I AM a professional," snapped Nydia. "I was run ragged, trying to keep the program afloat. I was tired; I would have caught it if I wasn't so overworked and that bitch with her demands..."

"So the doctor was screwing you in more ways than one," replied George with the slightest of smiles, "and you missed it. You missed all the warning signs that your patient was in trouble..."

"I would have caught it if she hadn't been after me all the time..."

"But you didn't catch it," replied George, "and that little girl died!"

"She died because I didn't have the help I had been promised," replied Nydia, rising from her chair and slamming the table with her hand. "She died because that bitch lied to me!"

"And that's why you killed her," replied George. "She lied to you, she destroyed your program and she was going to let you take the fall all by yourself..."

"She refused to help me," replied Nydia. "She was content to let me sink, to throw me an anchor when I was drowning! Yes, I killed her, I went to her house and we had an argument. I ground the pills up before I got there and slipped some into her coffee and then some more. She began to feel sick, so I told her I would fix her some tea and then I put some more into that. After the tea, she felt worse, was having spasms. She was blacking out and then I'd bring her around and then I told her. I told her what I had done and then I just kept feeding them to her. I gave her all of them. She couldn't stop me at that point. I just kept forcing them into her until she started to convulse and then I left that bitch to die, like she was going to leave me to die!"

George nodded, "You're going to have plenty of time to finish your degree now, Nydia. You're going to have nothing but time. Detective Wallace and I will see to that..."

Chapter 29

Melissa stood in her bedroom, staring at the open suitcases, debating which shoes she should take with her. Vance came in and gave a quick glance at the clock on the end table beside her.

"Sweetheart, we have to get going soon..."

"I'm not sure which pair of shoes I should bring," replied Melissa.

"It doesn't matter, does it?" laughed Vance. "The wedding is on the beach, we'll probably end up barefoot."

"I packed your Speedo," she teased.

"I'll wear it in the room for you, but I'm not going outside in it," he replied, blushing at the thought.

"You won't get out of the room if I see you in it," giggled Melissa. "That's why I'm bringing it."

Vance laughed, "Whatever turns you on."

"I feel sorry for Ginger," smiled Melissa, grabbing him about the waist. "She'll never get to see you in a Speedo."

"Oddly, I'm fine with the idea," he said, leaning over and kissing her. "Now don't get me started, we have to get to the airport."

"I can't believe she's getting married," replied Melissa, dropping a pair of black pumps into the suitcase and slamming it shut.

"She isn't married yet," replied Vance, zipping the suitcase closed and picking it up. "Until I hear her say, "I do", I won't believe it."

"I won't believe it even after she says "I do"," replied Melissa.

Taking her hand, Vance led her out of the bedroom to begin their trip to the airport.

***

Doris Martinez had also finished packing her suitcase and was standing outside her apartment building as a few men moved the last of her possessions into a small moving truck to take her to her new home. It had taken most of a very long, very frugal year, but she had saved up the money to start her life over. When the chance to interview for a job in Pennsylvania came up, she took the train there and applied for the position. It took them some time to make up their minds, but that was fine, it left her more time to save up. Now she was going, she was leaving the Bronx and never coming back.

Looking up at the apartment building, she suddenly felt a rush as if she were standing in a windstorm except the feeling was inside of her rather than against her skin. She was going to a new state, a new job and a new life.

"Clean and new," she murmured, just as she had promised herself. "Clean and new..."

She looked at the foreman, who approached her respectfully and stated, "We're ready to go now, Miss Martinez."

She smiled at him and nodded, "Then let's get going."

"We will meet you there," he said. "It should take us about four hours, maybe a little more..."

"That's fine," she said, "I'll be there. I can't wait..."

"Very well, we'll see you there," smiled the foreman as he retreated back to the truck.

Doris made her way to the taxicab that was waiting at the curb. Opening the door, she placed her suitcase with her few valuables in the back seat.

"Are you ready, Miss Martinez?" asked the driver as she settled herself in the back seat.

"Yes, let's go..." she said softly.

As they drove from the curb, the driver cleared his throat.

"So you're moving to York, Pennsylvania," he stated. "Moving closer to family?"

"No," she stated, her smile growing wider, "No family. Nothing there at all..."

***

Mary walked slowly up the block headed towards her apartment. It seemed odd to her there were no children out on the street. While it was late summer and the weather had cooled substantially, it was still comfortable out. It wasn't until she had almost gotten to her home that she saw the reason that the street was so uncommonly quiet.

Sitting in front of her home was an enormous motorcycle upon whose back sat an enormous man. Slowing her pace, she made her way down the last few yards of sidewalk to her home. As she approached the giant rose from the motorcycle and confronted her.

After a moment of silence, she said softly, "Is everything all right?"

The giant nodded, looking down at her with his dark eyes.

"What do you think?" he asked suddenly, pointing at the bike

"It's enormous," replied Mary, unsure of what she was supposed to say.

"I was thinking that maybe you'd like to take a ride," he stated.

Mary considered it a moment and then replied, "I'm sorry, but no, I'm afraid of those things. Only people who are gang members and killers would ride on something like that."

Ben nodded at the justice of her statement. "Well, I'm not a gang member and if I've killed anyone, they deserved to die." After a moment, he turned to go.

Mary cleared her throat, "Perhaps you would like to come up and have a cup of tea with me."

"I'm sorry, but no," he replied seriously. "I'm afraid of tea. Only arrogant Chinese waiters and James Bond villains drink tea."

She nodded at the justice of his statement.

"Well, I think it's obvious that I'm not a Chinese waiter, arrogant or otherwise and I'm certainly not a James Bond villain."

He considered her statement a moment, "Of course, the first thing a James Bond villain would say is that she wasn't a Bond villain."

She nodded at the justice of his reproach. Gently, she reached out and took his hand.

"If you'll come with me, I might be able to help you get over your fear of tea," she stated.

Ben allowed her to lead him toward the house. Oh well, he thought, a man had to get over his fear of tea somehow...

***

I would like to thank you for reading "In Memoriam" the first sequel in the "Remembering" series. I hope that you have enjoyed this novel and I invite you to let me know what you thought of it. Please feel free to drop me a line via email at mailto:maczazski@hotmail.com. Thanks again for choosing "In Memoriam"; I look forward to hearing from you!

