Gerri Hill - Partners

by Gerri Hill

  Casey's comment died when she felt a warm hand slide across her stomach and cup her breast. She rolled her head, finding Leslie's eyes half-closed, a sated look on her face as her fingers gently traced her hardening nipple. It was after five, they'd only slept a few hours, and still her hunger for this woman was as fresh and raw as if they'd never touched. She felt the phone slipping away as she leaned closer, finding soft lips, touching them lightly with her tongue.

  "O'Connor? Did you fall back to sleep or what?"

  She felt Leslie smile against her mouth and she picked up the phone which had slid down between them.

  "Yeah, Hunter. Sorry. What did you say?"

  "Forget it. But you don't have time for sex, O'Connor. Pull away from her, take a shower--alone--and try to keep your hands off each other tonight." She laughed. "Sikes wants a full report in the morning."

  Casey smiled. "You're evil. Both of you."

  "Yeah, yeah. But...well, be careful, O'Connor."

  Casey nodded. The words had a double meaning, she knew. "I will. Thank you."

  She closed the phone and pulled Leslie closer, sighing as she felt her lips move across her breast.

  "I take it they know," Leslie murmured as her tongue raked across her nipple.

  "Mmm. Yes, they know."

  Leslie lifted her head. "Are we in trouble?"

  "No. Not yet. Not until Malone finds out." She rolled them over, pressing her weight into Leslie. "Tori informed me we don't have time for this. But we must take time for a shower." She raised her eyebrows. "Share?"

  "My God, there's so many," Leslie said, her eyes scanning the dining room of the shelter. Row after row after row sat people--mostly men, mostly disheveled--quietly eating their dinner.

  "Yeah. You don't see all this when you're just cruising the streets." Casey pointed to the serving line. "There's Maria."

  "We stick out like a sore thumb, you know." She could feel eyes on them.

  "I know."

  Leslie caught Maria's attention, who nodded at them, motioning them to the side. They waited patiently while she found someone to relieve her in the serving line.

  "I told Sammy you wanted to speak with him. It's only fair he know," she said.

  "I understand. Is he still willing?"

  "Yes. Rudy was a friend of his. I told him you had questions about that. I didn't mention John."

  "Good. Thank you." Casey looked over the crowd. "Where is he?"

  "Oh, no. He won't meet you in here."

  "How will we know him?"

  "He'll find you outside." She shoved a paper bag into her hands. "He left without eating. Please give him this."

  Leslie nodded. "Of course, Maria."

  "So he doesn't want to be seen talking to cops?" Casey asked. "Should we have been more discreet coming in here?"

  "No, it's fine. Cops come in all the time. Mostly uniforms, but still, after what happened to Rudy, it's not unusual for there to be questions." She turned to go, then stopped. "Sammy's a good man. But like the others, he's more afraid of the evil on the street than he is the cops. He'll only tell you what he wants."

  "We won't harass him, if that's what you're alluding to," Leslie assured her. "We want to get the evil off the street as much as anyone."

  "Yes. I believe you do." She motioned to the door. "Just walk back to your car. I'm certain he watched you arrive. He'll find you."

  "Thank you, again, Maria." Casey nodded curtly at her. "Again, if you hear anything that might be useful to us--"

  "I'll be certain to let you know." She wiped her hands on her apron. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to work."

  Leslie followed Casey outside, pausing to look back into the shelter. "I admire people like her," she said. "I doubt her salary is much above the minimum, yet she probably cares about her job more than most people making four times as much."

  "Yeah. I wonder if it's personal for her."

  "What do you mean? Like her father or something?"

  Casey shrugged. "Perhaps. I knew a woman once whose older sister lived on the street. She didn't have to. The family had money. But the sister, I think she was diagnosed as bipolar. She would pop in and out of their lives. They'd get her on medication for awhile, then she'd disappear back to the street." She stopped at the truck and pushed the remote to unlock it. "They'd be driving along and they'd see her panhandling."

  "What happened to her?"

  "She died. She was buried as a Jane Doe. When they found out, they had her body moved, but it was all very sad. But anyway this woman, Sharon, she volunteered every spare minute she had after that. It consumed her."

  "All their faces. They just looked so hopeless."

  "And maybe they are," Casey said as she opened the door. "Living day to day. No happiness, no love. Just existing."

  Leslie got into the passenger seat and closed the door. "Of course, you don't have to be homeless to have those symptoms."

  "No, I guess you don't."

  They sat quietly for a moment, then Casey started the truck. "What do you think? Drive around the block or something?"

  "It's still daylight. If he doesn't want anyone to see him, I doubt he'll be waiting on the curb for us."

  "Then let's make the block."

  But they didn't have to go far. At the next intersection, he was leaning against the stop sign. Full beard, the skin around his eyes weathered, his long hair hidden by an old cap. Casey stopped and lowered her window.

  "Sammy?"

  He stared straight ahead, not looking at them. "Meet me on the corner of Walton and Worth."

  Casey nodded. "That's just a few blocks north of here. What time?"

  He shrugged. "Don't own no watch." He turned without another word, walking slowly back toward the shelter.

  "I forgot his bag," Leslie said, holding it up.

  "We'll give it to him later." She looked at her watch. "Six thirty. I guess we go to Walton and Worth and just wait for him."

  "You want me to check in with Hunter?"

  "Yeah. And see if they ever found John."

  "Here he comes."

  Casey glanced in the mirror, nodding. They'd been waiting forty-five minutes. Long enough for them to doubt he'd show. Hunter and Sikes had spotted John finally. They caught him buying a burrito from a street vendor on Elm and followed him to the old historical cemetery that hadn't seen a burial since way back in the Sixties. There on a wooden bench, he sat and ate his dinner. From there, back on the street, he disappeared into one of the alleys in Deep Ellum.

  "We might be better served to follow Sammy tonight instead of looking around for John," she suggested.

  "Of course there's always the possibility that John is out cruising apartments. Let's don't forget, he likes to watch girls."

  Casey lowered her window, waiting until Sammy passed by. Again, he didn't stop to look at them.

  "Let's walk," he said, his feet still shuffling along the sidewalk.

  "Well, he's careful, I'll say that."

  "I was about to say he's watched too many spy movies," Casey said. "But then, maybe not."

  They got out of the truck, moving behind him, then up beside him, one on either side. They kept to his slow, steady pace, not speaking. They were in a residential area, older homes with large yards and mature trees. Before they reached Baumer, he ducked into a line of hedges nearly eight feet tall.

  "Come, come. Out of sight," he said.

  They crawled in among the limbs and leaves, Casey meeting Leslie's eyes in the shadows. "How cozy," she murmured.

  "Sammy? I'm Detective Tucker. This is Detective O'Connor," Leslie said.

  "I know. John told me. Miss Leslie and Miss Casey." He turned to Casey. "You're the one who ties him up."

  "I don't tie him up," she said, ignoring the quiet laugh from Leslie. "We need your help, Sammy. We need to find John's brother. Do you know where he stays?"

  His eyes darted around nervously as he shook his head. "No. Don't see him much. Don't want to see him."


  "He killed Rudy," Leslie said. "He's also killed others. Young women who live alone. We've got to find him."

  "Do you ever see him with John?" Casey asked.

  "I don't know where he goes, where he stays. He just shows up. I think John is scared of him."

  "Are you scared of him?"

  He laughed nervously. "Hell, yeah. I ain't stupid."

  "What did Rudy do?" Leslie asked. "What did he do to make Patrick kill him?"

  He shook his head. "I ain't talking about that. I don't have nothing to do with that mess."

  "Drugs?" Casey asked.

  "Yeah, drugs. And I told Rudy to leave it alone. But no. He followed Patrick one night. Saw him make a deal with some kid. So he follows the kid and shakes him down. As if the kid wouldn't go back to Patrick." He shook his head again. "Patrick came for him the next night. I heard the screaming. We all did. Then he wasn't screaming no more."

  "Did anyone actually see Patrick kill him?"

  "We didn't have to see."

  Casey looked past the shrubs to the street, dusk finally settling on the city. She turned back to Sammy. "Are you afraid to be talking to us?"

  "Yeah. Like I said, I ain't stupid."

  "But you like John?" she guessed.

  "John is just a boy. Don't care how old he is, he's just a boy. He doesn't know any better. I tell him not to go out at night. I know what he does."

  "At the apartments?" Leslie asked.

  "He watches them."

  "Do you think Patrick watches him watch them?"

  Sammy stared at her. "I don't know about that."

  "John wears a dress sometimes. What's up with that?" Casey asked. "I don't know. I don't know nothing." He looked at the street. "I gotta go. I been here too long."

  "Sammy, wait," Leslie said. "Miss Maria gave me a bag to give you. It's in the truck."

  "I don't need it. I just need to get back." He walked out of the hedge, then stopped. "And don't come looking for me again. I don't know anything else." He left then, hurrying back down the street, his old coat pulled tight around him, even on this warm evening.

  "Is now a good time to talk about the absurdity of the situation?" Leslie asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "We're hiding in shrubs, O'Connor," she said with a laugh.

  "Oh, yeah, I guess we are." She laughed too. "Interrogating a homeless man who knows more than he wants to know."

  "More than he's telling us, for sure."

  Casey stepped out onto the street and held her hand out for Leslie. "Do you get the feeling that the only way we're going to find Patrick is if we just stumble upon him?"

  "Yeah. And maybe tailing John wasn't the answer. I mean, they apparently don't hang together, don't sleep together."

  "No. But something you said to Sammy, about Patrick watching John watch the girls. I think that's an excellent theory."

  "Perhaps. But no way to prove it."

  "Well, other than watching John."

  Leslie stopped at the truck, looking across the back at her. "You mean look for Patrick while he's watching John watch the girls?"

  "Yeah."

  They got inside the truck, but Leslie touched her arm. "But that would mean that John is the one who triggers the killings."

  Casey frowned. "How so?"

  "Because the Peeping Tom reports come in spurts. So if he's watching John, he has to wait until the...well, until the urge hits him. And the past patterns indicate that the incidences increase in frequency, like daily, before the killing."

  "The murders are increasing in frequency as well. A three-month span between the first and second, then two weeks."

  "Why don't we pull data on that three-month span? I mean, maybe John was going out, but Patrick wasn't interested."

  "And we're assuming all the Peeping Tom reports from this area are John. We both know that's not likely," Casey said as she started the truck.

  "Not likely all, no. But these apartments, within our radius, are most probably John."

  Casey drove back down toward Elm, not feeling confident they'd hook up with John tonight. Tori said they'd lost him as he ducked down the alley behind the Captain's Chair Seafood Bar. And if they didn't find John tonight, didn't find Patrick, then CIU and their profiler would be all over the case.

  "If we get a profiler involved, get CIU involved, then John can no longer be protected," she said.

  "I don't know what good a profiler is going to do."

  "Well, technically, Patrick is only a name. We've never seen him. He's like a ghost that haunts the streets." Casey glanced at her. "We have DNA, that's it. And Rudy Bobby? Sammy said it best. No, they didn't see Patrick kill him, but they all know it was him. What the hell good would that do us in court?"

  "We've got the fiber," Leslie reminded her.

  "A fiber that potentially puts Rudy at the murder scene of a young woman. It hardly implicates Patrick."

  Leslie leaned back against the seat, turning her head slightly. "So we drive around all night hoping we stumble upon him?"

  "That's how this whole case is going, isn't it? We stumble upon John. Get his DNA, thinking he's the one, only to stumble upon the fact that no, it's not him, but a relative, possibly his brother."

  She turned right on Elm, back to Deep Ellum. Traffic was heavy, like it usually was, but the pedestrian traffic was still light at this early hour. The after-work crowd that gathered for happy hour was gone, and the late night regulars had not yet arrived. Because even on a Monday night, there would be partiers.

  "Gonna be a long night."

  Casey turned, nodding. "Yeah. And we didn't exactly sleep today."

  Leslie smiled. "Not exactly, no."

  "Well, we can take turns driving. I know that's not the most comfortable place to take a nap, but feel free."

  "Maybe in a little while. I'm okay for now."

  Casey nodded and turned her attention back to the streets. No, they hadn't slept much. Some, but not much. Certainly not enough to sustain them for a twelve-hour shift. But it was nice, wasn't it? Holding her while they slept, waking up with her. Is this how falling in love felt? Because if so, everything else before paled in comparison. Sex was just sex. But not any longer. A handful of dates didn't make a relationship, and living with someone didn't mean they were your life partner. But now? She glanced again at Leslie and found her eyes on her. She smiled and looked away, feeling so giddy about the possibilities, she was nearly embarrassed.

  Then a soft hand touched her arm, the fingers rubbing lightly across her skin. She turned, catching Leslie's warm gaze. Neither said anything.

  They didn't have to.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Leslie heard talking and she tried to force her eyes open. She rolled her head, the cold glass of the truck window bumping her forehead.

  "We got nothing, Hunter. We talked to Sammy. The only thing he told us was Rudy apparently hit up a kid that Patrick had sold cocaine to. He partied with it and Patrick killed him."

  She turned, finally opening her eyes. The sun was nearly up and she stretched, managing to stifle a yawn.

  "I'm telling you, Patrick is like a ghost. I hope you guys have better luck today."

  Leslie studied Casey, seeing her nod.

  "Okay, yeah. We're going to crash. Been a hell of a long night." Casey looked at her and smiled. "Later."

  Leslie smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. I fell asleep."

  "No problem. I napped when you were driving."

  "You napped for maybe a half-hour. Judging by the crick in my neck, I'd say I've been out for awhile."

  "Not quite two hours. But it was quiet."

  "So we're off the clock?"

  "Yeah. They're already down on Elm hoping to spot him early." Casey headed north, crossing over Gaston. "You hungry?"

  "I can't decide if I'm more hungry or tired. You?"

  "I'm too tired to be hungry. I just want to sleep." She glanced at her. "Come home with me?"

  Leslie raised her eye
brows.

  "Sleep," Casey clarified. "I don't have the energy for anything else."

  "Okay. Sleep. We'll worry about eating later." And she supposed she'd worry about her living arrangements later too. The hotel room was paid for the week, and she'd have to make a run by there to get clothes. She really needed to go by Michael's apartment to get more of her things. She didn't know when she'd have time, not with them working these crazy hours.

  The vibration of her phone against her waist startled her. Only one person would call her this early. She leaned to the side and unclipped her phone, glancing at the number. No, not Michael. Worse.

  She took a deep breath, then answered.

  "Good morning, Leslie. It's Rebecca. I wanted to catch you before you started your day."

  "Actually, I'm just ending my day. I worked the nightshift." She met Casey's gaze and mouthed Michael's mother.

  "I'm sorry. Is this a bad time?"

  "No. What's on your mind, Rebecca?"

  "Well, what a silly question, dear. I guess you know what's on my mind."

  "No offense, but really, this is between me and Michael."

  "He's just devastated. I've never seen him more upset. Surely you can't just walk away from this engagement without trying to reconcile your differences."

  She rolled her eyes, wondering just what it was Michael had told her. "There is no reconciling. You want me to be blunt, I will. I'm not in love with him." She glanced at Casey who was being polite and at least pretending not to listen. "I'm not going to marry him."

  "And you think telling him you're gay is going to appease him? How could you tell him such a thing?"

  "So he doesn't believe I'm a lesbian? If I told him I was having an affair with another man, he'd believe that?"

  "Oh, Leslie, what are you doing? Was it that bad that you need to ruin his life? What about all the plans? Why, I practically had your wedding arranged."

  Leslie sighed. "Yes, you did. And I'm sorry. But things happen. I wasn't happy with Michael, and if he's honest with you, he'll tell you that he wasn't really happy with me. This is best, Rebecca."

  "No, I don't believe so. I want you to reconsider. The least you can do is go to counseling like he suggested. You owe him that much."