Culture Shock (24 page)

"About a month. Why?" Was there something else she'd overlooked?

"Then you'd better remind him about PC 12072. Here, give me his gun, I'll put it back."

"Yeah, right. I'd better." What the hell was PC 12072? Alex never warned her she'd have to remember the whole darn penal code in a few days. She was certain her heart rate tripled.

Cynthia inched back toward the driver's door, trying to think of a way to get herself out of yet another pickle. Was this what life had come to? One jam after another? She decided to feign a coughing attack.

She doubled over, with self-induced spasms. "Hey…cough, cough…Mike. Can you…cough…cough…take over for me here, please?"

As soon as she handed Mike Mr. Caruso's credentials, her symptoms improved in time to listen in as Mike thanked the man for his cooperation and apologized for the inconvenience. She craned her head closer to hear his explanation of PC 12072.

"Oh, and Mr. Caruso, sir, you have sixty days from the date of your arrival in which to register any weapons you have brought into the state and plan to keep. If you fail to do so you'll be considered as a personal handgun importer and treated accordingly should you be caught.”  He handed him his keys.  “Have a nice day.”

Back in the patrol car, Mike turned to her. "That was quite a coughing spell you had. Are you all right?"

"I think I breathed in a bug or something. I'm fine now. Thanks for asking and for handling the stop for me. Appreciate it." She turned from his suspicious glare.

***

Thank God the day ended when it did. Cynthia couldn't take another minute of Mike's picking at her about her mistakes. Instead of going to her own apartment, she went directly to Alex's, figuring that's where Kevin might be. Since he learned their little secret, he appeared more comfortable there with her despite her outward appearance.

He was stretched out on the divan when she entered. He raised his head from the thread-bare arm. "Shoot. I thought you might come home in uniform. I wanted to see how you look as a cop." He chuckled.

"Don't start," she warned as she held her hand up. "I've had a very bad day and what I need from you is good news, not more hassle."

Kevin swiveled around and sat. "I wish I had some to share. I found absolutely nothing helpful at the library. Oh, there's lots of speculation that it could happen, but no cases unless you count people who have been possessed by spirits."

She kicked off her shoes and plopped down in the easy chair. A loose spring made a threatening squeal. Cynthia hung her head in her hands. "I wish I was possessed. I could have an exorcism and be done with it." Glancing up, she looked with pleading eyes at her brother. "What am I going to do, Kevin?"

He rested his hand on her broad shoulder. "I don't know,
Cyn. I feel like a creep leaving you, but I have to go home in a few days. I have a job waiting and I can't afford to lose it. I'd risk it, but I don't know what I can do. You tell me ... just say the word and I'll stay."

She touched his cheek with sisterly concern. "No, you go. It's all right. There is nothing you can do. We're only a phone call away and if Alex or I think of something, we'll call you." She peered into those eyes she'd loved all her life.

"Sis…uh.…"

"Yes, Kevin?"

"Could you…like…." He backed away. "It creeps me out when you touch me like a woman and I see Alex's face. I hope you understand."

She chuckled. "I guess that would freak me out, too. I imagine that's how Alex felt when you picked him up and twirled him around at the airport."

***

Cynthia came out of the bathroom when she heard a knock.

"I'll get it," Kevin hollered from the living room. "It's Alex, Cyn."

She entered the room, buckling her belt. "How'd it go today, Alex? Do I still have a job?"

"Of course. You just keep doing your homework, and I'll hold down the fort." He held her attaché case in the air. "In fact, I brought you some of your favorite yellow folders tonight."

"Gee, thanks. Just what I needed."

"So, fill me in. Kevin already said the library was a waste. How was your day?"

"Oh, don't ask." She took the briefcase from him, went to the kitchen table and sat.

Alex followed and pulled out a chair. "Why shouldn't I ask?" He sunk onto a chair and leaned on the table. "Do I really want to know?"

"Nothing major happened. I just made a penal ass of myself on a traffic stop."

"A what?" His brow furrowed.

"You never warned me how many penal codes there are. I tried to cite a man for having a gun inside a lockbox in his trunk."

"Tsk, tsk." Alex clicked his tongue against his teeth.

"Oh, like that sound makes me feel better."

"Don't worry about it. Nobody remembers all of them. It's okay."

She rubbed a growing stress ache in her temples. "Yeah, well, Mike didn't seem to think it was okay for you, Mr. I-know-Every-Code-There-Is-To-Know, to forget one."

"Don't pay any attention to Mike. He's a good guy, but he can be a real pain sometimes."

Alex crossed his fuzzy-slipper-clad feet and rested them on the arm of the adjacent sofa, barely touching Kevin's sleeve.

Kevin's attention was drawn from the TV and he looked over his shoulder. "Hey, those furry critters tickle, but don't let me crowd you."

"Not a problem. I don't mind sharing, after all, look what your sister is letting me use." He gestured down the length of her body.

"Not by choice, I'm not." Cynthia kicked his chair leg and almost made him fall.

"Hey, watch it." He struggled to remain upright. "You might hurt yourself." He sat straight and leaned on the table again. "Did you know your computer has games on it?"

"Is that what you do all day?"

"I have to find something to keep myself busy. There's only so many paper airplanes you can fly, and after a while, playing tic-tac-toe by yourself gets really boring."

Cynthia looked up from her stack of folders "I almost forgot. I ran Sorenson's name again and tried every form I could find to get more information on what he does. I came up empty again. What does it mean when you get a screen with a big, red confidential stamped across it?"

"I don't know. I've never seen one, but it sounds like someone is hiding something."

Cynthia rested her head in her hands. "Like we are?"

***

He
pondered climbing the stairs and putting an ear to the door to see if he could hear what went on in her apartment, but he recalled her houseguest or was it her boyfriend's visitor? Didn't matter. An extra body threw a wrench into his plans. Oh, and he did have plans for his blonde beauty. The timing had to be right, along with the place and opportunity. Too many cops combed the neighborhood, searching for him waiting for his next move. This time, he'd do something different. Besides, he grew tired of lurking in alleys and playing stupid games with the law. He thrummed his fingers on the chair's arm and grinned.

Those flatfooted fools couldn't catch him in a million years. He was far too smart.

Chapter
Twenty-One

Two weeks, and no progress on the case or solving the body switch. Kevin had left on Saturday and had called that night, Sunday night, and already once today, to check on new developments. It pained Cynthia to tell him that nothing had changed.

At the table, with Alex across from her, she finished up her nightly collection of accounting files. She closed the last folder and glanced at him. "You know this isn't fair. I'm doing two jobs."

"I know you hate working the serial case, but if you were doing my regular assignments, you'd also have to write up reports for everything. You're lucky the detectives are compiling everything for you and Mike."

"No, you're lucky. If I had to write up a report, I'd be bringing them home for you to do. So I'm still the loser here."

"I know," he said, remorse in his voice. "You have no idea how I wish I could help you. I get so antsy sitting in your office, thinking of things I could be doing. It would sure help if we could tell Mike."

Her tired body straightened. "Why can't we? Aren't you close enough to him to make him believe you?" She leaned her face into her palm. "Alex, I'm sick and tired of trying to pretend to be something I'm not. What if I really screw up? Someone could get hurt. I'm not a cop and I can't pretend forever. Besides, this isn't what I want to do with my life."

Alex pondered her words for a moment. "I know Mike pretty well, but I'm not sure I know anyone well enough to make them believe this story. Yeah, Kevin believes us, but look what we've turned him into. He can't talk about it to anyone either. I'm not so sure he doesn't think we're both nuts anyhow." He paused and rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, I've got a deal for you. Let's enlist Mike's help with the information we've discovered about Sorenson and Cratski. If we can solve the murder case, I'll consider trying the shock thing again."

"Really?" Her eyes lit up.

"Really. We can't tell Mike what happened to us, but the more I think about our friendly building super, the more I believe he's our man. We don't have anything concrete but we might as well run with what we have."

Cynthia's adrenaline overrode her tiredness. She pushed her files to the side and rested both arms on the table. Alex had her full attention. "What do I tell Mike?"

"Let him in on all the things we've discovered, like running Cratski and finding out he's dead. Share with him that…I…you went into the man's apartment and found a receipt in someone else's name. And tell him about the electrical wiring, the blue rags and Sorenson's suspicious behavior. Suggest that they put some sort of surveillance on the front and back entrances of the building and keep a record of his comings and goings. If we had done this already, we might not have had another victim as dead as her plastic companion."

"That's gross, Alex," she said with disdain.

"Sorry. I've got to get you out of uniform before you get as callous as I've become."

***

Cynthia insisted that Mike drive while she jotted down notes for her report from their last stop, another dead end, but they at least issued a fix-it ticket for bald tires. Suddenly, they seemed to be working traffic stops again despite their present assignment and that meant writing reports.

"Stupid traffic stops and paperwork." She grumbled under her breath.

Mike cornered way too fast, and a scrawling line marred her perfect penmanship. "Hey, I'm trying to write here," she complained.

"Sorry. I guess I'm just getting bored. Hell, we can't even hassle the prostitutes anymore until we catch this creep."

She laid the metal clipboard in the seat. "Can we park somewhere for a few minutes. I have a lead I'd like to share with you."

"Sure." Mike turned into a
Wal-mart parking lot, switched off the engine and swiveled in his seat. "What gives?"

Cynthia laid out everything she and Alex had agreed to share. The furrows in Mike's brow deepened with every fact she revealed, and at the end, his lips had thinned to the point of invisibility. He released a loud breath.

"Why haven't you told me any of this before?" His elevated tone showed his upset.

Cynthia dipped her chin. She wished she could tell him the whole story but she'd promised Alex she wouldn't. Instead, she tried to word things just right. "I wanted to make sure I had my facts straight. No use in making fools of ourselves."

He took a deep breath. "I suppose that's a valid excuse. But we're supposed to be partners. You know, a team?" His tone softened.

"That's why I'm telling you now."

"Then let's head back to the station and have a chat with the Captain. The publicity on this case has gotten so intense, I'm sure he's open to anything that might lead to an arrest."

The engine whirred to life, and they sped toward the station. Mike remained silent for the entire drive, but at least his brow had relaxed. Recalling his disappointment at keeping a partner in the dark, feelings of guilt niggled at her. If he found secrecy about a few facts so upsetting, what would he think if he knew he shared the cruiser with a woman?

With their car parked in their numbered slot, Cynthia followed her partner down the long corridor and waited until the watch commander answered Mike's knock.

Her palms sweated like crazy as they sat in Captain's Casey's office while she told him about John Cratski and her suspicions. Not prone to dripping hands, she found yet another thing she hated about being a man. Did Alex contend with this problem every time he got apprehensive?

While she waited for the captain's response, she swiped the wetness on her pants.

There was no emotion in the commander's face as he pondered her story. His angular jaw tensed while his dark eyes fixated on the wall behind her. Finally, he lowered his gaze. "I may be putting my ass in a sling but I'm approving camera equipment to help with surveillance on your building. I'm willing to trust your instincts, Carlyle. Since we don't have anything else, I sure as hell hope this pans out." His stare intensified. "Find a place to put the equipment, and you've got twenty-four hours
. That's twelve hours each to man the camera. I'm not paying a penny more towards overtime. Our budget is already stretched to the limit." He stood, back ramrod straight, walked toward the door and opened it. "Now get out and catch somebody…anybody. The media is killing us by making us look like a bunch of fools. The baby doll killer is right here in our own backyard, so nab the asshole."