The law was stupid, but Jeffrey had learned that he could not argue with a law that said he should not be with a beautiful, smart woman who wanted him.
Ellen looked out of her apartment window, a cup of coffee in her hand. She smiled, cupping the coffee in two hands, looking at the flower shop across the street.
Stella almost didn't recognize him.
The bar was crowded, noisy. Devlin had again volunteered to pick her up at her apartment. Stella had again said she would meet him. No men in her apartment. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She had more than bad memories of the last man who had been with her in that apartment. He had attacked her, tried to rape and kill her, but it was she who had killed him. She should have moved, but Stella was determined not to be driven out by memories. However, no men in or near the apartment.
He was sitting at a very tiny round table in the rear of the crowded bar. She saw him looking at her. He cleaned up remarkably well. She had thought he was handsome in his uniform and soot-covered face. Across the room, smiling at her, he had calendar looks.
She made her way through the crowd, avoiding hands holding glasses, bodies leaning over to whisper and listen. She was wearing one of her two all-purpose black dresses. No come on. No keep your distance. This would be drinks, talk, that's it.
"Right on time," Devlin said, standing to greet her.
She smiled and sat down across from him. He motioned for a waitress who, in spite of the crowd, responded immediately and started for the table. Devlin was, Stella could see, the kind of man to whom waitresses paid attention.
The waitress stood next to the table. Devlin looked at Stella, who said, "Amstel Light."
The waitress looked at Devlin, who held up his empty glass. She nodded, smiled and began to navigate her way back to the bar.
"You look great," he said, having to lean forward to be heard.
"You too. We both look great. Now to the hard part," Stella said. "What, if anything, do we have in common?"
"I save lives," he said. "You find people who take lives."
"That's a start," she said. "What do you know about me besides that I look good in a black dress?"
"You're smart."
"And?"
"You've seen some bad things."
"How can you tell?" she asked.
"I see the same look in my eyes when I stand in front of the mirror at night and in the morning. What do you know about me?" Devlin asked.
"You don't want me to know how you hurt your wrist."
"You can't see my wrist," he said, tugging self-consciously at his right sleeve.
"I can see how you're holding your hand and I saw your wrist when you lifted your glass."
"Fire last night," he said. "A woman bit my wrist when I pulled her out of a burning room. Teeth marks still show. What else?"
"You don't usually dress like this, jacket, tie. The jacket has a white powder residue on the left shoulder. You've had it in a storage bag for a long time. And the tie is either the only one you own, your favorite tie or your lucky tie, or all three. It doesn't match the jacket and slacks and you'd be especially careful to make it match tonight if you could."
"So?"
"You want to impress me," she said. "I'm impressed."
"So am I. You always do this Sherlock Holmes business with men on a first date?"
"It's what I do all day long," she said. "Can't help it. Comes with the job."
The waitress delivered the beer for Stella and a fresh mug for Devlin.
"Anything else?" the waitress asked, looking at Devlin.
"Not now," he said. "Thanks."
The waitress left. Devlin held up his glass. Stella did the same with her Amstel. Glass and bottle clinked and Devlin looked up and shook his head.
"You all right?" asked Stella.
He reached into his pocket and came up with a cell phone. He cupped his left ear and held the phone up to his right ear.
"Yeah? What about Walt? No. It's okay." He looked at Stella. "I'll be there. Just roll."
He put the phone back in his pocket.
"Fire at St. Andrew's Church," he said. "I'm not supposed to be on tonight, but the other senior is sick. Sorry."
"I understand," said Stella.
And she did. The cell phone in the purse slung over her shoulder was set on vibrate. It had been pulsing for the past minute.
He stood.
"Go on," she said. "We'll give tonight a rain check."
"No more rain," he said. "A heat check maybe."
He leaned over, touched her hand and kissed her gently on the cheek.
"I'll call," he said.
"I'll answer," she said with a smile.
He left and Stella took out her own cell phone and saw that it was Hawkes who had called. She punched the right button and he answered.
"Hawkes, what's up?"
"Cheswith, the actor. He hanged himself. I was going to wait till tomorrow to tell you but- "
"No," she said. "That's fine."
"I liked the guy," admitted Hawkes.
"I know," she said. "So did I. Crime scene?"
"Holding cell. I'm on it."
"You want me to meet you there?"
"No," he said. "I'll take it. I just thought you'd want to know."
He hung up. So did she. The waitress came with the check. Stella paid it.
Danny missed a layup. He missed because he had been fouled by someone named Jorge who hit Danny in the face, knocking off his sports glasses. Danny got up and said, "Foul." It was a pickup game, five on five at St. Paul's gym. You called your own fouls. Your team held the court as long as it kept winning the eleven-basket game.
"Bullshit," said Jorge.
They were in each other's faces now. Jorge's team was afraid of Jorge, who had a temper. Danny had seen the temper explode before. He didn't like playing against or with Jorge.
"No fuckin' foul, pussy," said Jorge.
Danny's teammates, including his friend Vince, who played like a lunatic, moved in to back Danny.
Danny was in a very dark mood. He had arrested Karen Reynolds. No, he and Lindsay had arrested her. The tall, blond young woman with great strong legs and an air of confidence had suddenly turned into a frightened girl. She had started to fall. Lindsay had caught her.
Karen Reynolds had looked up at both of them, tears streaming, face red.
"I didn't mean…He touched me… Really, I tried to tell him… I knew Bill was in the closet… I tried to tell Mr. Havel, tell him to leave me alone… He said he'd think about it… Think about it…I…He grabbed me… There in the classroom…I just…I did it. Please…my mother…"
Danny had wanted to help, but there was nothing he could do. It wasn't his job to help people who committed murder. He had done his job and done it well, but he still felt frustrated, darkened. And now Jorge was in his face, Jorge, under whose fingernails were small but clear traces of cocaine. Jorge was bigger than Danny. Jorge had a weight-lifter's body. Jorge was angry with the world and ready for battle.
"Back off or get busted," said Danny.
"What? You a cop?"
"I'm a cop and you've got coke under your nails."
Jorge turned his head to one side and looked at Danny to see if he was bluffing. He could see that he wasn't. Jorge took a step back and pointed a finger at Danny, a finger that said "Next time it won't end like this."
"Shooting foul," said Danny. "I get a free one at the line."
Jorge nodded in temporary defeat. Both teams stepped back. The confrontation had taken less than a minute. Danny went to the line, thinking of the crying girl whose lawyers would claim self-defense. She might get off. Maybe she should. Either way her life was changed now and forever and she was only eighteen. The security guard, Bill Hexton, on the other hand, wouldn't get off. He had covered up a crime. He would lose his job. He would face jail time. The district attorney's office and a judge would decide how much.