The waitress appeared. Gail ordered the lobster quiche and Frank a cheeseburger. The waitress swished away and Gail protested, "You come all the way to New York and order a cheeseburger?"
"I didn't come for the food," Frank replied. "Besides, sober lunches have become a pretty steady diet of cheeseburgers and milkshakes. A cheeseburger's about the only thing I can eat without thinking of booze to wash it down with."
"Oh," Gail said, appearing abashed. "I didn't think of that. Anyway, go on, if you want. You've never told me any of this."
Frank dismissed, "Not much to tell. I kept looking for him on the street. Everywhere I went. Walking to school, riding the bus, getting groceries—I was looking for him in every face. I saw a lot of those junkie eyes and sometimes I thought I'd found him, but then he'd pass me or turn a corner and I couldn't be sure. After a while, I guess I got so caught up in looking for him that I forgot to be afraid. And I lived around enough hypes to understand that the guy had no idea who I was, that he probably didn't even know he'd killed a man and if he did know he wouldn't care—because the only thing an oil burner cares about is fixing. Food, sex, homicide—none of it means shit to them—only the high. Chasing it and getting it. Then I started feeling superior to the junkie—like he should be afraid of me, because I remembered and was straight enough to do something about it. I was reading Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew back then. The Hardy Boys—even the little kids series. Remember the one with the twins? Flopsy and Mopsy or something?"
The waitress set down the milkshake and an extra glass. As Frank spooned it out, Gail laughed. "Flopsy and Mopsy were in Peter Rabbit. I think you're talking about the Bobbsey Twins."
"Yeah, yeah. That was it. The Bobbsey twins." Frank's smile was nostalgic. "Man, those kids were lame. I thought they were dumber than shit—sorry. I hated them for having such happy families and clean houses—I thought that was as fake as Bugs Bunny— but I loved that they always solved the mystery. So I went from harmless fluff straight into In Cold Blood. Somebody left it lying on a table at the library. The title hooked me so I picked it up and that was that. Then I discovered Joseph Wambaugh."
"Yikes," Gail interrupted. "Your mother let you read Joseph Wambaugh?"
"My mother wasn't exactly monitoring my reading habits. I think as long as I was home and taking care of things, for all she cared I could have been reading Playboy. I didn't understand a lot of Wambaugh, but I began to see that only two kinds of people made the rules—crooks and cops. I think the seed to become a cop was already in me but reading Wambaugh was like adding sun and water. Helter Skelter came out around then too. I read everything I could about Charlie Manson and the Tate-LaBianca killings. It fascinated me."
"Uck." Gail shivered.
"After being exposed to all that, and from seeing what I saw everyday in my own neighborhood I realized that the bad guys only had temporary power. They were only powerful until their next arrest, but it was cops that were at the top of the food chain. And that's where I wanted to be. At the very top, looking down on everyone else. That's where I went and never looked back."
"Until now."
"Until now," Frank agreed.
Their food arrived and Gail said, "It must be very exciting to have a lead after all this time."
"Exciting," Frank said around a fry. "I guess it's as exciting as popping a lead in any big case. There's the adrenaline thing. But I don't want to get too close to this, too excited. I mean, what difference is it gonna make after all this time anyway, huh, after all these years? And then if I don't find him, if this goes nowhere . . ."
Gail finished, "You don't want to be disappointed."
"No. I don't."
"Well, do you think these flowers are an isolated incident?"
"Who knows? There's so many questions. I'm thinking of calling Fubar, telling him I'm gonna stay out here a little longer. I want to make sure Silvester follows up on this. Doesn't drop the ball."
"Maybe it's been going on for a while and you've just finally stepped into the picture."
"Great. So I could have solved my old man's murder years ago but I was too self-involved?"
"That's not what I meant. There's a big difference between being self-involved and moving on. There are positive and negative aspects to every situation. Running from the pain of your father's death was negative, but accepting it and moving on is positive. The feat then becomes incorporating the two aspects into a vital, integrated whole."
"Jesus." Frank stared her. "I think you've been to too many lectures this weekend." Gail's smile was easy and Frank tapped the doc's hand with a fingertip. "You know what?"
"No. What?"
Tracing a line between freckles, Frank suggested, "I hope we can incorporate our negative and positive aspects into a vital and integrated whole."
Gail pulled her hand away. "We'll see."
Frank cleared her throat. "I took the opportunity while I was alone in the squad room to Google the saint on the candle, Nino de Atocha. Turns out that the Moors were holding a bunch of Christians prisoner and were going to use them as slaves but weren't feeding them or giving them water. Then this little kid dressed like a pilgrim shows up. He's got a gourd of water and a basket of bread and for some reason the guards let him in to feed the Christians. Story is that the gourd never drained and the basket never emptied, so they decided he was Christ disguised as this kid from Atocha, doing his loaves and fishes thing. Ever after, the Nino de Atocha's been the patron saint of prisoners and those unjustly accused. Kinda interesting, huh?"
"I'd say so. What kind of flowers were they?"
"The ubiquitous white chrysanthemums you can buy in any grocery store. Nothing to work with there."
Gail declared, "I think it's a woman."
"Because of the flowers?"
She nodded. "And the candle. It just doesn't sound like something a man would do."
"No, probably not. So I'm thinking maybe the visitor is the perp's mom or sister. Maybe an aunt. His grandmother'd probably be dead by now. And a girlfriend or a wife would have found somebody else. Moved on, as you'd say."
"So now you just wait?"
Frank spread her hands. "What else can I do? I was thinking of going back to the station this afternoon and hanging out until Silvester gets back, or someone else who can pull the case for me. Until then, one thing at a time, right? So tell me, doc. You know how to skate?"
"No. And I'm not about to learn."
"Aw, come on. I went horseback riding with you. And hiking. I even tried golfing."
Gail giggled. "Try is the operative."
"So you owe me a sporting adventure."
"I'm too old," she protested. "The thought of falling on that ice. Ouch. No thanks."
Frank leaned over the table. "I won't let you fall."
Gail frowned. "You're flirting, Frank."
“Am I?"
"I thought we were just going to be friends."
"We are. What's a little harmless flirting between friends."
"Quit being so damned charming."
"Gail," Frank said seriously, "I'm not gonna lie and pretend I don't have feelings for you. Because I do. Very deep ones. If all I can be is a friend then I'll settle for that, but it's not all I want."