by

In the end, we’ll all become stories.

Margaret Atwood

A House in Disarray

Copyright © 2015 Vincent Berg, all rights reserved.

Bookapy Edition

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

Product names, brands, and other trademarks referred to within this book are the property of their respective trademark holders. Unless otherwise specified, no association between the author and any trademark holder is expressed or implied. Nor does it express any endorsement by them, or of them. Use of a term in this book should not be regarded as affecting the validity of any trademark, registered trademark, or service mark.

One day I’ll find the right words;

and they’ll be simple.

Jack Kerouac

As always, I’d like to thank all of those who’ve put up with me during the highs and lows of this story’s creation. It’s hard supporting temperamental authors, and the rewards aren’t always as clear cut as more time and attention.

I’ve got a long line of people who’ve helped with the story, but I’d like to thank:

•  Editors: Ed Edwards, Jim Whiteshield, Margie Webb, Mike Omelanuk, Mike Scott, Peter Heubard and Steven Mintz.

•  Front cover design by Mia Darien of MKJCovers.

•  Front cover image “Fine art photo of two woman and a gun” by conrado at shutterstock.

•  Chapter header and section break graphics are from “Dark dividing lines” by Vladimir Zadvinskii on AdobeStock.

•  Fonts designed by: Angryblue by Angryblue and Inked God by Segments Design.

•  Serena Jones, for information on families of the NYPD.

Our bodies are made of stardust;

our souls are made of stories.

Tom Rhodes

The Holes Binding Us Together

Threatened, Peg ventures into her worst fear, the holes she’s avoided her entire life, and discovers magical gates to other places. Are they a blessing, a curse, or evidence of mental illness?

Not-Quite Human

Discovering more in common with aliens than the rest of humanity, a group of misfits set out to learn who they are and search for their ancestral home, or somewhere to call their own.

1)  The Cuckoo’s Progeny

2)  Lost With Nothing to Lose

3)  Building a Nest of Our Own

A House in Disarray

Investigating her boss, NYPD Police Commissioner Eddleson, Detective Em Rules’ life is thrown into disarray by the arrival of her sister-in-law and niece, Becky.

Demonic Issues

Seeing the demons within, the world of those afflicted with mental illnesses radically changes, dragging Phil Walker, the medical establishment and everyone else along as he battles demons, dragons and fairies.

1)  The Demons Within

2)  Speaking With Your Demons

Zombie Leza

A decade after the zombie apocalypse, Leza lives, communicates with and controls thousands of undead. Whether she’s mankind’s last best hope or the source of their demise is anyone’s guess.

The Nature of the Game

The athletes at Windsor High are aiming for professional sports careers. They don’t make waves. When Taylor meets the flamboyant Jacob there’s a distinct cultural clash, as casual meetings under the bleachersr risks millions.

Singularity: The Synthesis of the Ethereal and the Corporeal

An experimental interstellar voyage goes horribly wrong and the deceased test pilot ends up back home, unhurt. Battling through internal, personal and Congressional investigations, Eric Morgan struggles to perceive exactly what he’s become.

Stranded in a Foreign Land

Discovering an injured, shipwrecked alien, Josh shelters it and seeks to rescue its companions, despite being pursued by the American and other militaries.

Books can be found on my website at:

www.vincentbergauthor.com

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Everything is dangerous, my dear fellow.

If it wasn’t so, life wouldn’t be worth living.

Oscar Wilde

Councilman Adrian Adams rushed up the steep steps to the carefully maintained brownstone and slammed the heavy oak door behind him, blocking out the howling wind and icy sleet. He paused a moment to catch his breath.

“Damn, it’s freezing tonight,” he muttered to himself as he set his dripping umbrella on the tiled floor. He glanced up the narrow stairway while he unbuttoned his dripping coat.

“Honey? Are you home? Sorry I’m late,” he called out. He paused to listen to the silence that greeted him. “Martha?”

Shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the antique English coat rack, Adrian looked in the hall mirror. His wet hair was plastered over his face so he carefully combed it back to conceal his bald patch again.

He walked through the diminutive living room and into the kitchen. There was still no sign of Martha. Sighing, he opened the cookie jar and took out a macaroon, then went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a neat Scotch. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. With the biscuit in one hand and the Scotch in the other he began to climb the stairs, the metal taps on his shoes beating a slow staccato on the polished oak staircase. He heard the creak of a floorboard and glanced up at the second floor landing.

“Martha?”

There was no reply. He shrugged and took a bite of the biscuit before continuing up to the second floor. He surveyed the unused bedrooms of his grown children, even though there were no lights on and no reason to think his wife would be in any of them. A noise yanked his attention to the third floor, where the master bedroom and his private office were. He recognized the squeak of cheap tennis shoes on the oak parquet floor.

“Damn it, woman, why won’t you answer me,” he shouted up at the third floor.

When he got there, there wasn’t a light on anywhere, not even in the bathroom. He noticed that the double doors to the bedroom were thrown wide open; they rarely used both.  He peered into the darkened bedroom, trying to detect any movement, but a noise coming from his private study made him turn around. He heard a whistling sound and felt something drive into his hip. His knees buckled but the pain didn’t register. He saw that his expensive, handmade Italian suit was drenched in blood. A large man stood before him holding the nineteenth-century sword Adrian displayed in his office. His glass of Scotch fell, and without thinking Adrian grabbed the blade to prevent his attacker from using it again. His assailant withdrew it from Adrian’s hip, slicing through his fingers in the process. Adrian howled, the pain to his fingers more intense than the injury to his side. All he could do was watch as his attacker raised the sword and slammed it down into Adrian’s shoulder. The blow emitted an odd metallic twang as it vibrated through his bones. Adrian’s left arm collapsed and hung uselessly by his side. He gritted his teeth and slammed the open blade with what was left of his other hand, hoping to knock it from his attacker’s grip, but all it did was twist Adrian around. His attacker yanked the blade back—it gave way with a sharp metallic crack—and Adrian lurched forward. But he slipped on the blood-splattered floor and just as his attacker attacker raised the sword to strike again, the Councilman fell backwards down the stairs. On the way down, his ribs shattered as he slammed into the oak railings and balusters, and he partially lost consciousness when his head struck the wall. But he remained strangely aware of his body tumbling down the stairs, as if recording it to tell Martha later.

A sudden prolonged yell cut through the fog of his thoughts and he was overwhelmed by the searing pains radiating through his body. He had one last moment of extreme clarity. His attacker, a swarthy heavyset man dressed in a black leather trench coat, rushed down the stairs wielding a large bowie knife. Adrian tried lifting his arms to protect himself, but they wouldn’t respond.

The man hacked at him repeatedly as Adrian’s life drained away to the wet sounds of the savage, relentless butchery.

Opal unlocked the brownstone’s basement door and nudged it open with her shoulder. Dropping the grocery bags on the table, she closed the door behind her and took a moment to catch her breath. The house seemed especially quiet. Even if Mr. Adams had already left for the office, the mistress was usually puttering about doing something or other. Opal picked up the groceries again and climbed the rickety old stairs that led to the first floor.

She pushed her way into the kitchen, hurrying to store the groceries before the mistress caught her. The Adamses didn’t like being reminded that their food actually came from stores. She stood still for a moment, listening for any movement. The house was so silent, it bothered her. The mistress always rose at an early hour, and normally there were people coming and going by now. Curious, she walked up the hallway towards the staircase, calling out as she went.

“Mrs. Adams? Is there anyth—”

Opal screamed when she saw the mangled body of her employer lying in a pool of blood at the foot of the stairs. The sound echoed around the house as she clapped her hand to her chest, stumbling back. She knew she needed to call for help, but having worked for the Adamses for so many years she knew better than to call 911. Hurrying to the servants’ phone in the back room, she called the Police Commissioner himself. He’d know what to do.

My story isn’t pleasant,

it’s not sweet and harmonious, like the invented stories;

it tastes of folly and bewilderment,

of madness and dream, like the life of all people

who no longer want to lie to themselves.

Hermann Hesse

Em ignored the sleet lashing the windows, the rattling glass nearly overwhelming her voice. She curled her hair around her finger as she listened to the phone. The unsettling weather portended a more severe approaching storm.

“So how about we get together tonight? Say a nice dinner, a little wine; maybe a little romance?”

Em hoped an incoming low pressure system pelting the windows would create a temporary respite in homicides, her occupational specialty. But she knew death waits for no one. The mix of rain, sleet and lightning it created, produced anger and frustration, and malice directed inward turns domestic. This storm, like the momentary lull in her personal life, was but a harbinger of bigger things to come. But for now, as the storm outside settled into a steady downpour, it was nice focusing on friendlier diversions between her other assignments.

Em was about to respond when another officer waved from the edge of the room. Putting her hand over the receiver, she motioned him forward.

“Emma, the Lieutenant wants to see you when you’re done. And as you know, whatever the Lieutenant says is the rule.” Detective Simmons laughed at his own pun, turning away before she could respond.

Detective Emma Rules growled under her breath and was struck with a shooting pain in her right jaw. The dentist warned her about this. She had to stop grinding her teeth when upset. Paul knew she hated her given name, yet he continued to use it. Everyone called her “Em” unless they didn’t know her or, like Paul, were complete asses about it. And jokes about her surname were … infantile.

“Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.” Em removed her hand from the receiver as she worked her jaw, continuing her conversation. “That’s wonderful, sweetie, I’m looking forward to it. I’ll wear something sexy,” she said as a smile crept across her face, images of the night to come dancing across her imagination. “But I’ve got to go. Something’s come up.”

“Something always comes up. You need to find yourself a regular job, either something eight-to-four or one where you make your own hours.”

“Hey,” Em protested, “I do. Detectives have more latitude than regular officers.”

“Twelve-hour days isn’t choosing when to work, it’s avoiding a social life.”

“You’ve got me all evening. Be glad for what you’ve got.” Em smiled over the familiar exchange. “I’ll see you tonight when I get off at six. That’s a normal hour to start a social life if I’ve ever heard one.”

“I’ll be there with bells on,” her date promised before signing off.

Em was standing when the phone rang again. She checked for anyone else to respond, but the others in the small department were occupied. Shrugging, she picked up the receiver. After all, it might be a lead in one of her cases. Witnesses often don’t call back if they feel an officer isn’t receptive.

“Hello, Detective Rules.”

“Em? This is Francine. I … I did it. I … we finally left Jeremy.”

Em rolled her eyes. She knew she couldn’t leave her sister-in-law hanging in the wind at this juncture. It had taken her too long to reach it. Pulling her chair out with her foot, she sat back down. “So Becky is with you?”

“Yeah, she’s right here.”

“Are you still at home?”

“No. You know your brother. If I stayed he’d either try to sweet talk me or threaten us.”

“Yeah, Jeremy can be a real jerk.” Em and her brother had a long and unpleasant history and had nearly come to blows many times. In fact, her relationship with her brother fractured the already tenuous relationship with the rest of her family. She rarely had contact with them now. “Are you somewhere he can track you?”

“No, we’re not.” Francine hesitated. Emma waited for her to continue, knowing you can’t rush someone at this stage. “We’re hoping to stay in New York. I figured the last place he’d look for us was in his sister’s apartment.”

Em laughed, a deep guttural chuckle. “Yeah, he knows I’d put him down. We’ve never gotten along. He realizes I don’t take his shit lightly.”

“Can you put us up? I don’t have much money. I can’t survive long without using my credit cards.”

“Don’t use them, or even check into a motel for the night. If you do, he can track the activity on the card. He’s a crafty one and the information is easy to access. It’s part of the ‘creepy guys’ instruction manual’. Tell you what; I’ll be busy for some time. We’ll work something out. I’ll call around. I’m sure I’ve got a friend who can put you up for a while.”

“Em, we’d really rather stay with you. You know your brother. He doesn’t give up when someone takes something he wants. He may not want us, but he doesn’t want anyone else to have us either. He’ll hurt us if he finds us. The only one who can stop him is you.”

This time Em didn’t try to constrain her frustrated sigh. “That’s not a good idea. I’m a single working girl, working a cop’s hours in a seedy apartment in the wrong side of town. I won’t be there to protect you anyway. You and Becky would be better staying with someone out in the suburbs. Jeremy would never—”

“No. He won’t, because we won’t go anywhere else. One way or another, he’ll track us. When he does, he’ll wait out anyone watching over us. We don’t have to stay with you indefinitely, but if you’re close, you can at least respond if he tries something. Besides … you’ve got your famous ‘spidey sense’.”

“Okay, I’ll figure something out. I can ask a few people who are fairly close. But don’t stop. Drive all night. Sleep at a truck or rest stop, if necessary. Call me as soon as you reach the city. I should have something worked out by then. But I’ve got to meet with my boss. Apparently I’m in trouble for doing something I shouldn’t have.”

“Thanks, Em. You’re a life saver! You won’t regret it. I’ll—”

“Look, Francine, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to run. I’ve also got to figure out what to do with the two of you. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Uh…, OK,” Francine answered, sounding like she was afraid to hang up.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. Just remember, bury your credit cards and don’t make any calls. In fact, turn your phone off and remove the battery so it can’t be traced. When you reach the city, ask to use the phone at a hotel. If they balk, tell them you’re calling an abuse hotline. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

Hanging up and heading to the corner office, Em considered what Lieutenant Anderson wanted. He was normally very direct, shouting new assignments or telling you he was shifting your priorities. Requesting a meeting in his office was unusual. It was typically reserved for dressings down or reprimands. She’d gotten enough of those. She’d been on her best behavior recently, working overtime to close cases rather than allowing them to draw out. The last thing she needed was another complaint on her record.

Knocking on the Lieutenant’s door, Em entered his office. “You wanted to see me?”

“Please close the door,” he instructed, putting his open folder into his drawer. She did so, watching for any signs of irritation. When he turned, he leaned back in his chair and examined her curiously.

“You’re wanted at 1PP. Someone wants to speak with you, and they’re insistent about it. Is there anything I should know?”

“One Police Plaza? Are you sure? The only ones there who’d care what I do are Internal Affairs, and I know I haven’t screwed up that badly.”

“You’re thinking too low in the hierarchy,” her balding, grey-haired boss responded. “There are a lot of departments in the complex. But you’re heading upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” Emma shook her head, trying to figure out what she’d done. “Personnel and Administration are on the lower floors. I don’t know anyone higher up the chain of command.”

“Think big. Twelfth floor.”

“The twelfth floor? I’ve never been there before. That’s exclusively for the high muckety-mucks.”

The Lieutenant smiled, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “The Commissioner himself wants to see you in his office.”

“Wait a minute, who could I have offended enough the Commissioner would call me to the carpet for a personal reprimand? Damn, I’d better change into my dress uniform.”

“No time. He’s sending a car to pick you up. It’ll be here in a few minutes. He specifically said for you to come in your normal attire.”

Em glanced at her clothes, trying to iron out the wrinkles with her hands. Appearing before the Commissioner looking unprofessional wouldn’t help her career. “Did he mention what this is about?”

“No, and he told me not to ask. That’s why I was hoping you’d have some clue.”

Em shook her head, glancing out the window with a dazed expression as if lost in thought. “I’ve pissed off plenty of people, and haven’t saved a busload of school kids lately, so it can’t be a commendation.”

“No, they’d hold a commendation on the street or in the Press Room in front of reporters. This is a private meeting, just you and him. But, in either case, you’ll find out when you arrive. After he called I checked your recent records and nothing stands out, aside from your internal complaints. Commissioner Eddleson plays his cards close to his chest so it could be anything. You don’t want to keep him waiting. Chances are the car is downstairs, so you’d best hurry.”

“Do I take anything? My case notes? Should I tell my partner where I’ll be?”

“You don’t want to delay the big cheese. Just go, I’ll tell your partner. I’m sure if the commissioner needed anything, he would have asked. Now git out of here!”

Exiting the building, Em surveyed the street while bracing herself against the elements. The weather was definitely foreboding, another front approaching. She expected to pick out one police car out of dozens. Instead, there was a huge black limousine parked in front with the seal of the New York Police Department emblazoned on the door. There was no mistaking whose vehicle it was. Em glanced around. Several patrolmen were watching her. She tried to shrink into her collar as she meekly waved before hurrying to the waiting car. There wasn’t any sense prolonging the public spectacle. As Em approached, the chauffeur jumped out, ran around the vehicle and opened the rear door for her. Apparently he was briefed on whom he was picking up.

“Ev’ning, Ma’am,” he said, tipping his cap.

“Thanks.” She edged into the luxurious back seat, turning to the driver. “Did they tell you what this is about?”

“Sorry, Miss Em. They no tell me ‘nuffin. They jes’ tol’ me to get you back quick.” Making sure she was safely in, he shut the door, jogged around and jumped back into the limousine.

“Please, no ‘Miss’. The title is detective. When I’m in uniform, I’m all police.”

“Understood, Miss Detective Em,” he said, smiling in the rearview mirror. He put the vehicle in gear and pulled away, noticing the glances they were drawing. “You should be glad you ain’t got no escort.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you. Everyone insists on using my full name. So what’s yours, and how do you know my proper name?” Instead of observing the driver, Em studied the cops milling about. Not one stopped to ask about the limousine double parked in front of the police department. Even without the NYPD symbol displayed on the door, the police knew whose it was.

“Nathan,” the older Irish gentleman replied, glancing back in the rearview mirror.

“Excuse me for asking, Nathan. You look English but sound Jamaican. What’s the deal?”

Nathan laughed, comfortable with the accusation.

“I grow up on de’ Island. My family come from Ireland long ago to serve, but we not wealthy. After Jamaican independence, I pal around with the street kids and everyday people. I pick up their tongue and not my own. I speak Patwa with the best o’ em.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

Seeing a receptive audience, Nathan seemed ready to talk. “So, you seem to be de visiting princess today.”

Em turned to examine the chauffeur as the station disappeared behind them. “Yeah, any idea why? Or at least who initiated it?”

“Commissioner Eddleson sent me. When you need to know something, he tell you. Whatever it is, if he didn’t offer, I ain’t pryin’. After the rush is past, he’ll surely tell me.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ll learn the truth, but it doesn’t help me. I prefer knowing what I’m getting into before walking in the door. In my line of work, you get shot less often that way.”

Nathan smirked. “Don’t worry. The Commish no shoot you, but he no beat around de bush. He no play games. He let you know soon enuf.”

“So does this kind of thing come up often?”

“People get dragged to the Commissioner offen, but this first time I drive one. Technically, I only drive the Commish. I’m not even allowed to drive his family. If I do, he pays for it out of his own pocket, so he must really want to see you.”

Em looked out the window, not seeing anything, her eyes unfocusing again. “Well, that doesn’t answer my question, but it does raise a lot more. He wouldn’t pay to fire or demote me with his own money, and none of my cases have been big enough to receive a public airing.”

“As I said, if he wanted you to know, he o’ told me. He have reason for keeping secret.”

Em cocked her head, taking a different tack. “So what’s the Commissioner like? What should I expect?”

Nathan considered that for several moments as he eased around traffic. They continued unimpeded down the street. It was between the lunch crowd and rush hour, an ideal time for driving through the city. But Em still didn’t know the significance of his sending his private vehicle.

“He honest, very upfront. But if he no want you to know, he either be clever, disguising it with pleasant words, or he say upfront he no tell you. It best deal with him honestly, too. If you no like somethin’, tell him. Don’t hide it. If you no want to tell him, say so and he respect yo’ wishes.”

“Thanks. That’s the best advice I’ve gotten so far.”

“The cops on de’ street respect him. He work his way up and stand by his people. He united de’ force when it struggling with itself. He speak his mind when important, so I don’t know how long the mayor keep him on. But he elegant. When he embarrass de mayor, he smooth it over by saying something to make him look even better.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with everyone’s view of him. When the city was pissed at us and cops were staging sick-outs, he got everyone working together and got the feds off our backs. I don’t think there’s any danger the mayor will let him go just yet. If he does, the feds will fall on the force like ravenous wolves. That’s more bad press than even he can manage at the moment.”

“He good man. You like.”

“Riding with you is like a trip to the islands. If I didn’t know better, I’d ask you for a joint,” Em teased.

“I’m a cop, just like you,” he reminded her, his accent disappearing in the blink of an eye as he glared at her in the rearview mirror. “I don’t drink on duty or compromise my career. But I get in trouble for me speech. Other cops give me hell. My Lieutenant speak to the Commish and he call me in. He offer me this job. It allow me to remain a cop and support me family, but escape harassment. He like my family ever since. He invite me to daughter’s wedding and attended my son’s.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“Still,” he continued, smiling. “I think pot laws stink! Waste cop’s time, only target blacks and cost a fortune. I’m glad they start legalizing it. On day they legalize it here, I’m lighting up a big fatty. Hope you come join me. Me no think Commish can make it.”

“No, it won’t look good in the press,” she admitted with a laugh.

They pulled into One Police Plaza and Em was surprised the time had passed so swiftly. The large reddish-brown complex was certainly imposing, while still portraying a sense of modernity, separating it from the old law enforcement days of the past. Still, like most cops, she was nervous whenever called to report there. There were a lot of necessary services conducted here, but it was also where many cops got hung out to dry.

“This be yo’ stop,” Nathan announced, pulling up to the main entrance. He turned back and graced her with a beaming smile. “I think you know which office be his. And don’t worry. Whatever he tell you, he be fair ‘bout it.”

“All right. But I’ll tell you what, if I’m unemployed by the end of the day, maybe I light a doobie in your honor.”

He laughed, a deep guttural chuckle. “Don’t do nothin’ stupid. You do well, whatever you do. Never let anger cloud yo’ judgment.”

Nathan walked around the vehicle and opened the door for her. As much as it hurt her sense of independence, she let him. She saluted him as she left, and turned her attention to the job ahead, whatever it was.

Glancing at the building, Em gritted her teeth, instantly regretting it as the pain shot through her jaw. You don’t get far being a woman in a man’s profession by drawing attention to yourself, she thought. But you can’t get out of the Commissioner’s private limousine without attracting curiosity. She took a deep breath and went in.

She expected the usual security delays, but a small woman in a suit waved her over.

“Officer Rules? I’m Nicole Summers. I’m here to guide you to the Commissioner’s office.” The blond woman who offered Em her hand wore no-nonsense black-framed glasses, but they didn’t hide her clear skin or bright smile. “He’s waiting for you.”

Em indicated her holster. “Uh, do I need to check my gun or—”

“No, no.” Nicole waved her forward as she stepped around the special gate a young officer held open for them both. “The Commissioner stressed you shouldn’t be stopped but to come right up.”

Again, the rush and private assistance unnerved Em. She wasn’t used to special accommodations and didn’t know how to interpret them. For most of her career, she’d fought hard just to be grudgingly treated like everyone else.

She followed her liaison as she strode off, her high heels clicking against the marble floors. Em couldn’t help but admire firm buttocks, but noted her badge and dress marked her as a denizen of the Commissioner’s office. Em matched her step for step, walking swiftly toward the elevator. Em couldn’t act on it, but she admired her professionalism, good looks and demeanor.

“Hold the elevator,” Nicole called, and of course, someone reached out and did so. Em grinned, as no one ever held the door for her at her station house, but then, Em wasn’t built or dressed as well as Nicole. As much as Em disapproved of favoritism in the work force, she’d hold the door for her too.

The others in the elevator moved aside as Nicole led Em to the back. As they settled in and the elevator rose, Em considered her situation. Commissioner Eddleson wouldn’t pay to bring her here out of his own pocket, risking condemnation for misuse of government funds to admonish her. Whatever he had planned must be worth the effort, but she couldn’t figure out what he might want.

Nicole studied her charge as people got on and off the elevator. Em was clearly distracted, so she left her alone. The commissioner didn’t tell her why he wanted her, but she noted he passed over the best officers on the force for this unknown woman. She’d reviewed Em’s record, but didn’t discern anything remarkable, other than a tendency to piss off her superiors. She watched the detective, trying to determine what her boss saw in her. Nicole was involved with the higher level administrative police work. She’d observed street cops too, but Em was different. Her mind seemed to operate on a separate level than the other officers. As officers got on and off, Em shifted as necessary, clearly aware of them, but gave no other sign she recognized their existence, her brows furrowed in concentration.

Em’s mind was churning, trying to figure out what this meeting was about. If it was purely administrative, the commissioner would have sent a message through the normal chain of command. She didn’t think she had been involved in anything which would attract notice, so there must be some other explanation. She had no special knowledge or expertise. The commissioner had hundreds of homicide detectives, dozens he’d know and trust more than someone he’d never met.

Nicole observed Em’s head lift and a smile cross her lips. Of course, Em thought. It’s incidental. Someone indirectly associated with one of my current or past cases must have done something which drew the commissioner’s attention. Maybe a relative shot a criminal or had a standoff with the cops. But try as she might, she couldn’t think of any likely candidates. There are many incidents of ‘suicide by cop’, but she couldn’t think of any family members upset enough to take such actions. With most of her recent cases, the relatives were too grief-stricken to act drastically. Still, that was the only sensible alternative. It was possible an older case finally broke, but she wouldn’t know until she had more information.

She felt reassured at having identified the problem. She may not have the specifics, but at least she knew what she was facing and was equipped to face the city’s top cop. Finally noticing her surroundings, she noted they were alone on the once-crowded elevator. The elevator chimed the final stop, the 12^th floor, and Em stepped forward, trying to straighten out her suit with her hands.

 Nicole smiled, intrigued by Em’s fascination and concentration. It renewed her faith in police work that someone could exclude everything but what she was working on. It was clear she’d resolved whatever she’d been working through, and the fact there were still criminal cases that relied on a cop ‘figuring things out’ without extensive leg work reassured her. That, surely, was the missing element the commissioner noted in the otherwise easily overlooked detective. When the elevator doors slid open, Em strode confidently out, and Nicole trailed her, studying her every move just as Em had studied hers earlier.

“Good. You’re here,” the commissioner’s secretary said as Em preceded Nicole into his office suite. “Commissioner Eddleson’s waiting for you. Go on in.”

Nicole paused. “Emily, this is Stefanie Mathews. She’s Mike’s private secretary and right hand.”

Instead of answering, Em nodded in Stefanie’s direction, noting how powerful men always seemed to have attractive women working for them. Still, if she was considered his ‘right hand’, she must be more than just arm candy. Stefanie nodded to Em in return, smiling as she did, the three women sizing one another up.

Em entered the civilian head of the New York City police department’s office, not waiting for Nicole to lead the way. Once inside, she paused and waited to be acknowledged.

Mike Eddleson glanced up, surprised at the intrusion. Most people knocked before entering, and waited to be recognized. But he smiled as he saw the stocky woman. She clearly looked like a cop, ready to wrestle anyone to the ground who got in her way. She had clear eyes and a determined disposition, with brownish hair in what Mike thought of as a ‘policewoman’s haircut’, a short bob cut off at collar length.

“I’m glad to finally meet you, Detective Rules.” He stood and walked around his desk until he was facing her. “I’m Commissioner Eddleson, as I’m sure you already know, but I want you to call me Mike.”

Em nodded in acknowledgement. “If it’s the same to you, sir, I’d feel more comfortable calling you Commissioner.”

Eddleson smiled, cocking his head as he considered the detective. He nodded to Nicole. “You can leave us alone, Nicole.”

Nicole smirked. “I think I’d rather stay and watch. This looks like fun.”

“Sorry, but I think we’d both prefer to keep this conversation private. But I’ll remember to include you the next time we square off. If you’re lucky, maybe we can all have drinks together. You should enjoy that.”

“Pleased to meet you, Emma,” Nicole said, shaking her hand and staring her in the eyes. Em noted something in the look and in how long she held her hand. “I’m looking forward to meeting you once I learn what this is about.”

As Nicole departed, Em watched the commissioner, noting he smiled watching her leave. While she was certainly attractive, he had something up his sleeve. His attitude was more of a patriarch. No, he was amused at the situation with Em herself.

The commissioner waited until the door latched shut before he began. “I assume you have questions?” Eddleson prompted.

Em tilted her head, considering him. “I think it best if you fill me in. After all, I haven’t the slightest clue.”

The commissioner wandered around Em, studying her as much as she kept her eyes on his every move. “You may wonder why I asked you here, but you’re not a complete mystery to me. I’ve studied you for some time. I’ve gotten reports on you: how difficult you can be, how bull-headed and belligerent. How you’ve been reprimanded multiple times and even asked to transfer to different departments.”

He glanced past her, out the window for a second. “Your Lieutenant Anderson is an excellent manager. He closes cases, which is good for the department and the relatives of the victims. He’s got an exceptional record. Yet you continually delay cases, often with little justification.”

Em scowled. “We don’t always agree on the progress being made on a case.”

“No. You don’t. If Anderson doesn’t see a case closed, he’d prefer you close another. He’d rather see progress than waste resources. That’s why I’ve watched you. You’ve got a perverse doggedness I admire, but never knew how to utilize.” He turned and regarded her again. “I think I’ve found the perfect use for your particular … qualities.”

Em cocked her head, studying the man’s expression. “Pardon me?”

“You’ve had a lot of trouble with your bosses, haven’t you?” he continued, changing the topic. “You’re … temperamental, lousy at office politics and don’t pull your punches.”

Em sighed, shifting her stance, knowing this would take a while. “You already know the answer to that.”

“For one who so successfully ticks off her supervisors, you could use someone sticking up for you. An individual who can intercede on your behalf, who could speak up for you, or if things don’t go well, can make recommendations if you find yourself on your ass.”

“What are you suggesting?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Just that a friend could be beneficial.”

“And what would such a friendship cost me?”

He resumed his circular track around her. “The reason I admire you is you stick to your guns. You don’t back down, even when you know it’ll cost you. If you feel in your gut that an investigation has legs, you’ll follow it to the end, even if you can’t demonstrate any results. That’s because you respond to instinct. Something an administrator, however skilled, can’t evaluate. Despite your troubles, you’ve got an excellent closing rate. You certainly don’t close the most cases, but you solve a higher percentage of your cases than any other homicide detective I know.

“What’s more, you’ve also risen from the ranks. You started when this department had few female cops, and from what I’ve heard, you busted asses whenever necessary. You know how to work the streets, how to cross your t’s and dot all your i’s. You know how to earn respect through hard work, but also how to relate to victims. You not only console relatives, wheedling clues out of them, you’re a shrewd interviewer, worming confessions out of clever criminals. You’ve got a terrific mind and know how to wield it.”

Commissioner Eddleson had completed a full circle around Em. She knew enough not to watch him the entire time, facing forward, but she knew where he was every moment. A talent Eddleson was keenly aware of. She knew not to betray distrust or suspicion, but she also knew the importance of observing someone’s reactions for clues to their intent. He felt sure he’d made the correct decision.

He leaned against the edge of his desk and the two studied each other. “I’ve got an interesting case, one I can’t turn over to just anyone. I need someone to check under every rock to discover every clue. What’s more, I want someone who’s not afraid to hurt their career in pursuing the truth.”

He paused, letting her wait for him to continue. When he didn’t, her curiosity got the better of her. “What’s the case, and why would you want me to jeopardize my career?”

“Because it involves me.” He turned and reached across his desk for a manila folder sitting in front of his chair. Turning back, he held it up as he spoke. “A city councilman, Adrian Adams of the Fourth District, was killed in his townhouse last night. If you’re not aware, Adrian was the head of the Economic Development Committee. The maid, when she discovered his body, knew to call this office. Which is just as well, since I’ve been having an affair with his wife, making me the prime suspect.”

Em’s head jerked back, her eyes widening. The commissioner waved his hands to forestall her response. “I know, I know. I’m a happily married man. Fooling around with someone who could make my job a living hell is incredibly stupid, but sometimes life throws you for a curve. I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m looking for someone who can be brutally honest.

“I want someone who’ll leave no stone unturned. Who’s not afraid to ask embarrassing questions, but is smart enough not to expose her hand unnecessarily. As you can guess, I’d prefer this relationship didn’t reach the press. But more importantly, I don’t want it to leak to any police sources. If it does, Internal Affairs will take over the investigation. As I’m sure you know, they’re a skeptical bunch, and tend to assume the worst from the word ‘Go’. Once they get ahold of the case, it’ll be front page news and I’ll never get a fair hearing. My marriage and career will be destroyed even when the evidence proves me innocent, as I’m confident it will. Instead, I want someone who won’t take the easy way out and jump on the most obvious suspect.”

“Wait? You want me to investigate you? Do I look crazy to you?”

He handed her the case file. “Don’t worry. I’ll issue strict instructions. You’ve got carte blanche. You can do whatever you want, talk to whomever you please. I’ll post these orders immediately and write out more explicit ones which I won’t make public until it’s absolutely necessary.”

Em stepped back, opening the folder and leafing through the few pages while still watching the commissioner.

“What’s more, I’m not about to interfere. My entire future rests in your hands. While I’ve worked in the force for years, I’m more like your lieutenant. I’m an administrator. I don’t have what it takes to bury myself in a single case to the exclusion of everything else. I promise not to peek over your shoulder, though I’d like to be notified before anything gets revealed, even if you’re forced to arrest me. I won’t cause any trouble, but I’d like time for my press secretary to prepare a response.”

Em slowly paged through the thin case file, her eyes scanning each line searching for details, before halting. “I see what you mean about risking my career. You realize, if I find you’re involved, I’ll be implicated in an attempt to cover up the crime as well. And if I clear you, you’ll probably punish me for pursuing it and turning up the heat. What’s more, you’ll never trust me again, as I’ll know things which could comprise your career. Even if you don’t intend to, you’re likely to hold it against me.”

Turning, he picked up another folder. She stepped forward, taking and examining it. “It’s a letter I’ve drawn up with my lawyer. Give me the name of your lawyer and I’ll send it in a sealed envelope. He can open it the moment the case goes public. It’s a personal recommendation for you. The word of the Police Commissioner of New York will go a long ways in guaranteeing you a job any place you apply.

“Believe me, although I understand your nervousness, I’m not about to stab you in the back. I realize this is the only way to save my ass. What’s more, hearing how you deal with victim’s families and handle interrogations, I know you won’t reveal anything you learn unless it impacts the case itself. I already trust you implicitly.”

She closed the folder, leaning forward to look him square in the eyes, observing every flicker, blink and twitch of his face. “Still, if I arrest you, I’ll be the most hated person on the force. No one will trust me. If you come out as clean as a whistle, everyone will question what deal we concocted.”

“Which is the other reason for the personal recommendation. With it, you can apply for another job whenever or wherever you wish. I’m even authorizing you to reveal the details of the case, even if they’re not stated in any police documents. I’m trying to protect you here. That’s what I meant about watching out for you. I know how treacherous this is. What’s more, in case this gets ugly, I’ve mailed the recommendation to some of my colleagues in Boston, Chicago, Atlanta, Miami and Las Vegas. If this blows up or turns on you, you’ve got an easy out.”

Em continued leafing through documents, not responding but watching the commissioner. After the silence grew oppressive, the commissioner tried another approach. “Not to sound pleading, but there’s more to this than my reputation. As you probably know, I was appointed to this job after a series of police shootings of unarmed minorities. In the ensuing response by the public, the unions got in a huff and cops starting staging sick-outs, thinking everyone was after them. Since the grand juries found them not guilty, the Feds threatened to step in by filing federal charges against the cops, which would have made matters worse.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m familiar with your history. Your first action was to reassure the unions and the cops that no one was seeking to hurt them. You emphasized that, to restore confidence, you needed to change how we deal with the public. That the issue wasn’t overt but ‘involuntary racism’ they had little voluntary control over.”

The commissioner grinned, pleased she knew so much of his history. “Exactly. It’s not that they weren’t responsible for their actions, they weren’t aware of how they were making their decisions. No one really bought in, as it were, but since they felt I wasn’t after them, they gave me time to institute changes. However, my recommendations haven’t had a chance to be implemented. If I’m implicated in this, and especially if I’m forced from office in a major controversy, all that work goes right out the window. The public will demand reform, the feds will initiate a series of criminal prosecutions, and the police force will view the entire world as ‘us versus them’. The city will grind to a halt, nothing would get accomplished, and the city would earn a horrendous reputation, just as we were close to solving most of these problems. Frankly, I know what I’ll do after leaving office. I’ll work as a political consultant. I don’t care whether I’m considered a hero or a villain, but I refuse to see my name and every cop in this city tarnished because we weren’t allowed to finish what I started.

“If I’m successful, not only will we all look good, but every city across the country will duplicate my approach. We can prove ourselves as a leader in race relations between the police and the public. That’s too vital to surrender without a fight.”

“Hmm.” She continued studying him, weighting the case folder in her hand. “What about a partner? I can’t do this on my own. I’ll need someone to watch my back, check out details and interview other witnesses. Am I on my own, or do I have to work with one of your handymen?”

“No. As I said, I already trust you implicitly. Your sense of professionalism and duty will keep you on track, even if things don’t go well. You’re free to pick whoever you want as your partner. Though you’ll have to decide for yourself what you’re willing to tell them.”

“When did the murder occur and who examined the crime scene?”

“As I said, they called me directly. You’re the only officer appointed to the case. However, I know samples have to be taken while they’re still fresh. I’ve assigned a top crew of crime scene investigators to examine the site. I’ve also told them they’re only to report to you for the duration of the case, and to clear it with you before they run any samples. They’re my best people, so they’re unlikely to leak any results. They never have in the past, and they’re … fairly loyal to me. However, like you, they’re not so dedicated they’ll abandon their responsibilities to the truth.”

“OK, one of my men, a handful of yours.”

“Technically, two men and one woman. You’ll like them. They’re as driven and as single-minded as you.”

Em cocked her head, her brow furrowing. “How the hell am I supposed to reach this crime scene and return home tonight? After all, I left my car behind when you abducted me.”

“Simple. Nathan will drive you there in my limousine. And so I won’t have to continue paying for the privilege, I’ll ride with you and sit with Nathan while you do your business. By the way, which detective do you dislike the most in your office?”

Em twisted her head, studying him again before committing. “Detective Paul Simmons.”

“Excellent,” the commissioner said, rubbing his hands together with diabolical delight. “I’ll call your lieutenant and have Paul personally drive your car to the crime scene. He’ll hate every moment of it, feeling like your errand boy, having to drop all his cases to ferry your possessions around.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? I have enough enemies, I’d rather not make any more if I can avoid it.”

“Don’t worry. You’ve already been promoted well above his pay grade. Secondly, once he discovers he’ll ride back in my limousine with me, he’ll forget any personal grievance. He’ll see it as the high point in his career: a chance to brown nose with the commissioner. He’ll think you walk on water after this.”

Em frowned, turning away and glancing out the office window, the excellent view of the park obscured by the driving rain outside. “That’s unlikely to last.”

Eddleson shrugged. “It won’t matter. Once he realizes he’s not the golden boy, you’ll have a better career position or another job entirely. What’s more, if I’m forced out of office, he’ll be relieved I never granted him any favors, and glad you didn’t force the issue.”

Em walked to the window, glancing down at the cars, cops and pedestrians scrambling through the rain thirteen floors below. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you? That’s a lot of plans in a short time. Are you sure you haven’t been planning this for some time, even if not consciously?”

The commissioner laughed a hearty belly laugh. “As I said, I’ve been watching you for some time. I like your style and I knew you’d come in handy someday, even if I didn’t know how to utilize you. I knew, however I capitalized on your skills, it would take some finesse. So yes, I’ve planned what it would take to get you to take whatever ugly job I stuck you with. So I’d figured out most of the details, just not the circumstances it would be under.”

Running her finger along the streaked glass, tracing a falling raindrop, she considered the proposal for a few seconds. “I know I’m going to regret this, but I accept. It’s too intriguing to turn down, and I’m dying to see how the case turns out.” She turned around, favoring him with a crooked smile. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

Smiling, he turned and reached for his desk phone. “I think you already know the answer to that. You’d better call your partner and have him meet you. I’ll contact your boss, telling him the two of you no longer work for him and to reassign your existing cases. After you’ve examined the crime scene, you can brief your coworkers on your current caseload tomorrow. I can assure you, they won’t go unpursued. It’s your personal style which got you here and I’m not about to compromise it now. Once you’re done, we’ll ride down to my limousine and possibly invite Nicole out for a drink later. If I’m not mistaken, I thought I detected a little spark there.”

“Is every detail about my private life in your records?”

“No, not every one. But you’ve been exceptionally brave, never hiding or apologizing for who you are. Besides, I know Nicole, and I’ve been around her long enough to pick up when she’s interested in someone. Call it my gaydar by proxy. I feel the two of you will hit it off.”

Em laughed. “Another one of your people?” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and accessed her partner’s number. “Maybe, but not until this is over. I’ll be in enough trouble if this comes to light. If I’m romantically linked to someone from your staff, I won’t be able to get a job digging latrines. I know how to keep out of trouble and when to steer clear from distractions. I don’t think I can afford such entanglements for some time to come.”

“I’m already glad you’ve taken this case. You’re exactly what I was hoping for. By the way, now that I can’t demote you without exposing myself, will you relent and call me by my name?”

“Sure, Mike. This commissioner nonsense is for the birds.”

He laughed again. “You say that now, but wait until you’re in the job yourself. You may not have the administrative and political skills yet, but I have a feeling you’ll go far; even without my help.”

“I certainly hope so. Or else this might be the shortest non-official promotion on record. But don’t worry about this situation being too drastic. Unless you know something I don’t, being caught with your pants down won’t implicate you. Chances are it’s a simple break-in. Once we catch who did it, we can bury the whole sordid mess and I can return to my own thankless job.”

“I hope it’s that straightforward, but I have a bad feeling about this one. It just … feels wrong.”

“Still, there’s no sense panicking prematurely.” However, Em’s jaw got another piercing pain and her stomach felt unsteady. The man knew police work well enough to know when things weren’t right.

Character is much easier kept than recovered.

Thomas Paine

The Commissioner leaned back in his seat, brushing the raindrops from his pea coat as Nathan pulled into traffic. “I assume you have a few questions before we arrive?”

Em silently nodded towards Nathan.

Mike pressed a button which raised a pane of glass between them and the driver.

Em’s eyes scanned the back of the limo.

Mike laughed. “Don’t worry. The department searches for electronic devices periodically, but I rarely discuss police business here. Anyone would be a fool to bug the Police Commissioner’s vehicle.”

Em eased back, her shoulders relaxing. “Well, nowadays, when every Tom, Dick and Harry feels entitled to everyone else’s private information, that’s the best we can hope for. So tell me about the affair.”

Mike sighed. “It’s a … complex situation. We travel in similar circles: fundraisers, political, civil and cultural events. While Councilman Adams and I never said more than twenty words over the years, I discovered I share a lot in common with his wife, Martha. We have the same sense of humor, appreciate the same novels and think along similar lines, both politically and morally. Her husband was always so busy, and never spent much time with her, especially at those events. Socializing with his political cronies bored her—.”

“That’s wonderful, but I wasn’t looking for why you were attracted to her. I’m looking into the nature of your relationship. What I need is who was aware you were involved? Did you have a common meeting place where someone may have observed you? Does anyone else know about the two of you? Could your wife or the deceased have discovered something to clue them in on what was occurring?”

The Commissioner stroked his chin. “We began by flirting by text. Once we realized we had something, we drew definite rules about the affair. Neither of us wanted to damage our marriages. Believe it or not, we both love our spouses. They weren’t there and we … fell into a convenient relationship. We didn’t meet in public. We didn’t use our work phones, so nothing can be tied back to us. I can’t think of anyone who knew about it, though clearly Nathan did. He’d drop me off a couple blocks away, so someone may have observed me entering. It’s possible someone noticed me, didn’t respond, but talked about it to the wrong person.”

“But if the councilman discovered her private phone, he’d press her for details.”

“Possibly, but if he did, he wouldn’t be the one dead, would he?”

Em answered that with a silent look before continuing. “Who found the body? His wife?”

Here Mike grew silent, staring out the window. “No. I didn’t want to cast her in a bad light, but you need to know. Their maid discovered his body. No one’s heard from Martha since the murder.”

“So it’s possible he forced her to admit what was happening, they fought and she defended herself.”

He sighed, tapping his fingers on the seat. “That occurred to me, but I can’t believe she’d do anything violent. In any case, she’d have contacted me. She’d know I could set things up so she could quietly turn herself in.”

“Unless she didn’t intend to surrender?”

He shook his head. “No. Martha loved her husband, as I do my wife. Even if she couldn’t live with him, she wouldn’t dream of hurting him. After all, they’ve got their kids and relatives to consider.”

“But if it wasn’t planned, she may have panicked, expecting you’d press her to confess.”

“No. That’s the thinking of someone who’s desperate; someone who’s considered what to do and has few options available. Not only does she have my counsel, she’s got enough money to hire the best lawyers. Even in the worst case, it would be years before a final legal decision. Her legal team could arrange any number of obstructions. Running makes her look guilty. When she’s caught, she’d sit in jail versus being free. It isn’t logical she’d run.”

“So how do you account for her disappearance?”

“Personally, I’m worried. I’m afraid she’s either been kidnapped, or we’ll discover her in a few days floating in the East River.”

“You realize I’ll have to put an all-points bulletin out for her, don’t you?”

“Yes. I anticipated that.”

“Yet you didn’t tell me upfront, as if giving her extra time to make herself scarce instead of searching for someone in trouble.”

Mike stared at her, not saying anything for several moments as he frowned. “No. I’m assuming if anything happened to her, she’s either already dead, or there’s a minuscule chance a kidnapper will contact me personally.” His eye glistened with a newly-formed tear. “I doubt she’ll be found if she wasn’t there when the body was discovered.”

Em placed a comforting hand on his arm. They were interrupted by a buzz from the front of the limo.

The commissioner turned, noting where they were. He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. “We’re here. With the weather, there isn’t much traffic. We’ll have to finish the grilling later. I’ve included all Martha’s contact information, phone numbers, description and most recent photo. That’s enough to put out an alert. But, please, for the sake of her name, can we list her as a potential victim rather than the lead suspect?”

“I can, but frankly, it’s better for you if she was. Otherwise, you’re my prime candidate.”

“I can live with that,” he said, unlocking and opening the door. “I’ll remain here and wait for your friend Paul. I don’t want to compromise your crime scene, especially since my DNA is all over their home. Contact me if you need anything else. Otherwise, I’ll leave time available to meet tomorrow at ten and three when we can discuss anything you need to know.”

“Thanks. I’m hoping this will be an open and shut case. So far, it sounds like it’s anything but.”

Em exited the limousine, shaking her head at how much larger it was than her Camry. She headed towards the stately brownstone in the middle of the block. The only sign anything was amiss was a single New York CSI van parked in front. However, there wasn’t any police tape or a patrolman to be seen.

“Hey, Em!” She turned to see her partner, Doug Wei, jogging to catch up with her. “What the hell is going on?” he whispered, as if afraid a superior might step out of the shrubbery surrounding them. Doug was a wiry guy, thin and relatively short. Em initially wondered how he’d ever made it as a beat cop, but he proved to have a sharp mind and was excellent with details, which made him an ideal detective—especially since so many people underestimated him, revealing more than they would otherwise.

“Lieutenant Anderson told me all my other duties are being assumed by someone else and this one investigation is my sole responsibility.” Em opened her mouth, but Doug jumped in before she could explain. “He also said I no longer report to him. What the heck is up? Who did you piss off, and what kind of hard-ass are we reporting to now?”

Em held her hands up. “Whoa. Slow down a minute. The hard-ass in charge of this case is me. And the person we both ultimately respond to is him,” she said, pointing to the limousine. Doug turned and stared. It took a moment, but when he figured out the symbol on the side of the door, his jaw dropped. “Holly shit! You’re working directly under Commissioner Eddleson?”

Em grinned, enjoying this little game. “Technically, no. As of now, I report to no one. We both have complete autonomy. Though once it comes to light, all bets are off. This is a high-profile case, and one Eddleson wants handled delicately—for more reasons than just the obvious. But—”

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud horn. Actually, more of a high-pitched beep. They turned to see Em’s little powder blue Camry pull to a stop in front of them. Detective Paul Simmons jumped out and stormed forward, his anger too palpable for immediate words. He waved his hands wildly, signifying nothing but his mounting frustration. “Who … what … where do you get off turning me into your little errand boy?”

He was so pissed, he didn’t notice the car door shutting behind him. Closing in on Em, towering over her by a good three inches, he sputtered in her face, waving his hands on either side of her body. “You’ve got some nerve! I’m not going to let you forget this. You’ll live to regret ever—”

“I don’t know about the where or the what, but the who would be me,” Commissioner Eddleson said from behind him.

Paul jumped, so surprised he collided with Em, who leapt back to avoid being bowled over. Growling, he spun around, his face transforming from a fierce scowl to ashen white as recognition spread across his face. “Sir … Sir.”

Smiling, Em stepped into the breach. “Paul, I believe you’re familiar with Commissioner Eddleson. Mike, this is the man I thought you’d want to talk to, a trusted companion from my department, Paul Simmons.” Despite her pleasant tone, her voice conveyed the pleasure she got twisting the knife in his self-inflicted wound.

Gathering his wits from where they’d spilled—before he could trip over them—Paul danced a quick recovery. “Sir, it’s an honor. I’m a big fan. You’ve done more for the police in—”

“Please, don’t embarrass me with too many platitudes. The mayor and his cronies do too much of that as it is. That’s why I like dealing with cops. They tell it like it is, like real men. Em asked you to ferry her car so we could talk while I drive you back to your office. I’ve been eyeing you for a while. I’d like to hear about your current cases, just to get a feel for how you think.”

“Of course, sir. I’d be hon… yes, si… gladly, sir.”

With that, Mike guided him towards the waiting limousine. Doug turned to Em, his mouth moving like a guppy, looking for an explanation.

Em shrugged. “It’s a long story. I’ll get to it in a minute. But first …” She proceeded to outline what they were facing. As they ascended the front stairs, both detectives reviewed the building, looking for any subtle external clues, but nothing stood out.

“No police tape, no seal on the door, no one in uniform and the only two police vehicles are parked away from the actual crime scene. But the solid oak door is freshly polished and the steps and door fixtures are immaculate.” Doug shook his head. “Just one of the privileges of wealth and prestige, yet it didn’t keep crime from walking in the front door and murdering them.”

Em entered, guiding her partner through the door. They encountered an older gentleman, bent over the crime scene marked by a large dried bloodstain and several fresh nicks at the base of the ornate but narrow wooden staircase. The man glanced up and smiled, standing as he sealed the sample he’d collected.

“Ah, the mysterious Detective Em. I’m Sergeant Detective Walter Thomas, the man in charge of this ragtag but excellent group. We’re still collecting data, but we’re ready to give you an initial overview.” He turned and called out, “Detective on the premises!” before turning back. “We were specifically told not to run any tests until you authorized them, so we’ve spent our time examining and labeling everything. Since I’ve never heard of you, I assume this is a special case, beyond who the victim was.”

Walter was an older gentleman, clearly familiar with the gritty aspects of murder, but still removed from the dirty underside of humanity most cops faced on a daily basis. He had short white hair and, like the other two detectives, wore civilian attire. His eyes bore wrinkle lines from squinting too much, though he had large wire-rim glasses perched on his nose. As he finished speaking, a nervous young woman descended the stairs, stepping carefully to avoid contaminating the scene.

The two detectives approached and Walter handed them protective booties and gloves, which they donned like the others already had. “I’m glad I have you all together so I only have to explain this once. I assume you trust your team?”

Walter arched his brow, looking them up and down. “More than either of you at the moment. I realize the commissioner wanted you in charge, and I’m sure he had his reasons, but these people have proved their loyalty time and again.”

“Don’t worry.” Doug indicated his partner as they approached the stairs. “Em will prove just as loyal, and for the same reasons. She may be a little gruff, but she puts in the time and is dedicated to her job.”

Walter waved at the woman standing above him. “This is Juliana Ashcroft. She specializes in blood splatter, which she’s been wading through.” He gestured to indicate the bloody scenario before them. “She was examining the initial attack scene, where the bloodstains tell more than this … blood pool does.” He turned to highlight another gentleman approaching from the hallway. “Bob Wellis is a jack of all trades, but his forte is computer forensics. Since we didn’t find any computers, he was collecting the fingerprints of the maid, who discovered the scene and worked here. I manage everyone and cut through red tape.”

Em introduced themselves; reaching over Walter to shake Juliana’s hand. “Commissioner Eddleson had his reasons for selecting me. You need to understand upfront, his prints, hair and semen stains are in many of the rooms. Mike’s been having an affair with the lady of the house, a minor detail no one bothered to inform Adrian about.”

Walter removed his glasses, taking a moment to absently clean them. “Yeah, I can see why he’d prefer keeping a lid on that.”

“Don’t misinterpret this. This is an independent investigation. I’m free to take it wherever it leads, including arresting him if necessary. But he didn’t want the information to leak out prematurely and become a political witch hunt which damages his career and blackens the reputation of the entire NYPD.”

“Not to mention slow our work as the whole force comes down with the flu,” Bob mumbled. Juliana nodded her agreement.

“As you can imagine, he’d rather we not run his fingerprints or samples through the system, lest anyone notice.” She pulled papers from her jacket pocket, handing them and a small vial to Frank. He held it up to the light as she continued, revealing a standard cotton swab. “He provided a DNA sample and prints from his police record, so you’re free to run your own tests. He’s also promised not to hold it against us if we’re forced to charge him, but would prefer we wait until we have firm evidence before we do. He maintains his innocence, but hasn’t said anything which would influence how we proceed with the investigation.”

Bob Wellis glanced back down the passageway to ensure no one was listening. “the maid doesn’t know where the wife, Martha Adams, is, and there’s no evidence she slept in her bed last night.”

“No, she’s missing and presumed kidnapped, though we’ll need to be cautious. She might be on the run. It’s doubtful, but certainly not impossible. However, given the brutal nature of the attack, this seems to be personal. It makes sense she was targeted just as the councilman was.”

“I’ll put a trace on her phone,” Doug said.

“Good, the commissioner didn’t want to do it himself. Since he’s implicated, he’s taking a hands-off approach to the case. We should also send out her car description and license number.” Em handed him another paper. Doug smiled as he accepted it. “From what I understand, there was no break-in, so either they were familiar with the attacker or he talked his way in.” Walter nodded that her information was correct, so she didn’t pause. “We need to put out an all-points bulletin for Martha, so every cop in the city will be on the alert. We’ll release the information at a news conference, tomorrow morning, so dust off your dress blues, Doug. For now we’ll treat her as a potential victim and avoid mentioning she’s a suspect until we have evidence implicating her. Either way, it shouldn’t take long tracing her if she’s on the run. She’s high profile and the press will make their own assumptions, even if we don’t confirm them. If she’s running, she won’t be for long.”

Frank knelt and extracted a sample bag, holding it for the others to see. “I found a couple blond hairs in the victim’s blood splatter. I’m assuming they came off of the assailant, which reinforces that Martha was attacked as well, but there’s no sign of a fight in her case.”

“It could also mean she knew the attacker or had another boyfriend,” Doug pointed out. He and Em were slipping on gloves and booties so they could examine the evidence.

“No, one hair contains the root follicle, so it was forcibly yanked out. They either had violent sex—and there are no fluids or other evidence to support it—or she was subdued before Councilman Adams arrived home.”

“Good, if the media demands an explanation, it supports our position. Walter, we need to check her bank accounts. See if she withdrew money recently. Anything she might have used to run, or any large payments. It’s not unreasonable to assume she paid to have her husband killed and the person she hired decided he wanted a bigger piece of the pie. Doug, here’s her account information.”

“Personal financial details?” Walter asked, glancing over his shoulder and raising his brow. “A complete list of their IDs and passwords? Strike two for our boss, I’m afraid.” Walter shook his head.

“It’s not as bad as it looks. The Adams had a break-in a while back. Nothing significant was stolen, but shortly afterwards one of Martha’s accounts was accessed. She maintained investment funds for some of her charity organizations and someone entered her account. It seems the break-in was either an attempt at identity theft or they were targeting the passwords. They never took anything, but the Adams asked the commissioner to look into it and he kept the list of accounts in case anything came of it. Since it was never repeated, nothing else came of it.”

Walter nodded, satisfied at least one motive was removed from the table.

“Did you interrogate the maid?” Em asked Bob.

“I did,” Walter admitted. “Her name is Opal Milders. With no police to conduct the interview, we needed to isolate the evidence. She discovered the body but didn’t know anything useful. We haven’t found any personal computers, which supports the idea of an inside connection who might be exposed by what’s on them.”

“Mike also has authorization to track Martha’s phone, but not Adrian’s. He tells me her phone has been turned off since Opal called him, so he can’t locate her. Her last recorded location was here in the house around seven yesterday evening, so we have a rough timetable for the attack. There were no further updates, so the phone’s battery either died or it was shut off.”

Walter shook his head again. “Strike three. It’s not looking good for the commissioner. Damn. I’d hate being the one to put him behind bars.”

“Then let’s ensure he did something before we take any action. We won’t ignore any information or refuse to pursue leads, but people’s lives will be impacted if he’s falsely accused.”

“Not least of all, ours,” Doug added, shaking his head.

“All right, let’s finish off the evidence collection. Walter, can you describe the weapons used, and Juliana, could you explain how the attacks were carried out?”

“Actually, I’ve got everything set upstairs.” Juliana indicated where to step to avoid the blood spatter evidence. She led them to the top floor where they saw more scenes of a fight with a lot of blood stains. She lifted up a large evidence bag, holding it before her. “This is the sword used in the initial attack.” Juliana held it aloft and took a step forward, imitating the assault. “The maid tells me it’s a valuable historic artifact. It seems ceremonial because it snapped off when it struck Mr. Adams’ shoulder.”

“I concur,” Walter agreed. “If it was a proper weapon, the initial blow would have killed the victim immediately. The blade wasn’t sharp enough to cut very deeply.”

Em nodded. “Which direction was Mr. Adams facing?”

Juliana replaced the evidence bag, picked up a broom handle she’d prepared earlier, turned Em around, positioning her and repeated the demonstration using the broom. “I’m guessing he turned, hearing the attacker, so it stuck him at an odd angle. The first blow didn’t dismember him, as a samurai blade would, but was still substantial enough to kill him. Virtually any of the blows would have been fatal.”

“The evidence tags and blood splatter indicate the body was badly hacked up,” Em said. “How many times was he struck before he fell down the stairs?”

“Only two. Though the number of subsequent attacks implies the assault was personal, most were made with an antique Bowie knife from the councilman’s private office. The attack with the sword only lasted a few seconds. At this point, it’s pure conjecture which happened when, but from the splatter and motions involved, I think I understand what occurred.”

As Em turned, Juliana lifted the broom handle with both hands and lunged, delivering a two-handed samurai attack, stopping just shy of Em’s head. Em never flinched.

“The sword actually entered the shoulder. If you’d reacted normally, you would have recoiled to the right, recreating the cut. But you can see the intent. The attacker was clearly trying to cleave the councilman’s skull, but Adrian countered, saving his life for a few moments but losing the use of his arm.” Juliana repositioned the stick to illustrate where the second injury occurred.

“You mean his shoulder, don’t you?” Doug asked.

“No, the damage inflicted on the shoulder would have rendered his entire arm useless, a fact evident by the damage inflicted on it during his fall down the stairs.”

Doug nodded. “Ah, that explains the weird angle of his arm in the evidence photos.”

“Go on,” Em urged.

“The murderer didn’t comprehend how to utilize the weapon, which is more a stabbing foil than a blunt hacking tool. Thus when it entered the shoulder, it embedded in the clavicle, or collarbone. Again, Adrian’s defensive actions and his attacker’s sheer stupidity kept him alive for a short time. By twisting away, he caught the blade and twisted it. A stabbing weapon isn’t designed for those strains, so it bowed, preventing extraction. When the attacker yanked it back, the back splatter on the ceiling reveals it was released with substantial force. The portion of the blade stuck shattered, and the release of energy sent the councilman tumbling down the stairs. The big blood stain shows where he slipped in his own blood as he fell.”

Doug stepped closer to the steps to examine the bloodstains on the floor. “So, aside from a massive, overwhelming, angry attack, the killer had no clue how to use the weapons at his disposal? Is there any evidence whether he picked them at random, or was there some symbolic message to their selection?”

“The sword was mounted for display behind the councilman’s desk, so it wasn’t easy to reach. If it was a weapon of convenience, it might have been the first thing the attacker saw, but he’d need the lights on to take it down. If he’d done that, Adrian would have seen it. I’m guessing the murderer knew the layout of Adrian’s office and prepared the weapons in anticipation of the attack.”

Em turned from the bloodstained stairway and studied the distance to the office. “So odds are the choice of weapons was supposed to symbolize something, either for the assailant or the councilman?”

“That’s my guess. Although the nature of the assault shows anger, the details demonstrate otherwise. It’s clear the attacker saw the damage done to the blade, halted his ‘angry’ attack, and returned to the office to find another symbolic weapon. The secondary weapon, which I’m told was actually an early Bowie knife, was displayed in a case, which would have taken time to free. A more sensible weapon would have been a golf-club, stored in the closet, or the baseball bat the councilman kept by the door for defense.”

Doug stood, shaking his head. “Wait? You mean the attacker made two separate killing blows and the victim might already have died from his fall. Yet he halts the onslaught to find the least obvious weapon? I’m guessing he knew he had as much time as he needed. This doesn’t sound like an impassioned assault. It sounds more like a ‘message’ attack, committed by a seasoned professional to warn others while disguising the nature of the murder.”

Juliana nodded. “That’s my thinking. This is definitely not what it looks like.”

Doug glanced at Em. “This doesn’t clear the commissioner, but it puts the crime in an entirely new light. Whoever did this planned it carefully.”

“All right,” Em said, skirting the blood stains and heading back down the stairs, “before we get caught up in speculation, let’s continue with the evidence. What happened next?”

Juliana hurried to catch up with the impatient lead detective, pointing out a broken stair railing marked by a red numbered tag. “The victim hit his head here, after sliding down the steps. He would have suffered a significant concussion, but there’s no telling whether he was conscious at the time or not.”

“I’m assuming he tumbled down the stairs. There’s blood splattered all over. Can you get anything from the other unlabeled samples?”

“It’s unlikely. They’re from the victim and not expected to contain any of the attacker’s DNA. We’ll examine them, but we aren’t expecting to find anything else.”

“What about the final attack with the Bowie knife?”

“It was quite brutal,” Walter said. “The puncture wounds were deep, requiring a lot of force. And he hacked his chest and genitals so much, it’ll be a jigsaw puzzle putting them back together. But … again, the evidence doesn’t support the initial assumptions. The blows with the heaviest bleeding were to the heart, killing him immediately. Those to the chest only bled marginally, suggesting the heart stopped beating, the static blood splattering. When he attacked his crotch, the only blood was spatter from the blade. It was clearly a staged attack, with careful planning and even a degree of humanity for the victim.”

“It’s even more interesting than that,” Juliana explained. She held the Bowie knife, contained within another clear evidence bag up for them to see. “You’ll notice the blade was heavily damaged, chipped and split. The damage was from an Indian attack back in the early eighteen-hundreds, so it was never sharpened as that would diminish its investment value. As a result, it was a terrible choice for this type of assault. The attacker was pummeling the victim with a fouled blade, rather than accomplishing his task quickly. Even if he hadn’t noticed the condition of the blade before the onslaught, it would have been immediately obvious it wasn’t working once he began. Yet, the attack continued in a frenzied manner.”

“Well, that complicates things, but it doesn’t point to a particular attacker. You wouldn’t think the commissioner would chose such a poor weapon for an attack, but the fact the murderer didn’t alter his plans shows the damage inflicted wasn’t his primary objective. After all, he knew Adrian was already dead. I’m guessing the weapons were meant to point directly at either the commissioner or Martha herself, and their historic value would mean more than how quickly he died. Let’s see if the evidence tells us anything else, but I suspect, with the attack this planned, the attacker wouldn’t leave much incriminating evidence. You finish up here, Doug. I’ll interview the maid. We still have a lot to accomplish.”

<

Givers need to set limits because takers rarely do.

Irma Kurtz

Em trudged up the stairs. The elevator was out again. It was an old building, but it was rent-controlled and all Em could afford in the neighborhood. She usually sprinted up the seven floors, but after the day she’d had, she was crawling.

Starting any new job is tough, bringing new people up to speed and reassigning all your open cases to other overworked detectives is exhausting. But when your boss and the entire department’s future rest on your initial decisions, you feel the weight bearing heavily on your shoulders. All she wanted was to get home, put her feet up and relax before preparing for her date.

Em was headed for her apartment on the seventh floor when she heard a door open behind her.

“Oh, good. I caught you.”

Em recognized the voice immediately.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I let someone into your place,” Amanda continued. She was a pretty young thing, struggling to get her music career started, but had the brightest smile and a pleasant, positive attitude. She was also Em’s ‘key pal’.

“Nah, that’s why I gave you my spare key,” Em said. “Who was it? A delivery guy? I wasn’t expecting anything.”

Amanda frowned. “Uhhh … no. She said she was your sister, so I—”

Em slapped her forehead, knocking a few locks of hair loose. “Damn! Francine is here? They weren’t supposed to arrive for another couple days. I haven’t cleaned up, bought food or made plans.”

Amanda laughed, a perky sound which floated through the air like pixies spreading fairy dust, lifting everything in its path. “Don’t worry. She said this was unplanned. I let them in, but spent time with them—just to be sure. I helped get them settled. We created a makeshift bed for Becky on the living room floor. She seemed pleased as punch to be in Manhattan. She spent most of the afternoon leaning out the window, watching the activity on the street and in the windows across the way. I was getting some popcorn for Becky, but since you’re here …” She handed Em the package.

Em groaned, glancing at the cracked ceiling above her head. “Wonderful, a sixteen year old appreciating the men’s room in the next building. Just what I need. But all kidding aside, thanks. You’re a lifesaver. I was sure I had several days to prepare.”

“I didn’t have anything planned, so I spent the day with them. They were delightful. We had a terrific time together.” Amanda’s eyes sparkled. “They told me so many stories about you as a little girl. You’ve never revealed anything about your family, so it was wonderful getting the lowdown on you.” She winked at Em, smiling while glancing down the hall. “And it’s wonderful seeing some new faces in your life.”

Em rolled her eyes, imagining what Francine revealed but relieved at a potential crisis averted. She’d hoped to find someone to pawn them off on for a week—maybe more. Yet if they were OK where they were, she could take a few days to make arrangements.

“I hope you didn’t put yourself out. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”

Amanda waved her concerns off. “Nah. Since I’m a singer, I make my own schedule.”

“Still, you’ve got to book your next performance, making arrangements, practice. It’s not fair expecting you to babysit my guests.”

“Nonsense. I have a flexible timetable and they were a delight. We had fun.”

“Still, I owe you something for all your trouble.” Em started rifling through her purse. Amanda put her hand on Em’s.

“Forget it. It’s not really a problem. I’m happy helping where I can.”

Em put her purse away. She knew how independent New Yorkers were. The biggest insult was to offer them assistance. “Well, if you ever need anything, let me know.”

Amanda smiled, turned and waved as she reentered her apartment. “Don’t worry. I will. I’ll mark it on my board as one favor owed.” Her laughter flew over her shoulders like a dozen butterflies set aflutter by a gentle breeze wafting down the corridor. Em had always been fascinated at her approach to life, seeing everything as positive, even when things were going south. She admired that perseverance. It frequently lifted her own spirits.

Em crossed to her door, rattling her keys. “I hope Francine is smart enough to lock up. New York is too dangerous to—” As she pressed her key to the lock, the door opened, revealing she’d not only left it unlocked, but unlatched.

As the door swung open, a brunette bundle of energy launched itself from the floor, targeting Em like a ravenous teenage wolverine. “Auntie Em!” Becky enveloped her in a huge hug. “Mom! Auntie Em is here.”

That was a preview of A House in Disarray. To read the rest purchase the book.

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