Puzzles of the Heart

Nelda Carlson. John Tagman. And Nicole Wallace. Nicole Wallace again.

I have been obsessed with my partner since we first met.

Initially I flirted, encouraged his interests, delighted in meeting his friends, made snarky and sarcastic comments to entice his lips to smile. All things a woman of refined taste would do to indicateher interest, all for nothing. We became closer, a well-oiled meshing of a professional partnership. We worked flawlessly, without forethought or pre-planning. It was like a dance that required nopractice, no music, just the subtle exchange of ideas and interrogation. However, even as we drew closer and evermore intricately woven, he remained impervious to my attempts. Some days I wasdiscouraged enough to believe he was not only impervious but unaware, as well.

A funny thing happened over time though, I began to flirt less as I became more attached to him. I began to see how important he was to me. How much I wanted to see him each day. I began to understand what was at stake if I continued to push my luck. If I threw those dice and lost, I would lose my partner and my best friend. I became afraid.

I then let my sister talk me into doing her a colossal favor, to bear her a child. At first I was happy to do it. As a woman, I was curious about the process of giving birth, most women are. Some evolutionary protective gene allows all mothers to become pregnant still harboring a small niggling hope that the birthing process will more resemble a Disney movie than a scene from Stephen King's Carrie. There are some decisions in life that it's impossible to think of every contingency and everything it will effect ahead of time. So it went with my pregnancy.

As I said, I enjoy working with Bobby but the larger I got, the less I felt I was able to keep up with him physically, mentally or emotionally. It never occurred to me before I agreed to become an incubator that I would have to sit idly by and watch bags of Skittles given in sympathy, show up on my desk when I had cravings in the middle of the afternoon. Yes, I was grateful, but this was the man I wanted to send me flowers, to take me for Margaritas and all that usually ensues after mass quantities of tequila. Maybe if he were my husband and it had been our child, I could have reveled in his attention and concern. As it was, I ate my Skittles with relish and with rage as the empty calories added to my already engorged frame. It was galling to watch him carefully put me in the driver's seat of the SUV before getting into the passenger seat himself and know that he had no other designs upon my person. I think I went a little crazy then and started dating an accountant that my mother had been pushing at me. He was a nice, down-to-earth guy who worked on Wall Street, nine to five. He was only 5'7. I didn't have to strain my neck. He thought me being a cop was the hottest thing ever. He took me to a benefit once and when Bobby and the Captain found out, I asked them both if I was just supposed to sit home and knit while I was pregnant. It didn't matter though, the accountant wasn't exciting. He didn't keep me guessing, he didn't keep me entertained. His interests weren't as interesting, his jokes not as funny, his smile not as bright, his stare didn't carry as much weight. He wasn't Bobby.

Once the baby was born, everything would return to normal, I thought, but that was not to be either. The first thing was the depression. I couldn't believe how alone I felt without my little bun in the oven. I had talked to my nephew before he was born, he was my constant companion for nine months and then suddenly, he was gone. That was one thing Mr. Sherlock Holmes never picked up on, even though other people including the Captain kept asking me if I was doing okay and would notice that I looked pale and drawn. The second thing was the baby weight. I was determined to get that off as soon as possible. Bobby had spent four months looking at a beach ball, I wanted that thing popped post haste. Hours in the gym and in the pool gained me nothing, he never made a comment about my appearance good, bad or indifferent.

All this was still bearable though, I was back at his side, sending the tall leggy red-headed wanna-be partner back to whatever cake she had popped out of. At first, this was enough, and Bobby too seemed glad to have me back. I felt on top of the world but after a few cases, I realized there had been a subtle shift. Not as many lunches together, fewer offers of coffee. I soon realized, the only time we went out for drinks after a case was when it was initiated by me.

Then Nelda Carlson came into the picture. The murderer of Ray Garnet. When Bobby and I first interviewed her, and he explained to me how she had tried to pit us against one another, I had neverfelt closer to him. Ha, I thought, that stupid dumb blonde, try to come between me and my Bobby. And then she did just that. Once Bobby found out Nelda had lied about still being married to Barry Carlson, he had formulated his plan to gain her trust by feigning a romantic interest. I followed his logic but I was still disturbed by the speed in which he left the squad room to pursue his target.

When he brought back the voice tape that he had ingeniously obtained of the woman's voice, he had told me that he had confronted Nelda on her lie about her marital status. Even though the voice print was not a positive match, I was satisfied at that moment that, as had been the case in hundreds of cases before, Bobby was merely playing the suspect to garner her trust and get the evidence of her culpability.

And then there was the souvenir badge. I had nine of the things made for me when I graduated from the academy. Both my parents had wanted one as well as my brothers and sisters and my boyfriend at the time but Bobby had told me once that he had only gotten the one that the academy had provided. When I looked over his shoulder and saw it in his hands, I was shocked. I guess I had always assumed that if he only had one souvenir badge that he had given to his mother and it was buried in drawer somewhere at Carmel Ridge.

It was impossible not to let my suspicion show. I made sure he understood that I was aware how far he was going with Nelda, how much he was taking her into his confidence to gain hers in return. I talked to her husband, actually a decent guy. Maybe even someone I would have taken a liking to, before Bobby, before I knew there never would be anyone else for me. Barry unconsciously painted a picture of a woman who was obsessed with him. A woman who even six years after their divorce was final, was still taking care of him as her husband, ironing his shirts, making his food, checking up on him incessantly. Poor Barry, since he had never really been free of her, he couldn't see how deeply she still was entrenched in his life.

Once he told me that the only time he could get away from Nellie was during his commute when he listened to Ray Garnet's show on the radio, Bobby put two and two together with Nelda's possessiveness and realized that our nurse Nellie had found another way to be with her beloved hubby during his ride to work.

When I saw the academy photo that Nelda had given Bobby, I told him point blank that this woman had it bad for him. I felt we were back on firmer footing when his only response was that he was not sure how badly Nelda had it for Ray Garnet since she had not seemed interested in the details of the man's death that Bobby had tried to share with her. As our case against this woman began to come together and we cooked up the scheme of sending Bobby ahead of the warrant team, to warn Nelda ahead of time in order to try to get her to reveal what her trophy item had been, I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that my jealousy had been unfounded. Bobby was just being thorough like always. Dotting all his I's, crossing all of his T's.

When we entered Barry Carlson's house, the two of us were flawless. Bobby feigned guilt at being found ahead of the team, I feigned anger and suspicion of his motives. Everything was going according to plan. Nelda had not revealed what the trophy was prior to our arrival but Bobby figured out that it was Barry's keychain and the suspect began to back peddle and fall apart. Nelda was screaming to be allowed to stay with Barry even as Bobby and I cuffed her. I was directing the rest of team and almost missed their last exchange.

I stood numbly by for my ringside seat. Nelda had just asked Bobby how he could do this to her, how she knew Bobby cared for her, she had seen it. My mind had sped ahead and thought of what Bobby's answer would be. "No Nelda, you're a killer. You split people to form attachments. How could I ever care for you?" Or "No Nelda, sorry it was just another case."

I watched him struggle with the difficulty of seeing her beg him. I watched the torture on his face as he told her the truth. "I didn't mean for you to see it." I was rooted to the spot. I know my mouth was open. Bobby's eyes sought me out over her shoulder as the uniformed officers hauled the woman away. His eyes clearly showed his pain and then the curtain came down on his expression and he stalked out of the room.

That night at the neighborhood cop bar, I was slamming back martinis hoping that at least this time they would dull my pain. At first, I could only think, he loves her. How the hell does he love Nellie the noxious Nurse and not love me? It took me longer than that one drunken night to figure it out. As much as I know my partner, I constantly make mistakes by underestimating him. Not his intelligence or the depths of his compassion, these are the things I know well. I keep underestimating the depths of his suffering and every time this happens, I feel like I lose him a little more.

I went to see Nelda in jail. I was merciless. I traded information about Barry; what Barry was wearing when I last saw him, what he had eaten for lunch, for information on what she had done and said to Bobby. She told me about how profoundly grateful he had been for her research about his mother's medications. She described how hungry he had seemed for her appreciation of his souvenir badge. She told me how she could feel the slight tremor in his shoulders as she had helped him on with his coat. Nelda helped me to see what I had been blind to before, Bobby was attracted to the delicate type. Someone to whom he could appear helpful, caring and kind. Someone who would show their appreciation in a demure and lady like way.

I reviewed all this in my head as I again warmed a barstool in the same establishment when two of Joe's former buddies came in swerving drunkenly toward me. "There she is, Pit-bull Eames." said Levinson cheerfully.

"That is one cute woman." said Cherney.

"Oh, be careful buddy, Alex may be cute but she will have your balls in a vice grip if you piss her off." I got up off the bar stool and grabbed my purse.

"What? What did I say?' Levinson called after me. I realized at that moment that no one would consider me nurturing or demure and especially not lady like apparently.

One of our next cases taught me something else about my partner that seemed to pull him even farther away from me.

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A/N: Please let me know what you all think. I have a great respect for the talent of all the authors and readers of this site so praise and constructive criticism is welcome.

PS: I am having trouble with spacing both having space in between paragraphs and having two blank spaces after each sentance, if anybody knows a trick, I would be grateful.