Chapter 4

Peter, Peter pumpkin eater,

Had a wife but couldn't keep her;

He put her in a pumpkin shell

And there he kept her very well.

There is a tremendous amount of power in something as simple as a signature. One such seemingly innocent scrawl in black flair pen made nearly a year ago would end up having a significant impact on the lives of Andy Flynn and Sharon Raydor. The signature in question belonged to one Dr. Rosemary Lindt. It was seven signatures, to be exact, written on seven different forms, all signed and dotted by the ambitious psychiatrist who approved the release of one particular patient.

Erik Korski was the jewel in Dr. Lindt's four year study, an intelligent and articulate man whom she felt had been rehabilitated, through her brilliant and innovative care of course. His case was the crowning glory in a series of articles that she had published in three academic journals on the benefits of art therapy for patients with a variety of psychological disorders. A certain sense of classic hubris accompanied the quick flick of the pen that flew over the forms releasing Korski once more back into the general population.

The name Erik Korski would not draw an immediate memory connection for Andy Flynn. He'd investigated so many cases, seen so many unusual things, bumped heads with so many criminals over the years that sometimes they ran together like diluted watercolors from an overcrowded palette. Korski had held his ex-girlfriend Julia Varady against her will for nearly four days. It was her worried family had reported her missing. A younger Flynn and his partner at the time had found her and arrested Erik Korski for kidnapping nearly twenty years ago. He'd gotten off on a PTSD insanity plea and had spent the past twenty years in and out of mental hospitals. He had never completely forgotten the cavalier cop who had arrested him, interrogated him and scathingly referred to him as "a real wackjob." It was, in fact, one of the many incidents referred to in Flynn's rather hefty file of potential conduct infractions.

Korski was a checker at the local Food 4 Less where Flynn had stopped in recently to pick up some produce on sale. He didn't recognize Korski but Korski recognized him. It's easy to pull an address up from the little key chain scan card and Korski merely held onto the information for a few weeks as he thought more and more about the past—about Julia and the case. It gave him an odd little thrill to have one up on the cop who thought he was so clever, and so on one mild summer night, he drove by Flynn's house.

And that's when he saw her, the pretty redhead who always looked like she'd stepped out of a Macy's ad. She wasn't the kind of woman Korski would have thought would be interested in Andy Flynn. Oh, but she clearly was. At first, he caught only glimpses of them together, coming home from work, sometimes leaving in the morning. They almost seemed to be touching all the time, even when they weren't, their eyes brushing over one another even when their hands were still.

As time passed, he grew bolder. That foolish kid would forget to close the garage door and the wide window in the den afforded a particularly easy view. The woman liked to read, curled up on quiet afternoons on the L shaped couch. He'd watch her iron Flynn's clothes and press the collar of his shirts against her cheek. He'd seen him pull her down onto the sofa, the pair of them then out of sight-but Korski didn't have to watch them to know what they were doing.

It began to twist inside him like it had with Julia—the wanting. And that's all he'd wanted with Julia—a relationship as ideal and flawless as glass. He hadn't hurt her, not really. He wanted that simple perfection, that unattainable dance of courtly love. Petrarch and Laura. Dante and Beatrice. The ideal woman and the man who adored her. Andy Flynn had poisoned his relationship with his lovely Julia Varady with innuendo and accusations. He didn't understand. And Korski had lost her, irrevocably. And here was that snide cop with the flashing eyes and cocky grin and yet he possessed this lovely creature that he didn't deserve. He hated him. In many moments he even hated her, too, for choosing Andy Flynn. They laughed at him in their untouchable little bubble of sugary storybook happiness.

It would have continued to go on like that, Erik Korski watching, lurking, prowling….he was content to observe. It fueled his imagination.

But then he was diagnosed with terminal bone cancer. Six or seven months at most.

So he made a bucket list. And he decided that what he really wanted was to take something away from the arrogant Andy Flynn, something precious and irreplaceable.

He would take her.

He would keep her.

And he wouldn't have to die alone.

Maybe he could even convince her to love him.

He had, after all, nothing to lose.


Pale morning light streamed through the hotel curtains. "Andy, wake up." Sharon sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over him giving him a very gentle shake. He growled like a wounded lion and reached for her hands.

"Burrrr, your hands are freezing," complained Andy. He opened one eye and looked her over. "You're dressed," he added disapprovingly.

"Well, we should probably start to get moving if we're going to meet Rusty for brunch at 11:30."

Andy looked at the clock. "It's only 9:45." He grabbed her and pulled her into bed. "Get your pretty little ass over here, Raydor." Upon closer physical inspection he realized that she wasn't dressed after all. She was wearing her ice blue silk robe and Andy made quick work of the sash. He was gratified to discover that she wasn't wearing anything underneath. His smile was devilish.

"I am a little cold," she protested as he slipped off her robe.

"Which is exactly why you need to get naked."

"That makes perfect sense," Sharon said sarcastically.

"Survival training 101." He flipped her over onto her back and lay on top of her, pinning her wrists against the bed. "I'm sharing body heat with you. That's the kind of considerate, sweet, altruistic man that you are going to marry. Besides, what happened to the famous round two we talked about?"

"Um…we slept through it?"

"I'm very, very awake now," Andy assured her. He traced random swirls with his index finger against her tummy. He kissed her throat. "Plus I bet I can warm you up." Sharon took in an unsteady breath as he kissed a slow path down in between her breasts.

"Well….I suppose it is good exercise," reasoned Sharon.

"You're so fucking sexy when you're practical. Sex is also educational," Andy improvised.

Sharon quirked an eyebrow at him. "Educational?"

"I have a few moves up my sleeve that I haven't unveiled yet if you think you can handle them." He planted a playful kiss on the tip of her nose.

"Oh, you think so? I can handle anything that you bring my way."


Andy made sure he had Sharon in the car by ten past eleven. She hated to be late, a quality that he shared, although he was a little more relaxed about it than she was. Sharon seemed to possess an internal clock that functioned without the need for watches or external clocks. At the hotel, he had made her lose track of time and he was the one who made sure they left when they should. It was good to see her relax like that; he loved watching her let go.

"You sure you don't want me to drive?" Sharon asked before she buckled her seat belt.

"Uh no. No offense, but you drive like my grandmother, God rest her soul."

"I merely obey the rules of the road," Sharon told him with a teasing little air of superiority.

"And you're an excellent driver because of it, honey." Andy deftly changed the subject. "So you want to tell me about that case and the acoustics thing?"

"The husband said that he made the 911 call from the bedroom upstairs where they found the body. But there was an echo, not an electronic echo but an echo from the room, like he was in an open space. They were renovating their living room; it was empty. I think that he lied about where he was when he made the call. Of course that doesn't prove that he killed her but…"

…"he's hiding something," finished Andy. "He'd remember where he was when he made a call like that."

"I think so, too."

"Besides, to quote Provenza, 'it's always the husband.'" They both said it in unison and chuckled.

Rusty was playing Xbox when they arrived at the house, dressed and ready to go. "Hey, you two," he greeted them. "Did you have a good time at the opera?"

"We did," said Sharon. "Watch your flank," she advised looking at the television screen as an enemy tried to sneak up on Rusty.

"Have you seen Sharon play 'Call of Duty?'" Rusty asked Andy. "She's good."

Andy laughed. "Yeah, I know she is. Once she made a 12 year old boy cry like a little girl."

"I did not; don't listen to him."

Andy and Rusty exchanged knowing glances. Sharon got a little bit competitive when it came to multiplayer gaming.

"Sharon got a new ring," Andy told Rusty with a grin. Andy clasped Sharon's hand and made her wave it.

Rusty saw the sparkle of the diamond and he tossed his controller aside. He reached for her hand and admired the ring.

"Way to go, Andy! Are you two going to have a big wedding and everything?"

Andy and Sharon exchanged an uncertain look. "I don't know," Sharon said thoughtfully. "We haven't discussed that part yet but I'd rather do something simple."

"I don't care what we do as long as you say those two little magic words," said Andy.

"I'm hungry? Because I really am."

"Cute, Sharon. You're about as romantic as Provenza," Andy chided. He put an arm around Rusty and one around her. "Let's feed Mama Bear before she gets cranky."