Chapter Seven

American Inn Suites, 17650 US Highway 31, Tuesday June 21


"C'mon," Goren gently chided, "you look tired," he waggled his finger towards the adjoining room door, "you should go."

"And what," Eames stifled a yawn, "you're going to try to finish that book tonight?"

"I won't," he assured, "I just need to get through a couple more things."

"Don't forget you'll be driving tomorrow," Eames slowly got up from the table, her eyes still glued to her laptop, right finger scrolling downwards, "wait."

He edged over towards her, just enough to be able to read her screen.

"This guy," Eames tapped her screen, "not only is he the right age, and employed at the right high school, but he also left the school," he watched as her eyes scrolled quickly through the spreadsheet, "bingo! He left the school two months ago. His date of hire would fit with the timeline too."

"Dwyer, Miles R." Goren absorbed the info, "Caucasian, mid-thirties, hmmm."

"You know why I didn't find him during the original search?"

He shook his head.

"Because of this little drop-down menu," Eames detailed, "I had selected educators, coaches and administrators, but our friend Miles is a janitor for South Lowell high. He transferred from a middle school in the same district one year before Amanda's murder. Apparently janitors don't fall under that particular category."

"And uh - they sure have access to all the school's resources, not to mention plenty of time to scope out the perfect victim."

Eames left eyebrow arched, "well, I guess we'll have to find out what our boy Dwyer's been up too."

"I have a feeling that if we're on the right trail," Goren ran his right thumb over the fresh stubble under his lip, "he's moved northeast, to put some distance between himself and the attention he'd be drawing to himself in this small community."

Eames may have just given them the break they needed.

Indeed, Goren was lost in thought when he heard Eames have one of those epic yawns, the kind that are truly impossible to cover up, "c'mon detective, go on, get to bed already."

Eames laughed, closing her computer while heading towards her room, "you just want me out of here so you can curl up with that book, interruption free."

Curling up with a book on serial killers? Please Eames, instead of curling up with you?

"Go on already," he feigned irritation, "go listen to your crickets."

He distracted himself briefly by pretending to take notes in his binder, careful not to let her know that he was very, very fucking aware of the fact that they were both going to be sleeping less than fifteen feet away from one another. All that separated them was one adjoining door, a door that didn't really lock for that matter. Afterall, a suite could save the department money: the price of one room for two separate sleeping areas and the bonus of having a little mock kitchen attached.

A half-hour zoomed by and he was starting to fade. The old Goren could have stayed up half the night without repercussions, the new Goren? Well, yes, he was slowing down in some aspects.

If he had been asleep, he might have missed the fact that Eames was clearly having a conversation on the phone. And one that was definitely getting her worked up. He couldn't hear the gist of it, but he was fighting every urge to run over to the door and listen in. Of course, that was a risky move, and one he wasn't willing to take. At this point, he was Eames' partner, nothing more. His behavior towards her should be nothing but professional, and that was exactly how he was going to treat the situation.

In the end, his patience paid off. He heard her knock lightly on the door.

"Eames?"

"Can I use the kitchen area?" she inquired politely.

"Of course," he answered, carefully looking back down at his book when she entered, acting casual, as if he'd not heard anything through the closed door.

"Still up, huh?" Eames walked right past him towards the kitchen area, and he had to do everything in his power to ignore her casual attire. Not pajamas per se, but for the first time he was getting a look into what she wore to bed: a grey tank top and some of those cotton workout pants, solid grey, like the ones the Manhattan ladies wore to a yoga or pilates class. And while her outfit wasn't particularly sexy by cultural standards, he would certainly never complain about seeing her in this rather informal way.

He nodded slowly, inquiring, "you too?" Again, being very careful not to stare or make her feel at all self-conscious. He glanced up now and again, only to observe her pulling a water bottle out of the mini-fridge.

Eames sighed, "family," and plopped down on the loveseat adjacent to the table and chairs. Still shaking her head, Eames explained her quandary, "my dad, um, well - he landed himself in the hospital tonight. He probably wasn't using his prescriptions nor taking care of himself properly, and now, as one might expect, they are worried he's developing pneumonia."

Goren sat up straight and set down his book, "Eames, uh, if you need to uh – well uh, you got the tickets that you can change the return date, and - "

"My sister was thinking the same thing," Eames glowered, "she thinks that because I don't have kids that I can drop things at a single notice, you know, that I'm in charge of dad. My kid brother is outta the state right now and," Eames raised both of her hands, palms open, in frustration, "Tada! I'm out of state this time too."

"Liz thinks I put this job before everything else," Eames took a sip of water and sighed again.

Goren sat back and smiled softly, he wanted her to feel his support.

After several seconds passed, he watched as her expression softened, and then with some hesitation, she asked for his opinion, "do you think, I mean, what would you do?"

It was more of an intimate question than he'd been expecting, he suddenly found himself caught of guard and uncertain on how to answer her question.

"Bobby, am I losing my perspective?"

And then he understood, she was asking him not as a co-worker, but as a good friend.

"I-uh," Goren pondered heavily, "I would have gone for my mother, uh, she could have asked for anything you know, b-because it was something I felt I owed her, maybe - probably guilt. But a different kind of guilt I think."

Eames rubbed her bottom lip, "I'm torn, I mean, physically he's going to be fine."

"Well, for what it's worth," Goren leaned back in his chair and scratched the back of his head, "you know I've got it covered here, I can run our leads and check up on Dwyer."

"I know you'd be just fine without me," Eames wore a smile on her face, but it looked slightly strained, "Anyway, I wouldn't be able to fly out until tomorrow. I guess this will give me a chance to sleep on it."

She sighed again, getting up from the love seat, water bottle in hand, "thank you, Bobby."

"It will all work out," Goren reassured, "goodnight Alex."

She paused soon after the words left his mouth, turning slightly to her left when she reached the door, right hand resting on the handle.

And there she was, juxtaposed between the doorframe: simple, beautiful and just, you know, kind of waiting for him. It was deja-vu from the day she picked him up after his shrink appointment: the same body language, the hesitation, the hopeful eyes.

And there was something about seeing her in this way, perhaps it was the repetitive action, or then again maybe it was due to this particular setting. Whatever the reason, it just kind of came to him: that maybe what Johnny Eames had spoken to him last Sunday night, was not just a self-serving lie – maybe all along, Eames had been waiting for him to give her a sign. To say something, or make the first move.

Shit Eames, I can't. Please know that I would do anything for you - but you already know that, don't you? I just need a little time to fix myself, and then I'll be so ready for you. It will all work out.

She remained in front of the doorframe, as if she were studying him, waiting, still waiting. Then, as if to put him out of his misery, she flashed him a comforting smile, "Goodnight Bobby," before closing the door quietly behind her.

And he nearly gasped out loud, realizing that all along, he'd been holding his breath.


US Highway 31, Wednesday June 22


Eames was quiet on the drive to South Lowell. She'd been extra quiet all morning for that matter, not to mention, non-specific in terms of what was going on with her father. Clearly though, she'd decided to stay.

Goren's mind drifted to their conversation last night. It had been a small breakthrough for them, causing him to toss and turn longer than he'd like to admit. The breakthrough being that Eames almost never brought family drama to work, and when it came to personal matters, she hardly ever shared nor asked for his advice.

Was this a sign? Was Eames trying to initiate a new kind of connection with him? Was this the tip of the iceberg?

While he wrestled for the answers in his head, he managed to quiet his mind with a thought he almost never let himself fixate on. Well, that wasn't true, he thought about it quite a bit, but he almost never imagined that it could in fact be a real possibility. Namely, what would it be like when they first slept together? The possibilities were endless, and as soon as he imagined her hands brushing past his layer of clothing, he knew that this train of thought would only lead to something that could definitely put him to sleep.

"Bobby, I think you missed the turn."

"Huh? Oh, I'll turn around at the Chevron."

Eames studied her GPS phone app, "my bad, I wasn't paying attention either."

Great, so they were both distracted this morning.

Some fifteen minutes later, they were on track peppering the South Lowell administration crew with questions regarding former employee Miles Dwyer.

"Freddie Roberts probably worked with him more than anyone else. Fred is the senior groundskeeper, been with the school some twenty-eight years. From what I know, though, Miles seemed nice enough. I mean, he was pretty quiet, but no problems really. His work record shows that he was pretty reliable. No lodged complaints either."

Eames nodded, "Is Freddie on campus today?

"Sure," administrative assistant Barb Klenk picked up a walkie-talkie and contacted the senior groundskeeper.

Next, they found themselves walking past two well-groomed playing fields to two large pre-manufactured sheds. Freddie Roberts was sitting inside the first shed tinkering with an office chair.

"Damn things cost and arm and a leg," Freddie shook his head, "but the wheels don't seem to last more than a school year."

Goren nodded before exploring the rather spacious shed.

"This is detective Goren, and I'm detective Eames. We have some questions about former employee, Miles Dwyer."

"Miles?"

"He left just before the end of the school year," Goren muttered, moving methodically through the shed, "kind of odd, really."

Roberts blinked, uncertain of what to do with the hulking detective peculiar antics.

"Hey don't touch that, uh, it's really on its last leg," Roberts couldn't disguise the agitation in his voice, as Goren fingered a rather antique industrial size pencil sharpener.

"Look," Roberts sat down, "Miles said he had business, family stuff, and I wasn't one to pry."

"Admin told us you've worked with Miles for over five years," Eames pushed, "and I don't know about you, but that's a long time to be working with someone - certainly enough time to get to know a few snippets about that co-worker's background."

"These, uh, these lockers," Goren slapped his open palm against the metal surface for effect, "are these for employee use?"

"Uh, yes," Roberts answered before turning towards Eames, "but, Ms. Eames, you see, we have a different way than the big city, personal business is personal."

"Five locks," Goren pounded on the locker unit again, "Eames, l believe there are only four employees currently under Mr. Roberts supervision, and based on the amount of resumes the admin is dealing with, I'm pretty sure this one, with the MD initials and all," Goren chuckled heartily, "well, yes, pretty much perks my intellectual curiosity."

Eames eyes twinkled, "I mean, if we needed to make a big deal about this, I suppose we could."

Ten minutes later, after Roberts was able to find the spare key, Goren sifted through Dwyer's locker contents while Eames continued to ask Roberts questions about his former employee. Including the obvious: why Dwyer, if no longer employed, still had a lock and contents on the South Lowell property?

For the most part, the contents seemed less than interesting; save an extra-curricular activities printout for the Spring 2011 school year and a single key – one that looked like it might open a medium sized metal chest or fire or safe box.

Goren held the key up from its center hole by the tip of his mechanical pencil, "Is this school issue?"

Roberts frowned and walked several paces towards Goren before he inspected the key, "nope, never seen it before."

"Gloves?" Goren raised his left eyebrow at Eames.

Eames reached into her back pocket to pull out a pair of latex gloves. Once she'd pulled her gloves on, Goren handed her the key, "uh, can you peel off the tape that's obscuring the face?"

And like a pro, Eames discerned where the edge of the tape overlapped, quickly removing it in order to reveal the brand name, "Sentry, Goren – we're looking for a Sentry brand lock box."

"So?" Goren waved his right hand in the air, "there are no Sentry brand storage containers on site?"

"No sir," Roberts shook his head, "not to my knowledge."

"Well," Eames said, "forensics will be able to find out who's been handling this key, and," she went over to the locker in order to help bag evidence for her non-gloved partner, "I think it's safe to say that Mr. Roberts is going to be extra helpful with answering any additional questions, because I'm sure he's familiar with the concept of obstruction of justice."

"Don't forget aiding and abetting," Goren grinned before handing Roberts his business card, "if you think of anything."


Goren's mind was in overdrive, the trail was suddenly a lot hotter than they'd originally expected. Heart pounding, legs pumping, he left Eames in his wake as he bee-lined for their police issue, "you've got the address?"

"And my handy dandy GPS app," Eames smiled as she waved her phone at him.

And with that, they were off to catch a killer.


TBC