When he woke the next morning it was another sunny day. Joss was still sleeping, and he gently disentangled himself from her without waking her and went through to the living room. Taylor's rejected gift was still sitting on the counter. With a frown, he picked it up and shoved it into the back of a kitchen cupboard among the seldom-used appliances until he could think of a better home for it. He ran his fingers through his hair in perplexity, and began to make coffee. Having worked the weekend he was rostered off today, thank God.
In a few minutes Joss appeared at the bedroom door. Wordlessly she came over to him and put her arms around him. "Thanks," she said, resting her head against his chest.
"Maybe you should take the day off today," he suggested tentatively.
"A recurrence of the stomach flu?" She sighed. "That's a lovely idea, John, but no. I'm starting to get badly behind. I really have to go in."
She let go of him and began to assemble her breakfast. He waited for her to notice the absence of the gift-wrapped parcel but she said nothing and so he decided to take his cue from her and began his own breakfast. The elephant in the room loomed large, though, and neither of them said much. After she had finished eating, Joss went through to the bathroom for a shower. Feeling more than a little guilty, Reese went quietly back into the bedroom. Finding Carter's phone, he scrolled quickly through the list of contacts until he found Paul Carter's number and transferred the information into his own phone.
Joss arrived back soon after. As she moved about the room getting dressed for the day's work, she glanced across to him.
"You know, John, you're spending so much time here I think you might as well move in."
He blinked. "Are you sure, Carter? It's only been a week or so since we met at the court house."
"But what a week it's been, hmm?" She paused in her preparations. "John, I'm old enough now to know my own mind. And I've had a full year since I was shot to think about what might have been." She smiled at him. "Besides, after what we said to each other a couple of nights ago, living in separate houses is kind of inconsistent, don't you think?"
And so it was that he spent the morning hauling his few possessions from the brownstone over to Joss's Brooklyn apartment. It would be a longer commute into work, but that didn't matter, not in the least.
In the afternoon, though, he sat down on Joss's – their – sofa with his phone in his hand. Paul Carter. Somehow he had to enlist the man's help in this. Talking to Taylor seemed a futile exercise and in any case he wasn't certain he could trust himself to keep his temper with the boy after last night. But perhaps two adults could have a constructive conversation...I can dream, anyway, he thought grimly. He entered the number.
The phone rang for a long time, but eventually Paul Carter answered.
"Hello, Paul. You don't know me, but my name is John and I'm a friend of Joss's."
"Yeah?" Carter sounded suspicious.
"I'm a little concerned, Paul, about how things stand right now between Joss and Taylor. She got his birthday present back in the mail yesterday and she was very upset."
"Uh-huh." Damn, the man wasn't meeting him half way. He slogged on.
"I know Taylor's got some issues with Joss, but-"
"Listen, Jim-"
"-John-"
"-whatever. This situation does not concern you. You're damned right Taylor has 'issues' with Joss. He has a right to. It's gonna take a lot more than some fancy present from her to make things right. In fact I don't know that she's ever gonna be able to atone for what she did to us. She was dead to us for nearly a year and as far as I'm concerned I wish she still was. Taylor was just getting over her death when she suddenly turns up and expects us to just accept her lies? Ain't gonna happen. So just you butt out of our affairs and leave me and Taylor alone. Joss made this whole situation and now she's just going to have to live with it." He ended the call before Reese could respond.
He resisted the urge to throw the phone hard at the wall. Actually he wanted to throw something hard at Paul Carter's head, and for a few minutes he indulged himself in a little fantasy of what a trained operative might be able to do to the man. Then he sat back with a sigh and considered what he might do next, but his mind was a complete blank. Time to set this problem aside for a while. He stood up, shrugging his jacket on. The old subway station was calling him.
xxxxxx
He trotted down the stairs and paused as Bear sidled up to him. He briefly patted the dog, who fell in at his heels as he strode across the platform to where Finch had his desk.
"How's it going, Professor?"
Finch glanced up at him and set aside the papers in front of him. "Rather well, as it happens, Mr Reese." A small smile quirked the corners of his mouth.
Reese's brows rose. "How so, Finch?"
Finch was almost preening, he could swear. "We had a number today, which I dealt with myself."
That was a surprise. He found himself smiling in return, partly amusement at Finch's evident pride in his accomplishment, and partly a secret little pleasure at seeing his friend unabashedly happy. "Tell me about it."
"It was really rather peculiar. The number was for a man calling himself Usermaatre Setepenre."
"What? Where does that name come from?"
"Ancient Egypt, as it happens. It is the formal throne name of the pharaoh known to history as Rameses II. It would seem that the man born Jonathon Cecil Mills legally changed his name a few years ago to that of the pharaoh. Which could be passed off as merely eccentric, except that he rapidly developed the delusion that he really was Rameses II."
"Oh."
"'Oh' indeed, Mr Reese. Mills, or Setepenre, spent several years in a psychiatric facility, and eventually was considered stable enough to be released into community care. He had a case worker keeping an eye on him, making sure he continued to take his medication and so on. But then...his case was supposed to be handed off to a new worker during a reorganization within the state's psychiatric services, but it fell between the cracks. He was without oversight for a period of over six weeks, during which time he ceased to take his medication."
"I can see where this is going..."
Finch nodded. "He began posting some quite bizarre messages on his Facebook page, seemingly under the impression that his next-door neighbour was in fact a Hittite princess who had strayed from his harem, an offence punishable by a fairly gruesome death in his mind. He then made some purchases which suggested that he was planning to carry out the sentence himself, which was what I presume brought him to the attention of the Machine. In any case, I simply bundled up all this information and caused it to appear in the email inbox of his former case worker, who I am gratified to see has taken prompt action. The pharaoh is once again in a secure psychiatric facility." Finch smiled in satisfaction.
"Good work, Finch," said Reese sincerely.
"I must say, it is nice to have a Number we can deal with without violence for once." Finch glanced at Reese and cleared his throat. "There's something else, Mr Reese. I have managed to recover the coins from that old hard drive you recovered from Leon. It would seem that Leon misrepresented, or was ill-informed about, the number on the drive. It wasn't anything like twenty thousand. It was nearer to thirty thousand. As a result, we have a very sizable fund to draw on."
"Oh. That's good, I guess."
"I gather that you currently have a problem with your landlord, John," said Finch delicately. "With our reserves now so healthy, it would be fairly simple to sort out any financial ... troubles you might have."
"Well thank you, Finch, but it was just a glitch in the pay system. They're going to correct it in the next pay run. I can handle it." Why did he feel like a teenager refusing the help offered by his Dad?
"Oh, of course, Mr Reese." Harold backpedalled rapidly. "But if there ever should be a problem, well, the money's there."
Reese checked his watch. "I might head home soon, Finch. The rush hour should be starting to die down out there." He briefly considered mentioning Joss's troubles to Finch, but decided against it. It wasn't his story to tell, and he doubted Finch would be able to contribute anything much to a solution.
Outside he found that not only had the rush hour traffic not died away, it was total chaos. The traffic lights were malfunctioning again, and even worse, when he tried to take the subway he found that a signaling problem had left the subway completely immobilised. He called Joss on his cell phone as he waited, caught in a crowd of grumpy commuters jammed together on the stairs leading to a station. She was still at work. "No point even trying to get home right now," she said gloomily. "Guess I'm going to get caught up on my backlog one way or another."
"Maybe we should just stay downtown tonight. We could have dinner at the Lyric and go back to the brownstone."
"Sounds good to me, John." She sounded tired. Of course the brownstone apartment would be even less homelike than before, since all his clothes and personal items were gone now, but at least it represented some sort of refuge from the madness on the streets.
He turned and shouldered his way back up the subway stairs and set off for the court house. Walking was by far the quickest way around this evening. As he went, he caught sight of an evening newspaper headline. COPYCAT KILLER IN BRONX.
xxxxxx
"Another one?" Joss forked her Caesar salad into her mouth as she read the news story on the paper in front of her.
"Not the same as the Gingerbread Man, thankfully," he replied, pausing to take a sip of root beer. "This guy isn't targeting nurses, and he's shooting people. If he's copying anyone it looks more like the Son of Sam. Which is frightening enough for the locals."
"Three so far, spread over two weeks. Not as intense, either."
"Bad enough. Bronx Homicide must be running scared."
"The whole NYPD will be running scared, John. The Department didn't exactly cover itself with glory over Trent. Remember, everyone thinks he was killed by a lucky shot from one of his victims. And I don't think Maxine Angelis has finished either. I don't mean about anything you did, but the way the unis never seemed to be in the right place at the right time. We know it was someone spoofing the Department's computers, but we can't prove anything."
"Hmm." As he chewed, he considered. "The Machine hasn't given us a number on this one, not yet. Maybe he's a madman killing at random."
"That's certainly a possibility," Joss agreed. She yawned behind her hand. "Sorry. Just really tired today."
Yeah, and I know why. "Let's just pick up something for dessert on the way home," he said.
"Sure. And I'll need a toothbrush, too."
He called for the check, and they strolled out arm in arm.
xxxxx
The call came just as they were finishing breakfast and when he answered it Finch was his usual clipped self. What was unusual was that he specifically asked Reese to bring Joss.
"I've already spoofed the leave records at the DA's office. She's got a day off today, arranged several weeks ago. Do please hurry, John."
"What's up, Harold?"
"Never mind about that right now, John. Just get here as soon as you can, and bring Ms Carter. I've already called Ms Shaw in."
xxxxxx
"We have another number," Finch announced as they entered. He looked rather grim. "I think you're going to want some input on this one, Joss." He taped the picture onto the window: a portrait of a handsome black man in Army uniform, a flag behind him. "It's Paul Carter."
"Paul?" Joss looked staggered. "Why in the world would someone be targeting him? I mean, trust me, he lives a very boring life. No gambling, no questionable activities, nothing to put him in the sights of mobsters or drug dealers or whatever. He works all the hours God sends and spends his free time with Taylor."
"Unless he's the perp," said Reese.
Joss considered this for a moment, and then dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. "A few years ago I might have considered that. But he's faced up to his PTSD issues, he got counseling. I know he's still healing, but I can't believe he'd become that unsafe without someone noticing and intervening. No, he can't be the threat. He must be the victim."
"If it's not someone from the present, perhaps it's someone from his past," said Finch. "Think back, Joss. Has Paul ever been involved in anything...unusual? Before you met him, perhaps?"
"He did a tour to Iraq and another to Afghanistan before he left the Army. Before I met him he had a couple of ordinary jobs. Delivery truck driver, that kind of thing."
"So there's nothing in his present and nothing we can pinpoint in his past. I think we're going to have to do this one the good old way," said Shaw. "Dibs I get to break into his house."
To be continued...
