Thursday morning, Jo arrived at Henry's place with a suitcase in one hand and a paper bag of bagels and schmear from her favorite deli in the other. She didn't know the etiquette for moving in with someone for a short time, and that only added to the nervousness that had crept up on her over the last couple days. The sidewalk was empty this time of morning, most of the surrounding stores still hours away from opening. Though the streetlights had shut off well-before, the air still held the flavor of dawn along with the beginnings of a humidity that would soon turn hot and sticky. Her blouse was already beginning to cling to her sides.
This was really happening. She was really about to push her relationship with Henry to a place they couldn't come back from. After so long together at a level that was just barely more than platonic, it was…quite frankly…terrifying. In so many ways, she and Henry barely knew each other. While she'd enjoyed a few one night stands in her life—and suffered through a few others—this wasn't comparable. They weren't strangers, either. This move-in was a trial that could easily turn into more.
It's not too late to walk away, she told herself. Henry would be hurt, but he'd understand. Work would become awkward. Leaving now would be tantamount to a breakup, and she didn't want that either.
The door opened on her dithering to reveal Abe lugging a heavy suitcase of his own.
"Jo!" he exclaimed, far more animatedly that anyone had a right to sound this early. "Henry didn't tell me you were coming by to see me off." His eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. "Or are you here to make sure I really leave? Henry's still upstairs, you know. Preening. I swear he's trying on every scarf he owns. I could sneak back up and he'd never notice."
Jo's lips twitched into a smile. The idea of Henry failing to notice something so major as Abe not leaving on his trip because he was too busy with his clothes was just absurd enough to be funny, while also holding enough truth to be possible.
"I brought breakfast," Jo answered, holding the bag of bagels out. After the amount of thought she'd put into whether wine, flowers, or food was the better gift, bagels suddenly seemed pathetic. She hadn't even brought coffee to wash them down with. Some houseguest she was turning out to be. "It's not much. I just thought there might be a lot going on this morning…"
Abe slapped a hand over his head. "A woman who speaks my language. I knew there was a reason I liked you. Here I thought I was going to have to wait until I cleared security to get anything to eat. Did you know airplanes charge extra for food, these days? It's a ripoff, is what it is." He accepted the bag, dropped his gaze the rest of the way to her luggage, then took in his own, which blocked the doorway. "How about I trade bags with you? My cab should be here any minute. You wait down here for it, and I'll run your bag and the food upstairs." Dropping his voice to a stage whisper, he added, "I'll even let Pops know you're here."
The offer was a relief. She was a grown woman and Henry was very much a grown man, yet she hadn't been able to shake the sense that they were sneaking around. "Thanks, Abe. That'd be great."
A little jockeying, and they got the suitcases switched around. Jo pulled Abe's suitcase out to the curb and sat down on it, both to protect the item and because she had no idea how long the wait might be. She hoped it would be soon. The day's heat was already settling in. Jo plucked at her blouse and silently cursed the department dress code that required her to wear long pants.
"He'll be down, soon," Abe said, appearing next to her. The strap of the brown satchel he'd slung over his shoulder wrinkled his shirt. Unlike Henry, he didn't seem to care. He handed her half a toasted and smeared bagel and took a bite out of the other half.
Jo stood up automatically and gestured for Abe to take her place on the impromptu seat.
"I got plenty of sitting ahead of me on the flight down to Miami." He wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. "Feels like a good week to be getting out of the city. Some ocean breeze is just what these old bones need. Margaritas, fresh fruit that hasn't been sitting on a truck for three days, some beautiful, and very lonely, single women…"
It was filler talk, words for the sake of not sitting in silence. Jo inserted the appropriate nods and moues to tell him she was listening while she kept an eye on the steadily increasing traffic in search of Abe's cab.
"I'm glad you agreed to this," he said suddenly.
Jo's head jerked up in surprise. "You are? You don't think this is—" She waved a hand toward the apartment window—"weird?"
"You live with Henry long enough and you learn to accept a certain amount of weird. Weird is his normal." He chewed a bite of bagel thoughtfully, then added, "You two, you don't qualify as weird. You're good. Henry needs someone like you around to keep him stabilized."
She thought about how Henry had been when they'd first met: he'd been so arrogant about his own knowledge, as if he assumed everyone was eager for his insight. The observations he'd shared about her and anyone, dead or alive, who crossed his path that showed no regard for how human beings interacted with each other were simply creepy. All of that had toned down over that first year together. It hadn't gone away. It wouldn't. Henry's quirks were too ingrained, were too much a part of who he was. But it had definitely become more acceptable. Was that all because of her?
"He has you," she pointed out. And now Richie and Liam, though maybe they didn't count because they were also immortal.
Abe gave a thin smile and peered off down the street, though he wasn't looking at the cars. "Henry's good at a lot of things—I suppose living so long means there's plenty of time to practice—but thinking about the future ain't one of 'em. He needs some help planning ahead."
"Wait, are you saying that having me move in was your idea?" Jo gave a reflexive shudder at the idea of Abe playing matchmaker like that.
Patting her shoulder, Abe said, "Oh, I assure you, it was entirely his idea. All I did was keep him from talking himself out of it." Like she had almost done. Both of them were turning out to be a lot more gun shy than they'd been able to admit. "Henry says he doesn't want to rush into another serious relationship. Me, I think you'll make a great step-mom."
For a second, Jo sat in stunned silence. Step-mom? She was still trying to get used to the word 'girlfriend.' From anyone else, she might have taken offense at getting married off before she was ready. But Abe was standing against the streetlamp, innocently eating his bagel. She threw her head back and laughed. Abe's touch settled on her shoulder again, and Jo caught his hand and gave it a light squeeze.
The conversation switched back to banalities then, and not a moment too soon as Henry finally emerged to join them, having apparently decided that none of his scarves were fit for the occasion. He passed out mugs of coffee, which everyone gratefully took to wash down the bagels, greeted Jo with a kiss and Abe with a hug, and then demanded that Abe give him yet another run-down of his itinerary for the trip.
By the time the cab pulled up, Abe had run through the order of ports of call enough that Jo had them memorized.
"If there are any problems, I'll call," Abe said. "Ships have these things called telephones nowadays. They also have wi-fi." He looked meaningfully at Jo. "She knows how to check her texts. I'll text her, if I have to."
Henry's eyes flashed and his shoulders puffed up. "The transition of 'text' to a verb is an appalling example of—" Maybe only some of Henry's quirks had mellowed.
"Let me help you get your suitcase loaded," Jo said, reaching for the handle at the same time as Abe. It ended up taking the two of them to wrestle the suitcase into the cab's trunk.
Huffing from exertion, Abe came in for a goodbye hug. "Let's not tell him what happened to the word 'party,'" he whispered into Jo's ear. Louder, he continued, "I'll be back in two weeks. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"I assure you, I have no intention of doing anything you wouldn't do," Henry replied dryly, "nor do I want to contemplate where that boundary might lay." A few more requests for Abe to be safe and to return with stories he could tell his father, and Henry finally allowed Abe to climb into the waiting cab.
As the cab pulled away from the curb, he rolled the window down and stuck his arm out, hand fisted and thumb up.
"He seems pretty pleased with this," Jo commented. It was still hard to believe.
Henry waved one final time. The stiffness in his posture gave away his pain at having to say goodbye. He'd told her that no matter how many times he'd sent Abraham off—whether to school, to the military, or to his own life—a part of him worried that this goodbye could be the last one. Now that Abraham was an old man, that worry was all the heavier. Abe thought Henry didn't look to the future, but Jo was beginning to suspect that that was because Henry already knew what he was going to find there.
"He likes you," Henry said. He smiled ruefully. "And he seems to think you're good for me."
Hearing Abe's assessment come out of Henry's mouth only reinforced how important Abe's opinion was to Henry. "Then let's go find out if he's right," Jo answered. "We have some time before we have to get in to work. Why don't you help me unpack?"
"You only brought a suitcase. I can't imagine you'll need much help—"
"Henry." Jo tucked her arm around his waist and pulled him close. "You're missing the point. We're going to be spending the next two weeks living together. Don't you think we should establish some ground rules for how to make this work?" A tug and she began leading him toward the apartment door. "For starters, did you at least remember to clear out a drawer for me?" She smiled up at him; this wasn't the point she had meant to start with, but it was both concrete and relatively minor, which made it a good ice-breaker.
"Ground rules, yes." Henry cleared his throat. "It is always a challenge when two people with set routines try to merge their lives. Preemptively resolving potential areas of miscommunication can only be to our benefit."
Jo shook her head slightly to herself. Henry sounded nervous enough that one might think he'd never lived with a romantic interest before. Not that it was any easier for her. She'd been so young when she married Sean. Both of them were just starting out. Finding an apartment, picking out furniture, decorating—everything that went into the mechanics of living with someone involved decisions they made together. Now, here she was, moving into someone else's established space in one swoop. Nothing like jumping right in, she told herself. Get the shock over with so you can get on with the good part.
The door stymied Henry. He opened it, then stood there, looking like he couldn't decide whether to walk through or step out of the way. "Should I, ah, carry you over the threshold?"
"I think we need to be married first," Jo answered with a small laugh. "Besides, there's nothing wrong with my legs."
"No, of course not. I didn't mean to imply…"
"Henry, it's OK. There's no script to follow here. We're just going to have to make it up as we go along." She nudged him aside and stepped into the stairwell that led to Henry and Abe's upstairs apartment. The scent of garlic from Abe's previous night's dinner wafted down over her and she inhaled deeply. She'd been in this stairwell so many times, usually passing through it with no more attention than she'd give to any other stairwell; it was simply a means of access. Today the narrow confines, painted in Basic White and showing none of the decorative flare the rest of the living quarters had, felt higher and wider, like it was expanding to make room for her.
Henry was still hovering in the doorway, his eyes widened and glistening with fear. He was dressed for work in his usual black trousers, a white shirt, and a vest with an argyle pattern on it—and he looked distinctly uncomfortable.
Jo stopped on the base of the stairs, a safe distance in. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?" The next part was harder to say, but she had to. "It's OK if you are. I can run up and grab my suitcase—"
"No!" Henry stepped into the stairwell and pulled the door shut behind him. Jo's eyes took a moment to adjust to the sudden loss of sunlight, so she felt rather than saw Henry's approach. "I was afraid you would. This is a big step for both of us."
"Yeah, it is," she agreed. She'd been shocked when he asked and she'd dragged her feet on giving him an answer, but once she had, she'd seen the inevitability of this move. "But I think it's time to take it. We've been through a lot together, more than most normal couples go through in…ever. Face it, most normal couples don't solve crimes together or routinely have conversations about methods and manners of death or…." Jo had ascended a step while she'd been talking and now Henry stood alone at the bottom of the stairs. On level ground, they were well-matched for height. She'd never stood over him like this. Leaning over, she caught his face in her hands, the stubble of his whiskers rough against her palms, and kissed him. Against his mouth, she added, "Or anything. I'm tired of waiting."
There was nothing like saying it to make it real. Suddenly, Jo was very tired of waiting. A year of dancing around each other and now they were finally in a place where they could act.
Unfortunately, they had to go to work, so this kiss couldn't be more than a promise—but, oh what a promise. They had the whole weekend in front of them: No work, no appointments, no breakfast dates.
Jo pulled back with the taste of Henry on her lips. He looked momentarily dazed, but recovered with a rapid shake of his head.
"I spent yesterday evening reorganizing my bureau and medicine cabinet," he said, indicating for her to continue up the stairs. "There should be ample room for the belongings you brought along. Naturally, you're welcome to help yourself to anything that is already here, should you have need."
They reached the top and continued into the apartment. The knick-knacks on display near the door glistened from freshly applied wood polish and the rug was still lined with vacuum cleaner streaks. Henry had been busy.
"As you're already familiar with the layout of the apartment, I won't offer a tour. However, if you'll follow me, I'll show you what you can do with your clothes." Henry gave Jo a once over that left no doubt about what he wanted to do with her clothes.
Heat rose in her face, but Jo couldn't help smiling. They really had waited too long. And as soon as they got back from work, they could start making up for lost time.
Hanson was already at work when Jo arrived, a bounce in her step that hadn't been there in a long time. He was bent over his desk with a pen in one hand and his stress ball squeezed tight in the other.
"What've you got?" she asked, rolling her chair over to join him. The top page of his stack of paper looked like a list, though she couldn't make out what of from her angle. Several of the entries were already crossed out with thick lines, which a few others had check marks next to them.
"Too many kids," Hanson grumbled, looking at her. His eyes were bloodshot, dark bags underneath announcing both a late night and an early morning. "Ya know, Karen wanted to have a third. I told her no. No way we could raise three kids on our salaries in this city. Now we got a third, and I'm realizing it's not our salaries that are the problem. You ever try to add a third boy to a room when the other two don't want him?"
She never had, though a memory or two of her brothers fighting over their shared space sprang to mind. Neither of the boys believed in pulling their punches, which meant that disagreements about who was overstepping his bounds led more than once to black eyes, broken noses, and—on one memorable occasion—a dislocated shoulder. Hanson's boys might be younger and smaller, but she knew they were more than capable of tearing each other apart. "They didn't get too rough on him, did they? He needs a space place to heal if he's going to be any good to us." She stopped. It sounded so crass put like that, as if the boy's mental health only mattered as long as it could be of use to her. "Sorry. What I mean is—"
"Yeah, I know what you mean." Hanson gave her foot a friendly nudge. "And, no, they weren't rough on him at all. Wouldn't have anything to do with him, in fact. Said he was 'creepy.'" He hitched one shoulder in a shrug. "You know how kids are. Here: take these." Grabbing a folder from his inbox, he shoved it at her, then fished out a new pen for her to use.
"So what's with the raccoon eyes?" she asked. "Don't tell me you were up all night worrying about him?"
Hanson's eyebrows shot up, as if he'd never considered such an idea. "Me? Hell, no. The kid's had a tough run. Straightening him out is what the shrinks are for and getting him a better life after this is what CFS is for. I'll let them do all the worrying about him. Now my own boys…" He let out a deep, weary sigh. "They refused to sleep in their room. Insisted on bunking with us. I told Karen we should've gotten a King-sized bed."
The image of the four Hansons trying to share a bed, a Queen-sized bed at that, brought an unintentional smile to Jo's lips. No wonder Mike looked so exhausted. "I take it that didn't go so well?" She shouldn't be laughing at his rough night, only it was so hard to take the situation seriously.
"Tell you what: when you and Henry get around to having kids of your own, you get back to me about how much room kids take up. They only look small. As soon as their heads hit the pillow, it's limbs everywhere."
His bringing up Henry dampened Jo's good mood. Kids had been one of Sean's goals, and one she'd been willing to go along with if it happened. It hadn't happened, and now she was getting old enough that she wasn't all that interested. "That's not really on the radar," Jo replied, noncommittally. She and Henry both had a lot of things to figure out first, the most important of which were none of Hanson's business. Hoping to get her partner off the topic before he could pry any of those issues out of her, she tapped a finger on his list. "What's this?"
Hanson pushed his chair back and stretched with the loud cracking of several vertebrae. His tie lay askew across his chest and had a clear egg stain on it. "This is a list of hotels, motels, and beds and breakfasts within a mile of the park. Yours is the list of Frank Drakes in this country who are white males in the 35-50 range. I checked with Morgan on that. Do you ever get the feeling there's a joke he's not letting you in on?" His face scrunched up like he could almost see the insight he sought. Jo elected to treat his question as rhetorical. When Hanson didn't get either a response or an argument, he turned back to the papers and explained, "Since we can't get an ID through the usual channels, we're going to have to do the grunt work in trying to track this guy down."
Drake wasn't on her list. Jo already knew that. But, she was still going to have to put in at least several hours of work to verify that detail for everyone else's satisfaction. She leafed idly through the pages in her folder without seeing any of what they said just to keep from looking at Hanson. "Why a mile?" she asked, instead.
"So, hear me out," Hanson replied. "The guy had on dress shoes, right? Nice leather things that were freshly polished. He didn't walk far in those. I'm betting he was an out-of-towner who was staying in hotel near the park. Walked over for some peace-and-quiet, a little communion with nature, and met his end."
"A mile seems really far." Jo closed her eyes and tried to imagine where the restaurant was in proximity to the park. Drake had said he was only stopping in for lunch, which implied that wherever he was staying was somewhere nearby. Maybe instead of telling what she knew or how she knew it, she could point the official search in the right direction through more subtle means. Triangulating from the restaurant to the park narrowed the range of inquiry to one that was almost laughably manageable.
"That's why the list is organized from nearest to farthest," Hanson was saying. "I'm going to work my way out. See if anyone checked in who didn't check out when they were supposed to. I guess we're both winning sensitivity awards today, aren't we, 'cause our guy definitely 'checked out.'" He rolled his neck again. "I'm gonna get a refill," he said, standing up and grabbing his coffee mug. "You want one?"
"Sure," Jo answered. She'd already had a couple cups with Henry while they getting her settled in the apartment. A day full of desk work practically begged for an excuse to get up and use the bathroom frequently. "Try not to put too much sugar in it."
Hanson grinned, saluting her with his cup. "I'll bring you a donut, then. Lieu brought in a whole box right before you got here. There's gotta be a crumb or two left. Can't have you pouring the department's swill onto an empty stomach."
"What makes you think I—" haven't eaten, Jo almost asked. No, she didn't want the answer to that one. She'd had half a bagel. The department's coffee needed more cushioning than that. "Never mind. I'll get started on my list. If I find anything, I'll let you know." While Hanson went in pursuit of his coffee, she rolled back to her own desk. She had to at least look like she was giving the list a valiant effort before dismissing it.
A cup appeared in front of her, the liquid still sloshing from its travels. Hanson's chair rolled up next to hers a moment later and a napkin-wrapped donut was thrust at her. "So," Hanson said, in a tone that was so nonchalant that Jo knew it was a trap, "What do you think about putting parenting on your radar?"
She stared at him in confusion for a moment until the pleading expression and the direction of the question sunk in, and then all she could manage was, "Excuse me?"
"Come on, Jo," Hanson wheedled. "Do me a favor and take Tommy off my hands. You have the space; you're in tighter with his shrink than I am; and I can guarantee that taking care of one kid is a helluva lot easier than taking care of three."
All good arguments, to be sure, but her life wasn't in the same place this week as it was last week. She wasn't going back to her place tonight. While, granted, Henry's apartment also had plenty of room, the loss of privacy from Tommy's presence would be devastating. Her and Henry's first night together would end up being no different than if she hadn't moved in at all.
"No," she stated. "I don't know anything about kids. I haven't spent more than a couple hours at a time around kids I'm not related to since I was a kid." It wasn't her best argument—she'd think of that one as soon as the case was over and the argument didn't matter anymore,—but her real reason sounded so much weaker when she tried to hear it from an outsider's perspective.
She ended up repeating the same argument to Reece a few minutes later to even less sympathy.
"I'm sorry." Reece folded her hands together and sat back in her chair with an air of finality. "While I appreciate the imposition taking the witness will cause on your personal life, I'm afraid I'm going to have to make this an order. I spoke to Karen and she cited real concerns about the welfare of her own children. As they are children, and as such are not legally able to agree to participate in a case, their needs need to take precedence."
Jo hung her head. She'd explained about moving in with Henry, only to discover that Reece viewed that as an asset. No one officially wanted to broach the idea that Tommy was unstable, but no one was willing to dismiss it either. He was a street kid, either a runaway or an orphan, suffering from recent mental trauma. His witness status aside, those reasons alone would have kept him out of immediate foster placement. The presence of two adults was simply safer for everyone. That Henry was a doctor was an added benefit.
"There's gotta be a uniform we can put on this," Jo said, going for one last try. "Someone who's trained to work with kids."
Reece smiled apologetically. "There probably is, and if this were any other case I'd go find that person for you. As it is, the fewer people who are tied to this case, the less likely it is that the media will get wind of it. Dr. Morgan is already familiar with the details. Between the two of you, you should be able to manage one ten year old for the weekend. With any luck, he'll blossom under your hospitality and, by Monday, we can close this case."
Monday. The whole weekend gone before it had started.
Standing up, Jo went to call Henry to give him the bad news first.