NINE

The last time I was inside the office of Detective David North was during an investigation I was conducting into an alleged suicide a few years back. As he led me through the badly designed station, up the terribly lit stairs and through the homicide unit, I noticed few things had changed. A man could grow old and die in these offices without ever knowing that one year turns into the next. The only thing that had changed was North's office itself. He was now occupying the office of Chief of police, a fact he explained on the way up the stairs. "It looks like our Chief is going to be the next police commissioner. He spends most of his time at City Hall these days, and he needed someone to run the station while he was off."

I sniffed. "So you going to fill his shoes when he does leave?"

He shrugged. "I'll think about it. I'm wearing the Chief's hat while still maintaining my caseload like the rest of the poor grunts."

"That's admirable."

"I don't want the guys still working in homicide to think I'm leaving all the work for them. Every detective is working his butt off in there, and if I stopped working my fair share, it would have to be lumped with them." He said reasonably.

We reached his office and he sat behind his huge old desk, looking totally out of place. I sat in one of the creaky old leather chairs which dotted the office, pulling it towards the front of his desk. He sat back and lit a cigarette before reaching for the file on top of a tower of loose sheets of paper, evidence bags, and folders, and opened it. He didn't say anything for a long time, his eyes scanning the pages as he smoked. He nodded to himself and scratched his chin as his eyes flicked up to mine. "We turned up a body a few nights back. Young woman stabbed and slashed repeatedly." He sighed and closed the file. "She was a prostitute who called herself Kwannon. Her real name was Elizabeth Braddock. A few of the girls who worked the same patch as her told us she rented a little one bedroom not far away from where you live. Now here's where it gets interesting, Logan. She had a file on you."

"What do you mean, she had a file on me?"

"It wasn't a huge file. Just vital stats, a few grainy pictures that look like they were taken with a telephoto lens, and some handwritten notes on your recent movements. As you can imagine, it took us all by surprise." He watched my face for a few moments, his brown eyes boring into me. "Do you have any idea why she might have done this?"

"North, I don't have a clue."

"There are other things," He said as if I had not replied. "The one thing that causes me concern is a positive print match taken from her body."

This time I let him see my shock. I shook my head and clamped my mouth shut, which I realized had been hanging open. "North, you know better than to play games with me. Why haven't you pulled me in long before this?"

He sat back and puffed his cigarette contemplatively. "We had no reason to suspect you right away."

"That's a weak excuse."

"Alright," he spread his hands and sighed. "The lead detective on this wanted us to collar you the moment we got the prints back from the lab, but I told him we should sit back, wait and see. I've known you for longer than I care to remember, Logan. And I know you aren't a killer."

"I did meet with her, North. I never said I didn't."

He ashed his cigarette and nodded his head. "The working girls trust you, Logan. They all speak very highly of you. Remember back when we had that case of some Johnnie smacking them up and cutting them? They would only speak to you. Our investigation gets nowhere cause the girls don't trust our officers."

"She attacked me. She admitted she had been paid to kill me."

"I figured that much. The hard question is, if she attacked you and you didn't kill her, who did?"

"I don't know."

"We just lead ourselves into more questions, don't we?" He asked, but he didn't direct the question at me. He was thinking out loud. "You didn't kill her, who did? If she was paid to kill you, who hired her? Are the people we should be looking for one and the same?" He ran a hand through his mousy brown hair and sighed again. "And why do I feel I should trust what you're telling me? We have enough evidence her to hang you, Logan."

"You do indeed."

He sat back in his chair and shrugged. "During the search, we found an envelope, addressed to the police. In it was a letter declaring that if she should die, there were a few things we should know." He withdrew a sheet of paper sealed in a clear plastic bag and tossed it to me.

My name is Kwannon. If this letter should be found, then I am dead.

I was hired to kill Mr. Logan by a man who called himself Barrington. I doubt that is his real name, but none of my clients in either line of business was ever inclined to be honest with me.

If the police have found this note, then I would like to make clear that I did not commit suicide-there is no honor in that- and Logan did not kill me. In our last confrontation he let me live, even though he had bested me. He told me to run, but where would I run to? The city is my home, and I am too poor to skip the country. So now I wait for the man who called himself Barrington to send someone out for me. Word would have already reached his ears that I failed, and that Logan lives.

If Logan has been arrested for the crime of my murder, then he is innocent. I do think, however, that the man they send to kill me will not show me the mercy that Logan did.

--Kwannon,

Formerly known as Elizabeth Braddock.

"That's why we didn't arrest you, Logan," North said after I finished reading. "Just to make sure we knew the letter was for real, she gave a copy to one of the other street girls. She was very clever."

"What happens now?"

"Well, we know that she was not a common prostitute, and this was no common murder. I had hoped that you could fill in some blanks for me but you knew less than we do."

"I can keep my ear to the ground if you want, talk to some of the working girls. But if you want me to stay out of this investigation…" I spread my hands in a gesture of indifference.

North took the bait, as we both knew he would. "I can't stop you from looking into things yourself." His voice was slow, deliberate. "If only to clear your name."

I retrieved my notebook from my back pocket and asked "The girl she left the second copy of this note with. What was her name?"

"She gave us the name Honey. She looked all of about twelve years old."

I jotted the name down and flipped the notebook closed. "Anything I should know about her?"

"She's real hostile. But I think she was only reacting to the way our detective questioned her." His eyes flicked up to mine and I saw a crooked smile creep across his face. It was a cop smile, no more than a tug at the sides of his mouth.

"Who have you got on the case?"

He sighed heavily. "Summers."

I rolled my eyes. Scott Summers was a young and ambitious street cop when I first met him, and in the half dozen years since I'd known him, he had rocketed through the ranks to make detective before 35. He was a straight arrow, a pain the ass to know and he hated my guts. The sentiment was more than reciprocated. "Great."

"He wanted it and none of the others were putting their hands up for an assignment like this," He said. "He wants to carve his name in the honor roll in the lobby. He thinks this is the fastest way there."

"He doesn't know you pulled me in today, does he?"

North looked away and busied himself with stuffing a file in his drawer. "Just don't let him know about this. I could be in a world of trouble if they find out I spoke to you, let you off the hook and encouraged you to meddle in police affairs."

"I'll tell him that over caramel flavored coffee next time we meet in the village."

"Logan, I'm serious."

"So am I."

The sun shone down harshly on us both as we walked arm in arm down a dusty dirt path that looked as if it was carved into the lush greenery around us. The sea could be heard crashing into the cliffs below us, but it offered little in the way of breeze. Jean held a parasol over us both, and the sun filtering through it turned the light a glowing pink against her fierce red hair. Her skin was as white as alabaster and her hair smelled of jasmine. Fine beads of sweat had formed on her brow die to the oppressive heat, but it didn't take away from her femininity; it made her that much more desirable. Her green eyes settled on mine, a smile playing on her lips. I had slipped my hand around her tiny waist. The fabric of her dress felt almost sensual against my fingertips.

We were walking towards the edge of the cliff. The intrusive sounds of Madripoor faded and gave way to the violence of the sea. I stared into the foam below us. "Hard to believe something this beautiful could exist in such a hell hole," I said.

She giggled. "They use this park for official parties and receptions, sometimes weddings, Logan."

"I wasn't talking about the park." I couldn't believe something that pathetic had ever slipped from my mouth, and I smiled awkwardly at her. She took my hand and we found a spot under a huge tree. We sat and she set down the picnic basket she was carrying.

"Here would be perfect." She declared, and opened the basket, where she found a blanket that she laid out in front of us. "I love coming here. It feels like a paradise in the middle of some twisted artists perception of hell. General Chang made sure only the ruling elite and their favored would be able to access it, and anyone who trod upon these grounds without permission would be imprisoned, or worse." She produced a bottle of champagne from the basket and grinned.

"But shouldn't we be worried?" I asked as she poured the wine, chinking the bottle against crystal too fine to waste on me. She handed me a full glass and filled her own.

"General Chang has this way of puffing himself up like an adder ready to strike, simply so the underclass can cower in fear of him. He is a coward." She laughed out loud then, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "He hates you."

I shrugged. "He should. I'm a foreigner with no real reason to be here."

She nodded at this. "He puts up with you though. You have shown him that his men will not intimidate you, and that frustrates him."

"If it weren't for Rose's connections I would have been greased long before now."

She circled the rim of her glass with a long finger, making the crystal sing. "Rose is a beautiful woman."

I nodded. "She is."

"And you don't find yourself distracted? Working with her?"

"Rose has got a good head for business, Jean. We only run a bar together." I looked out to the far away volcanic range in the middle distance.

"I didn't mean to imply anything different," She said, trying to inject brightness into her tone. "But sometimes, when I see you two together, I feel a connection. You finish each other's sentences, almost literally. I sometimes feel envious of that connection." She cast her eyes down. "I know it is foolish."

I leaned forward and kissed her eyelids. "It's natural. Don't worry, Jeannie, I'm not goin' anywhere…"

I sat bolt upright in bed, blinking rapidly in the darkness. I hadn't dreamt of her in a few nights, not since I met the woman at the subway who looked like her. I shook my head to rid my mind of the ghosts of the dream. It was so vivid. It felt like it happened only yesterday. I ran my tongue over my dry lips and swung my legs over the side of the cot. I rubbed my face with my hands and sighed a heavy, shuddering sigh. I promised myself that once the Xavier case was closed, I would take Marie's advice and go on a vacation. I just wasn't used to all this high drama, and it wasn't my style to cut and run.

I stood up and stretched the knots outta my aching muscles, scratching my jaw as I contemplated the piles of dirty laundry everywhere. I was living like a hobo since the Xavier case began, even though I had hardly made a dent in his cash advancement. I moved over to the cupboards and half expected to see moths flying out. The tins of spaghetti that sat lonely and dusty on the shelves did not look appetizing. I guessed they were remnants from another tenant, because I don't ever remember buying them. I slammed the cupboard doors shut and one of them came loose from its hinges and clattered to the ground. I looked down at the mess it had made, still scratching my unshaven jaw, and shrugged. I'd have to buy some tools and fix that.