111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111Disclaimer: I don't own anything WAT-related, not even a red push pin!
Each of us angels
Summary: Can Danny Taylor ever admit that he needs someone? Danny-centric.
"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." - Titus Lucretius Carus
Once again, I like to thank every one for wonderful reviews. They spur me on and make my days! Thank you, guys!
Danny arrived at the office with a little time to spare. He liked it that way. On those days when he wasn't awakened at an ungodly hour to go to a crime scene or a location of disappearance, he would come to work early, sip his slowly cooling coffee, read the sports page and gloat at the latest Yankees misfortune, try to finish some paperwork that inevitably accumulated, and generally get into the swing of things at his own pace.
Today, he discovered, he wasn't the first one in. Vivian was seated at her desk, paperwork in front of her, but her eyes fixed on something far away. She was so lost in her thoughts that Danny took care to make some kind of a racket before approaching her, so as not to startle her unnecessarily.
"Early in today, Viv. Reggie didn't need to be dropped off at school?"
"No, Marcus took care of that. I just needed to catch up on this mess." She indicated with her hand a small stack of papers in front of her.
"OK." Danny let it go, reasoning that Viv was a person who would tell you things in her own time, and there wasn't any use pressing them before that time arrived. He knew his colleague and his friend well enough to leave her be. But he felt uneasy. Something wasn't right. Not talkative under normal circumstances, Vivian lately grew too silent and withdrawn even for her. Danny longed to do something, to say something, to help somehow, but he understood her need for privacy, hoping that, if there was something he could do, she knew well that she could come to him.
"Any progress on Markham over night?"
Kevin Markham was their latest missing person, and the case was rapidly growing cold. A grandfather of four has walked out of his apartment in Forrest Hills at 4 in the afternoon three days ago to never be seen or heard of since. He left a tea cattle on the stove and a 12-year-old grandson whom he was watching after school in the apartment. He was observed by a busybody of a neighbor when he left the building, but, unfortunately, the woman, who gladly told them in minute detail all the little, private aspects of the old man's daily routine, couldn't tell them where he went on this occasion or wether he was planning on coming back.
A million dead ends and false leads later, and Danny wasn't looking forward to a day spent poring over phone records and credit card receipts. Samantha was right: this was the part of the job they never advertized in any recruiting materials. That mind-numbing, headache-inducing, soul-crushing tediousness of a paper trail. All of them on the team, without exception, would have preferred the danger of a suspect chace, or even the chilly boredom of a long stakeout. But as painfully tedious as this part of the job was, Danny couldn't deny that records, and not eyewitnesses, often led to the persons they were searching for.
Vivian handed him a thick folder.
"Medical records. Just delivered. He's been seeing a lot of doctors lately. Not surprising for a man his age, but you never know. It could be something."
Danny sighed and pulled out his chair. Might as well settle in comfortably. Coffee on the left, pen on the right, lamp on, illuminating the mishmash of items pinned to his board: his tentative monthly schedule; a calendar; bullet points for current cases; a list of internal phone extensions; a faded picture of him and his parents taken 5 months before their death; the Hop Lee Chinese menu for those times he couldn't get away for lunch; another photo, of Nicky, presented to him by Sylvia and put up out of an uncertain sense of duty; a list of codes for various government websites; and, peaking from underneath it, a semi-hidden picture of Natalie Portman topless - a picture he sort held on to after a case of a missing paparazzo - partly because he really liked it, and partly to drive Sam crazy.
He worked diligently for a while, but after some time his mind started to wonder and found its way to the morning's meeting again.
"So, now you know so much about me, and I am still in the dark about you. All I have is your name, and I am not even allowed to use the letter H!"
"That's not true! You know about my mother, and about my inability to pack, and the fact that I will never be a perfect lady. All that in less than 20 minutes. You must be good at your job! I don't think I've imparted this much information on a stranger before, ever."
"Nah, it's not the job, it's because I am irresistible."
"No, I am pretty sure that's not it at all. It's because you can carry more than one box. I feel obligated to compensate."
Danny didn't realize he was smiling until Vivian broke into his reverie:
"Something funny in those?" She pointed out at the open folder of Mr. Markham's medical records.
"Ah, not really. In fact, not at all. The guy had a hip replacement surgery, an exasperated ulcer, and a persistent bronchitis all in one year."
"And the goofy grin on your face . . . ?"
"Was completely unrelated."
"Something you want to tell me, Danny?" Vivian smiled at him with a knowing smile.
"Nope. Nothing to tell. Something you want to tell me?"
"Why? I am not smiling."
"No, and I am worried as to why."
She regarded him with a thoughtful look. "I want to tell you, Danny, but not now. Not yet."
"It's all right, Viv, but I hope you know that you can always tell me anything, and that I will do anything I can to help."
She smiled and ruffled his short hair.
"I know. Thank you."
She walked back to her desk, changing the subject as she did so.
"Mr. Markham may not have been the healthiest senior citizen in town, but he didn't suffer from dementia, or any diminished capacity, as I understand."
"No, nothing like that in those records."
"So, the notion that he just walked out and forgot who he was and where he was going is out."
Danny shrugged. "That's always a possibility with the elderly, but it doesn't seem to be the case here. According to both his children and his neighbors he is very together, lucid, and organized. There's nothing to indicate memory loss, sudden traumas, or just your run of the mill forgetfulness. No, looks like his medical records are another dead end."
He looked out of the window. It started to snow. Not heavily, but quietly and lightly, just enough to cover February ugliness with a pristine layer of innocence.
"Where is everyone? Did I miss a memo?"
Vivian chuckled. "Jack's following a lead in Jersey. Sam and Martin are stuck in traffic. Sam called. She met Martin uptown to go and talk to one of Mr. Markham's friends. Why she needed Martin for that, I don't know, but they are not going to make it here any time soon in this weather."
Danny had a pretty good idea why Sam and Martin were now stuck in traffic together, but he didn't say anything. Keeping other people's secrets was by now a full-time job for him, the one he took almost as seriously as his paying one. He accepted it as a matter of course that people didn't want their private lives exposed, whatever their reasons may be. After all, he wasn't a big fan of oversharing himself.
"OK, Viv, I think I'll brave the weather and go see if I can catch Mr. Markham's GP. Records indicate he saw his doctor three times this past month. No specifics, just some tests. That's got to be unusual."
"OK, but be careful out there."
Danny negotiated busy Manhattan streets, ignoring edgy cab drivers and huddled pedestrians. It was a long-standing habit of driving in this crazy city that taught him to keep his cool under any condition, and even think of something else while not letting his attention drift.
"I am a graduate student," Audrey said. "Columbia. English and Comparative Literature. And before you get scared, no, I will not bore you with the perpetual "Have you read this?" questions. I like to read and I like to learn, but I am not big on extracting or sharing analysis. A flaw in a grad student, actually, but there it is."
"A flaw, indeed, especially if you are planning to teach some day."
"Nope, not unless I'm sentenced by a judge."
Danny laughed at her unexpected admission. "You don't like kids?"
"I don't like teaching. I don't like going over the same material again and again. I don't like forcing information onto people who are too disinterested or too lazy to find it for themselves. I like ideas, not postulates."
"Sounds like you've given it some thought."
"I've given it five years of my life. I taught 8th-grade English in Philadelphia right after College. That's a life sentence as far as I'm concerned, and I have paid my debt to society, and there's got to be something better."
"Such as?"
"Writing. Editing. Book publishing. Research. Hell, archiving sounds better to me right now. I do it between classes and on weekends. My assistantship at Columbia. They pay me little money and pile me up with work, but that's nothing new for a former public school teacher. And it's still more fun than explaining to a roomful of glassy-eyed teenagers why Mark Twain is funny."
Danny found Mr. Markham's doctor easily enough, but the conversation didn't produce any leads. Kevin Markham was having a bad month full of aches and pains, but the test results didn't reveal anything extra to add to his already impressive list of ailments. No, he was not depressed. Yes, he was recovering well from his surgery. As well, as can be expected at his age. No, he didn't ask for any referrals. No, he didn't want a second opinion. The doctor felt harassed, even though Danny was gentle if persistent. He was a busy general practitioner with an overextended office and a waiting room full of irate elderly patients. Danny knew he'd get not joy here.
Still, this needed to be crossed off the list of leads, and he's learned a long ago that any task, no matter how annoying or insignificant, can make or brake a case at any time.
The day progressed in much the same manner, after Danny returned to the office. Jack ran in, and ran out again, taking Martin with him. Sam buried herself in Mr. Markham's financial records, dating back to mid-1970s. Vivian left early, siting a school meeting with Reggie's teacher.
Danny felt headachy and cross-eyed after reading a Herculean share of phone records. Nothing stood out. Speak of disappearing without a trace. A much easier task to accomplish in New York than people realized. May be, after all, explaining why Mark Twain was funny somewhere in manageable Philly was not such a bad idea, and this running around a giant, indifferent, snow-blinded metropolis was a sign of madness.
He reached his 7th floor somewhere around 9 p.m. Not a record late for him, by any standards. He passed number 72, and stopped. He didn't know what he was waiting for. Sings of life? Sounds indicating that she was home safe? A glimpse of light under her door?
He noted a new welcome mat. It was gray and it had text printed on it. "Go ahead! Walk all over me! Everybody else does!" Danny laughed out loud. It was so like her, and the site of that mat gave him the courage. He knocked on the door.
"Ah, our friendly neighborhood spook!" The dimples were there like old friends, greeting him after a long and tiring day.
"Actually, a spook is CIA. I am a fed. But I forgive you, because I know they don't teach that in 8th grade. I brought you a housewarming present." Danny produced a box with a lamp of a green-glass shade he found earlier today on his trip downtown. "Every student needs one of these."
"Oh, Thank you! I love a present. Do you always say and do the right thing?"
"Absolutely. Haven't made a wrong move in my life!"
She showed him in. The apartment was still in first-day disarray, but Danny noted that the movers must have come during the day, and some furniture was now situated around the place.
"Coffee? I'd feed you something, but I am mostly a takeout girl, and I haven't, well, taken anything out today. But I do have coffee. I live on that stuff."
Danny felt a sudden lump in his throat. "Tell you what: my kitchen is more set up, not that I cook all that much, mind you. And I am very good at speed-dialing all the best local delivery places. I'll buy dinner, and you can make coffee at my place."
It was a testament to how strangely comfortable with each other they have become after only one morning's conversation, that she didn't even stop to think about it.
"Deal. I make a mean cup of coffee. You'll see!"
Half an hour later, the food was ordered and sprawled around Danny's kitchen table. Audrey disappeared into her place and reemerged with a stack of paper plates, plastic forks, and a pack of heavenly smelling grownd coffee.
She managed to arrange those paper containers with Chinese food in a homey and appealing way, and suddenly the meal that Danny must have had a thousand times, seemed fresh and exotic.
"Wow." Danny made a mock bow. "You are good at this. Marry me."
"No way. You are too old for me. You are what, a whole 2, 3 years older? That means you'll probably die 2, 3 years earlier than me. Or may be even way earlier than that, considering men have a lower life expectancy. It simply isn't done anymore. The thing these days is to find a much younger man. Say, I saw that Stevie Kaufman today. He is very cute and he does ride a mean tricycle! Is he single?"
"I don't know. I respect his privacy. But, as a federal agent, I feel I should warn you that dashing Stevie won't be legal for another 13 years, and what do you propose to do in the meantime?"
"Why, use you for sex, of course."
They laughed, but the laughter was somewhat strained, because she blushed, and because Danny felt that same lump in his throat.
