Chapter Four

Sipowicz looked up from his desk to see four heads bent in concentration. Jones, Clark and Russo had pens and paper out scribbling madly as Dunbar ran his fingers over the letters that had been turned over by the Willets family. Fingers would jab the air, heads turn, facial expressions show frustration, surprise or annoyance over what was coming off the pages. These guys worked well together, even though Russo reminded Andy too much of himself in the bad old days. The 8th was a small precinct, basically one shift of detectives. He could use another well running pair of detectives here, where the action got down and dirty. Then he looked hard at Dunbar. This guy was a piece of work, all right. Good cop, bad risk… if there was a way to keep him off the streets, keep that mind working at break neck speed and yet safe. Wasn't gonna happen. That guy had street cop written all over him. Checking his file, Andy found the department had been begging Dunbar to take the exams, move up in the ranks and he always said no. Hell,
look what it got him and he was still on the streets. Hard ass. Oh well, time to join the party.

"What have we got?" Andy said as he approached the men.

"We got one sick mother," Junior cut in. "Spitting out shit, saying Carl was taking the scholarships from people who really needed them and would use them."

"I take it we couldn't get prints off those," he pointed at the letters.

"Nothing but smudges and smears," Russo said. "So we figured we'd get it translated ASAP. As long as we got Dunbar here might as well use him."

"Well, Jim," Sipowicz turned his attention Dunbar, "What have we got?"

"No signature, of course, but the copy's pretty good. This guy either knows his Braille or he's getting it done for him." Jim ran his fingers lightly over the sheets. "This takes me a while, and it's not my first language. Our writer rants on about the disability pensions 'you cripples' get and they should be happy to live off the government tit. His words, not mine, and say things would be better 'if you cripples were put out of your misery.'"

"Definitely an asshole," Russo spat.

"Marty, I didn't know you cared," Jim shot back.

"In general I don't mind cripples; it's you I don't like."

Sipowicz just shook his head.

Russo spoke up, "we have to check out the applicants who, for whatever reason, didn't get into pre-law in the past three years, whatever the reason might have been. I'm betting it's more recent than that, but we gotta be careful."

"You're the boss, Marty. Here, read the notes yourself." Jim smirked and tossed the letter towards his partner.

"You guys are a regular Abbot and Costello," Andy said wearily as he entered his office.

Jim Dunbar phoned the college counseling office.

"Mrs. Pederson, would there be any possibility that the vacancies left open by Osborne, Willets and Stavros would be filled during the semester?"

"On, no, Detective Dunbar; not until the beginning of next semester would it even is considered… and only with students with the proper pre-requisites for the course."

"Are there any applicants waiting to get into these classes?"

"The second year is a closed class, no new entrants next semester. The first year had two persons waiting to take the spot Mr. Stavros passing has left; both have declined at this time. I'm sorry; I wish I could be more helpful."

"One other thing, could you fax a list of all the visually impaired students who have been in the pre-law classes in the last three years?"

"If you think it is necessary. I'll run it past the college attorneys and make sure we aren't violating anyone's right to privacy."

"This is a multiple homicide, Mrs. Pederson. I would imagine you would want to protect your students as much as possible. Please, send the information as soon as you can."

Jones walked up to Jim's desk. "We've got an ID on the vic behind Transfiguration Church. James Yip; seems he and his brother, Robert Yip, got into an altercation over a Xuan Hue, Suzanne Hue. She was the girl next door. Just a lover's triangle gone wrong, but Robert had seen the bodies of Osborne and Willets being removed and thought he would try to make it look like the same killer did his brother."

"Well, that still leaves three d. b's." Jim leaned back and chewed his lip.

"Oh no, Dunbar's thinking again," Russo called out.

"Has that fax come in yet?" Jim asked.

"Still waiting," Jones said.

"I'm taking Hank out for a walk. Be back in a few." Jim reached for the dog's harness and went left the squad room. Marty walked over to the windows and watched for Jim and Hank to appear, then followed them with his eyes while Hank did his business.

"You worried about your friend?" Jones asked Russo.

"Nyah, I just don't want him getting hurt on my watch. Besides, next time the might send some guy in a wheelchair. I just got used to 'Longstreet' I don't need no 'Ironside.'"

After the shift ended Jim could hear the frustration in Marty's voice as they headed out of the 15th.

"We have got to got to be looking at this the wrong way," Marty sounded near the end of his rope. "No matter how much I study this stuff I keep hitting the same conclusions."

"Maybe it's not what, but where," Jim replied.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Why do you hate the 15th so damn much? The minute we got in there your hackles went way up. It's got to be more than the building."

Marty went quiet for a few minutes. "Did I ever tell you about my Dad?'

"No, never," Jim steeled himself for something he didn't think he wanted to hear.

"My Dad was a teacher. He was killed by a hit and run driver when I was 17 and all the work was outta the 15th. They never solved the case and I still want to kick the crap outta the guys here, but they aren't here now. So, I guess, I'm mad at the building." He laughed ruefully. "I bet you think I should see your shrink now, eh, Jim?"

"Nope, but I think we've gotta get outta there if we're gonna solve this case." Jim pulled out his cell phone and dialed. "Christie, I'll be late for dinner tonight."

They were back at the 8th, back at their desks, they finally felt at home. Fisk didn't say anything when they walked in, just shook his head.

"What are you guys doing here?" Karen asked when she saw them enter.

"Needed to get out of that firetrap," Marty said as he sank into his desk chair and leaned back. "Now, here's my thinking spot. Now I just gotta wrap my brain round the problem."

"Like a pretzel?" Karen grinned at him.

"Karen, I swear it's like being under a microscope there. That Sipowicz always seems to be watching us." Marty sighed, "Frankly, you might be good, Dunbar, but you're not my partner. Where the hell is Selway, anyway?"

Jim tuned out the banter and pulled the case files from his brief case. Reading Braille was not easy for him, it took all his concentration to go through the pages delivered every morning. It might seem helpful, but it was easier for Jim to put printed pages in the scanner and listen to his computer spew them out. The guy at the15th was trying too hard and ended up making things awkward. Trying too hard….

"Marty," Jim spoke up.

"What? You got something?"

"We're trying too hard. Going too far back, covering too much territory. We have to go back the three victims. The connection is there. You got your case files?"

"Yeah."

"Give them to me. Maybe if I use my scanner I can relax enough to actually get into this."

"Make it loud enough for me and Karen to hear. Ya know, six ears are better than one."