Brass stared at the screen, his eyes narrowing speculatively, trying to ignore the icy cold snake that slithered up his back, winding around his spine, its serptentine path leaving a frigid trail in its wake, before it slipped around his ribcage and squeezed the breath from his lungs.
Detective Joseph H. Takei. Deceased.
It was one of the names that Brass had cross-referenced from Martens' and Keeth's files, and fed into the database. He sat at his desk now, his elbows propped on its glossy surface, while his dark eyes scanned the entry. Detective Takei had last worked for the Los Angeles Police Department. Six months ago, he had died. There was no notation to indicate that his death had occured in the line of duty. So it had either been illness...or an accident.
Brass envisioned Joe Takei, as he had looked the last time Jim had seen him. Short in stature, lean but muscular, Takei had had intelligent dark eyes that looked out assessingly from oval, high cheekboned , Asian features. Quiet, hard-working, an introvert, Takei had always kept to himself. Joe had only been with the Las Vegas force for a couple of years, before moving out East. New York, Brass had thought. Evidently something had drawn the other detective back to the sunny skies and warm climate of the west coast, and he'd spent the last three years in California.
There was no cause of death listed on the file. Brass keyed in a new selection, and ran the name under active and inactive investigations, to see if there was anything about Takei there. There was nothing. There hadn't been a file opened at the time of Takei's death. Brass's heart thudded in his chest. He had to know how Joe Takei had died. Three men who had once worked together were now dead, two from apparently unrelated accidents. Two was coincidence enough to trigger Brass's radar. But three? He wondered why he hadn't heard about Takei's death at the time. Surely someone would have notified LVPD as a courtesy, since Joe had once been one of them.
Brass flipped through the Rolodex, found the number and dialed long distance. He got voicemail, decided against leaving a message, and instead waited to be rerouted to the main desk. He identified himself and asked to speak to the officer on duty. It wasn't long before a crisp, deep voice came on the line. Brass explained the purpose of his call, that he had recently learned of the death of an officer he had once worked with and was seeking to learn what had happened.
"Joe Takei, yeah, what a shame," the other man said. "Good cop."
"Had he been ill?" Brass queried.
"No, nothing like that. It was just a freak accident."
"An accident?" Brass could hear the strain in his own voice. Hit-and-run? Fire? "What happened?"
To Jim's surprise, the officer became evasive. "Oh, an accident at home. Just one of those things," he replied vaguely.
One of those things? One of what things? "What?" Brass pressed. "A fire?" No response. He paused. "A fall?"
"Yeah, something like that," the man agreed, clearly uncomfortable.
Brass knew he wasn't going to get anything more, so he thanked the officer for his time and said good bye. He pondered the other cop's strange reaction to a normal, rational query. At least he had learned that it hadn't been an illness that had claimed Joe's life, that it was not a natural death. Here was another accidental death. One that had preceded Denny Martens'.
Brass set the computer to cross-reference the work records of the three men to get a timeline of when all three had been at the Las Vegas precinct at the same time. Takei had been with the LVPD downtown precinct for just over two years, and Martens and Keeth had both been here during that time. He typed in a new set of parameters, so that the computer would make a listing of all of the cases each of the men had ever worked during that time period. He requested the search prioritize the cases that all three had worked together, and then search outwards from there, and arranged for a print out.
From this information Brass could obtain the names and ranks of the police officers who would have been involved in each of those cases, from the flatfoot on the beat, to fellow detectives. One of those names, Brass knew ironically, would be his own. He had worked cases with all three men in the past. Case notes would also give the names of any prosecutors or defense attornies whose paths the three men had crossed during their investigations. The printer ran for a long while, spitting out page after page, which Jim would have to comb through later.
He reached for the phone on his desk, and punched in switchboard. "Brass here. Can you connect me to the Los Angeles, California, Coroner's Office? Thanks." He waited a moment and then the phone began to ring in another state. Before anyone could answer though, he abruptly hung up.
Jim didn't even know if there had been an autopsy. And what he really needed was more than he could glean over the phone. Brass wanted to go to L.A. To talk to the people who had known Joe in recent years. To find out just how the other detective had died. He would have to run it past the Sheriff first though, he knew, sighing. To convince him that it was part of an active investigation into Denny Martens' hit-and-run. First he'd have to persuade Mobley that there should even be an investigation into Martens' death. The Sherriff and he had only a very guarded professional relationship, and he couldn't stand Mobley as a man, but Brass would put his personal feelings aside in order to be able to pursue his hunch.
Suprisingly, Sheriff Mobley consented to bankrolling the trip to L.A. It was evident that while he had serious doubts that Brass was going to find anything criminal, there was enough just in the fact of the three recent deaths to raise some suspicion. Coupled with Brass' reputation for being a top notch detective whose hunches had borne out more often than not, and the fact that Mobley sensed that Jim was not going to let this rest, whether it was through official channels or not...and not wanting to be the guy with egg on his face if he denied the request and it later turned out that Brass had been onto something...the Sheriff gave his approval.
Brass was able to book a flight on American Airlines for that afternoon. He would have enough time to get home and pack an overnight bag, stop off at Cecilia's apartment to regretfully cancel their dinner for that evening, and then be on Flight 1059, departing from Las Vegas McCarran International Airport at three fifteen. By four-thirty he'd be in the City of Angels. And one step closer to getting some answers. Before he left the office, Jim dialed the long distance number again. This time, when he got voicemail, Brass left a detailed message.
By the time he was on the plane, sipping a Coors Light and staring morosely out the window at the clouds, Brass was fighting the beginnings of a tension headache. He couldn't get the images of the three cops out of his head. Takei. Martens. Keeth. All so vibrantly alive just half a year ago, and now all three existing only in the memories of those who had known them. Closing his eyes, he saw again the letter that Denny Martens had received, and the middle paragraph, committed now to memory.
To serve and protect. That's the creed. But sometimes, you fail. And the wicked go free. Sometimes, there is a pivotal moment...where one is on the brink...where the future hangs in the balance of one choice, one decision. Where your error demonizes the innocent and unleashes the devil. But sometimes, too stupid to recognize the mistake, the inferior pat themselves on the back and go on and others must pay the price of their failure.
Something about the words was familiar, and it made Brass uneasy. Had they affected Denny Martens the same way? Is that why he had kept the letter? Had something similarly disconcerting hovered at the edge of Denny's consciousness? Brass balled his fists in frustration. He didn't even know if the letter had any connection to Denny's death. All he had were questions, and no answers.
Cecilia had been stunned to learn of a third accidental death among policemen who had once known one another and worked together. She was openly supportive of Jim's trip to L.A., telling him not to worry about their date and the short notice of the cancellation, and wishing him luck on his trip. Neither of them voiced what outcome they were hoping for though. Something that would help to put Jim's suspicions at rest...or something that would fuel them. The idea that the men might have been murdered, was something that had to be followed, but that neither wanted to contemplate fully. At the door as he was leaving, Jim had pulled Cecilia close for a tight embrace, then given her a long, lingering kiss, promising to see her again soon.
Before long the plane touched down at LAX, and Brass was hailing a cab. After going first to his hotel to register and drop off his bag, Brass headed anxiously to LAPD's Hollywood Division. Once there, he showed his credentials, signed in, clipped the visitor's pass to the pocket of his shirt, and took the stairs to the second floor. He paused outside the glass walled office, knocking the first notes of the Dragnet theme.
Her back had been to the door, a receiver at her ear, and when she heard the knock, Annie Kramer swivelled her chair, a wide grin animating her pretty features. "I gotta go. I'll call you later. Let me know what else you find out." Then she was out of the chair, and around the desk, as Brass entered.
"Jimmy!" she exclaimed, her dark eyes alight. Annie reached for him, wrapping her arms around him in an affectionate hug. "I got your message. I can't tell you how good it is to see you!" She stepped back, holding onto his upper arms, tilting her head to the side. "You've quit smoking," she observed with a smile, sniffing at him. "Good for you."
Brass laughed. Annie had always hated that he smoked. "Yeah, several years ago now," he said proudly. "It's good to see you too," he smiled. "Captain Kramer." He was glad for her promotion. Annie Kramer had been a young, idealistic patrol cop when he had first met her, back in Jersey. She'd joined the force when women were still trying to break into the ranks, and had to fight to be taken seriously, and to work twice as diligently to get any respect. She had always been ambitious, telling him that one day she was going to be Atlantic City's first female Chief of Police.
"I can hardly believe you're here," Annie continued. "How long has it been?"
Jim grinned. "I know it's been ages, I can see the years on this old mug when I look in the mirror, but seeing you now, it's hard to believe it's been that long. You look terrific, Annie, you've hardly changed a bit." And it was true, she hadn't. There were a few fine lines at the corners of her eyes, that hadn't been there before, and a maturity to her features, but otherwise she was as he remembered her. She was still trim, and her skin glowed with a healthy vitality. He was pleased to see that she still wore her brown hair long, parted in the centre, though it was streaked now with fashionable lighter highlights.
"You always were a charmer," Annie said lightly, though she was clearly pleased by the compliment. "Look, I know you're here for business, and that this isn't a social call, but I've put in a long enough day and if I stick around here, we're bound to be constantly interrupted," she began. "There's a great steakhouse not far from here. We can grab an early dinner, and we can talk." Brass was quick to agree.
The restaurant was almost empty at this time of day. After a quick consultation with Jim, Annie ordered draft, then requested that they be left alone for a while and stated that she would signal when they were ready for menus. The steakhouse reminded Brass of one of the places he and Annie used to frequent back in Jersey, when they'd had their affair. Dark, with subdued lighting. Walls covered with vintage photographs of stars of both the big and small screens. Old sports equipment above the square bar area at the centre of the room. Wood floors, tables and chairs. Along the back wall was a stretch of comfortable, private booths, also reminiscent of the place in Jersey. It was here that Annie led him and they slid onto the seats across from one another.
For a moment, Jim had an eerie sense of being transported back in time, and almost felt that he should get up and go to the phone booth at the entrance, dial his old number, and make some excuse to Nancy about having to work late.
Over a pitcher of beer, Brass filled Annie in on what had lead to his coming to Los Angeles. She listened attentively, sipping her drink, and though her features showed a range of emotions at each of his revelations, she reserved comment. "I think the three deaths are connected, even if they appear to be accidents," he finished. "What can you tell me about Joe Takei?"
"I'm sorry for the losses of detectives Martens and Keeth," she said first with genuine sympathy. Then without preamble Annie asked pointedly, "Are you familiar with autoeroticism?"
"Yeah," Brass replied. He had attended a conference a few years previously, where the sexual practice had been discussed. Autoeroticism involved an individual seeking sexual release in solitude, through self-pleasuring, often in conjunction with unusual and risky practices such as bondage, self-penetration, asphyxia, masochism, or other methods meant to enhance the sexual experience and eventual release.
It was calculated that between five hundred to one thousand deaths in the States each year, could be attributed to incidences of autoeroticism gone wrong, whether by electrocution, sepsis following bowel perforation, self-impalement, asphyxiation or crushing. Often wrongly ruled as suicides, it was important for investigators to be accurate in determining the circumstances and cause of death, not just from a law enforcement perspective, but also for bringing closure to bereaved families.
"You know what autoerotic asphyxiation is then?" Annie said, lowering her gaze and blushing slightly.
Brass nodded. Autoerotic asphyxiation was an extremely dangerous practice of self-strangulation, the purpose of which was to decrease the supply of blood to the brain, which was thought to enhance sexual pleasure. Typically, some sort of ligature was used. The inherent danger was that the partial asphyxia could often lead to a loss of consciousness and a loss of control over the means of strangulation, which could then lead to continued asphyxia and death. Brass could see where this was going. "Joe Takei?"
Annie looked at him levelly. "He had had rigged up a contraption, a system of pulleys and rope for self-strangulation, including some type of rescue mechanism, with a quick release lever. But something went wrong, it didn't release, and he lost consciousness, eventually strangling to death." She paused to take a drink. "As you can imagine, there is some stigma surrounding the practice. And death by sex, especially when it's just you and Hairy Palmer, is not the most dignified way to go."
She sighed. "He lived alone. Neighbours alerted police after his dog, who'd been left outside for a day and a half, began barking and howling, causing a real racket. A patrol car went around to Takei's originally for a nuisance call...noise ordinance...and then when he couldn't get an answer at the door, he called in to the station. Joe hadn't shown for work and hadn't called. The officer busted in, and found him in a special room he had set up in the basement. Naked. Hanging from a noose that was looped through pulleys attached to the wall. He'd been dead since the night before. There was...a camera with a timer set up on a tripod. It was off when the detectives got there, the card blank. But...there was an album. Other photos. Of Joe." Annie shifted in her seat.
Brass understood now why the officer on duty had been reluctant to answer his questions about how Joe Takei had died. It was probably a combination of personal embarassment at discussing the circumstances coupled with a desire to protect the dead detective's reputation.
"There was no investigation?" Brass questioned, though he knew there hadn't been.
"No," Annie replied. "There didn't seem to be any reason for it. It wasn't my case, but I read the reports. There was no reason to suspect foul play. There were no signs of forced entry. No signs of struggle. We didn't even consider suicide, because the release mechanism was clearly jammed. It was just an accident."
"Was it?" Brass wondered quietly.
Annie looked uncomfortable. "You know, at the time I was certain that it was. I had no reason to think differently. It was a sad and senseless death, but not something so terribly uncommon as to raise suspicion. But now...in light of what you've told me..." her voice trailed off and she shrugged her slim shoulders.
She drew a deep breath and went on. "The autopsy showed COD as asphyxiation, and the coroner ruled accidental death. We wanted to close it out fast...it made everyone real uncomfortable. It's one thing when it happens to people you don't know, it's easier to step back and depersonalize, and you get used to all the weird things out there. There are some things that hit too close to home though, that are just too much information...stuff you don't want to know about another cop, a guy you worked with. We didn't even call CSI in on it. That whole contraption just went out in the trash, as far as I know, once the next of kin was notified." She anticipated Brass's next question. "A sister, in New York. She had the body flown back east, sold the house."
Brass looked at Annie across the table, his expression inscrutable, pouring both of them another beer. "Could someone have jammed the release mechanism deliberately?" he asked, his dark eyes searching hers.
"I suppose it's always possible," Annie said reluctantly. "And I know how it looks...Takei, Martens and Keeth. It's quite a coincidence." She regarded Jim thoughtfully over the table, and he could see the indecision in her eyes. "Have you ever noticed though...about things happening in threes? It sounds corny, but it so often seems to come true. Natural disasters. Celeb deaths." She hesistated. "I can see why you'd be suspicious..."
But he had absolutely nothing to go on. Brass could read Annie well, and he knew what she was thinking. That his hunch made for an interesting conspiracy theory. That it would make a great television movie of the week, or perhaps a good paperback to take to the beach. But there was not a single shred of proof that any of the men had been victim to anything but dangerous proclivities, bad timing, and bad choices coupled with bad habits. Three unrelated accidents, with not a single thing to indicate possible foul play, and nothing to link them. Not location, not manner of death...only the fact that at one point, years ago, the three men had worked together.
Annie watched his eyes harden and reached across the table to touch the back of Jim's hand. "I'm not saying you aren't on to something, Jimmy. You've got the best instincts I've ever seen in a cop. If there is something...you'll find it. And I'll help in any way that I can."
Brass smiled half-heartedly. All that he had learned were the late Joe Takei's secrets. Nothing that would help him in an investigation that was going nowhere. Even Annie, who had a career cop's honed senses, only found the three deaths curious, not menacing. "Did you know him well?" he asked her.
Annie shrugged. "Joe was a loner. He didn't really socialize. I poked around a bit after I got your message, but no one really knew much about his personal life, just that he wasn't married. He was a capable cop. Nothing in his jacket to make him stand out, either in terms of commendations or reprimands. The funeral was back east, and no one on the force went, but we held a memorial service in the chapel, and those who'd known him paid their respects."
"I guess he never mentioned anything to you about a strange letter?" Brass asked, knowing that if Takei had, Annie would already have told him.
"No. But I'll ask around," she added. Her hand still covered Jim's and she gave it a squeeze. "You believe this letter Martens got is key somehow." It was a statement, more than a question.
Brass sighed his frustration. "There's something that I can't quite put my finger on." He shook his head. "I don't know how to explain it. Everywhere I turn, I hit a wall. You know why they call it a gut instinct...'cause you really can feel it inside, deep in your intestines?" She nodded her understanding. "Every cop sense I have is telling me there's more to this, Annie." He withdrew his hand and wrapped both around his glass, staring into the half-finished contents, watching tiny bubbles rise up through the golden liquid topped with the thin layer of foam. "I don't have anything. No crime. No suspect. No motive." Brass drained his beer then looked up at her suddenly, his dark eyes intense. "But I just know something isn't right."
Annie watched as Brass reached up to rub the back of his neck. He was fighting a tension headache, she could tell. "Then if there is something wrong, you'll find it," she said with quiet finality. "But there isn't much more you can do tonight. Look, why don't we order and put this aside for a bit. Just chat and catch up. Enjoy a nice piece of beef. They do a great porterhouse here, that I know you'll like." She smiled encouragingly. Brass nodded and smiled back, and she raised her hand with a slight wave to catch the waiter's attention.
Annie was right, they did do a great porterhouse steak. Jim enjoyed his medium rare, with a dollop of A-1 sauce, a big baked potato, and a side salad. They filled in the years since they had last seen one another. Shared interesting and memorable cases, both the ones they had solved and the ones that got away. Talked about how their careers had progressed, and about the people they met along the way, the ones they had enjoyed and respected, and the ones they had despised.
It turned out that Annie had met Gil Grissomon a case a few years previously, when he had consulted with the department. She was intrigued by the criminalist, but clearly didn't understand him, and she seemed surprised that he was someone that Jim counted as a friend.
Annie asked about Ellie, and Brass admitted sadly that they were estranged. Clearly he was shouldering all of the blame for that situation. For all Annie knew, maybe it was his cross to bear. She knew that Jim loved Ellie, but the man she had known in Jersey had been pretty battered by life, and didn't have alot left over to give anyone. Not his wife, not his daughter...not his mistress.
Other than the mention of Ellie though, they did not talk about Atlantic City at all. Brass didn't want to remember those days. It had been a black period in his life, personally and professionally. There were no happy memories to recount. They talked around their personal history and the fact of their affair, alluding to it in a sanitized version of friendship.
Brass learned that Annie had never married, and found that he wasn't that surprised. Her work had always been the most important thing to Annie Kramer. It became apparent that, like himself, Annie didn't really have any friends, hobbies or interests outside of the job. They both poured everything they had into being a cop. It defined who they were. Other than the mention of Ellie and a few oblique references to Jersey, Brass found the conversation easy and pleasant. He and Annie spoke the same language.
They remained at the table talking long after they had finished dinner, and the restaurant had filled almost to capacity. They had ordered a second pitcher of beer, the greater part of which had been consumed by Jim. Finally, mellowed, he glanced at his watch, expressing surprise that so much time had elapsed since they had first gotten to the steakhouse.
"Well, I guess I should call it a night," Brass said. He smiled across the table at Annie. "Thanks for everything. It's been so great to see you again."
She propped her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her palms. "When you going back to Vegas?"
"Tomorrow, I guess," he admitted. Neither one of them gushed about how they would have to stay in touch, get together again soon, and the like. It wasn't going to happen. Not that they wouldn't want to. But they knew one another, and themselves, well enough to know that once the miles separated them again, and they were pulled back into their respective worlds, that would be it. There would always be a closeness there, Brass knew, a connection that neither time nor distance would ever completely sever. It might be several months, or another ten or fifteen years before he saw Annie Kramer again, but when he did, Jim knew they would greet one another just as warmly, with just as much pleasure, and fall into the same comfortable companionship.
Annie knew what Brass knew, and she felt a melancholy ache, a sense of loss at the thought of his leaving so soon. She reached across the table, and took one of his warm, broad hands in her softer, more delicate one. "Come home with me tonight, Jimmy," she said softly, and her brown eyes held his with a gentle longing.
Brass put his other hand over Annie's and squeezed. There had been a time when she wouldn't have had to ask twice. When there was nothing he would rather do than abandon himself to the pleasure of her embrace, her sweet kisses holding the world at bay. He shook his head reluctantly.
Her eyes widened momentarily in surprise, then narrowed again, as she stared at his left hand. With a crooked grin Annie commented, "I don't see a ring, and you didn't mention a wife. Not that you ever wore one, or that having a little woman at home ever stopped you before," she said with a sardonic smile, trying to hide the sting of his rejection.
Brass sighed. "I'm not married," he admitted.
"Well, it must be serious though," Annie said with forced lightness. "Unless you're batting for the other team now?" She raised an eyebrow then gave a short laugh to indicate that she didn't really believe his preferences had changed.
Brass could see that Annie didn't understand why he would turn her down. He could see the hurt in the depths of her dark eyes. A loneliness that he recognized. Her whole posture changed, with the loss of confidence in herself as a woman.
"You're as beautiful as you ever were," Jim told her sincerely. "And...I know that it would be great. But...there is someone. And I'm just not that man anymore."
Annie watched him struggle with his words. She had always adored Jim Brass, almost from the moment that she had first met him all of those years ago, back in New Jersey. When other cops had turned their back on him, for his part in breaking the corruption scandal, she had hero worshipped him. She had sensed his loneliness, both professional and personal. He had naturally been drawn to her, had needed the oasis she offered. Jim had never loved her, not really, not the way she loved him, Annie knew. Even though he had said the words. But he had needed her, and that had been enough for both of them for a time.
Strangely, it was the fact that she considered Jim Brass such a moral and ethical man, someone with great personal integrity, that had intially caught Annie's interest and made her fall for him. Somehow, she had never let the fact of their affair tarnish her ideal of him. It was easy to find excuses and justifications for what they had done. In reality, it wasn't out of character for Jim to turn her down now, if he was involved with someone. It had been out of character for him to ever have begun their affair.
Annie didn't want him to remember her as bitter and resentful. She fixed a smile on her face. "I hope she realizes what a lucky woman she is," she told him with a quiet earnestness.
Jim shrugged. How could he make Annie understand about Cecilia when he didn't understand it himself? All that he and the novelist had was a fling, destined not to last more than a few months. They had no claims on one another. There had been no talk of monogamy and committment. If Cecilia happened to run into an old flame while Jim was here in L.A. there was no reason to think that she wouldn't or shouldn't spend the night with him. Jim didn't owe Cecilia his fidelity, and she had never asked for it, nor promised hers.
But...as long as he was with her, Jim knew that he couldn't be with another woman. Not even Annie, who had rescued him from the pits of hell in that other existence, and given him his life again. Who had helped him to regain his confidence as a cop and as a man. He would always have a place in his heart for Annie Kramer. But as long as he was seeing Cecilia, however brief that time might be...there could be no place for Annie in his bed.
"It's complicated," Brass remarked, in lieu of an explanation.
Annie patted his hand then withdrew her own. "With men and women, it always is," she said.
Jim stood up and went around the table. He bent down, planting a kiss on the corner of Annie Kramer's mouth. She closed her eyes for a moment, and reached her arms around him for a quick embrace. "Be happy, Jimmy," she whispered, "you deserve it."
"You too," Brass replied, stroking her long hair for a moment. Then he straightened and looked down at her, his dark eyes tender. "Good bye, Annie."
As he crossed the floor towards the door, and the phone booth where he would call a cab, Jim considered her parting words. Be happy. It was a lovely sentiment, but Brass knew resignedly that happiness, at least in his own life, had always been such an elusive, transient thing.