They had hardly settled down at their desks Monday morning before Deakins approached, looking about as unhappy as either detective had ever seen him. "We should've stayed in bed this morning, guys."
Goren and Eames exchanged a beleaguered look. "Why's that, sir?" Eames asked after a few seconds of silence.
"Because your guy left you a present last night." With that, he tossed a call-out slip onto her desk, sighed, and left the two sitting there, staring at it.
"You look," Eames said, using one finger to push the form toward Goren. "You know, just when I've spent a weekend actually getting caught up on my sleep and de-stressing . . ."
A look at the sheet of paper told Goren that her resentment was well-founded. "Another body. Smack in the middle of Strawberry Fields. This guy's got balls of steel."
"Yeah, well so do I, according to a couple ex-boyfriends, so he better watch out. Is there an ID on the body yet?"
"Nope."
Sighing, she drained the last of her coffee and slammed her mug back down on her desk. "Well, let's go and get this over with."
"Balls of steel, huh?" he asked thoughtfully, glancing down at her as they crossed the park toward Strawberry Fields, an open meadow in Central Park named in honor of John Lennon.
She managed an almost-grin in response to that. "They're ex-boyfriends for a reason. Mostly the guys who thought it was cool to date a woman cop . . . for a little while. I'm not as good at staying friends with my exes as you are."
"They're probably just embarrassed that you're tougher than them."
"Maybe. Hey, speaking of exes," she added, elbowing him as they stepped onto the grass, "your girlfriend's here again."
He looked around the field, easily spotting Danielle, whose lavender shirt was the only splash of color in the group of blue-clothed police and technicians who surrounded the scene. "Play nice, would you?"
Snorting, she angled her path away from him, toward the tightest knot of people, and told him over her shoulder, "I'm not the one who was being a bitch last time, thank you very much. Put a leash on her before I get over there."
Before he could respond to that - although he wasn't really sure how he could have responded to that - she was out of earshot, striding the rest of the way across the field, all business. With a sigh, he made his way more slowly toward the body and the medical examiner hovering over it. "We have to stop meeting like this, Danielle."
"And a good morning to you too," she said archly. "Took you guys long enough to get here."
Shrugging, he crouched down next to her. "We just got the call twenty minutes ago. Anyway," he went on, nodding to the body, "who've we got today?"
Danielle reached out and used two gloved fingers to pull a plastic card out of the back pocket of the jeans that still covered the lower half of the body. "Another school girl. This one's older than the last, though." She handed him the card. "Thirty."
Hastily pulling on a glove, he took it from her and turned it over, giving it a quick examination. "Hillary Viernes. Another CUNY grad student. That's an interesting coincidence."
"Maybe he's settling into a groove," she suggested.
"Doubtful. He stripped the last one except for the bra," he pointed out, reaching out to touch the victim's jeans. "This one, the bra's gone but the pants are still here. Did you check her?"
"Yeah. I don't know why I covered her up again. Reflex, I guess. She was raped. Same way."
Goren cocked his head to the side, studying the body. "Were the pants up when you got here?"
"Yep. Up and buttoned."
"So he re-dressed her after he finished," he mused. "That's not like him."
"It's not?" she asked curiously, stripping off a glove and using his shoulder to balance as she stood up. "How do you know?"
He straightened up next to her, then promptly bent over the body again. "Because covering the victim back up is usually a sign of guilt, or respect, or both. Serial killers . . . aren't known for those qualities."
"No kidding," she sniffed. "I can't see anyone who just slit a girl's throat from ear to ear caring whether she's found naked or not."
"That's my point. Have you been able to identify the type of knife he uses?"
Copying his posture, she bent forward until she could see his face. "Lacerations are shit for blade typing, you know that."
"I know, puncture wounds are much better. I was just hoping you got an imprint anyway. You're good at your job."
"Hah." She patted his cheek teasingly, then straightened up. "Thanks for the compliment, hon, but I still can't give you a make on the knife."
Clearing his throat, he took a step back from both the body and her, using his upper arm to absently wipe at his cheek where she'd touched him. "Uh, that's ok. Is there anything else different on this girl from what was on the other three at their scenes?"
"Not on the outside. I'll have to let you know about the rest." Without warning, she lifted her hand to his cheek again, this time using her thumb to wipe at it. "You've got something on your . . ."
A throat cleared from behind him.
Danielle, who was facing the source of the noise, slowly lowered her hand and smiled. "Good morning, Detective."
"Apparently it is," Eames said dryly, stepping around so she could see her partner's face. "Are you two about done here, or should I go try to pump the detectives some more?"
"I think . . ." He stopped and wiped at his face with his arm again. "I think we've covered everything you've got so far, right Danielle?"
She crossed her arms and sighed. "Yeah, I guess we have."
He glanced down at his partner, noting her that she looked unhappy with him, then looked back up at Danielle. "Ok. Thanks. Call us when you have results. Eames, you ready?"
"Whenever you are," she said coolly. "I'll meet you in the car." And with that, she turned her back on him and started walking back to the SUV.
"Touchy little thing," Danielle said thoughtfully, returning her attention to Goren, "isn't she?"
"She's efficient," he replied neutrally. "She doesn't like to waste time once she's done with a scene." Well, that wasn't actually a notable quality of hers - he was usually the impatient one - but he didn't want to leave Danielle with a bad opinion of his partner. That would make life more difficult for everybody . . . especially him.
"Hmm," Danielle murmured noncommittally. "So, Bobby . . . you got any plans for tonight?"
He blinked. "Other than working late? No."
"Well," she said quietly, fingering the lapel of his suit jacket, "give me a call when you get home, ok? We could go out for a late dinner or something."
He scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. "When I say late, I mean late, Danielle. Ten or eleven."
She brushed an imaginary speck of dust off him, then pulled her hand away, grinning. "Then we'll just have to make it a sleepover, won't we?"
"Uh, maybe. I'll let you know. I . . ." He glanced over his shoulder at the car, trying to spot his partner inside it. "I have to get going. Bye, Danielle." Moving quickly, before she could get out a protest, he turned and made for the relative safety of the car.
"Took you long enough," Eames said, turning to look at him when he slid into the passenger seat a minute later.
"Uh, yeah, sorry. She had a couple questions."
"I bet she did. Looked to me like she was 'questioning' what you've got under your clothes."
"Don't, Alex," he said tightly. "Let's head back."
"Yeah, fine." She started the engine and shifted the car into drive. "I'm just saying, it doesn't seem very appropriate for her to be all over you at a scene."
Goaded, he let out a mocking laugh. "Whatever authority you had to make that statement, you lost it this weekend when you went on a date with a witness. Remember that?"
"He was a tipster, Bobby, not a witness! And I didn't climb all over him in front of half the police in this city!"
"No, you just carried on a conversation with Liggitt about how 'gorgeous' he was in the middle of the squad room," he shot back.
"And even if talking about Chris in public was indiscrete, at least I'm not the one of us sleeping with their indiscretion."
"Who says I'm sleeping with her?"
"Oh, come on, Bobby," she scoffed, looking away from the road to roll her eyes at him. "No one who hasn't already been to bed with you is going to touch you like she was."
"You do. You touch me and brush stuff off me all the time," he countered. "And no one thinks twice about it."
"That's different. I'm your partner. I don't have to sleep with you to know you well enough to touch you."
"Danielle doesn't know me that well!" he groaned, trying not to wonder how much worse this argument could get before she just stopped the car and hauled off and hit him. "She's just . . . aggressive."
"I noticed." Sighing, she shook her head and tried to tamp down her temper. "What did she want, anyway?"
"She . . ." Why did she have to ask that? Out of all the possible questions . . . why that one? he thought despairingly, knowing that a truthful answer would probably set her off again. "She wanted to know if I was busy tonight."
"Oh?" She stole a curious glance at him before returning her eyes to the road. "And what did you say?"
"I told her we were probably going to be working late."
"And she let you go with that?"
He sighed. "Do we really have to talk about this?"
"Obviously she didn't," she said, answering her own question. "And I told you all about my date, so I think you owe it to me to tell me about yours."
"That was all," he attempted, "really. She just said that even if it was late, I should still call her."
"Hah. Sounds like you'll be having company tonight. Remind me not to stay late if we end up working at your place."
"She's not going to just appear at the door of my apartment, Eames!"
"Ah, Bobby," she laughed, patting his knee, "you should never underestimate the determination of a predatory female. Don't put it past her to pick your lock and sneak into bed with you."
"Oh, wonderful," he sighed, dropping his head into his hands. "Now I'm going to stay awake all night listening for someone at the door."
"Or you could just let her in," she pointed out. "You are dating her, after all. She might think it's a little funny if you suddenly stop answering the door."
"I told you, I'm not 'dating' her. We've just been out a few times, is all. Besides, I may not even go out with her again. She's starting to irritate me."
"Oh, you know you love the attention," she scoffed, pulling into a parking spot in the One PP lot.
"No, I don't." When she just turned off the engine and didn't respond, he turned to look at her. "And I'd much rather spend an evening with you than her. Danielle . . . she would want to go out. With you, I don't even need to talk. With her, I have to keep her entertained."
Drawing in a slow breath, she met his eyes and smiled. "That's really sweet, Bobby." She checked her watch and grimaced. "We should head upstairs. So," she added as they unbuckled their seatbelts, "now that we've established that I'm your perfect girlfriend, except for the whole sex thing, can we call a truce about our love lives?"
Having trouble parsing that statement beyond the word "sex," he climbed out of the car and just stared at her. "Uh . . . sure."
"Good. Now," she said conversationally as they entered the building, "what should we get for lunch?"
Bobby just shook his head and kept walking.
