50

Aligned Design

Ch 7

Eames saw Bobby at this desk, reading off the screen, writing furiously. She sat at her desk and glanced up at him, watching him. Something was different about him.

He felt her watching him and he sat up. "Hey, I went to the morgue and saw the artist's body. Here's the ME's report. I'm not so sure his murder is related to the missing paintings." He handed her the papers.

Eames took the report and said, "What do you mean, not related to the paintings?"

"I'm thinking it may be a lover's spat gone bad. Rodgers said Peignoir was early full-blown AIDS. He'd had unprotected sex with a male partner shortly before his death. Maybe his partner found out Peignoir was infected and strangled him." Bobby watched Eames shift her eyes to the report. He watched her read. He felt nothing. She could have been a stranger.

"What is this that was used to strangle him?" Eames asked.

"Apparently it was some kind of tubing or hose with a thin strip of metal wound around it to give it strength; not the ideal instrument for choking." He shuffled through the papers and photos and found what he was looking for. Bobby stood up and reached over his desk, setting the photo of the painter's head and neck in front of Eames.

Pointing, he said, "Here, see here, you can barely see the thin blue line within the redness." He pulled open his top desk drawer and removed his magnifying glass. "Here, look through this." He handed her the glass. He watched her study the photo. "The killer would have had to pull hard and long on that hose. It would have taken a few minutes to cut off the air supply," Bobby explained.

"What is that kind of hose used for?" Eames asked, looking up at him.

Bobby sat back down, "I don't know yet. I'm going to investigate that next. I'm gong to ask Deakins if I can go check out some hardware stores tomorrow. See if he'll let me out."

He looked at the desktop; it was as if Bobby were talking to himself, "I'll check out tubing and stuff on line to see what I'm looking for and then maybe go look for some. Find out what it's used for; yeah, tomorrow."

Bobby looked back up at Eames, "Right now, I'm reading up on the artist, a fascinating fellow for a young guy. What did you do today?"

Eames looked at him for a second and felt sad and worried, "I went back to the gallery and got nowhere. Then I went to the shipping office and talked with the supervisor, a Bill Jackson. Here are copies of all the shipping paperwork on the six paintings." She handed them over and Bobby took them. "Everything looks just fine as far as I can tell.

"It's possible the driver stashed the paintings and falsified the paperwork. Or, someone at the gallery accepted delivery and then just reported them undelivered. So, we have two suspects – the driver or someone at the gallery. I wanted to talk with the driver responsible for delivering the artwork, but he wasn't back yet.

"One thing, though, Jackson said someone else had been there this morning looking for Joe Navicky, the driver. I got a description and left a card."

"Ok, well. I can't leave the office until further notice, so you have to do all the legwork. Sorry." Bobby said all of this matter-of-factly. He went back to reading the shipping papers. He didn't seem angry, or even bothered. Eames thought he seemed detached. It was somewhat spooky.

"Bobby," he looked up at her, "you said you wanted to talk when you called this afternoon. I was rude to you. What did you want to talk about?"

He looked hard at her. What did I want to talk with her about? It was something; can't remember. "Uh, I don't know. Guess it doesn't matter. You heading out?"

"Are you ok?" she asked.

"Yeah, why?"

Eames thought a minute. "Are we ok? You and me?"

Bobby looked at her like he had no clue as to what she was talking about. "I think we're ok. Why shouldn't we be ok?"

"No reason. Give my best to Gleason."

His head shot back up and Eames caught the look. "Is Gleason ok, Bobby?"

His face darkened and he looked back at the computer screen, ignoring the question.

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Sledge saw Eames return and hand paper back and forth to Bobby. He watched her stand, get her things and continue to talk with Bobby. He saw her glance his way and he began to shut down his computer.

Bishop walked back to her desk and saw Eames head toward the lifts. She glanced at her partner and saw him watch the tiny woman, noticed him hustle to close up shop on his desk.

"Big night with her?" she asked with a smile.

"Huh?"

"You and Alex . . . big doings?"

"Bishop, you don't know anything."

"I know plenty, big boy!" He stopped and looked at her. He didn't know whether to confront her or whether she was bluffing.

"What do you think you know?"

Bishop smiled slyly. "Don't worry; your secret is safe with me. Just be good to her. Remember, she's the best shot in the department."

"Bitch," Sledge grumbled and headed to the lifts.

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"Captain, it's George Huang. I spoke with Goren's post trauma counselor and the anger management leader."

"George, thanks for getting back to me so quickly. What did you find out?" Deakins answered.

"Well, I'm meeting with Dr. Alice Stephens tomorrow morning about his counseling. She wasn't surprised when I called; she was expecting such a thing."

"You mean she knew he is in a bad way?"

"Apparently so, I'll know more tomorrow. Chances are excellent he's going to have a complete rework with perhaps a new therapist. I'm expecting him to need something ongoing. However, we'll know more tomorrow.

"The anger management classes . . . oh, Jim, what a disaster. The leader sounds like he's twelve and is clueless. No wonder Goren is still so angry. Everyone in that class needs to be aware of the debacle perpetrated on them. I recommend Goren be reassigned to another round with an experienced anger management leader."

"So, he got ripped off on his anger management classes and the post trauma counseling needs to continue."

"That's just what I gather from my conversations today. I'll call you right after my meeting with Dr. Stephens in the morning. Maybe you and I can meet to discuss this fully."

"Yes, that would be excellent, George. Let me know what you find out and we'll meet afterward. Thanks, George."

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Gleason had returned to her room after updating her resume. She sat in the soft chair, curled up with the paper. She began to read, but her mind kept wandering. She found herself thinking of Bobby.

I should call him; he'll be worried. He'll be angry. She'd noticed how quickly his temper flared recently. He never lost his temper with her. He was so gentle with her. He did everything for her. He thought of everything. He loved her; she knew that. Do you love him, she asked herself. Oh, yes, yes, I love him. I love him like no other, even Gavin.

She thought back to their very first days together. She was immediately attracted to him during her presentation. He was so smart, so good-looking, so shy and awkward, such a gentleman. Bobby was so kind, brave, and wonderful to her when she had been so afraid. He had always been a gentleman; he'd held her so chastely that night at her flat when they had slept.

It was all incredibly romantic. Gleason knew she had initiated the physical aspect of their relationship. She remembered their first kiss, in front of the kitchen sink at her place. She had reached up and pulled his face to hers. His response had been consuming. She was surprised and excited by his passion. She had wanted him right there, she knew he did as well. She'd felt him rise against her. The tension between them escalated throughout the day – during their time at the market, shopping for the wine. The conversation in the car about 'what she liked' had been like nothing she'd ever imagined. Bobby was the sexiest man she'd ever known.

He was passionate, seductive, an extremely giving lover. That first night together took her to heights she'd never realized. He was able to love her so often, for so long. He was enormous and aware of his size. And, he knew what to do with it.

Gleason was working herself up. She needed to hear his voice; wanted to feel his hands on her; wanted him in her. She unfolded herself from the chair, went to her bag and found her phone. The battery was dead. Gleason's eyes filled. She would have been angry if she hadn't been so tired. She dug out the charger and plugged in her phone.

She was so tired. But she was more hungry than tired.

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Bobby's neck and shoulders ached. He'd hunched over the screen for about three hours. He looked around and saw he was the last one in the office. He shut down the computer, got his jacket and headed to the lifts.

He did not want to go back to his place. It was too empty without her. He crossed to his vehicle and decided to go where he could just be. Where he didn't have to think. Where no one would bother him. He headed for the public library.

Bobby was lucky to find a spot in the back lot and entered the massive building. He took the escalator to the mezzanine and turned right. He walked to the far back corner; ah, it was free. He shed his jacket as he walked toward his favorite chair. He threw his jacket on the chair as he walked to the nearby stacks.

Without even looking, he retrieved the second book from the end on the fifth shelf from the bottom, second from the top. He glanced at the cover, yep, this was it; Bobby smiled. He went to his chair, set aside his jacket, sat and opened the book to page two hundred eighteen. He began to read.

Immediately, he slipped back into the story. He was no longer in New York. He had no troubles. He watched Melrose crouch low in the rushes, he felt the moist heat of the Louisiana bayou, and heard the tree frogs chirp, announcing the approaching end of summer. Bobby was at peace in this other world.

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"I think something is wrong with him," Eames said to Sledge between bites of pizza. Sledge really didn't care about the weirdo. He'd done his good deed, and only because the lug was Alex's partner. Edward had not mentioned his adventure in Drunken-Bobby-Land to her yet. He needed to tell her, though. She needed to be able to pass it along to Deakins.

He wiped his mouth and said, "You know, Goren called here last night."

Eames stopped chewing; she swallowed and said, "What? When?"

"At about three. He called from a bar, drunk. I went to get him. Took him to his place and sobered him up. He's a mess, Honey."

"Where was I when you did this?" Eames was dubious.

"You, my sweetheart, were sound asleep. The phone rang three times and I had to answer it."

"Why did you do that? You hate Bobby." Eames set down her piece of pizza and looked at Edward.

Edward swallowed, wiped his mouth and said, "The man is your partner. You love him as your partner. I love you. I did what I had to do because I love you. Besides, like I said, Goren is messed up. Deakins needs to know how bad this guy is. You need to talk with Deakins. Goren shouldn't be back to work yet."

"What did he say? What happened?"

"When I got him up to his apartment, I went in because I didn't think Gleason could handle him drunk. She wasn't there. Gleason's left him."

"What? When? Oh, my God." Eames reran her interactions with Bobby over in her mind. She knew something wasn't right. He'd ignored her question about Gleason, he'd responded so strangely at the end of the day when she'd inquired about the woman.

"Did he say what happened?" she asked.

"He went on about how miserable his life is. How nothing is like it once was. I think Gleason's leaving is the straw that broke the camel's back. He's fucked up."

"Edward you need to speak to the Captain about this. Deakins need to know how Bobby feels. This may explain a lot. Will you talk with him tomorrow?"

Edward looked at her face and knew he couldn't resist. "I'll speak to him if he wants to know."

Eames smiled and took another bite.

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"Oh, god, ungh, ungh, god, yes, yes, ungh, arrrrrghhh!" Jenese jerked in his orgasm and then slumped over the younger man's back. "Jesus, you are tight," he breathed.

Canvettelli slid flat and turned over, "Do me, now. Come on; suck me. Jenny, do me now." Jenese looked at the man below him. He knelt between the other man's legs and bent. He took the whole thing into his mouth.

Canvettelli hissed and then moaned in pleasure.

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"Sir, sir. Excuse me sir," the woman said gently with a hand on Bobby's right bicep. "Sir, you have to leave now, the library is closing."

Bobby startled awake and sat up. "Oh, yeah, I'm sorry. I must have fallen asleep. Sure. I'm going. Thanks." He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat.

"I'll reshelf that for you," the kind woman said, taking the book from him. "Or, do you want to check it out?"

"No, it waits here for me. Thanks, though." Bobby stood up and slipped into his jacket. "Good night." He headed for the escalator.

The woman watched him leave. "I've seen him in here several times. 'It waits here for me,' what an odd thing to say. She looked at the title of the book the man had been reading, 'As Things Were,' by Reuben Lesky.