53
Aligned Design
Ch 8
Bobby heard a far away buzzing. Slowly, he roused. Owww! God, his neck! He struggled up and realized that he had fallen asleep on the couch in his living room. Shit! He stood, rubbed his neck and went down the hall to shut off that goddamn clock. He did so and stood looking at the empty bed. She's gone.
His chest was a hollow cask. His heart was dead. He felt numb. Gleason had fled to Chicago. Today he'd figure out where she'd gone, specifically. He had an idea. He didn't want to call Brookbine to see if they knew where she was, or why she'd gone. He began to undress. He threw his clothes onto the chair in the corner and walked naked into the bathroom.
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"Come on, let me. Come on. It'll feel good, I promise." Sledge ran his hand down Eames' flat stomach. He was up on his right side looking down on her tiny soft body. His fingers probed. He leaned over and kissed her, tongue sliding through her lips. He felt her moisten.
"See, you do want me to. I feel it. You're getting wet for me." His tongue slid between her lips again and Eames shifted slightly. She moaned, reached for him and grabbed his goods in such a lock that his knees snapped up and he bent at the waist.
"I told you we are going to be late," she said softly. She squeezed just hard enough to make her point. "Now, get your ass out of this bed and into that shower so we can both get to work without letting everyone know what you like to do in the morning." She kissed him seductively and released him.
Sledge immediately rolled off the bed and stood, holding himself. "Jesus, I knew you liked it rough," he said with a smile. Eames shot him a look and he walked away. She heard the water come on in the shower and then finished what Edward had started.
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Gleason woke up sick. She couldn't get out of the bed fast enough. She felt better afterward and sat on the edge of the bed. I cannot eat that much yet, she told herself. She had been very hungry last night and had walked down the block to a family style place. She'd had a huge salad, cup of soup and all the rolls. She'd asked for more bread. She was stuffed.
She looked at the clock. It was an hour later in New York. Bobby would be getting up. She had to call him. Gleason picked up her phone from the desk, unplugged the charger and dialed his home number. It rang. And rang. It rang five times and she heard the click for the 'leave a message' message. She clicked off without saying a word. He must have already left, she said to herself.
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Navicky thought about calling off today. He knew who it was that had been around asking about him. That prick Jenese was getting impatient. Well, he could just cool his jets, because Navicky was in negotiations with another buyer for those six paintings. Top dollar won in his book.
He was no fool, however. Pangborn was a thug who would probably beat the shit out of him and just take the damn paintings. Jenese had class; he would do the right thing. He would pay the promised amount and move on. Damn, why'd he even get involved with Pangborn? Because you areone greedy bastard, he told himself.
Navicky dressed and headed to the shipping lot. He would tell Pangborn something – the police, in a search, had nicked the paintings. Yeah, it wouldn't be his fault if the cops took the paintings. Pangborn couldn't blame him. Then Navicky would call Jenese, hand over the canvasses, take the cash and life would move on. Fat chance.
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Bobby added the towel to the heap on the chair in the corner. He caught the display on the phone by the bed. One missed message. He grabbed the phone and saw that Gleason had called. Fuck!
He dialed her number. Answer. Come on, sweetheart, answer. It rang four times. Goddamn it. He felt the heat rise in his head. His right hand fisted. Another ring and the phone became a projectile across the bed, slamming into the wall, cracking the plaster and bouncing to the floor between the dresser and the foot of the bed.
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Jenese stepped from the shower and Canvettelli handed him a bath sheet. He liked staying at Canvettelli's place. It was a hell of a lot nicer than his place. Canvettelli had that arty gift – could make any place look good.
He watched the younger man groom. So, that's what fussy looks like, huh? he said to himself. He stepped up behind his lover and reached around, under Canvettelli's towel. He found his mark and fondled. Their eyes locked in the mirror. Jenese turned him with a hand to the shoulder. Jenese's mouth started on the other man's mouth. It didn't stay there.
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Bobby was already at his desk when Eames arrived. He glanced at her as she rounded his desk to get to hers.
"Morning," she said to him.
"Yeah," he answered.
"What are you doing?" Eames asked. Bobby was shuffling paper, clipping sheets together, and setting others in manila folders.
"Huh? Oh, I'm organizing all the stuff from the painting case."
"What are you going to do today?" she asked.
"Well, I can't leave the house, so I thought I'd finish finding out about the artist. Then I'm going to look for other lost shipments. See if there's a pattern. I'll run the shipping company as well. See if they have any history. Anything you want me to do?" He looked down at his 'to-do' list.
"No, I don't think so." She watched Sledge walk to his desk. He had left ten minutes after she did.
"How about you? What do you have planned?" Bobby really didn't care. But, Eames was his partner. He wanted to finish this case. He felt antsy. His cell phone rang. He took it from his jacket pocket, looked at the number and shot up, turned and strode away.
Eames watched him. Bet that was Gleason, she thought.
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"Dr. Stephens, thank you for meeting with me." George Huang shook hands with the woman. She was young, a tall, slim, lovely African-American woman of impeccable taste.
"I'm delighted to meet you, Dr. Huang. I've followed your work. I cited your article on deviancy markers in pre-adolescent boys as indicators of future pathology in a paper I presented at the APA last year."
"Oh, well, thank you." Huang was truly honored. Few of his colleagues in the police community knew of his academic endeavors. Huang was a nationally recognized expert on sexual deviation, especially in minors. "Please have a seat. Can I get you anything, coffee, water?"
"No, I'm fine, thank you. Tell me what has happened that warranted your call." Stephens asked.
"Detective Robert Goren, as you know, is an unusual individual from the outset. Highly intelligent, genius level IQ, perceptive, intense, somewhat socially inept. You know about his mother's illness, her confinement. Detective Goren has always had an edgy quality. His temper is common knowledge. Up until recently, he's been able to keep his temper in check. He attended mandated AM classes which, unfortunately, were a waste of his time and may have exacerbated his problem."
"Let me interrupt you. Did he attend AM classes through the Cranston Agency?"
"Yes, why?"
"Tell me, was Derek Aldridge his leader?"
"Yes. You know of this young fellow?"
"I've been called to work with two other members of AM groups Aldridge has led. I don't know how that individual got his license and made it through the interview."
"Well, that confirms one of my suspicions. Goren will need to attend another round of classes. Don't you think?"
"I'm not sure that will help him. I think he needs something else, something more specific to his current feelings of helplessness. I interrupted you, sorry. What has he done?"
Huang explained about Goren's temper, his drinking, his feelings of loss, his mandated desk duty, Gleason's leaving, and everything that Deakins had told him. Stephens listened attentively. She nodded throughout, but looked surprised at the mention of Gleason.
"Who is Gleason?"
Huang was stunned by the question. "Why, Gleason is his, I guess you'd call her his significant other. Dr. Gleason Wintermantle is the ex-lover of the man who abducted and attacked Goren. The student who shot up the university was stalking her; he was a student of hers. Goren never mentioned her? In all of your sessions, she never came up?"
"No. This is incredible. How long have they been together?"
"Well, I'm not sure of that."
"Dr. Huang,"
"Please, call me George."
"George, is it possible for me to meet with his captain and perhaps his partner? I would be interested in their take on how Detective Goren is. Apparently there is more to the man than he's telling us."
"I agree. When would be a good time for you?" Huang checked his watch, ten-forty.
"I have nothing until three this afternoon. Do you think today would be possible?" she asked.
"Let me call Captain Deakins and see what's good for him and Detective Eames, Goren's partner. Excuse me."
The two psychiatrists made plans to meet with Goren's boss and partner in an hour. They debated about where to meet. If they met at One Police Plaza, Goren would see the pow-wow and who knows what might result from that. On the other hand, maybe he would want or need to be a part of the conversation at some point. The four agreed to meet in an hour and half at Major Case.
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Jenese discretely followed the big green delivery truck all over the friggin' city. He was waiting for Navicky to pull into an alley or up to a rear loading dock. He wanted to get the bastard alone. I'm gonna jerk the information out of him, he thought. Jerk me around, will you? We'll see. He glanced at his gas gauge – Jesus, three fifteen a gallon and I'm ass tagging a truck. There is no justice.
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