128

Aligned Design

Ch 24

Bobby stepped off the lift and headed to the counter station in the forensic garage. He was looking for Mike, a buddy of his.

"Hi, is Mike around?" he asked a young fellow.

"Hey! Mike! Someone to see you," the guy hollered. "He's under that Hummer," he said to Bobby, nodding toward a huge, black vehicle.

"Thanks," Bobby replied and walked over to the Hummer. He saw his buddy's legs and gut sticking out from the chassis. He gave Mike's leg a nudge. "Mike, you under there?"

The rest of the body slid out and looked up at Bobby. "Hey, Bobby! What brings you down here?"

"Hi, Mike." Bobby leaned down and gave a hand to his pal, hauling him up off the floor. "Say, I was wondering if you could help me identify or locate a specific kind of tubing or hose."

"Sure. You have a piece?"

"Uh, no. This hose or tubing was used to strangle a vic in a case we're working on. The ligature marks indicate a somewhat narrow tube with some kind of wire wrapped around it. I, I kind of sketched what I think it looks like." Bobby opened his portfolio and pulled out a loose sheet. "Here, I'm thinking it may look like this." He handed the sketch to Mike.

"About how wide would you say this tubing is?" Mike asked looking from the sketch to his friend.

Bobby tilted his head and said, "As best as I could tell from the marks on the guy's neck, it's about an inch, maybe an inch and a quarter around. Sort of like that drawing, I guess." He closed his folder and held it against his stomach.

Mike was quiet a moment, then he said softly, "Yeah, Bobby, I've seen this kind of hose." Bobby noticed a slight change in his friend. His voice had dropped. He spoke slower. He didn't make eye contact.

Bobby said nothing, he just watched his friend. He waited. Finally, he bent to the right and looked up into Mike's face. He raised his eyebrows when Mike at last looked at him.

"Was the vic gay?" Mike asked quietly.

This was a surprise. "Uh, yeah, he was. Why do you ask?" Bobby replied just as softly.

Mike hesitated, and then said, "Ok. This kind of hose is used in a certain type of sex act enjoyed by gay men." Mike looked Bobby straight in the eye. Bobby looked straight back at him. Neither said anything. Nothing needed to be said. It was perfectly clear.

"Where would one find this kind of tubing?" Bobby asked.

The moment was over. "Well, it's a kind of hose used to brew beer at home. You can get it at any brewery supply place. They stock it." Mike looked at Bobby. Bobby waited, knowing more was coming. He was not disappointed. "Uh, there's a place on West fifty-seventh. Brew Haus."

"Thanks Mike."

"Yeah," he replied softly. Bobby turned and started for the lifts. Mike called out, "Hey, Bobby, I hear you have a pretty serious thing going with a professor woman?"

Bobby stopped dead. He couldn't believe it. People know about Gleason? In the garage? Jesus. He half turned and said, "Yeah, something like that." He held up a hand in a half wave and continued to the lift.

Mike's gay?

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Gleason finished her tea. Oh, she was tired. I've over done it, she told herself. I'll look around here a bit and then get a cab back to the hotel. She wanted to prepare for tomorrow.

She looked up and down the rows of bookcases. The store was cramped, but well organized. Every book was well used, but in good condition. Gleason wandered, perusing.

Lisa stepped around the corner of a tall stack and smiled. "The good stuff is upstairs. First editions, rare finds. You are welcome to take a look. Casey, my husband, is up there. He'll help you with the locked cases if you want to see anything up close. We have gloves if you need; some of the pieces require gloves." Lisa had a beautiful smile.

"Thank you, I will."

Lisa pointed to a narrow staircase set into the wall. You'd not see it if you weren't looking for it.

Gleason smiled and headed up.

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Bobby returned to the eleventh floor. Eames was munching small carrots. "So, find out anything?"

Oh, yeah, he said to himself as he dropped into his chair. "Yep. This type of hose is used in the brewing of home beer," he told her. "There's a place on west fifty-seventh that sells it. I want to go check out their records." He wasn't going to tell Eames the other use for the hose until they were in the car. He didn't want to talk about Mike in the office. He wouldn't do that.

"Bobby . . .," Eames started.

"God damn it! I am sick and fucking tired of –," Bobby was about to slam his fists on the desktop. But he didn't. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes. Son-of-a-bitch, he said to himself. I did it again. He looked up at Eames. He saw it. Fear. Fuck! she's afraid of me.

"Eames," he started. She swallowed whatever was in her mouth and stood up. She picked up her cup and walked away.

Shit! He shoved his portfolio across his desk and sat back in his chair. He continued leaning back, stretching out, staring at the ceiling, hands on his chest. Thinking of nothing.

Deakins glanced up and over at him, through the glass wall of his office. What is he doing? Bobby looked like he was relaxing. Well, at least he's not raging, Deakins said to himself and went back to his report.

This is stupid, Bobby thought. I am wasting time here. I want to go to the brew supply house and find out who purchased this particular hose. Deakins will let me go if I tell him about this lead. I bet he will.

Who am I kidding. I can't go. What if I lose it again? Besides, Eames is going nowhere with me. I'll be lucky if she comes back to her desk. He sat up and checked his watch. Three-forty-two. I'll hang out here for a while then head out.

Bobby wanted to get some things for when Gleason came home. Hell, he could go anywhere on his own time. Just not on the clock. He felt himself getting hot again. Oh, Christ, stop it, will you, he said to himself. Think of her. She's coming home.

He flipped open his notebook and began to make a list of things to do and buy this evening. He wanted to get another bottle of Silver Birch wine for her. He wanted to get some tomatoes; she loves tomatoes. And cheese – Eames had been talking about some kind of cheese her brother brought back from St. Louis, Provel or something. It sounded good. He'd look for that. Flowers. He wanted to have flowers when she came home. He would get some candles as well. He'd make dinner. Spaghetti, she liked his spaghetti. And a nice salad. No, he'd make sliced tomatoes with mozzarella – her favorite. Some Italian bread, too.

Dessert, what about dessert? He was never good about dessert. Cheesecake, he liked cheesecake. However, she would say it was too heavy after spaghetti. What would she like? Ice cream? Still too heavy. Fruit! Sliced peaches. Fresh sliced peaches with a light cream. If he could find them. He'd even get a tablecloth. Everything had to be perfect.

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Eames took her cup and walked to the crash room. It was empty. She sat on the bench between the two rows of locker cubes. She couldn't believe what had just happened. He had been fine. He was more than fine – happy. He'd gotten some new information and could see a plan. Then, she said his name and he went off. At least he didn't scream at her or throw anything. She had to admit it, she was afraid of him. Deakins needs to take his weapon. I don't trust him.

Eames wanted to go home. She felt like crap. The beginning of a headache was making its way up the back of her neck. She felt fat, hence the carrots. God, I hate carrots, she said to herself. Edward. I'm going to tell him to go to his place tonight. I need a few Edward-free days. Maybe an Edward-free week.

She really didn't want to go back to her desk. She looked at her watch. Three-forty-eight. Maybe Bobby will just up and leave. Fat chance of that, she thought. Well, I can't sit in here for the rest of the afternoon. I need to speak to Deakins about Bobby's weapon. She stood and headed for the boss's office.

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A huge panel truck lumbered through the gate at Big Apple Storage. It parked between the second and third buildings. The man and his son hopped out, raised the back panel on the truck and then unlocked and raised the door to the storage unit.

Together, they began to empty the unit and fill the truck. They filled the back edge of the truck and then the younger man hopped up and moved the boxes to the interior. The older man and younger man passed small talk between them.

Neither one noticed the two rotting bodies on the far side of the unit. They didn't hear the frenzied buzzing of the flies. The height of the buildings kept the faint smell from making it to their noses. Navicky and Pangborn continued to rot in the late afternoon sun. The flies and pair of birds continued to feast.

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Eames knocked on Deakins open door. "Do you have a minute?"

"Sure, have a seat," the boss said. "What's up?"

"I feel like a kid in school, tattling," Eames said uneasily.

"What'd he do?"

Eames thought a minute then answered, "He flared up at me again. Right there at the desk." It was hard for her to look at Deakins.

"What precipitated it?"

"He went down to the garage to find out about that piece of hose he's been talking about; the murder weapon used on the artist."

Deakins interrupted her with, "He went down to the garage?"

"That's not the point. He found out what it is and where to get it. He wanted to go check out the records of sale. He was ready to get up and go and I said, 'Bobby' because I thought he should check with you first and he blew." Eames felt sick.

"Why are you telling me this? You wouldn't say anything if there wasn't something else."

Eames struggled. "I, I just wonder if Bobby should continue to carry his piece." She spoke so softly.

Deakins had considered this. He didn't want to think it was this bad. Goren was not going outside. Deakins honestly didn't think Bobby would do anything foolish, no matter how sick he was. Deakins also knew he was a fool to believe that.

Neither said anything for a long minute. "You think this is a good idea?" he asked her.

"I would never suggest such a thing if I wasn't certain."

"Ok, Alex. Thanks."

Eames rose and went to get some tea.

Deakins sat. He didn't want to move. He certainly did not want to take a weapon from one of his detectives. He knew he had no choice. He got up and walked to his door. Goren was at his desk, busily writing. God, if you didn't know he was sick, you'd not know he was sick.

"Bobby," he called.