Chapter 4

The SUV engine fell quiet as Don switched off the ignition, but he sat for a moment, unmoving, gazing at the yellow-lit windows ringing the house before him. It looked so peaceful and welcoming - and familiar. He had always found comfort in the familiar. That is, until familiar images had started showing up at crime scenes. He winced. What would he do if a picture of the house showed up at one? He clutched at the key still in the ignition at the thought, just stopped himself from turning over the engine and driving away. That wouldn't solve anything - he had learned that lesson the hard way. What was done was done. Besides, he had promised his dad he'd be here. He glanced at his watch - an hour ago, actually. How the heck had it gotten so late?

He had stopped by Joan Gretski's work area after his chat with Merrick, relieved to find her there. At the sight of him, she'd paused in barking orders to her team and smiled.

"Eppes!" she'd bellowed in her un-dainty voice, tugging the evidence bag unceremoniously from his hand. "You know, after seeing this picture, I'm thinking you should grow your hair out again. I mean, how cute is that?"

Don had folded his arms over his chest. "You know, Gretski, I'm getting more than my share of that from my team - you might cut me a little slack."

Joan's smile broadened to a grin, though she tried for poorly-feigned shock. "A bad-ass like you asking for slack? Say it ain't so."

Don neatly yanked the evidence bag back. "Yeah, well, it's tough to maintain your bad-ass image with hair like this." He gestured to the picture. "What can you tell me?"

Joan's face sobered and she jerked her head toward a conference room, indicating that he should follow, scooping up a small stack of files and hollering last minute instructions to her team.

Don smiled secretly. He didn't think Joan even had a "low" volume. They had worked together a time or two, had been teamed up on a training drill once and had had to participate on the same discussion panel on the pros and cons of extreme force in law enforcement. She was, he guessed, a few years his senior, hardened by time on the job, but with a wide open laugh and a vocabulary like a drunken sailor, hard drinking and hard fighting as any male agent he knew. He had liked her at once, and his opinion had never wavered.

She stepped back to let him proceed her into the conference room and pulled the door closed behind them.

"I can tell you what we've got, but it's not much. We have no motive yet, just modus - of course, an ATF agent can pick up a lot of enemies over the years. But if there is a tie in with the Meyers case, well, then that doesn't help us." She dropped the files on the table and studied his face keenly. "How bout you? You picked up any enemies over the years?"

Don shrugged. "Yeah, sure - how to narrow it down is the problem."

"Yeah." She nodded in understanding, leaning against the long table and crossing her arms.

Don dropped the evidence bag onto the files between them. "Where was it?"

"Taped to the television screen, right next to the body. Somebody was making sure we didn't miss it. Yours?"

"Propped against a coffee cup on the kitchen table - also right next to the body. Maybe not quite so pointed."

"Maybe somebody feels like they didn't get enough of a reaction with the first one."

"Yeah, well, if they could see inside my head, they'd know how wrong they are."

"Good." At his surprised look she continued vigorously, "I mean that you're taking it seriously. Don't be macho about this Eppes - there's something creepy about it."

"Tell me about it. Anything besides the MO tying the murders together?"

Wordlessly, she picked up the evidence bag and dangled the page in front of his face. He stared at it: the neatly cut edges, the black and white photo, the listed college major and activities, the quote about his future. He couldn't even remember what he'd selected. He dropped his eyes. "Yeah," he growled.

"So, your choice - I can turn the Alderman case over to you, or you can give me the Meyers case and I'll keep you in the loop about everything that we find."

"I'll take them both."

She grinned. "How did I know you were going to say that?"

Don returned the grin. "You calling me a control freak?"

She butted his shoulder with one of her own. "Never knew a decent team leader who wasn't. Oh, and Eppes?"

He looked up from collecting the files.

"If you need anything? You know where I work." She winked.

He'd given her a thumb's up and left.

He smiled at the memory, sliding the keys out of the ignition.

"Donnie!" He glanced up at the front porch to see his father standing there, hands on his hips. It reminded him of those days when he had come home late, pushing his curfew limit. Same stance, same expression. "Are you coming in, or are you going to spend the night in the car? The lamb chops will dry out!"

He elbowed the car door open. "Yeah - sorry." A phone message had been waiting for him when he got back to his desk after talking to Joan - from his father, inviting him to dinner tonight. Lamb chops! the familiar voice had offered in that overly-jocular tone that always meant he was a little worried, or asking if he should be, bought too many!

Yeah, right. The real message being, I know something's not okay, but I don't know what to do for you. Except feed you. So come to dinner. He had been yearning for a quick beer and as long a sleep as developments would allow, but he had hit redial and accepted anyway. Maybe it would relax him. Maybe, at least, it would relax his dad.

"You guys waited for me?"

"Well, I had to fight Charlie off the lamb chops, but I thought it would be nice if we all ate together." Light spilled onto the porch as he palmed the door inward. Don sighed inwardly at the bright contrast to the dusky gloom. Days are getting shorter already.

"Do you know how long I've been sitting here smelling garlic and lamb?" Charlie defended himself from the living room. "It's inhuman. Can't you try to be late when we're having franks and beans?"

Don smiled slightly, shaking free of his jacket. "Suck it up, tough guy. Time and crime wait for no man."

"Yeah, well, next time it'll be lamb chops that wait for no man," Charlie retorted.

Alan paused with his hand on the door to the kitchen. "Big case?"

Don massaged a stiffness in his neck, wincing. "I don't know about big, yet. Screwy."

"Yeah?" Charlie put his books aside and dragged himself from the depths of the couch. "How so?"

"Oh, just - " Don gestured vaguely. "Two murders that look connected, but might not be connected."

"Connected. How?"

"Um - " Don watched his father enter through the swinging kitchen door with a platter of lamb chops. "MO, for one thing. Those look great, Dad. Anything I can help with?"

"You can pour the wine. Charlie's already opened the bottle. Charlie, can you grab the vegetable?"

"Sure." Charlie pushed through the door and returned carrying a large bowl. "So, what's the MO?"

"Bludgeoned to death." Don evened off the glasses and indicated the back of his head. "About - "

Alan cleared his throat. "As much as I'd love to hear about your day," he said pointedly, "do you think we can hold off on any conversations about bludgeoning until after we've eaten?"

Don found a spot for the wine bottle on the table and shrugged at Charlie. "Yeah. Sure."

They seated themselves and dug in. The lamb chops were the best thing Don had tasted in…well, he couldn't really remember how long. But they were certainly a big improvement on the half-bagel for breakfast, and as for lunch…wait a minute, had he had lunch? Guess that must have slipped by.

'These are fantastic, Dad," he remarked, spearing another. Tiny little things, though.

"Glad you like them. It's a Moroccan recipe - let them marinate in all kinds of things for hours."

"Yeah - they're great," agreed Charlie, forking the last one with a pointed look at Don.

Don grinned. His ability to eat quickly was helpful on the job, but it had been honed at home in their lifelong battle over second helpings. He remembered their mother rolling her eyes as they argued over the last serving of…well, just about anything.

"I'm a growing boy!" Charlie had always protested, offering wide eyes.

"Growing. You wish," Don would inevitably retort. "At the rate you grow you shouldn't have to eat anything. Now me, on the other hand…" Don would flex a muscle proudly.

Charlie always eyed the bicep with practiced disdain. "Deep thinking takes a lot of fuel," he would explain. "Not that you'd know anything about that!"

"All right! I made plenty of food for everybody! Honestly, I don't know where you boys put it!" Mom would always jump in at the first sign of forks poised to be used as tiny catapults. "But the first boy to throw any kind of food-like substance leaves the table without seconds or dessert."

"Dessert?"

Don's head jerked up, for one startled moment half-expecting to see his mother there. Instead he saw his father, watching him narrowly. "Donnie? Little too much wine?"

"One glass - " he pushed the empty wineglass away anyway. "Just tired, I guess. I had an early call. Why don't I clear?" He jumped to his feet. Activity was always a good idea when you were drifting.

"All right. I'll get the apple pie."

"Sounds good. Solomon's Bakery?"

"Mrs. Nussbaum brought it by. Said she made two and she thought you boys might enjoy one."

Charlie snickered and Don raised his brows at him questioningly.

"Mrs. Nussbaum has the hots for Dad," he explained with a smirk.

Alan gave Charlie a frosty glare. "Mrs. Nussbaum is not, as you so elegantly put it, "HOT" for me. She's just being a good neighbor."

Charlie shook his head, collecting the serving bowls. "She wants you, Dad. She wants you bad."

Don grinned. "Yeah? Really?"

"Your brother has an active imagination. Who wants ice cream with their pie?"

"It's no secret," Charlie confided. "Ask anybody. The only one who doesn't seem to know it is Dad."

"Mrs. Nussbaum, huh?" Don finished stacking plates. "Wow, Dad - can't say I'm surprised - you'd be considered quite a catch in some circles."

Alan switched his glare to Don. "I'd be considered a catch in any circle, hot shot, but that doesn't mean that Mrs. Nussbaum is interested in me. Now let's stop taking our poor neighbor's name in vain and have dessert. The coffee should be ready too."

Charlie leaned across the table to Don and lowered his voice. "It's just that kind of bashful, modest attitude that gets to her, I think."

Don laughed, and Alan shot him a quelling glare. Don tried to dampen his grin, without any noticeable success. "Sorry, Dad. I mean, you're playing it just right - hard-to-get is definitely the way to go."

"Will you two clowns stop it?" Alan held the swinging door so they could proceed him into the kitchen with the dishes. "Or I won't be able to look the poor woman in the face next time I see her."

"That'll add to the whole bashful mystique," Charlie assured him.

Alan collected a small stack of plates and a pie. "I'm putting dessert on the table," he announced. "And if you stop right now, you might get some." He retreated to the dining room with vast dignity.

Don chuckled as the door swung closed behind him. "So. For real?"

"Cross my heart. Can't believe he can't see it." He watched Don scrape lamb bones into the trash. "So. These victims were bludgeoned?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah." Don let the garbage can lid fall shut and stacked the plates in the sink. "Things they owned used as a weapon. One man, one woman."

"Anything I can do?"

"I don't know." Don turned on the faucet. "Only two murders - that give you enough to do something?"

Charlie hesitated, considering. "Probably not," he admitted. "Any other similarities?"

"Um - "

The door swung open and Alan stuck his head in. "Are you boys going to let me eat this whole pie?"

Don looked from Alan to Charlie, then back to Alan. "Just - some pieces of evidence that could be linked. Let's eat dessert."

Charlie followed his gaze. "Yeah, okay. Um - let me know if there's another one? That might give me enough to formulate a theory."

Don made a face, shutting off the faucet. "I'm kinda hoping there won't be a third."

"I know - I didn't mean…"

"Yeah. I know," Don followed him back into the dining room. "Pie smells good - sure you don't want to cultivate Mrs. Nussbaum, Dad?"

Alan didn't look up from moving slices onto plates. "You know, I could still eat yours."

Charlie watched him add ice cream. "Not if you're going to keep your figure - and I'm sure that's part of the attraction."

Alan raised the ice cream scoop threateningly in his direction and Charlie held up his hands to protect himself, laughing.

Don shifted a plate until it was in front of Charlie's chair and reached for another one for himself, just as his phone sounded. He fumbled for it with one hand, snagging a fork with the other. "Eppes."

Charlie and Alan fell silent, watching as Don scrubbed the heel of his hand slowly over his forehead. "Yeah. Okay. Uh - " he glanced at his watch. " - twenty minutes."

He replaced the phone and glanced up, his expression bleak. "Looks like we've got a third one."

TBC