Chapter 9: Desideratum

Eames knew how tired she looked when she walked into work and retreated to her desk the next morning. She didn't care.

Detective Megan Wheeler came up to her as soon as she saw her. "Hey. Ross wanted me to give you this." She tossed her a key.

"What's this for?"

"It's the replica of a key your suspect Lorenzi tried to hide in his hospital room. It was taped to his thigh, but he insists he knows nothing about it. The really intersting thing," she added, "is that they found traces of blood on it. The DNA matches your John Doe."

"Oh really?" She examined the key thoughtfully. "Lorenzi's going down."

"Not for a while. His gunshot wound got infected, so he'll be in the hospital for a few days. Ross wants you to find out what that key goes to."

Eames' phone rang.

"This is Dr. Thompson. Xochilt's awake, and well enough to talk."

"I'll be over as soon as I can." She looked at Wheeler. "Sounds like I get two breaks in the case this morning. Tell Ross I'm going to interview Ortiz."

Wheeler nodded. "How's Goren doing?" Eames didn't answer soon enough for her. "You just got two breaks in your case, and you haven't cracked a smile, or even a joke. You're worried about him, aren't you?"

Eames didn't want to mention the talk she'd had with Goren last night, so she forced a smile. "Losing a parent is never easy, but he'll get through it." Taking the key and her notes, she left before Wheeler realized she hadn't really answered her question.

At the hospital, Eames wasn't surprised to find Arcelia still at her daughter's bedside. "Here she is! Xochi, this is Detective Eames," Arcelia introduced them.

Xochilt gave her a weak smile. "Nice to meet you. Again. I'm sorry I ran; I had no idea you were really a cop. I thought you were one of them."

"I understand." Eames looked at Arcelia. "Would you mind giving us some privacy?"

"She can stay. There's nothing I could tell you that she can't hear. It's time she found out what I've been doing, and why."

Eames nodded, and pulled up a chair next to the bed. She knew how comforting it could be to have a familiar face around when you wake up in a hospital. "Do you know who they are?"

"They were hired by the person who stole the stele. That's all I know about them. When I saw you in that hotel room, I knew Delano was dead."

"Delano? That's the man who rented that hotel room?"

"Yes. Delano Juarez. He came up from Mexico. No one was supposed to know he was here but me. I only met him once. The old man set up a meeting at a little bistro near the hotel, so we would be sure we recognized each other when I did the hand-off."

"Who's the old man?"

She shook her head vaguely. "'El Viejo'. They don't tell us his real name."

"The ALCM, you mean?"

Xochilt nodded.

"The ALCM?" Arcelia asked in concern. "Who are they?"

"Alianza Liberación Cultural de Mexica. We're an organization trying to preserve our unique Mexican heritage," Xochilt answered. "A stele was stolen from its rightful home in Palenque, sold on the black market, and shipped here. That's why El Viejo contacted me."

"The list of numbers he gave you, do you know what they mean?" Eames asked.

"No. My job was just to give Delano those numbers." She shook her head. "We tried to be so careful. El Viejo didn't tell anyone more than they had to know to do their part of the job, in case one of us was caught. Now we may never get it back. A priceless, irreplaceable piece of Mexico's history sold like some kind of...like mere artwork."

Eames looked at her sympathetically. "I'll find it. I promise."

After the hospital, Eames stopped by Goren's apartment. She took a deep breath before knocking. If he didn't answer - if he didn't want to see her - then she would just go away. She wasn't sure what she would say after last night. All she knew was that she had made a mistake, and she needed to correct it.

She was just about to give up and walk away when the door opened. Goren looked tired, but better than he had the previous morning. "You're back." The way he said it made it clear that he didn't expect to see her today. He thought that he did something wrong last night.

"Can I come in?"

He stepped aside and nodded for her to enter. "Would you like some...coffee or something?"

"No, I'm fine. I...How are you doing?"

He looked up at her, and his expression said You're kidding, right?

"On second thought, I would like some coffee," she said to alleviate the awkwardness.

He went to the kitchen. "How is the case coming?" he called.

"Good. Xochilt Ortiz is conscious. She doesn't know what the numbers mean; she was just supposed to give them to John Doe. He has a name now: Delano Juarez. The man behind this - the man who called Ortiz from Mexico City, Ortiz knew him as El Viejo - made sure no one got the whole picture."

"It's the numbers. Juarez knew how to decode them, but didn't know what they were. That's why Lorenzi killed him and tried to kill Ortiz."

"Which means if we want to find out what the numbers mean, we have to get it from Lorenzi." Eames didn't like that thought. She knew they would have to make a deal with Lorenzi to get the guy who hired him, but she really didn't want to give him any more leverage.

Goren emerged from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. "So Ortiz and Juarez were just dominoes in a chain set up by someone in Mexico City?" In spite of everything, the case still managed to engage his interest.

"The two main dominoes. Everyone else - the dock worker Ortiz bribed, the warehouse, the moving company, and whoever picked up the package in the unmarked truck - they were hired without being let in on what they were doing. Ortiz and Juarez were the ones El Viejo trusted. I'm almost sure a museum curator I questioned was involved in buying the stele, but he acted not just surprised but scared when I mentioned the murder. He might have hired Lorenzi, but I don't think he planned on anyone getting killed. Lorenzi's the real bad apple in this salad."

"He wouldn't have gone after Ortiz or attacked you if he already had the stele."

"Exactly. Which means it's still out there somewhere. Looks like El Viejo was a little too careful."

"Too careful..." Bobby repeated. "They hid something so well, not even they could find it."

"People do that."

He looked at her. She was distracted. Was she still talking about the stele?

She drank the last of her coffee and set down the mug, then turned to face him. "Don't leave, Bobby."

He had to look away from her gaze.

"I know it's hard to lose someone, and it makes you wonder what's really important, but you wouldn't be happy if you left your job now. You'd regret it. Your talents would be wasted. I want you to stay. At least think about it carefully before you decide."

"I wouldn't be happy if I stayed," he mumbled. "How could I get used to a new partner?"

"What new partner?" she asked, then realized what he must be thinking. "I'm not going anywhere. Why would you think that?"

He was surprised and confused by her response. "I don't want you to stay with me out of pity. After what I did last night...after the way I touched you..."

"You were drunk." She knew that wasn't true, but she offered it as a way for him to let himself off the hook.

"I wasn't drunk. And that's no excuse. I would never...I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about! I know what sexual harassment is like, and that's not what happened." She'd miscalculated when she thought keeping her feelings from him was the best thing to do. She was only exacerbating his emotional confusion by holding back. She had tried to let him know she was there for him, but he could tell she wasn't being completely open. Anyway, the damage had already been done. Her voice softened, and she took a step toward him. "I think you didn't hear everything I said to you last night."

"You know how much I respect you, don't you?"

"I know you respect me," she confirmed. "And I know how vulnerable you are right now."

He gave her a pained half-smile and tried to joke, "Is that why you didn't shoot me?"

"No," she said seriously. "That's why I stopped you."

He flinched. His half-smile dropped. His eyes flicked across her face, searching for any sign she was lying, or joking, or didn't know what she was implying. But all he saw was sincerity. This was what his subconscious had been nagging him about, the thing he'd refused to see, or even consider. He asked himself how he felt about this revelation, but the emotions churning inside him were hard to pin down. "How long?" he asked.

"Gradually. Any more questions?" She'd retreated back to humor, where she could put some comfortable distance between herself and her feelings.

He laughed. Any more questions? Hundreds.

They were quiet for over a minute. Then Alex's cellphone rang. She checked the ID. "It's CJ." She answered it. "Hello?"

"I solved it!" the enthusiastic voice on the phone shouted.

Eames angled her head away from the phone to save her hearing. Goren came closer so he could hear CJ's news.

"You figured out the numbers?"

"It's brilliant! From the dead guy's tattoo I had the idea to convert the numbers to the Mayan numerical system. Mayan numerals are written with dots representing one and dashes representing five, piling up until the number reaches a multiple of twenty, when the numerals go up a level and a shell shape is used for a zero. I noticed when I transfered the numbers that not a single one of them contained a zero! Just dots and dashes. So I thought, 'what other system uses just dots and dashes?' So I decided to see what happened when I interpreted the numbers as Morse Code!"

"And?"

"And it's an address!"

Alex smiled at Bobby. "Excitable, isn't she?" She brought the phone back to her ear. "What's the address?"

"It's 2058 South Brunswick Street, apartment 1F."

Alex jotted it down in her notepad. "Thanks CJ."

"My pleasure. Give my regards to Bobby. And tell him about the code; I think he'd get a kick out of it."

After closing the phone, Eames headed to the door. She stopped and looked back. "You coming?"

He looked at her, still dazed. He hadn't expected that question. That one little, casual question meant so much more than it should have, and he knew a lot rode on his answer. "Just...let me get my coat."

They arrived at the apartment complex at 2058 South Brunswick almost an hour later. It hadn't been an easy address to find. The car ride had been mostly silent, except for Goren speculating on directions while pouring over a street map.

Apartment 1F was located on the ground floor in the back of the building. They rang the doorbell, but there was no one there.

"We need to call for a warrant," Eames said.

A man came around the corner. He looked at them in confusion. "Are you the renters?"

"No. I'm Detective Alex Eames, this is my partner Detective Goren, NYPD." She showed him her badge. "You the landlord?"

"Yeah, Max Kuiper, nice to meet you. No one lives in this apartment. It was rented out a couple of weeks ago, but the occupant hasn't shown up yet. I've been keeping my eye on it."

"Did someone come by here late Saturday night a couple of weeks ago, the night of the third?"

He shook his head. "But a couple of my employees picked up the renter's belongings and dropped them off."

"Did you ever meet the renter?"

"No, we worked it out by phone. An elderly Hispanic guy. He said his named was Delano Juarez. He had my guys pick up his stuff at two a.m. and cover the license plate of their truck. He said his ex-wife was looking for him, that she was involved in drug trafficking and had threatened to kill him. Is that what this is about?"

"Do you know when he was supposed to move in?" Eames questioned.

"He said it might be a while, but that I shouldn't tell anyone he was coming."

"Well Delano Juarez is dead. He was murdered not long after you picked up the crate."

Goren spoke for the first time. "If you never met him in person, how did you send him his key?"

"He had me mail it to the hotel he was staying in."

Eames took out the key. She slipped it into the lock and turned it. "Do you mind if we take a look around?"

"Go ahead," Mr. Kuiper agreed. He seemed a little shaken by the murder. "I really need to get back to my desk. Tell me if you need anything."

The apartment was nearly bare of furnishings. The blinds on all the windows were pulled shut. Lying in the middle of the living room floor was a large crate with "U-419" painted on the side. Goren took out his pocket knife and went to work prying off the lid. Eames held her breath in anticipation. Was this really it, or just a misdirection?

After considerable effort, Goren slid the lid off. Then he lifted out a styrofoam slab that had been cut to fit the object inside. His eyes widened as the room's meager light revealed the stele. It was remarkably well-preserved, though some weathering around the edges of the carved glyphs revealed its antiquity. Next to the Mayan words was an image of a person kneeling in front of an empty throne. He wondered what the writing meant, and decided to ask CJ to translate it. "You found it," he said.

"We found it."

He was surprised to hear Alex's voice so close, and glanced over. She was kneeling next to him, also taking in the stele. But when he turned his head toward her, she looked back at him. Before either of them knew what was happening, she had kissed him. It had been quick, simple; she pressed her lips against his for a second, then backed away, stood, and pulled out her cellphone.

"Hey, Captain. We need the evidence team at 2058 South Brunswick Street, apartment 1F. Send a big truck. You might also want to get in touch with UNESCO and the Mexican Consulate." She paused a moment, then smiled at something Ross said. "Expect to be surprised. I'll call you again after they get here."

Goren had turned his eyes back to the stele, but he was no longer thinking about it. The second she kissed him his mind had gone blank, which was an unfamiliar, disorienting, disturbing and liberating sensation. Then as she left his side his brain had kicked into overdrive, running in multiple directions. "A truck... Juarez would have had one waiting, one he'd driven up from Mexico. He would try to minimize the risks of anything going wrong, anyone finding him...long-term parking, underground...within walking distance of his hotel, but not too close. Not so close anyone would think to look there. Lorenzi would have...known what to look for." He looked up at Eames, who was watching him. He stood and began walking toward her, slowly. "We need to...get crime reports on unclaimed vehicles. It might have been...towed. It might. have...been stolen." He shook his head. "But I doubt it. Lorenzi would assume...someone would be looking for Juarez. He would assume that...that other criminals think like he does...plan...like he would." As he drew closer to Eames, his breathing became erratic. "Juarez would have driven...non-stop from here to Mexico as soon as he had it. He would have supplies in his car, a full tank...everything he would need...to...get away. Probably a Texas license plate." He stopped a foot in front of her. "That's how Lorenzi found him."

"I'll get the vehicle crime guys on it as soon as we get back," Alex whispered breathily.

Bobby gently took her shoulders in his hands. He was still working on sorting out his feelings, but what he did know was that if he didn't kiss her now he would regret it. He lowered his head slowly, giving her opportunity to pull away if she wanted to. But she moved closer. He let his lips flutter against hers, then deepened the kiss, only a little, experimentally. Her arms slid around his back, and she pulled him closer, kissing him more firmly. His left hand moved from her shoulder to cup the back of her head; his fingers entwined in her hair.

She pulled away reluctantly. Bobby's eyes slowly blinked open like he was waking up from a dream.

"They'll be here soon; we have to be careful."

He nodded. He stepped back and smoothed her hair, searched her face for smeared make-up, checked her clothes to make sure there was no tell-tale wrinkle. A new layer of nervousness was added to the hurricane of emotions in his mind.

Eames glanced over him. "You look fine," she informed him.

He smiled. She kissed him again, carefully. "Come to think of it, they probably won't get here for at least half an hour," she said against his lips.

They plied each other with nervous little kisses - eyes open, frequent glances at the door - for another few minutes before Eames moved away and made a phone call to ask for vehicle crimes for the time between the theft of the stele and Delano Juarez's murder. Goren watched her. He was overwhelmed, he was puzzled, and he was numb. He was almost relieved when the CSU team arrived, and amused by their reactions at discovering the piece of evidence they were there to secure was an ancient Mayan stele.

They were quiet as Eames drove away from the apartment complex. She felt guilty, wondering if she had taken advantage of Goren's fragile emotional state. How would he feel about the kiss later, when he could think more clearly?

Goren wondered the same thing. He felt guilty about experiencing any happiness when he should have still been in mourning. And that's what Eames did to him: she made him happy, sometimes against his will. That was another reason he'd tried to drive her away. But wouldn't his mother want him to be happy?

Then it dawned on him: the way he delighted in Alex's presence, how much he missed her when she was gone, his protectiveness when a suspect threatened her, his constant efforts to impress her...all the times he'd deliberately resisted falling in love with her, it had already been too late. And she stayed, through everything, in spite of everything. She was a part of his life that wasn't going to ever slip away. His mother was gone, and that was something he would have to deal with, but he still wasn't alone. In fact, he had never been less alone in his life. With that thought, the emotions that had been swirling inside him fell into place, and a sense of peace came over him that he hadn't felt in years.

Eames must have seen something in his face, because she smiled at him - a sincere, uninhibited, relieved smile. Then her eyes returned to the road.

"Can we keep it out of the office?" Goren asked. He wasn't worried, just curious.

"I don't think anyone will even notice."

When Eames and Goren entered the squad room, Ross gave Goren a look. "I told you not to come back until you were ready," he complained.

Eames glanced at Goren. "Who, him? He's just my consultant."

Ross had to laugh. "If you say so." Then he became serious. "There's a message for you from the vehicular crimes department."

She walked to her desk and picked up the report. "White '89 Ford with a camper, tinted windows, forged Texas plates, broken front passenger-side window, nothing appears stolen, found at a parking garage three blocks from the apartment where Juarez was staying."

"Have CSU dust the car for prints...and compare whatever they find to Juarez and Lorenzi," Goren requested.

Ross raised his eyebrow, wondering but not surprised that Goren knew so much about the case.

"What he said." Eames tried not to smile.

Ross shook his head with a half-amused grin. "All this for a big rock?"

He went to his office to make the calls. Eames and Goren sat at their desks. "If we find both Lorenzi's and Juarez's prints in that car, Lorenzi's goose is cooked."

"Now all you need is...who hired him."

"I need some evidence connecting Blake to Lorenzi or the stele. My gut tells me he's behind it, but that's all I've got."

"Blake is the museum curator?" Goren guessed.

"Yeah. Solon Blake. CJ knows him; she took me to see him because his museum has a collection of Mayan artifacts. If I just had enough evidence to bring him in as a witness, he'd crack like that." She snapped her fingers.

"You're so sure?"

"You didn't see this guy. He got in way over his head."

"Why?" Goren pressed.

"My guess is he wanted to get the stele as a last-ditch effort to save his museum, hired Lorenzi when the stele disappeared, and hasn't been in the loop since."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds...plausable. But then the question is...how did he know Lorenzi? There had to be some connection, or...mutual friend. Find out if Lorenzi has any connection to Blake or the museum."

"With Lorenzi's rap sheet, that's going to take a while. Mind lending a hand?"

He smiled. It was good to see him smile again. "Your 'consultant'?" he said with mock umbrage.

They both laughed, then got to work.

Solon Blake was nervous as he was escorted him into the room off the interrogation room. Besides the officers who brought him, there were two men in the room. One was a middle-aged Jewish man with curly dark brown hair, the other was a large man with salt-and-pepper hair and a sullen face. Through the window he could see the blond detective CJ had introduced him to sitting across the table from Carlos Lorenzi and a well-dressed, bone-skinny brunette he assumed was Lorenzi's lawyer.

"Why did you bring me in here?" he asked the police.

"Mr. Blake, have you ever seen that man before?" Ross asked.

"No. I'm being told I'm a material witness in this murder investigation, but I have no idea why I'm here. I don't know this man, I didn't know the murdered man..."

"That's funny," the large detective said in an uncertain voice, "because this man, Carlos Lorenzi, was implicated in a drug trafficking case along with someone who used to work as a tour guide at your museum, Brandon Bailey."

"I didn't know that. The museum fired Brandon when we found out about the drug charges."

"And you haven't been in touch with Brandon since then?"

Blake shook his head. He'd decided on a policy of pleading ignorance, and he was going to stick with it.

"That's not what Brandon's parole officer tells us. We heard that you're penpals."

Blake looked increasingly pale. "Okay, so I wrote to him. I liked the kid; he showed promise before he got into drugs."

"Are you sure he never mentioned Lorenzi to you? Maybe you needed some help with something, and you asked Brandon to recommend someone."

"No. I swear I never met or heard of this Carlos Lorenzi."

"Well, just listen." He turned up a volume nob on the wall. "Maybe this will jog your memory."

Eames smiled smugly at the man who tried to kill her. "You know, Lorenzi, our ADA says she hopes you go to trial, because it would be the easiest conviction of her career."

"You can't prove I did anything," Lorenzi insisted.

"Really? We have the murder victim's blood on a key found in your possession, your fingerprints in his car, your face on film from when you snuck into the hospital to kill Xochilt Ortiz, and the testimony of the guy who hired you."

"No you don't."

"You know what he told us? That he didn't know anything about the killing. You did that on your own initiative."

In the other room, Blake sputtered, "I never said that!"

"I didn't hear her say you did," Ross said.

Lorenzi folded his arms. "You're lying," he stated firmly.

"Were you hoping for a bonus for going the extra mile to recover the stele?" Eames pressed.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"He already told us everything. We even have footage of you talking to him on the museum's security cameras."

"That's impossible; I was never at the museum." His eyes suddenly widened as he realized what he said. "The old guy sold me out!"

Blake was starting to panic. "What's he doing? What does he think he's doing?"

"Sh. Just listen," Goren suggested.

Lorenzi's lawyer whispered something to him. Then he leaned forward. "Okay, the guy hired me to find his stupid stele. He told me to get it back using whatever means necessary. He told me to grill that Juarez guy until he told us where it was, so I did. But when he still said he didn't know where it was, Mr. Blake told me to keep going until he talked. His dying was just an accident."

"He's lying!" Solon Blake nearly screamed. "I never told him to torture anyone. I didn't even know he found the guy who stole it!"

"Of course you didn't want anyone to get hurt," Goren said gently. "Everything you did was to preserve the artifact, to put it somewhere safe where everyone could appreciate it."

Blake was surprised to get sympathy from a cop. "Exactly! If I hadn't bought it, it would have ended up in a private collection somewhere, an expensive status symbol for someone who neither knows nor cares about its significance."

"You must have been so upset when it went missing right when it was almost yours."

"That stele would have saved my museum. Without it, all the treasures, all the priceless artifacts I've worked so many years to collect and protect will be sold, lost, scattered. How could I let that happen?"

"Of course you couldn't. That's why you borrowed money from the museum's operating costs to rescue the stele."

"Yes. The stele would have easily brought in enough money to cover the costs."

"So you hired Lorenzi to get it back," Goren continued for him. "You had no idea what he was capable of."

Blake hesitated. "Exactly."

"Except...you did have an idea, didn't you? That's why you hired him. You knew all you had to do was dangle enough money in front of him and he'd do whatever needed to be done. You didn't have to know...you didn't want to know what he would do to get your stele back."

"That's not true! I...I would never have told him to kill that man."

"How much did you offer him, Mr. Blake?"

"A million dollars, to be handed over as soon as the stele was safe in my museum."

"A million dollars?" Goren glanced at a police officer in the corner, who took out handcuffs and approached Blake.

Blake stared in horror at the handcuffs. "But I saved the stele! If I hadn't bought it, it would have disappeared into the back room of some spoiled fat cat's mansion."

"But 'some spoiled fat cat' didn't buy it, Mr. Blake; you did. And no matter how you try to justify it, a young man is dead because of you. He died to protect the heritage you were trying to take away."

"I didn't think anyone was going to die!"

"You offered a million dollars to a man like Lorenzi to get the stele by whatever means necessary. What did you expect would happen? Solon Blake, you're under arrest for antiquities smuggling, embezzlement, and abetting homicide."

As the officer recited the Miranda Rights and led Blake away, Goren looked back at the interrogation room, where another officer was taking Lorenzi out in cuffs. Eames looked over her shoulder and smiled at the mirrored window. Goren smiled back.

Eames was filling out paperwork when a newspaper fell onto her desk. She looked up into Goren's eyes.

"'Priceless Mayan Artifact Recovered'," he recited the headline. He leaned over the desk to read the sentence he'd highlighted. "'The Mexican government and UNESCO expressed gratitude to the NYPD, with special thanks to Detective Alex Eames of the Major Case Squad for her efforts in finding the stela.'"

"I couldn't have done it without you," she said with a smile.

He sat down at his desk. "Yes you could've."

"Even if I did, it wouldn't have been nearly as much fun."

He gazed at her. "That's exactly how I've always felt about having you for a partner."

She pushed the newspaper aside so she could get back to the paperwork. "We really do make a good team," she said.

"Yes we do."

She wrote for a minute, then picked up the newspaper again. "It doesn't mention Delano Juarez."

"That part will come out after Lorenzi's trial."

"And by then no one will care," she said sadly. "Ross was right: it's just an old rock. Hardly seems worth dying over."

Goren moved to her side of the desk and took out a photo of the stele. "CJ's been working on translating it," he said. "These glyphs here say u kab panamil: 'to touch the earth,' which means to be born. This one is huntan which means 'beloved one' and is used to refer to a child. CJ thinks the stele tells the story of the birth of an heir after the death of the monarch. This stele...the story on it...gives people like Juarez and Ortiz a piece of their history that was taken from them at the Spanish conquest. It's about pride. It connects them with a dignity that was denied to them for hundreds of years. When someone else tried to take it away from them, of course they did whatever they had to to protect it." He glanced at her; his gaze caressed her thoughtful face. "Alex..."

Their eyes met. He read her thoughts in her face: I would do whatever I have to to protect you.

"Some things are worth the risks," Goren concluded. They shared a secretive smile before turning their attention back to their paperwork.

The End