A/N: detective-sweetheart, thank you so much for your reviews! I appreciate it and I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I had to work harder on writing this chapter along with developing Ann, my original character. Let me know what you think! Again, any constructive criticism about grammar errors, etc, will be greatly appreciated.

Chapter two: Circles

On the board, beneath Ashkin, Tim wrote the name: Monroe. He then walked into the refreshments area, took a cup and poured his second coffee of the day. Bayliss had been unaware of Kay watching him at her desk. She strode up to the tall detective in one of his charcoal-gray suits.

Startled by her presence, Tim said, "Kay? What's up?"

"How's it going?"

Bayliss chuckled and after taking a sip of his coffee, he looked up at the red headed Kay Howard. "It shows that much?"

"What?"

"My frustration about this case. And—and Frank, it doesn't bother him. He's calm; he's cool. There's another victim. We have no suspects and he's calm. I don't know. Maybe he should be the primary instead of me."

"Listen, Tim…I understand how much the Adena Watson case meant to you but you can't let it stop you from moving on, from doing what you're good at."

Surprised at her compliment, he replied, "You're saying I'm a good cop?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying."

"A good cop." Bayliss gazed past Kay's shoulder, squinting, pondering what she said and pouting. "I wanna believe that, Kay. I really do." He walked away and now Kay was frustrated at her attempt to help him feel better.

She muttered, "It must be contagious around here."

As Tim marched toward his desk…

"Bayliss."

He turned to see Frank standing behind him.

"Why don't we interview Sheila's boyfriend again and Marissa?"

A flustered Tim screamed inwardly at the pressure of quickly solving a case with no leads. Sighing, he replied, "Alright. Let's head over to Robert's place first."

--

The detectives stood outside the porch of Robert Carpenter's house. Frank knocked on the door until it had opened. There stood Robert wearing a white turtleneck and gray trousers.

"Tell me you found the bastard."

Tim said regrettably, "We didn't find the killer yet."

"Then what do you want?"

"We, uh—we need to ask you more questions."

"More questions?"

"Please, Mr. Carpenter. It's important."

Baffled, Robert let them inside and after shutting the door; the detectives followed him in to the living room. Frank sat down in a chair while Tim seated himself beside Robert on the black leather sofa.

Mr. Carpenter asked, "What else do you need to know? I've already told you I'm an accountant and so was she. We met at the same firm. Sheila and I were dating for a year and we were thinking about getting married."

"What we wanna know is," said Tim, "before you found the envelope outside the front of your car, you never saw anyone hanging around, looking suspicious?"

Robert shrugged his shoulders. "No."

Frank leaned forward. "The necklace…are you sure you've never seen it before?"

"Yes," Robert answered, exhausted and annoyed with their questions. "I'm sure. Look, I—I can't talk about it anymore. Every night I have nightmares. I keep seeing her body and--," he shuddered and blinked from tears seeping into his eyes.

Frank peeked at Tim shutting his notepad, signaling to him that the interview was over. Bayliss said softly. "I'm sorry you had to find her like that."

Furious, Robert shouted, "I want you to find the sick bastard who killed her!"

"When we find out more, we'll let you know."

The detectives left behind a distraught Robert Carpenter and as they strolled toward the car, Bayliss said, "Frank, if you're thinking about questioning Marissa again, it's a waste of time."

"Really?"

"She's only gonna tell us the same thing Robert said…she doesn't know anything." He sat in the car and shut the door while Frank settled himself in the driver's seat. I'm not going back into a dead end, alright? What we should do is find out where those necklaces were purchased. Hopefully it'll lead us to something."

Frank switched on the ignition. He then sank his head back against the seat, staring ahead as if thinking and puckered his lips. "Do you have a specific jewelry store in mind?"

"There's one on Fountain Street, not far from where Samantha lived. Kellie's jewelry shop; sound familiar?"

"Yes, it does, because it's not far from where I live."

"That's right. You live on Fountain Street, too. Who knows, as we get to know each other more, maybe we can--,"

Frank peeked at Tim and curious about what he didn't finish. "We can what? Oh, I know. I can visit your house and you'll visit mine. Yeah…maybe one day. You would love my wife's cooking."

Tim smiled. "I'm sure I would."

--

Tim and Frank sauntered inside Kellie's Jewelry Shop. They looked around. It had a quaint ambiance, bringing them back to the colonial days of Baltimore. A middle-aged woman stood behind the counter where numerous pieces of jewelry had been displayed beneath glass.

She smiled amicably. "Can I help you?"

Tim asked, "Are you Kellie?"

"Yes, I am."

"I'm Detective Bayliss and this is Detective Pembleton. We need to ask a few questions about your jewelry. Do you sell gold necklaces with names on them?"

"Yes, I do," said the short and stout woman. Her gray hair streamed down beside black, like the keys on a piano.

"Can you show us please?"

She unlocked the glass door. Sliding it open, she took out a long black velvet display carton. On top lay necklaces, some gold, some silver with names.

Tim said to Frank, "It looks exactly like the necklaces in those envelopes."

Puzzled, Kellie stared at the detectives. "What's this about?"

Frank told her, "We're investigating a case and--,"

The woman gasped. "You mean those two women who were found murdered?"

"Yes, that's the one."

"I knew one of them."

Frank's eyes widened. "You did?"

Kellie nodded, evidently shaken. "Samantha Ashkin.

"Did she come in here frequently with anyone?"

"Yes, with a woman."

Tim queried, "Does this woman have auburn hair? Possibly wearing a red sweater coat when you saw her?"

"Yeah, that's the woman. I remember hearing Samantha calling her Marissa."

"When they were together, did they buy anything?"

"No, just looking. But a few days before Samantha was murdered, she came in alone and bought a necklace with her name on it. She seemed really excited buying it."

Tim frowned. "Samantha bought the necklace?"

"Yes."

As the car veered away from the shop, a baffled Tim replayed one particular question in his mind…

"Samantha bought the necklace?"

And Kellie answered…

"Yes."

Her answer also replayed itself like a needle skipping over an old record…

"Yes. Yes."

Sitting in the passenger seat again, Tim shook his head. "It doesn't make sense. Why would Samantha buy the necklace and then Marissa finds it in the envelope?"

"And," Frank added, "Why didn't Marissa tell us about the jewelry shop? Why did Samantha and Sheila buy necklaces from different stores, and then a few days later the necklaces are found by two people they were close to?"

"What are you saying? That Marissa and Robert are involved in these murders? What would be their motive?"

"What I'm saying is I believe they know more that what they told us. Let's interview them again. I don't care how many times we gotta do it."

"Okay," Bayliss answered and sighed. "Okay."

Marissa slammed the front door while Tim and Frank stood inside the small foyer of her apartment.

"Make yourselves comfortable," she said, motioning her hand toward the sofa. "Though I don't know why I bothered letting you in."

They sat down on the burgundy sofa but Marissa chose to sit at a distance from them.

She said, "Why are you questioning me again?"

Tim began, "Marissa, why didn't you tell us about Kellie's jewelry shop?"

"What?"

"We just came from there. Kellie, she saw you and Samantha a few times looking at jewelry."

Marissa slid shaky hands down to her knees hidden beneath navy blue jeans. She then rolled up the sleeves of her powder blue cardigan.

"Are you all right?"

"I—uh—I'm still upset about Sam. And…I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the store. I didn't think it was important."

"Anything you tell us is helpful."

"Marissa," Frank asked. "When you were in the shop with Samantha, did she talk about buying a necklace?"

"No. We were just looking that's all."

"She had no interest in any of the necklaces."

Frustrated, Marissa raised her voice. "No."

"And yet," Tim interrupted, "Samantha went back to the shop and bought a necklace she had no interest in when you were with her."

"I don't know why she did that? I've never seen her wear it."

"Do you know Robert Carpenter?"

"Robert—I don't know any Robert Carpenter.

"He was also given an envelope with a note, with a necklace and he found his girlfriend's body."

"You're talking about the other woman…Sheila Monroe?"

Bayliss nodded.

Look, I've had enough of this. You're treating me like I'm a suspect? Why? I can't believe you think--," Shocked and offended, Marissa shook her head. "I'm very busy so please leave."

"Marissa," Tim said softly. "You're not a suspect. We have to ask these questions, especially when you're not telling us certain things we need to know; anything that can help us find the killer."

Miss Clearwater leaned closer to them. Her eyes glared. "You think I'm stupid? You were treating me like a suspect! You have no other suspects and so you think I killed my best friend and Sheila, a woman I didn't know. Another thing, when Samantha and Sheila were killed, I was working at the diner."

Tim looked down at the closed notepad in his hand. "We know."

Marissa pressed trembling fingers against her lips and on the verge of falling apart. She took her hand away and said, "I'm terrified. In a few months I'll be twenty-nine. If the killer isn't caught soon, I know I'll be a victim…just like Sam and Sheila. Please, stop questioning me and find whoever is doing this!"

--

On their way back to the precinct, this time Bayliss sat in the driver's seat. Waiting at a red light, his fist pummeled against the steering wheel. "We have no suspects. The only thing we know is the victims bought the necklaces and not the killer. Marissa and Robert…I told you, Frank, a waste of time. We're just going in circles."

Red light switched to green. Tim grasped the wheel, making a sharp turn around the corner. "Circles," he shouted.

--

The three o'clock bell chimed through the halls and inside classrooms. Ann Sheldon watched her students as they sprang from their seats. Before they left, she stood at her desk and quickly said, "Don't forget to bring in your poems tomorrow."

While Ann stuffed some folders and books inside her briefcase, she looked up to see most of her students had gone, except for one African-American girl walking timidly up to the desk. Ann tilted her head and smiled. "Mandy? What's wrong?"

"Miss Sheldon," Mandy spoke, barely audible. "Do I have to read my poem in front of everyone?"

"Yes, you do. I know you don't like reading your work out loud but I also know you can do it. Mandy, you're very gifted."

"I am?" she said insecurely.

"Yes, you are. Have you forgotten your poems I put up on that board in the hall?"

Mandy smiled shyly. "No."

"You'll be fine," Ann assured her.

Mandy smiled again at her favorite teacher whose straight dark hair flowed from beneath a white headband, down against her cinnamon skin and onto Ann's shoulders.

Miss Sheldon said, "See you tomorrow." Hesitating from closing her briefcase, she watched Mandy walking toward the open door. Shyness, insecurity, fear…they weren't strangers to Ann. She had to deal with many other students like Mandy and like someone else very close to her…

"I can't, Ann. I don't wanna talk about it anymore!"

"Anita, you're giving up? Why?"

"I told you why."

"I know but you can do this. You're not stupid."

"Anita," Ann mumbled, smiling. When Mandy left the room, Miss Sheldon shut the briefcase. She then swung a black knee-length coat around her white turtleneck sweater. After slipping it on, she also swung the strapped briefcase onto her shoulder. The petite Ann Sheldon headed out and stopped short at seeing Mr. Hutchison, a social studies teacher. He stood nearby while Ann switched off the lights and locked the door.

"Everything okay?" He asked in a gruff voice.

She turned, giving Wayne Hutchison a half-hearted smile. It had nothing to do with not liking him. Ann had never been comfortable with anyone. Her job and making sure her students got the best education…that's all that mattered to Ann.

"Yes," was all she said, walking alongside him.

"Are you sure? I heard one of your students threw a chair at you," said Wayne as they descended the stairs.

"Trenton Anthony Johnson," Ann stated, keeping the smile on her lips touched lightly with pink gloss. "Taj. He's a sweet kid but what's been going on at his house…I know that's why he's been very angry and his grades aren't good. I'm not making excuses for what he did. I thought if I helped him he'd get better; it seemed like he was but then I found myself doing the same thing over and over. He refused to listen or do anything."

They halted a short distance from the exit. Ann continued. "He's been transferred out of my class and placed in Special Ed for now."

"You've done all you could for him, Ann."

Miss Sheldon nodded, at the same time; disappointed she was unable to do more. "See you tomorrow," she said to him in a stoic tone and marched out of the school.

Ann hadn't bothered to button her coat. She shivered from the late winter chill, but that wouldn't be for long since Ann's car was parked around the corner. When reaching her red Chevy Malibu, she stopped suddenly and stared at an envelope sticking out from the windshield wiper. Cautiously, she grasped the crinkled envelope, as if someone had been in a hurry to put it there. Ann plopped inside her car and placed the envelope and briefcase onto the passenger seat. Before driving off, she peeked at it again, wondering what it was inside it; who put it there? Lately she had been concerned about the gruesome murders; both women were twenty-nine…her age. What woman wouldn't be concerned or worried…afraid. And yet Ann had the habit of berating herself from worrying, as if it had been a weakness to worry, to be afraid.

Exhausted, she had been in a hurry to get home and decided on checking it then. The Chevy sped off down the street and approaching the intersection, there had been no time for Ann to avoid the inevitable. Another car breezed past a red light. She stomped her foot on the brakes, losing control, swerving and then both cars collided.

--

"Any leads yet?" Lewis asked as he stopped near Frank's desk. Pembleton sat in silence, cradling his bald head in his hands.

Tim leaned against the desk, squeezing his eyes with his fingers. He then looked up at Meldrick whose question caught the attention of the other detectives, and Gee strolling out of his office to know what was going on. "No, Lewis," said a frustrated Bayliss. "We don't have any leads. So far we've got nothing."

Frank swung himself around in the chair and faced the others. "Well, I won't say we don't have nothing. At first we suspected the killer bought the necklaces but it was the victims."

Felton scrunched his face. "The victims bought the necklaces?"

"Yeah," Tim remarked. "And what's strange about this whole thing is these women didn't wear the necklaces. Why buy them?"

Tim heard his phone ring. His colleagues stared, waiting for him to answer it. Bayliss hastened toward the phone and after answering it, they watched as he hurried back. Tim glanced at an eager Gee wanting to know about the call. He then looked at everyone else, sighing. "We've got another body."

--

Pratt Street. Tim and Frank found themselves in another alley between two stores. And again, the bludgeoned body had been partially hidden between garbage bags. Tim stared in frustration and sadness at the victim whom this time was African-American.

Ann had had enough of the chaotic ER, wanting to go home, wanting to be with Anita. She sat on the edge of the hospital bed and when the doctor returned, she refused to give him a chance to say anything else.

"Look, I'm fine. I just have a bruise on my head."

"Miss Sheldon, it's best if more tests are done to make sure you're okay before leaving here."

At that moment, both looked up at Tim and Frank standing near the curtain.

"Who are you?" said the doctor.

Tim stared awkwardly at Ann, as if he was looking at a ghost. Noting his staring made her uneasy; his eyes fleeted away from her and answered the doctor. "I'm Detective Bayliss and this is Detective Pembleton. We need to speak with Miss Sheldon."

"I hope it won't be long. She needs to have some tests done."

They waited until he left but as Tim opened his mouth, he was quickly interrupted.

"Detectives? What do you want with me?"

Tim drew in a deep breath. She had to know, though it pained him to say it, she had to know. "Do you have a twin sister, Anita?"

"Yes." Alarmed, she added, "Is she alright?"

"Uh—Miss Sheldon," Tim began as gentle as he could. "Anita was murdered."

TBC