A Final Session

Chapter Four

It had been a day shy of a week since the Robson homicide and nothing had popped up. In that time the weather had gotten hotter, if that was possible, the case hadn't progressed hardly at all and Jim was almost buckling under the pressure of tomorrows looming appointment with Dr Bergen.

"Right" Barked Marty to no one and everyone. "Lets take this from the top again! Karen, you start us off this time."

"We got one Robert Robson, white male, late thirties. Married, no children. Works in advertising over at Marshall, Kent and Warner - swish office overlooking Central Park. Married to wife Elise for 18 years. They met at college. A match made in heaven by all accounts. The wife admits that he did have issues with gambling starting four or five years back but maintains that it's been under control for a long while now. Both their finances and statements from his regular GA councilor support that. Their bank balance is healthy, no debts popping up, not even a credit card. The wife says that the gambling put a strain on their marriage but since the husband recognized the problem and was able to talk about it to his councilor and a couples therapist they went to for a year or so they managed to get back on track. There's no evidence of infidelities on either part and apart from the hiccup of him being murdered they were on track for a happy ever after." She finished with a small sigh as she fanned herself with her note pad.

"ME report?" Marty questioned.

Having his screen reader go over and over the report countless times trying in vain to spot a clue had etched the report on Jims mind and he easily reiterated its salient points to the three other detectives.

"ME found traces of chloroform in the victims lungs but not a huge amount. Probably just enough to knock him out and get him situated on the table. The ropes had made deep cuts into his ankles and wrists suggesting he was able to struggle for quite some time. He had bruising to the side of his face probably sustained from multiple back handed blows, ME suggests back handed because of markings present which appear to have been caused by the face of a large ring. The blows were hard enough to fracture his cheekbone. The actual cause of death was from blood loss from cuts around each wrist and each ankle. There were various small cuts followed by single deep ones to each wrist. Drying of the blood around the smaller wounds suggests they were made approximately four or five hours before the final ones. Wife found the body at around 9 am, ME states he had been dead for around two hours by then."

Jim continued, "The only thing I get from that was that the perp started in on the vic at around 1am, took his time and delivered the finishing blows as it were only when he was good and ready at around 7am"

Marty nodded, more to himself than anyone in particular.

"Anything come up yet from archive Tom?" Marty asked

"Well a second ago I would have said no but something just landed in my email that might get this show on the road." He said, smiling broadly and grabbing up his phone.


Two hours after the run through Tom and Karen were at their desks while Marty perched on the corner of Jims, trying to shift so he didn't have his back all the way to him. He knew Jim couldn't see him but he still felt as though he was being rude sitting like that. Shuffling round a little he studied the retired detective sitting in his chair in front of them.

"So how come this didn't pop up when we ran it through the computer archives? Karen was asking.

"The 7-7 had a massive IT breakdown two years ago and the mother load of files was lost." Explained Tom.

"That's right," agreed Jack Riordan, Detective 2nd grade, retired. He was grinning, more than happy to get pulled back into a squad after a years' retirement spent, so far, designing a new yard layout with his wife.

"How d'you hear about this?" Asked Marty.

"Ah retired cops. What are we gonna do apart from sit around and gossip to other retired cops and well we still have our sources in house ya know!" he laughed, swigging his coffee. "A buddy of mines son in law works in uniform outta this precinct and he told my buddy a bit about this case that had come in, he knows he still likes to hear about life on the street. Anyways it rang a bell, the breakfast bit. It rang a bell cause we had been going over our top five weirdest cases down at the bar only the week before and this was my number two. How's that for timing huh!" He demanded looking eagerly at his audience.

"So what was your case and how was it similar?" Marty questioned.

"Just under 2 years ago. Estelle and Michael Goldberg. Nice couple by all accounts. Lived over on the Lower East Side. Owned a jewellery store. Lived in the apartment above it in fact. They go to bed one night happy as anything. She wakes up in the morning to find him tied to a chair stone dead. Weird thing was the fresh pot of coffee on her nightstand next to a pile of computer print outs for dating agencies. A bit insensitive, but there you are. This perp kills her husband but brews her a fresh pot and sets her back on track for finding number two!"

"Are there any handwritten or typed up notes left anywhere or were they all saved on the systems network?" Jim enquired.

"I'm an old dog son, and I still liked to make proper notes so yeah, all the info we gathered will be in the paper archives at 1PP"

Whilst giving this information to Jim, Riordan had raised his voice uncomfortably, pronouncing everything real clear as if Jim were stupid. Karen closed her eyes and shook her head waiting for Jim to nip it in the bud like he had done that time with that hideous Semple guy. It didn't come though. Jim just took a deep breath and gave Riordan a small smile.

"Great," Marty asserted, "we'll get a hold of those and pick them apart. Thanks Jack, you may just have saved our butts on this one."

"No problem Detective Russo, Detectives" rising he nodded to Karen and Tom. Riordan, once again raising his voice too much turned to Jim and grabbed his arm to give it a little shake "Good luck Son." He bellowed as Jim jumped at the intrusion of an unexpected hand suddenly grabbing at him.

Finally the icing on the cake came as Marty escorted Riordan through the swing gate and towards the stairs. Karen and Tom winced inwardly as he loudly asserted how great it must be for them to have a guy always in house to pick up the calls whilst they were out in the field. "I wouldn't let him loose with the filing though if I were you." He laughed slapping Marty on the shoulder "See ya."

"Hey" Marty called to Riordan beckoning him back. Karen and Tom watched as Marty bent to Riordans ear and whispered something tersely. Riordan glanced sheepishly back at Jim and said something back to Marty, something too low for Karen and Tom to hear. Marty shook his hand uttering a "don't sweat it" and left Riordan to make his way down the stairs.

With that Jack Riordan, detective 2nd grade, retired, was gone, leaving Karen and Tom exchanging a look and Jim with a mild headache.


Ten minutes later in the locker room Karen and Tom looked around furtively before Tom pushed the door shut with his foot. Karen picked the coffee pot up and absently swilled it round while Tom paced in front of her.

"I'm telling you something is not right. My whole universe is turning upside down!" Tom complained.

"I know what you mean," Karen agreed. "Just run me through it again Tom."

"I've already run through this twice! I caught Marty ragging on two uniforms about moving stuff around. He was fighting Jims corner and man he was seriously pissed at them." Tom supplied.

Karen's brows knitted as she tried to get her head around what Tom had told her. Taking a breath she picked up where Tom had stopped. "And then at the crime scene last week, Marty was weird. Jim does sometimes try to get on side with Marty so him asking Marty where he wanted us wasn't too unusual but Marty not giving him static back? That's just not normal. And then what was that just now? Am I imagining it or did it look like he just set Riordan straight about Jim back there?"

"Damn. That's what I thought! It's wrong Karen, it's just wrong, like when they replaced Mulder with that Terminator guy. Wrong." Tom finished throwing his hands up in confusion.

"You do know that's just TV right, don't you Tom?" Karen asked, a concerned look on her face.

"I know, I know." His voice raising an octave.

"So we're agreed? Jim is still being regular Jim so it's Marty whose been replaced with a 'Stepford Cop' right?" Karen concluded as Tom nodded reluctantly. "Good. He's your partner that means you find out what's up!"

With that Karen smiled, poured herself and Jim a cup of coffee and waited while Tom levered open the door.


Marty had requested the archived Goldberg files be couriered over first thing and as there wasn't much else to go on things were wrapping up for the day. Jim pushed back from his chair, rotated his shoulders hoping to relieve them of either the tension that they housed or the clammy dark gray shirt that clung to him in the late afternoon heat. It really was oppressive today; even some of the strands of his usually spiky blonde hair were flat and glued to his forehead. He swiped at them with his fingers making them even more wayward and mussed than usual. He hated feeling sticky like this but even more concerning was did he look sticky. He never liked seeing guys with dark circles under their shirtsleeves and he wondered now if he looked as hot as he felt.

Oh well, nothing to be done about it if he did. Maybe he should get Christie to get him some white shirts in for when it was hot like this he thought as he made his way to the locker room to get his bag.

White shirts. He used to wear them. Christie used to say how she loved him in a dark suit and crisp white shirt. Why didn't she buy them anymore he suddenly thought and where had all the ones he used to have gone? An uncomfortable idea started to take shape in Jims mind.

He reached the row of lockers before he thought he would, his knee striking the corner of the first metal locker with a harsh clang. Jumping slightly he silently berated himself for not concentrating, his irritation rising. What was wrong with him today? What was he thinking about that had him so consumed? Oh yeah, shirts. That was all. He shook his head, rubbed his smarting knee and opened his locker door.

Dumping his bag at his feet he closed the door and leaned his head forwards until it touched the cold metal. He sighed and bit his lower lip. This past week had seemed unusually hard he thought. Even today had turned into such a long day. The locker door felt ice cold against the warmth of his forehead, so cold he could feel it almost burning into his brain making him light headed and a off balance, reminding him of a particularly brutal day at Lenox when two male nurses and a physiotherapist had forced him to stand up for the first time since the shooting.

"Hey, you OK?" Karen's voice pulled him out of his head and he turned to the side until his back leaned against the locker next to his.

"Yeah, great. It's just been a long week you know?" He replied, a sigh puffing out his cheeks a little.

"It's the heat." Karen replied simply.

Suddenly all the little things that Jim had absorbed during the week seemed to combine with the oppression of the heat and his throbbing knee and in one split second, like a fissure opening, his temper flared. Before he could censor himself he spat out "Yeah, that and being loudly patronized by an old guy, called impotent by a couple of assholes I never even met before, walking into a locker I know has been here for the last year and realizing that my wife doesn't buy me white shirts anymore because I probably wind up looking like a four year old after an ice cream party when I wear one!"

Karen stared silently at Jim as she shifted awkwardly in the doorway. Listening intently he heard the swish of her hair over her shoulders and then, the almost imperceptible shift of someone else's weight next to her. Shaking his head slightly he said to Karen "You're not alone are you?" His voice resigned to what he knew he was going to hear.

"Nah, I was just heading out too Jim." Came Marty's' reply.

Rubbing his palm over his sweating brow Jim laughed mirthlessly. "And this has just capped the whole week off! Great day for you, huh Marty? You have a whole load of fresh ammo and I dumped it in your lap myself"

With that Jim snatched up his bag and limped towards the door, his hand held a little in front of him, hardly giving Karen or Marty the chance to move out of the way.

"I'll go after him." Marty offered.

"And say what Marty?" Karen demanded putting a restraining hand on his wrist.

"I don't know. 'Don't worry about it'. 'Forget it, everyone has off days'. I am capable of being nice sometimes Karen you know" Marty snapped.

"Yeah, I know. I didn't mean anything but I think he's best left alone. OK? I'll speak to him in the morning." Karen soothed.

"Ok, Ok" Marty snapped as he held both his hands up in defeat before he walked over to his own locker leaving Karen to wonder what was with the pair of them.


What the hell just happened, Jim thought wildly? The rhythm of the train had calmed him down somewhat but he was still dumbstruck by the outburst he'd had back in front of Karen and Marty. Jesus! Karen would have been bad enough but Marty too? He really was his own worst enemy sometimes!

Looking down he pulled off his dark glasses and rubbed his eyes. Hank shifted slightly at his feet and rested his head on his masters' knee. Jim stroked the smooth fur feeling his usual self-imposed calm descending once more. It must be all these sessions with Esther. She'd got him semi used to talking and now it seemed he had no control over his mouth. Scowling he shoved his glasses back on and listened for his stop.

When Jim walked into the apartment Christie watched him as he methodically performed the ritual of placing his keys and glasses on the hall table before unbuckling Hanks harness. Once freed Hank lowered his body, stretched and shook out his hot coat. Panting he slunk over to the desk in front of the window and lay in the shade, rolling onto his side.

"Christie?" Jim ventured

"On the couch." She yawned.

"I wish you'd just say straight away, you know." He complained, his voice tired.

She frowned a little. It was unusual for Jim to moan about that kind of thing anymore. When he was newly blind he'd snap if she failed to narrate her every movement to him in his desperation to keep a track of her in the room. After a while, once he began to trust his other senses he had backed off somewhat. She had come to understand that he only reverted to this type of behavior when he was tired or something was on his mind.

"Sorry." She said simply as she watched him cross their apartment, his hand grazing the kissing pole to check his orientation before he carried on confidently to their bedroom.

After a moment Christie followed him. He was sat on the edge of the bed pulling off his shoes and socks before he moved to start unbuttoning his shirt. Walking over to stand in front of him Christie gently placed her hand on top of his at he fiddled with the top button. Dropping his hand to his lap he let her carry on until all the buttons were undone.

"Tired?" She asked.

"Tired enough to let you unbutton my shirt." He smiled, taking her hand and kissing it. "You grab me some sweats and a T-Shirt while I finish up?" He asked.

"Sure." She replied as he rose to unbuckle his belt and drop his pants. He sat back on the bed pulling the dark gray suit pants from around his feet before laying them on the bed along side his discarded tie. He heard Christie's sharp intake of breath.

"It's a bad one huh?" He enquired "It hurt like hell when I did it."

"What attacked you this time?" Her voice was tight as she bent to examine Jims knee. "It's going black, you must have really whacked it."

"I did. Corner of a locker. Is it worse than the one on one with Marty's drawer or more like my most memorable dance class moment?" He joked, but Christie could hear the exhaustion behind his words.

"Well the 'Marty's Drawer' incident should have had stitches and 'Dance Class' just left a red mark so I'd say someplace in between Detective. You'll live."

"Yeah? My pride might not survive though." He laughed a little.

Gently she asked him, "What's wrong?"

"Do I still have any white shirts?"

"What?"

"White shirts, Christie, you know shirts that are white." His tone sharpened a little.

"God no!" Christie sounded horrified.

"Why?" He snapped, more harshly that he'd intended. Anticipating her answer his gut clenched.

"Jim, how can you even ask that? No one does white shirts anymore, not if they have any idea of style that is!"

His head dropped and he cracked a smile at her outraged tone and his own stupid self-absorption. She was genuinely offended by his fashion faux pas. He laughed.

"What?" Demanded Christie her brow knitted in confusion.

"Nothing. You just made me feel a whole lot better, that's all."

"Well why don't you try to tell me how you felt before my fashion advice?" She asked seriously.

"You know that time when Esther asked us to find a single word to sum up overall how each of us felt generally about our lives and I couldn't do it?"

"Yes." Christies voice was low and a little unsteady.

"Well it came to me on the ride home Christie. Most of the time I'm ok. I just get on with things, you know, the day to day stuff and I think 'yeah, I'm ok, I'm really doing ok with this' but then some days, like today nothing specific happens but I just feel …" He trailed off.

"Jim?"

"Sad. Just … sad."

Christie blinked back the tears that had formed in her eyes because she knew they wouldn't help any. Passing him his sweats and T-shirt she sat, silently, on the bed next to him whilst he dressed. Once he finished she rose, took his hands in hers and pulled him up.

"Come on. Help me make dinner?"

"Sure." He answered, grabbing her as she started to turn. "I'm happy when I'm with you though, Christie. I am, really." He said, nodding as he spoke.

"And I'm happy when I'm with you."


Jim must have fallen asleep as soon as he climbed into bed Christie realized. She had joined him only ten minutes after he had gone into their bedroom and already he was fast asleep.

After they had prepared dinner together they shared a bottle of wine and Jim seemed to relax and lighten his mood somewhat. He'd asked about Christies day and she his and then they had agreed to avoid calling his parents back about some family get together than Jim didn't want to get dragged into. After nearly falling asleep in her arms on the couch Jim had decided to turn in even though it was barely 10.30.

Lying next to him under the light cotton sheet they had been sleeping under since the temperature had spiked, Christie rested her head on one hand and watched her man intently. As was usual for the summer months he was sleeping only in his pajama bottoms, sexy pajama bottoms she thought as a smile played across her lips. Dark blue Ralph Lauren to be precise. She had picked them up for him a couple of weeks ago, of course the label was lost on him but they were good quality and felt good, which she knew for him meant everything. How clothes would feel against his bare skin was another consideration for her now when she shopped. Not that it was a problem. Christie loved to shop and loved Jim to look well put together – even while he slept.

He hadn't bothered to pull the sheet over himself, probably figuring she would do it when she finally came in. He was facing her side of the bed, laid curled on his side, one hand flat on the pillow next to his face. Leaning forwards she stroked the back of his hand and then moved her fingertips up to the side of his face, brushing his cheek lightly. Dipping her face down to his she planted a small, light kiss on the corner of his mouth.

He stirred a little.

"Are you faking?" She teased quietly.

No response. Christie let her fingertips trace down his throat and wander his taut shoulders. Moving her palm downwards she smoothed the soft hair on his chest and drew a single long finger nail around the circle of his nipple sweeping her hand down to the dip of his flat stomach until she found the drawstring of his pajamas. He was a beautiful, beautiful man she thought. He definitely looked very good for someone who had already died once. No, twice, she corrected herself, once in the ambulance on the way to the hospital and then again that night when he had just come off ITU. She gave her head a little shake to push those particular memories to the back of her mind.

She gave the drawstring a gentle pull and was about to untangle the loose knot when she suddenly found her wrist engulfed by Jim's strong hand.

"Are you assaulting an officer of the law?" He asked lazily, his eyes still closed.

"I hope so." She whispered as he rolled to his right allowing her to push him flat onto his back. Gently Christie kissed his warm, smooth stomach, her hand navigating the route of the knot in the cord at his waist. With the drawstring loosened Christie didn't waste any time in slipping her hand beneath the thin cotton of his pajamas. Quickly finding him she was happy to discover that they were definitely both on the same page.

Jim ran his fingers through Christie's sleek hair. God she felt so good. Her hair, her skin, the way her lips danced over his chest, licking, sometimes biting his nipples playfully, her breath hot and sharp against him. He ran his hand down the back of her neck and gently urged he up towards him so he could kiss her face. Fumbling a little he planted a stray kiss on her eye, missing her mouth by a mile. He didn't care. He just wanted her. He wanted her so badly, like he had never wanted anyone before. Quickly she straddled him, her hands in his hair, leaning over him, pressing a deep kiss onto his lips.

His hands slid down her back over the glossy silk of her short nightdress, coming to rest on her buttocks. Giving her a playful squeeze he deftly grabbed the hem of the nightdress and in one fluid movement pulled it up and over her head, tossing it onto the floor. Christie leaned back down over him, her hair tickling his face, lips hovering above his as she moved her left hand downwards to find him again.

She smells beautiful, he thought. She feels beautiful.

The heat of the room had made their skin slick with sweat.

Perfect.

Christie's hand snaked down his body.

Like the day they met.

She kneeled up a little.

Flawless.

She took him firmly in her hand.

Complete.

She bent her head in a kiss, desire and tension pulsing through her whole body.

Just stop thinking so much!

"Christie?"

Don't start thinking like this again!

"Mmm" She breathed

"Wait." He caught her hand.

Don't do it to yourself. Or her!

"Is the light off?" He couldn't help but ask.

There, you did it. Again. You think too much Jimmy, you know that?

Her kiss didn't meet his lips and in an instant Christie felt all the passion in him fall as quickly as it had risen.

"I can turn it off." She ventured.

"It's ok," he shook his head a little, sitting up with her still in his lap.

Smoothly he rolled her off him and onto her back. Sweeping the sheet up over them both he leaned over her, kissing her gently on her mouth, his hand playing with her hair.

"Let me make you feel good." He murmured as he slowly slid under the cover.