A Final Session
Chapter Five
The page came early. Too early for Tom, who hadn't gotten to bed as soon as he'd have liked last night. He'd stayed over at his girlfriends place. It was closer to the Art College where they took their pottery classes. Pottery classes they had now been taking for over a year. They never did get any better at it. Maybe if they paid a little more attention in class Tom smirked. His smirk died pretty quick though when he thought back to last night. Ms Argent their teacher had given them more than a little grief and Tom had been momentarily transported back to his high school days, which was not a pleasant experience.
"Mr. Selway, Miss Knight you are both aware that this class is Pottery 101 not Making Out 101 aren't you? You should be as this is your third run at this class." She had smiled openly in their direction as the rest of the class stifled muffled laughter. Both Tom and Stella had the good grace to look embarrassed and Tom was certainly not going to back chat the teacher.
On their way out as most of the other students left Ms Argent put a hand out to stop Tom. Handing him a weighty grocery bag she explained, "Double homework. There's enough clay in there for you two to work through as many 'Ghost' moments as you like and hopefully the modeling practice will allow you to graduate – before I retire. Don't forget, keep it moist."
Tom looked at her blankly shaking his head a little, a 'what?' forming on his lips.
"The clay Mr. Selway. The clay." She sighed.
After his pager had roused him Tom headed for the shower and then quickly shrugged into his clothes before kissing Stella lightly so as not to waken her. Looking back to the bed Tom had to retrace his steps in order to kiss her again. She's so damn hot he thought shaking his head. Man was he in trouble. Was he ever in trouble!
"You wanna take a bit more time getting here Tom?" Marty groused as Tom neared the hallway outside the DOA's apartment in the East Village.
"What's up, you got a hair appointment you gonna be late for." Tom bit back, blowing into the Styrofoam cup holding his coffee. "I stayed over at Stella's last night and it's further over than my place."
"But you've got a different suit on from yesterday Tom. Are you keeping clothes at Stella's now?" Jim asked, joining in the conversation as he scruffled the fur on the top of Hanks head. "That's getting pretty serious isn't it?"
"Nah, I jus like spending time … Hey, how'd you know I have a different suit on?"
Jim folded his arms across his chest and leaned into Tom, "I'm a detective Tom." Jim answered simply his face serious.
"No, no. You're not getting away with that shit. How d'you know?"
"You guys can come in now" One of the SOC officers leaned out of the doorway and beckoned them in.
"Yeah, why we all standing in the hall anyway?" Tom asked.
"Tiny ass apartment and with us all in there and Mr. Magoo here not watching where he puts his feet we'd have messed everything up." The words were out before Marty could stop them and he bit his lip as soon as he realized what he had said. Jim as usual kept his face impassive.
"Shit. Jim I didn't mean that it just came out. Look, I'm an ass, I know. I'm really sorry." Marty stammered. With that fumbled apology Marty turned abruptly and walked through the apartment door.
Jim looked to where he knew Tom was standing.
"Did he just apologize to me?" Jim was incredulous.
"Sure did." Tom confirmed.
"Why?"
"I do not know Jimbo. I just do not know."
"Where's Karen?" Tom asked Jim once they were inside.
"I just called her. Problem with her pager. Didn't go off."
"Everyone's late." Tom stated with a shrug.
"No Tom. Not everyone. Jim and I can get our asses into gear. I got my kid staying again and Jim has the whole world and then some to go up against just to get up and out in a morning but we are here. On time." Marty stressed.
Jim was shaking his head when he heard Karen's voice. "We all arguing already?" She was hopeful that it was Jim and Marty giving each other grief but her hopes for a return to normality were dashed as Tom cut in.
"Nah, Marty and Jim are ganging up on me."
"Hey." Jim called over to Karen, relieved to get a diversion from Marty and whatever he had going on this morning. An uncomfortable thought had occurred to Jim. Was Marty being nice because of Jims' outburst yesterday? Was he feeling sorry for him? That was the last thing Jim wanted. Marty might be an ass and give Jim static but he never cut him any slack just for being blind. He treated him just like he would have treated any cop he didn't think could cut it and Jim found that oddly refreshing, an antidote to the sea of people whom he knew pitied him.
"What we got?" Karen asked "And what is that noise?" She gestured toward a half opened door situated on the other side of the small apartment.
"That would be a very hysterical wife who found her husband dead in the shower this morning." Jim supplied, his voice low. "EMT is going to give her a sedative and take her in."
"Same MO as Cedar?"
"More or less. DOA is one Jeff Flannery. Forty two year old white male. Found hanging from the shower rail. Tied with ropes around the wrists. Bruising to the face including marks from out friendly perps ring. Cuts to the torso this time as well as the final cuts on each wrist. None to the ankles though. Wife found a tray on the nightstand with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket along with one champagne flute and a single red rose."
"Nice." Karen stated raising her eyebrows. It felt odd for Jim to describe a scene to her for once, odd but refreshing. She guessed Marty or Tom must have filled him in.
"Sorry about being late. I dropped my pager in a glass of water last night."
Jim laughed. "On purpose?"
"No, of course not. I had it on my nightstand and it got knocked off when I was fiddling with the buttons on the desk fan I got on there and it dropped into a glass of water I had by the bed. A proper Marx Brothers moment. I don't think it's gonna live. It's dried out but I think it's pretty dead." She shrugged.
They moved out of the way as the EMT boys escorted the sobbing wife out of the apartment and down the stairs.
Back in the squad room the four detectives had their work cut out for them. They had the notes they had taken on the Robson homicide, the notes they were about to start up on today's East Village homicide and a whole stack of archived records from 1PP for the Goldberg homicide from two years ago.
"Who gets what?" Tom asked fanning himself with his notepad "And is it getting hotter in here or is it my imagination?"
"The air con just stopped. Didn't you hear it?" Jim said simply, plugging his earpiece into his laptop.
"No. You can hear that?"
"All the time. It's really annoying." Jim informed Tom. "You can't hear it?"
"Don't notice it really."
"We got all the notes from 1PP." Marty cut in. "Who wants 'em?"
"Me and Jim could take them." Karen spoke up.
"Wait." Jim held his hand up. "Are they typed or hand written cause my scanner can't do handwritten don't forget."
"Not a problem, we can still equal everything out with the stuff you can do." Marty cut in helpfully.
Jims' brow knitted and he looked over to Karen a bemused look on his face. Shrugging she answered Jims question about the notes.
"About half typed and half hand written." Karen mumbled, flicking through the stack on her desk. "I could start on them with Tom." Tom nodded in agreement.
"I'll chase up the Goldberg ME report then. That'll still be on the ME office computer system and I'll try to get the report from today pushed through." Jim said.
"I'll go over all the crime scene boys stuff and the canvass notes." Marty finished.
Karen stood up and stretched a little. "Coffee?" She asked Jim.
"Sure. I'll come with." He replied, pushing his chair back.
As soon as they were safely in the locker room Jim kicked away the doorstop and let the door swing to a close. Karen rolled her eyes. She'd never had so many sneaky meetings in here as she had had this last week.
"What's going on Karen?" Jim pressed.
"You mean Marty?"
"Yeah."
"What he do now?" She asked pouring a cup.
"This morning, at the crime scene he called me Mr. Magoo." Jim said running his hand through his mussed up hair, shaking his head at the same time. Karen let out a snort of laughter and then quickly apologized.
"No Karen, it's alright. It was kinda funny even for Marty. Offensive, but kinda funny. It's not that. He apologized. As soon as he said it he called himself an ass and apologized!"
"Wow." Karen breathed. "Tom and I had noticed something. He hasn't given you grief for the last week or so. There's been other stuff too." She muttered.
"You mean as well as that weird comment just now about sharing the work I can do? Come on Karen, spill."
"Well Tom heard him almost put a couple of uniforms on a rip because they'd moved stuff about in here. He bawled them out over not thinking about other people and how if they were blind they wouldn't like stuff moving all the time."
Jim blinked in disbelief.
"And then last night," Karen carried on awkwardly, "You know when you blew up a little. He wanted to go after you to be, uh, nice." Karen shifted her feet.
"Why?" Jim asked.
"I have no idea and neither does Tom."
"I was worried it was after last night and that he was feeling, you know, sorry for me. Which I don't need!" He spat out. "But if you guys noticed stuff before then I have no idea either." Jim sighed.
"About last night Jim. What was up with that?" She asked gently.
"Nothing. I just .. It was a long day and sometimes all the little things just pile up."
"I'll bet." She said shortly. "So what do we do about the new Marty? Leave well alone or what?"
"Tom got any ideas?"
"He's reluctant to ask him to say the least." Karen laughed.
"OK. I'll give it a shot. If nothing else it might get him to start being an ass with me again and then we can all relax."
A half hour later in the squad Marty declared he was going to pick up sandwiches for lunch.
"Anyone want anything?"
Karen and Tom issued their orders while Jim sat back in his chair.
"You going to that new place on the corner?" Jim asked.
"Yeah. Thought I'd give it a try." Marty confirmed.
"I'll come along for the air, if you don't mind?" Jim stood grabbing up his cane.
"Fine by me." Marty muttered.
Once they were in the elevator Jim unfurled his cane, tapping it smartly on the floor to lock it into position.
"Why no dog?" Marty enquired.
"He's hot and a lot of these places don't like you taking them in. They'll let you but they don't really like it."
"Oh." Marty was quiet for a second. "You don't use that much." He nodded toward the cane and then realizing Jim couldn't see the gesture he added "The cane, that is. Why is that?"
Normally Jim would have avoided an answer but he wanted to try to get Marty talking to find out what was with him. He figured a good way to do that might be to be a little more open than normal.
"I hate using it." He replied simply.
"But you don't mind the dog?"
"Hank's different. With him at a glance I would hope I look...'normal'. The cane kinda slaps a massive handicapped label on me for everyone to see."
"And that's bad?" Marty enquired. "Being handicapped is that bad?"
"I've had better hobbies Marty." Jim tried to lighten the mood but failed. "Look I am how I am now. It's never gonna change however much I wish it would. I can just about live with it but everyone else, the way they perceive me, that's hard. That's the tough part of a handicap. Not the thing its self. We're a pretty tough minority Marty. We get on with our lives but everyone else, they keep on stopping us." Jim breathed out, feeling he had gone too far, too deep but then the fluttering in his stomach calmed and he realized it wasn't so bad, sharing that with Marty. It wasn't so bad at all and if he used it against him later well then so be it.
They were silent as they left the precinct and made their way toward the end of the block. It was early; way ahead of the lunchtime rush and the street was pretty quiet leaving the scrape of Jims cane audible enough to make Jim feel uncomfortable. The noise must have been at the forefront of Marty's' mind too because after a moment he asked "You want to take my arm, like you do with Karen?"
Jim stopped short. "I don't think I'm quite ready to take our relationship to the next level Marty", he laughed, "It's moving kind of quick for me."
"All right." Marty laughed back. "We're here. Mind the step."
"I got it." Jim answered, the tip of his cane meeting the brick step. "How many?"
"Three."
Once inside they ordered and made their way to the front of the deli to wait at the tables set up there.
"So you want to tell me what's going on?" Jim asked slipping of his dark glasses.
"Nothings going on." Marty evaded drumming his fingers lightly on the tabletop.
"Marty?"
Jim raised his eyebrows. Marty's shoulders sagged and he shook his head.
"Alright. I had an epiphany if you like and I realized what a jerk I've been. Ok?"
"Come on Marty!"
Sighing Marty caved in. "It's my kid. Ok. Over the past few months he's been acting out. He's difficult for his mother, not so bad for me but for her …" He shook his head. "Turns out his grades are sliding so much he's virtually going backwards and the school says he's disruptive to the point of being excluded. So we agree to get him tested and it turns out he's got learning difficulties."
"Marty, I.." Marty cut Jim off.
"I pick him up from school the other day and he's got a bloody nose from some fight he apparently started and school say he's getting picked on. It's cause he's different, you know, he's not quite as perfect as all the other kids and they are never gonna let him forget it. Are they?" He questioned Jim.
"I'm sorry Marty. I don't have kids but I imagine this is hard to deal with."
"No, that's just it, it's not! Yeah it's upsetting and worrying but there's no dealing to be done. He's my son and I love him whatever he does or is but it's the other kids and their smart-ass comments. You know some of them have even called him in front of his mom! If I heard them do it I'd kick butts!"
"And this lead you to your epiphany?"
"Yeah."
"You know Marty, I get so tired of the people who feel sorry for me and want to hover over me, make sure I'm ok and I also get tired of the stupid people who are just out and out rude, make passes at my wife when I'm stood right by her, shout because they think blind means dumb or deaf or both. The people I don't get tired of are the people I don't get enough of and that's people who are straight with me. You're straight with me Marty. You talk to me the same way you'd have talked to me if you'd have met me before I was blind. You were straight with me about the gun, backed me on the Dyman deal because you believed I could do it, tried to help me find Hank and not because I'm blind but in spite of it."
"Your point is?" Marty pressed.
"Be yourself Marty. If you want to make sassy comments to me that's fine. Just be yourself. And the thing with your kid, it will work out. Sure he's gonna go through more crap than other kids but he'll come out the other side Marty without you going all PC on him. That's the worst thing you can do."
"You think?"
"I know. Honestly, if you're being as sensitive with him as you are with me at the moment he won't thank you for it. My mother still can't speak to me without a forced smile on her face. She can't laugh with me, joke around, she can't even say 'see you later' without apologizing and it is exhausting Marty. Don't do that to your kid."
Marty was quiet and Jim couldn't quite sense what the silence meant. After what seemed like an eternity one of the counter staff called their order and they both rose to leave, Jim bending to scoop up his glasses. As they neared the door Marty put his hand on Jims arm.
"Thanks Dunbar."
"No problem. I haven't forgotten the cowbells comment though. I should still knock you on your ass for that."
By the end of the tour they had noted, collated and compiled every bit of information on the three homicides ready to start drawing comparisons and hopefully finding a pattern. Both Tom and Marty had already left as Karen and Jim headed out.
"You talk to Marty?" Karen asked.
"Yeah. It's sorted."
"Do I need to know?"
"Nah, it was kind of a family thing. He'll tell you if he wants too."
"OK. You need a ride?"
"Drop me at Christies office?" He asked hopefully. "The train in this heat doesn't bear thinking about."
"Sure."
Christie wasn't waiting outside the glass high rise when he got there so Jim ventured in. He was a little early and their appointment with Esther wasn't until 5.30. Jim didn't really like going into the magazine offices. The acoustics were weird. The echoes in the reception area were too much and stopped Jim from pinpointing peoples exact locations whereas the heavily carpeted corridors leading to Christies large office muffled everything so badly that everyone who walked past him always made him jump, bearing down on him before he even knew they were there. On top of that were the receptionists. They were never the same from one day to the next so he never got anyone who remembered him. Because of this he was always met with an impenetrable stonewall when he asked for their Style Editor. She was high ranking and it was their job to protect her from cold callers, job seekers, wannabe writers and anyone else who tried to get through. Today was no different. As he walked up toward where he knew the reception desk was he heard a small polite cough, which was, he assumed to alert him to the presence of the receptionist.
"Can I help you Sir?" At least this one was polite. So far.
"I'm here to see Christine Dunbar."
"Do you have an appointment Sir?"
"No but if you could just call her." Jim couldn't resist. Sometimes he cut right to it and just said who he was but other times he played the charade just for the hell of it. To see which way it would go.
"She is very busy." The girl interrupted curtly "And you shouldn't bring your dog in here Sir. I'll have to ask you to leave him outside."
"He's a guide dog." Jim said simply.
"Right." She said slowly, a superior smirk plain in her voice. "Are you here to enquire about setting up charity donations because the publication already has several good causes it supports." She said raising her voice presumably to make sure he could hear her.
Touting for charities. That was a new one and it took Jim by surprise. He almost laughed but swallowed it down. Taking off his glasses and putting them in his suit pocket Jim leaned forwards onto the marble counter top of the reception desk.
"You think because I'm blind all I could be here for is canvassing for charity?" He kept his face straight.
"No." The girl said slowly unable to stop staring at the mans' incredibly blue eyes as they drifted lazily down and away from her face.
"What's your name?"
"Elle." The girl replied warily.
"Well Elle, I'm James. Now we're on first name terms do you think that you could call up to your Style Editor and tell her that her husband is here?"
Jim was met with silence but could hear the sweep of long hair against smooth fabric.
"Are you nodding Elle? Cause you may have guessed that I kind of need words more than actions." He was unable to keep the smile from playing around his lips.
"I'll just call up." Elle said meekly.
Ten minutes later Christie walked into the reception area. Recognizing her familiar footsteps Jim rose from the chair he'd sat in as he waited for her.
"Ms Dunbar?" Elle called out to Christie. Christie stopped by the desk.
"Ms Dunbar, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that gentleman was your husband and I hope I didn't offend him I really didn't mean to." Elle whispered, twisting her fingers together nervously.
"You could always ask him if you offended him. He isn't deaf you know." Christie replied, not unkindly as she turned back to Jim and the glass doors of the high rise.
