Part Twenty-Two

"You're being so quiet, Jimmy," Christie noted, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his shoulder. "You didn't say a word during dinner." She reached up and caressed the back of his head. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He put the last of the dinner dishes in the dishwasher and gave the door a quick flick upward with his foot. It slammed shut with a convincing thud.

"No, I'm okay…just tired I guess." Turning to face her, he attempted to achieve some measure of lightness in his tone. "So, how are you doing with that list anyway?"

"We're almost there, sweetie," she responded, brightly. "But we would be that much closer if you could just take a few minutes to do the things you need to do. Like go and get fitted for your tux, preferably while they still have some available."

"Christie…." His arms dropped resignedly at his side; he didn't bother finishing the thought. Justification would take far more energy than he had at that moment.

"Come on, Jimmy, it won't take you very long," she pleaded. "The rest of it, I can handle on my own, but I can't do that for you."

A forced smile found its way to his face. "Alright, alright," he said, "I'll try to swing by tomorrow….promise." He brushed a light kiss across her cheek. "But now," he said, untangling himself from her embrace, "if you don't mind, I'm going to bed. Are you coming?"

"No, not just yet. I think I'll read for a little while. Hey, Jimmy," she called after him. "Don't try, okay? Just do it?"

Several times since their arrival home from the Hamptons, he found himself questioning what it was that had possessed him to believe pulling a wedding together in less than three weeks was even remotely possible under the best of circumstances. Or why, in retrospect, he had agreed without hesitation when Christie had suggested December 14th, except for the strong sentimental ties to their first date and the knowledge that it would be the wedding they wanted, the one Stuart didn't. There was a certain measure of satisfaction in that.

He quickly realized there was much more to it than he had anticipated. Granted, the wedding was going to be a small affair but that did not appear to diminish the volume of arrangements still necessary to pull it off. While Christie had assumed much of the planning, appointments littered his calendar, not the least of which was getting fitted for that tux. He'd thought about that one every morning, on his way to work, and again on the long ride home. It, like a lot of things, wasn't even a fleeting thought during the day.

As the obligations to make their special day a reality began to mount, he found himself secretly hoping that December would follow the pattern of years past where the number of new cases dwindled significantly under the spell of the approaching holiday season's good will. And for the first several days of the month, it appeared he would enjoy the anticipated respite needed to participate in and keep all of those appointments. But when the high-pitched beep of his pager wrenched him out of a deep sleep and from a warm bed, it served to ensure that while Christie would be occupied with the final details of the wedding, he would be occupied piecing together the end of another life.

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"Danny." Jim drew the collar of his coat a little higher on his neck, warding off the chill of what was shaping up to be a very cold December day, and acknowledged his young partner with a nod.

"Cold enough for you Dunbar?" Dan Bellamy blew on the tips of his fingers before shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

"Nah, this is nothing," Jim responded, his words frosty against the bitter air. "You know, it's not technically even winter yet."

"Could have fooled me. Sweet Mother Mary," he said, stomping his feet against the frozen ground, "I'm hoping that transfer to the sunshine state comes through sooner rather than later. No offense, New York, but I would much rather be doing this where it's warm all the time."

"What," Jim said, a frown creasing his brow, "and give up all of this?" Although the bleakness of the predawn sky lent a cold appearance to the stone facades of the impressive skyline, he still found the city beguiling. He shook his head. "Nope, you couldn't pay me to leave."

"Yeah, well I guess that's where we're different, Dunbar."

Jim smiled, "That's definitely one way, Danny boy. So, what have we got?"

"Looks like a jumper." The drone of the rescue boat's engine coming to life echoed through the silence. "Guess that mean's they're finally bringing her to shore."

"Her? Are we sure?"

"Yeah."

"Hooker?"

"Can't be sure about that," Dan responded with a shrug. "It would make sense, though, seeing as how she went over around 3:00 in the morning."

Glancing up at the infrastructure of the Brooklyn Bridge, towering above, he shuddered. That really was a hell of a way to go. "Anybody see anything?"

"Maybe, the homeless guy over there. Told them he thought he heard a scream and then she hit the water."
Jim turned toward the bridge footing, to the figure huddled against it, a thin grey blanket his only barrier against the cold night. "Have you talked to him?" he asked, nodding in his direction.

"Not yet."

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's start there."

A few questions asked, a few vague answers, and it was apparent that the old man had enriched them with everything he had seen and heard. From what he described, there was absolutely no reason to believe this was anything more than a painful end to a desperate life.

"I'll go call it in," Jim said, heading back to the car for the two-way. He nodded his head in the direction of the river. "They're coming in."

Once the boat was securely tethered to the dock, the body was lifted onto a waiting gurney and quickly concealed under a plain white sheet. Danny crouched beside it and lifted one corner. "Caucasian female," he called out. "I'd say early to mid 30's. No obvious signs of foul play."

Jim shoved the two-way into his pocket and made his way back to his partner.

"There's no way this is a hooker, Dunbar."

"Why? What makes you say that?"

"Take a look for yourself," he said, pulling the sheet back once again to reveal the lifeless body under its protective veil. "This is a classy woman."

Turning his gaze from his partner to the victim, Jim heard an audible gasp, not recognizing right away that the sound had emanated from within. He felt his breath come quicker and shallower, the tremble started in his hands and radiated from there, bile rose abruptly to burn at the back of his throat.

"Oh, Jesus Christ ..." he managed, recoiling from the gurney. He struggled to repress a sudden, strong wave of nausea.

"Dunbar!" Dan threw himself to his feet and reached out to grab his partner's arm. "Do you know her?"

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Hunched behind the steering wheel, he stared blankly out the windshield, car keys dangling from fingers that refused to move. His body, like his mind, was still in a state of shock, numbed by the realization that Alex D'Ambrosia was dead.

God, had it really been just a couple of months ago that he'd seen her, so full of life and laughter?

The lyrical sound of that laughter reached him long before he saw her, dazzling as always, the companion glass of red wine in one hand, the other animatedly emphasizing whatever story it was she was telling to a captivated audience. There was no denying the draw of her vibrant personality or her infectious zest for a good time and she definitely knew how to have one. She caught sight of him and smiled warmly.

"Well," she said, "if I didn't know any better, I'd swear I'd just seen an apparition. Could this be the Ghost of Dunbar past?"

"No," he answered with a shake of his head. "No ghost."

Wrapping him in a friendly embrace, she crooned, "You look terrific for someone who's been in hiding, Jimmy."

"You're looking good too, Alex," he responded, disengaging himself from her arms.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"Yeah, that would be great, the usual, please." He laid his coat across the back of the vacant barstool and loosened his tie. "And I haven't been hiding, Alex, just out of commission."

"I'm teasing, Jimmy," she replied, handing him a cold brew. Politely excusing herself from her circle of colleagues, she turned her attention to him. "I guess I thought I'd hear from you again, you know? I've missed you." She planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "So, what have you been up to anyway, aside from the obvious, I mean. I see your name every once in a while in a case folder that crosses my desk."

He drew his chin down in a shrug. "You know, same ole, same ole. You?"

"Still working it, Jimmy, still working it. I haven't grown tired of it yet."

"I never thought you would, Alex," he said with admiration. "I know what it means to really like what you do."

She smiled broadly. "And I do. I'm not sure this is what I had in mind when I passed the bar, but Jimmy, it's not about the money anymore; it's about making a difference. As long as I feel like that, I'm good."

"No doubt," he countered with a clink of the bottle against her glass, "and you always were, Alex. That you were."

Batting her heavy eye-lashes, she replied in her best Mae West, "Why, James Dunbar, are we still talking about my abilities as a lawyer here?"
He had never intended for anything more to happen between them, but with the alcohol flowing as easily as the conversation, aided and abetted by her ample, natural charms, he found himself increasingly drawn to her, just as he had on many occasions in what was now another lifetime ago. She had never been shy about hinting that she would like something more from him. He wasn't close to ready to make that kind of commitment and she wasn't close to being someone he could picture making the commitment to.

But, with Christie away on another one of her elongated business trips to the West Coast, all sense of responsibility and commitment seemed to desert him at the same time. He found it increasingly difficult to turn away from her deep brown doe eyes, or to ignore the pleading in her voice, just once more, please, Jimmy, for old time sake. He had finally conceded, convincing himself that he wasn't really doing anything wrong; hell, he and Christie weren't married yet, they weren't even engaged.

Stumbling through the door shortly after midnight, he forced himself under a long, hot shower. It cleared the alcohol induced fog in his head but it did nothing to cleanse his soul. He couldn't wash away the guilt. He'd never said a word to anyone about that night or about her, and he never saw her again.

Now she was dead. How in the hell had Alexandra's life ended so abruptly in the East River at 3:00 in the morning?

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He opened the apartment door slowly and stepped inside, shivering against the sudden blast of heat that greeted him. Letting the keys drop on the table, he shrugged his coat off, hanging it absently on a vacant arm of the coat tree in the front hall. Drawing a deep breath, he tried to find some measure of composure through the overwhelming numbness.

"Jimmy? Is that you?" Christie called from the kitchen.

"Yeah," he replied, hoping he had managed to inflect some normalcy in his tone.

"Hey," she met him in the doorway and drew him into her embrace. "You look like hell."

"Good to see you too," he said, wrapping his arms a little tighter around her.

"Are you hungry? Dinner's just about ready."

"No. I think I need a drink first."

"Listen, why don't I turn the heat down for a little while so you can go and grab a shower? It might make you feel better."

"Nah, just give me a few minutes, okay?" Reaching into the fridge, he grabbed a bottle and popped the cap off. Leaning against the open door, he took a long pull and swallowed slowly, letting the bitterness of the dark ale wash through him.

"So," she asked, hopefully, "did you get in today for your tux?"

He knew before he answered that his words wouldn't be enough. He shook his head. "Christie, I'm sorry….."

"Jimmy." Exasperation filled her voice. "I know you're busy, but how can you keep forgetting something that important?"

"Christie, please not now," he said firmly.

"Not now? Jimmy? Come on. I asked you yesterday, I asked you the day before that, and the day before that too. What do I need to do? Call you three times a day to make sure you remember to get it done?"

"No, that's not necessary." He sighed deeply. "It's just..."

She nodded knowingly. "You're going to tell me you got another case, right? I was here when that pager went off this morning, remember? Look," she said, softening her tone, "I know what you do is important, sweetie, but you have got to make some time to get this done."

He took another long pull from the bottle. "Christie, you don't understand. This new case...it's big."

She turned to face him, her expression, like her, voice, full of indignation. "And so is our wedding, Jimmy. This is the most important day of our lives and it's only nine days away. I would think that would count for something, that I would be at least a thought in your head at some point during the day."

"Come on, Christie," he said, reaching out to take her hand. "You know you are."

"Well," she said, with a slight shake of her head, "I'm really beginning to wonder about that, Jimmy."

"Oh, God," he said, exhaustion overtaking him. "This has been such a long day already. Can we talk about this later?"

"No, Jimmy, we can't," she answered. "I want to talk about it now...because I think there's something more going on here than just the job."

"Where the hell is that coming from? Huh? You know what I do, Christie and you know when that pager goes off, I have to go."

"Yes, Jimmy, I am well aware of what you do. But what I want to know is what really goes on when you're late or why it is that you can't seem to find a few minutes to do one thing," she said, holding up a finger for emphasis, "the one thing I asked you to get done!"
"Why would you say something like that? Huh?" The burn of anger simmered close to the surface. He fought to keep it out of his voice. "Where the hell is that coming from?"

"Here," she said, walking determinedly to the desk. Picking up a pastel envelope, she turned and held it out to him. "This came for you today."

"And?" he asked, unsure how that one envelope could possibly be as influential as it appeared at that moment.

"And..." she said quietly. "I think I have a right to know." She laid it on the table in front of him. "Jimmy, who is Alexandra D'Ambrosia?"