Chapter 2

She came in later than usual in the morning, and though she seemed to have more energy than when she left the night before, she still wore a determined look on her face.

Bobby took it all in a quick scan of her from head to waist. "Feeling better?" he asked, though he already knew the truth.

"Sure. Peachy," she lied.

He gave her a chagrined expression and rolled his chair closer to her. "Marla Faust. She also adopted a family at the school."

"She was the one who swore up and down he had no one outside of work."

"She was." Bobby nodded at her, excited. This was beginning to feel like a lead.

"And you know more about her now."

"A lot," he admitted.

Alex sat in her chair, leaned on her elbows and gave him a smile. "Do tell."

"She's been, uh… formally unattached the last three years. Before that, she was embroiled in a nasty divorce that left her in bankruptcy. She's been recovering since she got the job at Simfill."

"But he wasn't flush. He couldn't have been floating her."

"No, but I think he was seeing her. At least for a while."

"He dumped her."

"Maybe," Goren shrugged.

"For another woman."

Bobby rooted through the papers on his desk and held one up. "Marsha Hicks. She worked at Simfill until three months ago."

"You got anything to back this up?" Alex asked.

Bobby emphasized the first word. "We don't have anything—yet."

Alex raked her hand through her hair. "Okay. Which one you want me to step into? Marla or Marsha?" She rolled her eyes. "Sounds like we're investigating the Brady Bunch."

Bobby gave her a grin, and there was an affectionate twinkle in his eye. "I haven't done much digging on Marsha yet. You look into her and I'll go out to visit Ms. Faust."

"No backup?"

He shrugged. "She won't feel threatened," he promised. Alex nodded and Bobby gathered up his things. Before he left, he dropped a medicine bottle on the desk blotter in front of her. "Take care of yourself," he said, offering her a smile.

Bobby drove out to Simfill in a car from the motorpool. Today he landed a Saturn, which was a tight squeeze for his long legs, but he made it work. They never used their personal vehicles on the job; one look at a license plate and your anonymity off the clock was blown.

Simfill was a strange entity. They ran the office end of things for more than one waste management company. The company had a clean record, but Bobby wondered if everything they did was on the up and up. It seemed suspicious to him that companies would contract out all their purchasing, billing, and sales if they weren't trying to launder something in the process.

He sighed and locked the Saturn with a chirp from the key fob. Even if the company had a sinister side, he wasn't investigating Simfill, he was investigating a homicide, and unless his investigation happened to uncover something fishy in the business, they would likely continue with business as usual.

Marla Faust was in a conference call when he arrived. He was shown to a chair in the lobby and sat tapping his fingers against his crossed legs, alternately cataloging the personalities of the employees he could see and wondering how Eames was feeling.

"Detective Goren? Ms. Faust will see you now." The secretary led him into the woman's office, which wasn't much bigger than the counselor's office at the school. This one, however, was barren. There was only one picture on the wall, an abstract painting that was likely purchased from a hotel auction. A bulletin board was behind the woman's desk, and it held nothing but work-related notes and schedules. Her desk had a phone and a blotter. A yellow legal pad was on top, with a blue ink pen resting across the lines, waiting for use.

He shook her hand and greeted her kindly.

"I thought you had all your answers already," she said, a polite smile on her face. She gestured to the chair in front of the desk, and sat down in her own.

"Well, you know, sometimes we think of a new question, you know, after…"

"I see. It must be fascinating, investigating crimes. I always used to daydream of that job when I was a teenager." She chuckled. "I guess I thought if I carried a handgun," she nodded at the bulge under his suit coat, "no one would mess with me."

Bobby smiled politely, easily fitting her comment into his mental profile of her. "It's not like TV," he said. "A lot of…" he gestured to her, "This. And paperwork. A lot of paperwork." He smiled at her again, broader now that he remembered Eames' comment about the Brady Bunch. "You said Hugh wasn't seeing anyone."

"That's right," Marla answered.

"Except for you," Bobby prodded. "I mean, c'mon, you were coming off that awful divorce. It must have really… helped to have someone to talk to."

She stiffened the moment he started to speak, but his explanation softened her a little. "It was a nasty divorce," she admitted. "I haven't dated since."

Bobby grinned, nodded, and looked around the little office. A window was to his right, letting in some winter sunshine. "I guess you wouldn't call it dating, no. You know, just two friends, out for a drink… or a dinner. Just talking."

"Yes, Hugh was my friend."

"He listened to you."

"Sure he did."

"He helped you through a tough time in your life."

"Detective, we were never romantic, if that's what you're getting at."

"No, no, I understand. I just, you know, I needed to hear you say that. I needed to know."

"We were colleagues, and friends. But nothing more. Surely you can understand that."

Her words hit him like a sucker punch. Had she read something into his relationship with Eames the other day? Bobby forced a grin. "I do. I understand." He got up, turned toward the door, then turned back. "But Hugh, you know, he was… he was a guy… and men, men have needs, you know?" Before she could speak he continued. "He did have someone, didn't he? Someone who filled that need?"

"He never dated anyone that I know of."

"Dated, schmated. It's just a word. Call it what you want. There was a woman in his life, and recently, wasn't there? He was, you know, he was happy. You said so yourself when we came in the other day."

"Are you saying men can only be happy if they're sexually satisfied?" Marla was cold when she asked the question.

Bobby smiled again. "It certainly helps. I've been thinking, you know, and I'm wondering if it wasn't that new girl…" he looked up at Marla. "You know, she didn't… didn't cut it here. She got fired soon after she started here. What was her name?"

"Do you mean Marsha Hicks?"

He snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "That's her name!" Bobby took a step closer to Faust and dropped his hands into his pockets. "Hugh had a few… talks with her, too, didn't he?"

Marla frowned, and shrugged one shoulder. "I suppose he may have."

"No, he did. His credit card receipts, they show that he was eating out more often… during the months she worked here. And right after." Bobby smiled at Faust. "You know, I bet I could just go to the restaurant, show her picture around, and his picture. Someone will recognize them. Thank you for giving me that idea, Ms. Faust. I'll get, uhm, out of your hair now."

Bobby was almost to the door when she spoke. "All right, don't waste your time. He was seeing her. The fact of the matter is, I caught them in a… compromising position here at the office and I had to let her go."

"But the records said she was fired for an accounting error."

"She did that, as well. I didn't want her to be embarrassed by the whole thing."

"You fired her… but not him?"

"Hugh had worked here a lot longer. Believe me, I gave him a dressing down for it."

"But not a formal reprimand."

"Like you said, Hugh was a friend. He helped me through a lot. I guess I was trying to return the favor."

Bobby nodded, and turned once more for the door. "You may want to, uh… speak with your supervisors about this… uhm, our report… you know, it will all come out in the open."

A look of dread washed over her, and Bobby left. He stopped to pick up lunch on the way back, a gyro for him and a big salad for Eames. She wasn't at her desk when he returned. He took the food out of the bag and set hers on her desk before starting to eat his.

She looked a little pale.

"I brought you lunch," he said.

"Thanks," she replied, and sat down, eying the salad warily.

He didn't say anything. He wanted to, but he didn't. Bobby ate his sandwich silently, glancing at her and trying not to stare.

Alex willed the little shooting pains in her intestines to the background and sighed. It had been thoughtful for Bobby to bring her lunch, and sick or not, she had to eat something. She opened the plastic container and put a crouton in her mouth. "Make any headway?"

Bobby nodded. "She all but admitted dating him, and I finally got her to admit that she caught Marsha with him in a compromising position at work."

"Marsha, Marsha, Marsha," Alex grinned, imitating a line from the Brady Bunch TV show. Bobby couldn't help but smile, too.

"You?" he asked.

"She's very upset by his death. I think she was in love with him. From looking at his credit cards, it seems that he was still seeing her up to the end." Alex tentatively took a bite and forced herself to swallow it. "Oh, and the autopsy report came in." Alex paused, closed her eyes, and grimaced a little.

"Look, why don't you go home?" Bobby blurted. He couldn't stand to see her sick.

Her eyes flew open. "It's just a little tummy-ache. I'll survive."

"Alex, there's no reason for you to push through this. I can work the case, get the Captain when I need some backup."

"Bobby, I'm all right. I'll decide if and when I need time off, okay? Now would you shut up and let me tell you about Rodger's report?" There was a bite in her tone, but he immediately forgave her for it. She was sick. Bobby shrugged and nodded, and Alex spoke. "The guy was allergic to peanuts. Something provoked anaphalactic shock, but there was no trace of peanuts in his digestive system."

Bobby cocked his head and considered what she'd said. "I've heard that just eating them in the same room as someone who is allergic could provoke a reaction."

"But everyone in his life knew that. He kept his apartment peanut-free. And besides, it most likely wouldn't have killed him before help arrived."

"Then maybe his death was… uh… unlikely. What about the cuts on his groin?"

"Painful, but not deadly. His attacker wanted him to suffer."

Bobby paused. "You're not saying he was killed?"

"The evidence suggests otherwise."

"Unless someone triggered his allergy."

Alex shook her head slowly. "It's gonna be hard to prove."