Touching Evil (14 page)

"Nope. At least not that I know of. There was the garbage thing.
And, well, it's gonna sound crazy, but I'm missing my notebook."

"Missing it? You didn't find it?" Leah frowned, started looking through the drawers.

"No. And Greg..." Well, Leah had believed before he did, but that
didn't mean he didn't feel weird talking about it. "He said someone was
writing in it."

"Someone who?" Leah started digging shit out, muttering. "Someone in here? A leak? What?"

"I don't know. I got the impression that he thought it was our guy." And it creeped him right the hell out.

"Here?" Leah's face went hard, stiff. "You go get him, Artie. Bring
him here and sit his ass down and make him do his thing. It's not a cop
doing this, not one of us."

His back went right up. "There's no guarantee I lost the notebook
here. It could have been at the coffee shop or in Greg's shop or
someplace..." He didn't want to bring Greg to the station. God, it
would make Greg sick as a dog.

"Did he know? Did he say?" Leah stood up, started walking, pacing.

"No. He said..." Artie thought hard. "He said he was writing in it. That my writing was different."

"Let's go see Greg." He knew that voice, that tone. Greg was fucked.

"He's at my place, Leah. I don't want my place to be a bad thing. I
want it to be safe." He just couldn't do that to Greg. He couldn't.

"Your place? Like staying there?" Put those eyebrows down, girl.

"It was tough, staying at his place. There was bleach..." He hated
explaining. Artie sighed. "Look, he has an easier time seeing things
again where he saw them. Why don't I get him and meet you at the shop?"

"Okay. I'm not trying to fuck with him, Art. I just ... We're on
what? Vic three? The press catches this and Greg'll never sleep again."

"I know. I know. I just..." Like to keep Greg's life as normal as
possible? Like to keep him sane? Artie sighed. "I'll meet you there,
honey."

"I tell you what; I'll meet you at lunch. Let y'all get settled."

"Okay. Yeah. Okay. In between I'll make some calls, retrace my steps. See if anyone found my notebook."

"I'll bring chicken and salad. It's not one of us, Art. It can't be."

"No. No, you're right. No one would do this. That kidney. It was
perfectly removed, babe. It was ... well, you saw it." She turned green
again, and Artie apologized, hand on her shoulder as he got up. "Okay,
it's a plan. I'm gonna go. Get Greg."

"Okay. I'll be at the store at noon. Here's the forensic reports and the missing persons photos."

"Thanks, babe." He grinned at her, rubbing her belly like a Buddha for good luck. "See you."

Now he had to go break it to Greg that they wanted him to perform like a circus freak.

Fun.

Well, maybe he could start the conversation with offering to bring Greg to the station. That always worked
so
well.

Then make it seem like he was being magnanimous by going to the shop
instead. On the way home Artie called all of his usual haunts, asking
about his notebook. Nada.

He rubbed his neck as he made his way to his door, key fitting into
the lock. God, he hated this shit. Greg was worth it. He was. But damn.

Duke was squalling up a storm as soon as the door opened, hackles risen, single eye just spitting fire.

He could hear the answering machine whirring, the end of a
conversation just audible. "...you have a moment for an interview?
We've contacted Mr. Pearsall at his store and his home. Is it true he's
assisting another investigation?"

Oh, Jesus fuck. Nudging Duke aside with his leg, Artie went looking. "Babe? Greg? Where are you, man?"

"They've been calling for the last hour. I told Alice to not tell
them anything. She says one came in this morning, digging." Greg was
dressed, lips tight and hard. "I guess I need to go home. It won't help
you if someone finds me here."

Artie shifted from foot to foot, debating on the whole touching
thing. He wanted to. Then he said a mental fuck it and held out a hand.
It was the right fucking decision, Greg's hand sliding into his just
like that, holding on. Artie pulled him close, hugging tight. "We need
to go to the shop anyway. Goddamn those fucking reporters."

"Amen. How do they find all this out?"

"Hell if I know, babe. Leah is pretty adamant that it's not someone
in the precinct." Artie wasn't so sure, at least about the press. The
other shit, no, he didn't think was a cop. But the damned reporters
always knew.

"I'm not going to your desk again, and I didn't say it was a policeman, did I?"

"No. She just thinks because of my notebook ... where did I leave it
that he got it, Greg?" He could feel the tension grow, could feel Greg
start to vibrate.

"Give me your pen." Those fingers closed around it, Greg muttering
about the Danish not getting hot and Leah's ankles and him signing his
name on a credit card slip.

Artie watched him closely. Where had he signed a card slip that he
might have taken the notebook out, too? If his pen had been hooked in
it...

Greg paced, working back, day after day. There was his shower. The pizza. The bleach.

The kidney.

Artie swallowed against bile, that memory sharp and clear in his own mind, that and how he'd hoped to spare Greg some of it.

Greg went to the window, head on the glass, panting. "You were at a
meeting. There were photos. Leah was there. It was the morning; you
hated the coffee. You wrote on a folder and thought about your book."

Shit. Artie went still, his mind racing. That was. Fuck a duck. It
was at the station. He'd had it before the meeting, but Leah had rushed
him into that interrogation room...

"Fuck."

"No. No. He picked up the pen and he wrote things in your book. The
desk is scarred, people saw him. People saw him there, Artie."

Oh. Oh, hell, yes. Okay. That was good. Greg looked green. Artie went over and put a hand on his arm. "You okay, babe?"

"Don't touch me. I can't ... I." Greg's eyes met his, angry and
hurt. "It's about me. It's about me somehow. He knows. How can he know?
I don't."

Damn it.

Artie pulled his fingers away for like, half a second. Then he let
out an explosive curse and grabbed Greg tight, holding on, just
holding. "I dunno. We'll figure it out."

Greg gasped, then his pen clattered to the ground as the man pushed close. "Artie."

"Got you." Goddamn, what a mess. But if someone saw the guy. Shit, this could be it.

"You need to go, huh? To the station?" Greg's forehead rested on his chin.

"Shit. Yeah, and I need to call Leah. Tell her not to meet us at the
shop. She needs to get the camera footage from that day." Holding Greg
with one arm, Artie pulled out his cell, hoping to catch Leah before
she left.

"Okay. I'm going to get my shoes and go home." Greg kissed his jaw,
slipped out from under his arm, and headed back into the bedroom.

"Wait..." Artie made a grab, missed, and cussed up a storm as Duke's teeth sank into his ankle.

"What do you need, Art?" Leah asked when the call connected. "I'm on a call with this crazy Russian professor guy."

"It was at the station, Leah. He says it was at the station.
Probably at my desk. While we were in that meeting with Lymon. Someone
probably saw him." He shook his leg. Duke held. Goddamn it.

"At your desk? I don't believe it. This Russian dude says lots of folks hated the doc. Lots of faculty."

"Get your head out of your ass, Leah. I'm not saying it was a cop.
Maintenance, janitorial. The mailman. And I imagine people did. Greg's
fucking smart." He made another grab as Greg went by again, Duke
hampering him at every step.

"And aggravating. Cocky, too. And I flaunted my lover every chance I
got. Wore pride T-shirts to class. Failed a lot of jocks and idiots.
Tell Leah not to forget that. Students hated me." Greg shrugged on a
jacket. "Everyone hated me back then. Now I'm harmless."

"I think she's pretty aggravated with you right now, babe. Jesus
fucking Christ, Duke, if you don't let me go, I'm going to make a
pillow out of you. Leah, I need tapes. Greg, you just fucking hold on a
minute." Artie just exploded. He was Not Happy.

Duke let go and Leah hung up and Greg just stood there by the door, looking pinched and tight all over.

"I'm sorry." Artie dropped the phone in his pocket, pretty sure he
was talking to Greg and not Duke, but who knew? "Just, please. C'mere a
minute, okay?"

"You..." Greg nodded, took half a step toward him. "It's okay, detective. I'm okay."

Artie took the rest of the steps. "You're a rotten liar. I'll give
you a ride." He put his arms around Greg and held on. This had been,
well, not easier before. But not as personal. He couldn't protect Greg
all the time. But he wanted to.

"And promise me you won't wander, okay?"

"I'll try not to." Greg leaned into him, sighed a little. "I haven't
had a lot of opportunity to lie lately. I'm out of practice."

He let his hand rise to rest between Greg's shoulder blades, stood
for a minute feeling Greg's heart thump against his chest. Then he
nodded. "Yeah. We'll figure this out, Greg. I promise."

They had to get going. Damn.

"Then let's go. You have work to do."

"Yeah. I do." He wanted to ask if it was okay to come see Greg
tonight, but he was afraid he'd push the man too far. "Come on, babe.
We've got a psycho to catch."

"I'll leave the backdoor unlocked for you."

Artie bit back his growl. "Can I just call you when I get there, man? I'd rather not take any chances."

"Protective ass." Greg kissed him, full on the mouth.

"Mmmhmm." He just let the kiss go long and sweet, licking Greg's lips.

That got rid of that last bit of pinched and unhappy, Greg relaxing
into him, breathing. Nodding. "Let's go. It's good. We're good."

"Okay. Yeah." They'd make it good. Damn it. Artie led the way, knowing it was going to be a long damned day.

"They always are, but you'll find him."

"We will. Together. Count on it."

Chapter Ten

It takes all night, all night, but finally he is finished. The third floor is destroyed, but sacrifices have to be made for art.

He has redecorated, just for his professor.

"Anatomy is not a dead science, guys. The human form is beautiful in its symmetry, in its complexity."

Symmetry.

He takes one backgammon piece from the board, replaces it, the
bright pink polish on the toenail chipped a little from when she'd
struggled. Fought.

If only she'd listened to him.

Then his offering would be perfect.

Shame.

He will simply have to try again.

Artie dropped Greg off at the store and made it to the station
without giving into road rage and shooting some innocent bystander. It
was a near thing. But he did it. Go him.

He slammed in, yanking at his tie until it came loose, tossing it at his chair. "Whatcha got, Leah?"

"I'm running the tapes. So far, I haven't seen anything odd, but
there's not a clear visual of your desk." Leah shifted, stretched.
"How's the doc?"

"Not so hot. But he'll do. You want me to start looking at the logs?" Maintenance folks had to log in and out.

"Yeah. We know we're looking for a man, right? Doc give you an age?" She pushed over a huge log book.

"No. But he said someone saw him. Someone had to." Artie yanked off his jacket, too, and plopped down. "Damn, I hate this shit."

"You signed on for it, honey. Let's make the city safe for weird-assed psychic ex-professors and homeless blondes."

"Yeah, but combing papers..." He needed an intern or something. Did
they let cops have interns? Artie started reading, looking at who all
had been there that day.

There was something fucked up about the fact that he'd been at the
precinct for damn near ten years and only recognized a few
names—Harold and Vic were both the daytime janitors; Nancy, he
thought, was that sweet lady who dealt with supplies...

"Who is Andy Bruckle?" he asked Leah. "And Louis Mayle?"

"Louis is that little contractor who's doing the files. The one with the lisp and all. I ... I don't know a Bruckle."

Artie highlighted it with yellow. One for the look-into file. He
kept scanning. There weren't many, but he'd check the day before and
after, too, just in case someone filled in the wrong line.

Andy Bruckle. Nick Garza. That was a pretty damn short...

"Artie, look at this." Leah hit rewind, turned the screen toward
him. There was a guy, shortish, wide shouldered, wearing a ball cap.
The guy had on one of those huge belts, wires and tools dangling and
shaking as he headed right for Artie's desk, bent over it.

He glanced over, then got up and went around to look at the monitor, watching as Leah rewound. "What am I looking for?"

"Watch your desk."

There was a pile of papers, pictures, a coffee cup. Then the guy leaned over and stood and walked off, leaving a clean desk.

"Shit. He took all my shit!" Artie didn't mean to sound so shocked,
but how could someone just do that and not have anyone say anything?

"He did. What was there? What all was in that pile? Who the hell was that?"

"My notebook. Some of the files you gave me on the missing persons.
I had some in the meetings." Shit. "Some shit on Greg. From the last
case."

"Fuck."

Leah stood up, started pacing. "Okay, okay. I'll get with Mitch, see
if he can't identify this guy. See if we can't get him in for
questioning. What kind of shit on Doc?"

"Just the files from the case with some remarks on his involvement. Man," Artie watched the tape again, "he took my coffee cup."

His phone rang, startling him. Greg. Damn. "Artie? Artie, it's Alice. You need to come. You need to come right now."

"I'll be there in ten or less." Artie grabbed his jacket and headed
for the door, not even glancing at Leah, trusting her to know where he
was going.