The Secret Life of
Partners Part One
Tim looked impatiently at his watch for what seemed like the tenth time in a minute.
"Come on, get moving!" he mumbled to himself, as the morning rush hour traffic ground to a halt once more.
This was the kind of thing that would truly set him up for a
bad day. It was also the middle of July, and it was uncharacteristically cold, a
slow but steady drizzle settling on the city. Frank was on vacation with Mary
and the kids, so he was partnered with Lewis.
Meldrick
Lewis was hunched in the driver's seat of the white Cavalier, window open, his
left elbow poking casually out of the car. He was drumming up a storm on the
steering wheel, as if he hadn't a care in the world. That was Lewis's way of
handling this situation though, the only way he knew how. Let out the tension
somehow, even if it did mean that you got on your partner's nerves. Tim was
different. He simply sat in silence, any emotions he may be feeling bottled up
inside of him, ready to explode when the moment came.
They
were on their way to an apartment block in Mount Vernon, a relatively peaceful
neighbourhood. There had been reports of a single gunshot from one of the
apartments at around seven thirty that morning, and no one had seen or heard the
occupant since. One of the neighbours had decided to call in the police at about
eight, saying only that she thought the young lady might be hurt, before hanging
up. The call had been transferred through to homicide, and had been taken by
Tim. Everyone in the squadroom had known immediately that something big had
happened, as the colour had drained visibly from Tim's face. The apartment in
question belonged to Rene Sheppard.
Lewis had insisted that he go along with Tim, as she had been his partner. Tim had wanted to take Kellerman, Munch, even Kellerman's new partner, Karin Khouri, who had been brought in to replace Falsone, anyone but Lewis, but Lewis had been so insistent that Gee had allowed him to go. Now both detectives were stuck in a traffic jam with the tension slowly increasing, almost palpably, as if someone had drastically turned up the heat. Lewis stopped drumming on the steering wheel, and let his hands fall into his lap.
"Are you sure it's her apartment, huh?"
That was all he could find to say. It was as if the words were there, but something was stopping them coming out. Tim looked directly at Lewis.
"I'm sure. It may not be Rene, Lewis. There may be a million and one explanations for all this."
Tim didn't sound convinced. It was the only way
he could think of to try to make this look like a mistake, a joke, even.
The traffic started to move in a slow trickle, imitating the rain that was now starting to fall more insistently.
"What if it's her, Bayliss? What if she's dead? What's gonna happen then? She's my *partner*, man!"
Lewis started drumming on the steering wheel again, not noticing that the rain was coming directly in through the open window.
"I can't tell you that, Lewis, you know that. If it is her, and it may not be, then we're gonna have to treat it just like any other case. We'll work it like any other redball. Let's just wait and see."
They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence again, neither
wanting to put voice to their thoughts.
When they pulled up outside the apartment block, the M.E. was already there.
"Dammit, I can't get her out of there until you guys finish! What the hell took you so long?"
Alyssa Dyer was in an irascible mood. Tim and Lewis exchanged worried glances at the word "her".
"Hey, not our fault the traffic in Charm City gets worse every day!"
Lewis was trying to be flippant, but couldn't hide his anxiety any longer.
"Where is she, doc?" he asked quickly.
Dyer just grunted, and pushed past the detectives,
motioning for them to follow her. They walked up the stairs to the second floor,
where the strong stench of blood and cordite stung their nostrils. They went
through an open door guarded by a uniformed officer, and into Rene Sheppard's
apartment.
If there had ever been any doubt about the identity of the victim, there was no doubt now. The body of Rene Sheppard was splayed out on a deep, white rug in the middle of the living room floor. Her head was turned so that the right side of her face was lying on the rug. Apart from the amount of blood spattered on the floor and walls, it appeared that Rene Sheppard was unharmed. When Alyssa Dyer turned Sheppard's head, however, much of the right side of her face was missing.
"There's a bullet hole just under the hairline on the left side of the
head. Shot from point blank range, by the looks of it. If you look carefully,
you can see the corona from the powder burns on her temple, just here," she
elaborated, pulling back a section of hair.
Whilst
Tim was inspecting the body, Lewis took the opportunity to look around the
apartment. It was almost artfully messy, with colourful clothes strewn around
the living room, and books by authors as diverse as Jackie Collins and Tolstoy
lying in a pile on the floor. The wicker furniture was slightly dusty in places,
as though it hadn't been sat on in some time. He looked at her stereo, and there
was still a CD in the drawer. Marvin Gaye, he noticed. She always was into that
Motown stuff! He caught the fond memory just in time, stopping it from clouding
his judgment of the scene.
Tim was looking intently at the position in which Sheppard's body had fallen. Her right arm was flung out to the side, but her left arm was trapped underneath her.
"Anyone find the gun yet?" he asked.
The various uniforms milling around the scene shook their heads or shrugged their shoulders. Tim shook his head in disbelief.
"Can we roll her over, see if anything's underneath?"
He looked hopefully at Alyssa Dyer.
"Come on, she's one of us!"
She sighed, and then relented.
"Okay, but you'd better hope
there's something under there!"
The
body had already been outlined with tape, which, when they moved her, left a
grotesque design on the white rug. As they rolled her over, something shiny fell
out of her hand. Tim used a latex gloved hand to pick it up. It was a thin gold
chain with a small cross dangling from it. It sparkled as it twisted in the
false glow from the electric light. Tim looked perplexed. Why would she have a
cross in her hand? No gun had been found at the scene, so suicide was out of the
question. That meant that there was no need for her to look for some sort of
atonement, some sort of celestial forgiveness. It didn't make sense.
Lewis had noticed that something was happening, and had wandered over.
"Whatcha got there?" he asked.
Tim held it up to show him, eliciting a gasp of recognition from Lewis.
"Where'd you get that? I gave that to her last Christmas! Where was that?"
He had become very pale, and seemingly shaky on his feet. Tim rose up, slowly, holding the chain delicately between two fingers.
"She had it in her hand. I'm sorry. I had no idea that you two were that close.."
Lewis looked at him sharply.
"We only dated a few times, man. I stayed here, she stayed with me, it worked fine. Y'know, just when we needed some company. Nothin' heavy."
He looked sombre. Tim had never seen him look so down. It was clear that
Sheppard's death had more profound consequences than he would admit.
"Hey! Over here!"
A uniform was shouting from a few feet away. He was holding up a gun, what appeared to be a Beretta 92. Tim walked over to the officer, and took the gun from him. He looked the officer up and down, as if he was appraising him. He was about the same age as himself, with skin like coffee, and eyes like pools of melted chocolate.
"Don't I know you?" he asked, almost embarrassed.
The uniform nodded and broke into a smile.
"Will Travers. We used to work together on the Mayor's detail years ago. Then you got lucky and moved to homicide! How you doin', man?"
Tim took the proffered
hand and shook it. Bringing the gun up to his nose, he smelt it. It had recently
been fired.
"Where was it?" Tim asked Will.
Will indicated to the floor about six feet behind the body, just tucked away inside an alcove. Tim looked puzzled. What was the point of placing the gun that far from the body? It was obviously not meant to look like suicide, otherwise whoever had killed Rene Sheppard would have placed the gun into her hand. Lewis came over, and took the gun from Tim.
"That looks like Rene's gun! I always told her not to use a piece of crap like that, but she said she liked it."
He, too, smelt the gun.
"Jesus! Someone shot her with her own gun? But she never told no one where she kept it! Said it was her lucky gun!"
Lewis handed the gun back to Tim, and walked quietly
out into the corridor.
"Lewis, I think you'd better tell me what was going on with you and Rene. I know we all used to boast about how far we got with her, but I need to know."
Tim looked at Lewis pleadingly. Lewis looked back at him with his eyes shining, close to tears.
"We been seein' each other on and off for 'bout a year. Never got serious. It was just sex, I guess. I gave her that cross last Christmas. Said she'd never take it off. Her lucky cross. Christ! Why'd she have so much shit that was lucky?"
He smiled grimly.
"Some bastard shot her with her lucky gun, and she was holdin' her lucky cross. Bet she was wearin' her lucky panties, too."
Tim looked quizzically at him.
"No, I don't know
if she had lucky panties! I haven't been with her for a few weeks. She said she
was too busy."
Lewis
immediately felt a flush of guilt concerning his last comment. He had cared
about Sheppard more than he cared to admit to anyone, including himself. Now
that she was gone, he wondered what he would do without her around. They had had
a row when they had last been together, about anything and nothing. She had
accused him of being too clingy, and had told him that she was dating another
cop, a uniform. He had been upset, his macho pride dented in the worst way
possible, and had avoided working with her since then. He had even put up with
being partnered with Kellerman just so that he could avoid being with her.
Tim
had finished with the uniforms, and was now out in the corridor, knocking on the
door opposite. Lewis followed him. Anything to get out of Sheppard's apartment.
Just as he arrived at Tim's side, a tall thin woman opened the door. She was
ancient, her face lined with years of experience. Her straggly grey hair seemed
to emanate from her head like a halo, unbrushed and tangled. Her shapeless brown
dress hung from her skeletal frame, and a smell of boiled cabbage came from the
apartment.
Lewis flashed his badge at her, and she recoiled in surprise.
"Detective Lewis, this is Detective Bayliss, Baltimore Homicide. May we come in?"
The wizened
old woman nodded, and pulled open the door just enough for them to enter. The
apartment was small and cluttered, hundreds of useless ornaments scattered
almost randomly around any surface that would hold them. There were floral
antimacassars on a threadbare green sofa, and pictures of crying children
adorned the walls. God, this place is straight out of a dumpster, thought Tim,
irreverently. The old woman was signalling that they should sit on the sofa.
"What can I do for you boys? Is it about little Rene (she pronounced it "Rennie") across the hall? It was me that called you, you know. I knew something would happen like this. Girls shouldn't be police."
Tim looked at her and smiled.
"Uh, Mrs…."
She looked back it him with something akin to pride in her eyes.
"Miss. Miss Eleanor Graystoke. Never believed in marrying. Not something I wanted to do."
Lewis suppressed a small giggle. He had never come across such an eccentric old woman. Tim continued talking to her.
"Miss Graystoke, how well did you know Miss Sheppard?"
Eleanor
Graystoke stared at the worn carpet for a few seconds.
"Why, since she moved in here a few years ago. I told her then, and I'll say it again now. Girls aren't supposed to be police. What with that pretty little face of hers, she should have stuck to being a model!"
(She pronounced it mo-dell). Lewis was smirking behind his hand at this woman. She must be crazy, he thought.
"When did you last see Miss Sheppard? And was she alone?"
Tim was being as gentle as he could, nursing the old woman towards the answers he needed.
"That would have been last night. I saw her coming home at about seven o'clock. She had a friend with her, she often brings a friend home. Lovely looking girl, she was, the one that came home with her last night. Lovely blonde hair, like mine was when I was a girl."
Eleanor Graystoke seemed lost in
her own private memories.
Lewis was close to laughter now, for some absurd reason. He excused himself, and went out into he corridor, leaving Tim to the mad mumblings of Miss Graystoke.
"Have you ever seen her before, Miss Graystoke? Did Miss Sheppard ever bring her home before?"
Miss Graystoke seemed deep in thought, and Tim was unsure that she had heard the question.
"Miss…"
She interrupted him.
"I'm not deaf, young man! I heard you the first time. She used to come home with the other detective a lot until recently. Lewis, was that his name? Yes, of course. About a month ago, this other girl started coming home with her. Very pretty, and taller than me. Very thin, too. I don't think she ate enough, far too thin!"
A scowl spread across her face.
"Amanda! That was her name!"
She seemed proud to have remembered such
a detail.
"Can you tell me what time Amanda left last night? Do you know?"
Miss Graystoke looked bored.
"Of course I know! I'm not stupid any more than I'm deaf! She didn't leave. Amanda always stayed the night, same as Detective Lewis."
Tim smiled, and thanked Miss Graystoke for her cooperation. He made his excuses and left. Lewis was still out in the corridor, his face a mixture of intense sadness and amusement at the antics of Eleanor Graystoke.
"Timmy! What she say? She tell you about the cameras she had in Sheppard's apartment or somethin'?"
As usual, Lewis was covering his emotions with humour.
"Not quite. But she does know who you are, Lewis. Said you used to stay over a lot. She's not quite as crazy as she seems."
Tim cleared his throat.
"Apparently, someone called Amanda has been staying a lot recently. She stayed last night, and no one saw her leave. We need to find out who she is."
Tim took the stairs two at
a time, wanting to get away from the smell of death.
************
The squadroom was absolutely silent as they entered. Four pairs of eyes followed them down to Tim's desk at the end of the room. Four pairs of ears strained to hear any conversation between them.
"It was Sheppard. Shot in the head."
Lewis broke the awful silence. He slumped in his chair and started to play with his football. Kellerman was the first to speak.
"I'm sorry, man. I know you two were close."
Lewis looked up at Mike, hurt and accusation in his eyes.
"Screw you! You don't know shit!"
Lewis violently tossed the football into the trashcan, and stormed out of the room. Terri Stivers rose from her desk.
"I'll go after him. Was it really that bad, Tim?"
Stivers seemed concerned. Tim nodded,
and stared dully at his desk. Karin walked past Tim's desk on her way to the
water cooler, and patted Tim on the shoulder. Munch wandered over, and perched
himself on the edge of Tim's desk.
"What happened out there? I've never seen Lewis so spooked!"
Tim looked up at him with wide hazel eyes.
"Like he said, she was shot once in the head. Maybe even with her own gun. The right side of her face was missing! Dammit, Munch! What the hell's happening here? If a cop isn't safe in their own apartment, who is?"
Tim leaned on his desk, head in hands. Gee came out of his office, and Tim looked up.
"Not now, Gee. I can't face it at the moment."
Gee's face was thunderous, and you could tell that he was in no mood for waiting around.
"Bayliss, you're primary on this. You know how to work a redball, and I expect you to work this like any other. Are there any leads yet?"
Tim recounted the details
given to him by Eleanor Graystoke, thinking momentarily of the woman's seemingly
confused state belying a sharp mind.
"So, do you know anything else about this Amanda person?" asked Gee.
Tim slowly shook his head. He had been profoundly shocked at the sight of Sheppard's body, and was glad that it hadn't been Rachel. He wouldn't know what to do if he lost her.
"I've got the uniforms searching the scene now. Maybe there'll be something in her diary, a number, maybe even an address. I'll check her desk, too. The neighbour said that she'd seen Amanda several times over the last few weeks, and if she was important to Sheppard, maybe there'll be something in her desk."
Tim was
obviously uncomfortable about working a case so close to him. He had once
considered dating Sheppard, and, at this moment, was glad that nothing had come
of it. Sheppard had always been out to prove something, prove that she wasn't
just a pretty face. She had also talked to Tim about experimenting with her
sexuality. Maybe her adventurous spirit had got her killed.
Tim sat at the mess that was
Sheppard's desk. He began picking through the items on the desktop, hoping to
find some indication of who Amanda was. Sheppard hadn't exactly been the neatest
person of late. It was as if she had no longer cared about appearances, as if
something had happened in her life to change that. More like someone, thought
Tim. Under a pile of case notes, he hit pay dirt. A thick black book, bulging
with added papers, had been artfully hidden by a pile of candy wrappers. He
flicked through it until he came to the month of June. Certain dates were
starred, with the name "Mandy" pencilled in. Tim made a note of these
dates, and reminded himself to go back to see Eleanor Graystoke, see if she
could remember anything more specific. He continued flicking through the book,
and found that the previous day had been starred, and the words "MOVING
DAY!!!" had been printed in her bold, flowing script.
Odd, she had never told anyone she
was moving, thought Tim. Then again, maybe it wasn't her. Maybe the mysterious
Mandy was moving in with her. It was a long shot, but Tim decided to check with
the building supervisor whether Sheppard had arranged to move anyone else in. He
finally reached the addresses section of the book, and searched for any
reference to Amanda or Mandy. After going through the entire section, he found
nothing pertaining to an Amanda at all. He started rifling through the pieces of
paper that had been slipped into the diary. A while later, he found an old
shopping list with "Mandy – 555-0165" scrawled on the back in blue
ink. It didn't match the handwriting that he knew to be Sheppard's. He put it
aside, and carried on searching for anything else that might lead them to
Amanda.
After a fruitless couple of hours, he went in search of Lewis, who had still not returned with Stivers. He found them over the road at the Waterfront, quietly sipping coffees. Rachel was behind the bar, trying hard not to listen in to their conversation. She came out from behind the bar as she saw Tim come in, and immediately went to put her arms around him.
"I'm so sorry, Tim. I know you were friends. Is there anything I can do?"
Tim held her close, enjoying the sweet smell of her freshly washed hair.
"No. There's nothing anyone can do. Is he okay?", meaning Lewis.
Rachel nodded in affirmation. She looked up at Tim, noticing the haunted look in his eyes.
"He's totally sober, if that's what you mean. Terri wouldn't let him drink. Are you free this evening, Tim? I have something I really need to talk to you about."
Tim looked compassionately at her. God, what would I do if this happened to Rachel?
"I don't know. Because it's a redball, I could be on this all night. Can it wait for a day or so?"
He really hated to do this to her, but, at the moment, the case was more important.
"No, Tim, it can't. I went to see the doctor
this morning. I'm pregnant," she replied, blunt as usual.
The colour drained from Tim's face, and he sat at the nearest table.
"Are you sure? It couldn't be a false alarm or something? I mean, we used protection every time!"
Tim looked bewildered. Rachel felt ashamed. This was not something he had needed to hear just after finding out a friend had died. She sat down opposite him, and held his hand.
"I'm sorry. That was tactless of me. I should have waited."
Tim squeezed her hand nervously. A baby! What the hell would they do with a baby? Neither of them would have the time to look after it, and they sure as hell weren't ready for it!
"Do you know when it happened? I, I mean, when is it due?"
He was confused. Having children was something he'd thought about, sure, but not yet, not this soon.
"We've worked out I'm about five
weeks pregnant, so that makes it due in March. What are we going to do,
Tim?" she pleaded with him.
"I need to go now, Rachel. We'll talk later, I promise. We'll sort something out."
He stood up, and bent to kiss her, and then walked over to where Lewis and Stivers were sat.
"Hey, Lewis. You ready now? We got a lead on Amanda. Lewis? You okay?"
Tim sat next to Terri Stivers, and looked at her quizzically.
"He's decided that the best way to deal with this is to drink himself into oblivion, haven't you, Meldrick? And he's pissed because I told Rachel not to serve him."
Stivers was clearly annoyed at Lewis, both for wasting their time and for feeling sorry for himself.
"Meldrick, the only thing you can do for Sheppard now is to get out there and find her killer. If you don't, you're going to hate yourself and Sheppard for a long time," said Stivers, stoical as usual.
She looked at Tim, as if to say, "there's nothing else I can
do". Tim moved Lewis's coffee cup away from him, and leaned over so that
his face was almost touching Lewis's.
"Look, it's not your fault Sheppard got killed, and it's not my fault either, so don't screw this up just because you feel guilty for some reason. Is there something you want to tell me?"
Lewis looked at Tim, his face twisted in anger and resentment.
"Screw you, Bayliss! You ain't got no idea what went on with me and Sheppard, so just butt out! An' how I deal with this is my business. Rachel, get me a vodka. Make it a bottle!"
Rachel came over to the table, and shook her head.
"I'm not gonna let you get drunk when you're in this state, Meldrick. If you want a drink, you're gonna have to go somewhere else, because I'm not gonna serve you."
She cleared away the empty coffee cups, and made to walk back to the bar.
"You can't speak to me like that. This is my goddamn bar, and I'll have a goddamn drink if I want! Get me a bottle of vodka and a glass."
His tone was low and measured, almost threatening, and Rachel
looked to Tim for support.
"I agree with her, Lewis. You're in no state to drink right now. This is my bar too, and I say you're not drinking. Come on, Lewis, we need to get in touch with Amanda. Now," he said insistently.
Meldrick Lewis slammed a fist down onto the table, and looked directly at Tim.
"I said I ain't goin', so screw you. An' if I wanna drink, I can get it myself!"
He stood up, and walked over to where Rachel was guarding the entrance to the bar.
"Get outta my face, Rachel. You can't stop me havin' a drink."
Rachel remained where she was, blocking his path.
"I may not be able to stop you, Meldrick, but I'm a phone call away from a hundred cops over the road who can. Now go with Tim and do something constructive with your anger. I'm not letting you have a drink!"
Rachel was
upset, and Tim was angry at not being able to do anything to help.
Lewis looked around, and, not getting any support from Stivers or Bayliss, backed down.
"Come on, Rach! I'd let you have a drink if this had happened to you. Please."
He looked at her, his eyes hooded with hurt and anger, looking for all the world like a little boy. Rachel was indignant.
"No way. I'll serve you as much as you
want after your shift, but not now. Go with Tim now, come back later, and you
can get smashed together. Please, Meldrick."
She was appealing to his sense of friendship now, hoping that his obligation to Tim and Sheppard would bring him to his senses. He looked at her for a long while, and then hung his head.
"Okay. I don't have much of a choice, do I?"
Rachel smiled at him, and shook her head. Stivers looked relieved, and put her arm around Lewis. She led him out of the bar, leaving Tim with Rachel.
"A baby, huh?" was all he could think of to say to her.
He pulled her into his arms, and kissed her long and deep.
"We'll talk later, okay? I love you, Rachel," he said, hugging her one more time before leaving the bar. She stared after him with deep concern imprinted in her eyes.