Part 13

Peter spent the rest of the day working on files, updating reports and filling out the paperwork that he usually set aside. He had no desire to work on any of the active cases left on his desk. They were all, as the detectives of the 101st called them, "perennials." They were the cases that weren’t going anywhere, and would probably never be solved. There were no new leads in any of them, no old leads that had not been checked out.

*If Strenlich doesn’t put something fresh on my desk soon, I am going to have to resort to stealing a case from Kelly Blake’s desk* Peter thought to himself. The female Blake, as she was often called, had taken a couple of days off, but had left her files neatly stacked in the center of her desk, unguarded. It was tempting. Looking up to see if anyone was watching, however, he caught Strenlich eying him. As if he could read the detective’s mind, the Chief of Detectives frowned and shook his head. Back to paperwork.

Jody and Skalaney invited him to join them for lunch. It would have been an excellent opportunity to pump the pair for information on the two cases he *was* interested in, but he declined. If he joined the two, he would have to fend off their demands that he actually eat. For some reason, he no longer had an appetite. The mere thought of food was almost enough to send him rushing for the john.

An eternity and five hours later, the clock told him that it was time to go home. More accurately, it was time to make the two block trek to Dr. LaKaison’s office. A shiver of dread passed over him. He shook off the feeling of foreboding, and headed for the door.

"Peter, let’s grab a pizza and catch the game on the tube tonight," Kermit suggested, appearing from nowhere.

"Ah, Kermit, I think I’ll pass. I’m going to try for more sleep tonight. I’ve been kind of drug down with this stuff that’s going on," Peter begged off.

Kermit watched his young friend exit the building with a concerned look in his green-glass-hidden eyes. Peter never admitted he was tired. He never turned down pizza, and he never passed on watching sports with friends. Kermit hoped the old Peter would be returning soon to replace this clone. Until he did, however, the clone was going to need some watching. While he was watching the Peter-look-alike, he would get that pill to his contact in the Langly "spook shop" pharmaceutical department and see just what in the Hell that woman was feeding him. Old suspicions died hard. Just because the label said it was an antidepressant did not make it so.

"While I am in the suspicious mood," Kermit spoke aloud, his computer his only companion of the moment, "let’s take a virtual stroll down Dr. LaKaison’s memory lane."

***

Peter awoke later on that evening, ravenously hungry. He rose, noting his lack of apparel. He was getting used to not remembering anything after he left the precinct, but he did not feel any more comfortable about it. The memory gaps still gnawed at his gut.

After slipping on a pair of sweat pants, he headed for the kitchen to see if there was anything edible there. Opening the refrigerator door, he was surprised to find a take-out pizza box in the nearly empty appliance. Peter knew that it had not been there that morning. He looked at the name on the cover of the box, unfamiliar with the place of origin, and frowned. *Now I’m ordering pizza in my sleep,* he thought. *I really am going crazy.*

Taking the pizza from the ‘fridge, he grabbed a couple of napkins from the counter and then went back to grab a beer. He was preparing to open it when he hesitated and put it back, taking a Pepsi instead. It wouldn’t do to mix the alcohol with the antidepressants and whatever else the doctor was shooting him full of . He still had not taken any of the sleeping pills in the bottle at his bedside, but each night he had fallen into a deep dreamless sleep. Actually, he didn’t even remember going to bed. Mixing a beer with the good doctor’s potions would not be a wise idea.

Peter took his midnight snack into the living room, setting it down on the coffee table while he turned on the TV for companionship. Opening the box, he saw that two pieces of the pizza were already gone. He definitely did not remember eating them. *Oh well, * he thought, *so I’m a sleep snacker.* He ate as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Thinking about the last time he remembered consuming food, Peter realized that unless he was eating in his sleep every night, it *had* been days.

*Maybe I am on the road back,"* he thought as he shoved another slice of pepperoni and black olive pizza in his mouth, taking a healthy bite.

Peter returned to bed after his snack, sleeping, but not well. Bits and pieces of nightmares flashed through his mind all night long.

* He saw Dr. LaKaison’s face over his , her hair hanging loose and her eyes closed.*

*A tall, good-looking black man was speaking to him in gentle tones, then laughing. The laughter echoed and distorted.*

*Tom Johnson handed Peter a bundle of shirts, blood dripping from the corner of the package. As Peter looked from the red-soaked package back up to his friend, he saw the source of the scarlet fluid.*

*Billy Grayson smiled up at Peter from his race-car bed, his Northern Dark Stars uniform drenched in blood.*

Peter sat bolt upright, a scream buried in his throat. He gasped for air, yet could not breath in the thick stuff that surrounded him. Holding his head in his hands, he fought the darkness that threatened to overtake him, even though he knew that in the darkness was sleep. It was a battle he lost moments later.

[end part 13]

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Part 14

Peter arrived at the precinct the next morning looking less worn than he had all week. It was evident that he still was not sleeping, but there was a little more spring in his step, and he smiled quickly as he was greeted by Patti, the night clerk. Patti was 22 years old, 5’ 2" tall with short brown hair and a crush on Peter that made Jody’s seem like amateur night. He never encouraged her, but he did nothing to drive her away either.

Patti had been worried about her favorite detective. He had that little boy lost look lately. She dreamed at night of holding him and making his pain disappear. He was everything she had ever wanted in a man. He never took her up on her less-than-subtle invitations, however, so she settled for being one of the many women that loved yet never got near Peter Caine. Today, though, he was looking better. . . and he smiled at her, that make-your-heart-melt smile that had attracted her to him in the first place.

Peter resigned himself to another boring day behind his desk. He was frustrated. He should be working with the investigation of Thomas Johnson and Billy Grayson. He was a good cop, he could help. He felt so damned ineffectual being cut off from those investigations. Sighing, he poured his second cup of bullpen coffee and booted up his terminal. Strenlich appeared at his desk, file in hand.

"Caine, thought you might like some real police work to do," the ex-Marine said gruffly. Peter nearly leaped over his desk to grab the file. His face glowed with an excitement that had been missing for days.

"Oh, God, Chief, I could kiss you," he said, his head already buried in the file.

"Yeah, well don’t try." Strenlich turned and headed back for his own desk, smiling a secret smile to himself. "I just assign ‘em as I get ‘em." He, too, was happy to see his top detective come out from under his cloud, if only for a moment

The case in Peter’s hands was a more-than-a-week old corpse that had been found floating in the river. From the crime scene photos, the time in the water had done little to preserve any evidence the body may have had to offer. The coroner’s report suggested that cause of death might have been a bullet wound to the heart. All findings were preliminary, however, pending test results from toxicology and blood work. The DB (dead body)’s ID listed him as James Carson Ketterling, 41, of Lincoln, Nebraska. Ballistics had not identified a match for the slug found in the body, a .38 caliber round. Final ID was going to require dental confirmation.

*Great! Real police work to do. Leads to find and check out.* Peter thought as he pulled up the NCIC program and entered Mr. Ketterling’s social security number and date of birth from his driver’s license.

"My, aren’t we cheerful today?" Kermit’s comment broke into Peter’s thoughts. He looked up to find his coworker standing at his desk. Peter grinned self-consciously and gestured to the file.

"Strenlich finally let me have something real to do again. I was beginning to actually dot all my "i’s" and cross my "t’s". He must have know that I was losing it."

"Good to have you back, kid." Kermit made his way toward his office, a tiny smile playing on his lips. The crisis had passed, his friend was on his way back.

****

Lunch time came in the blink of an eye, but Peter declined invitations once more. He had a case. He had something on which to focus and a way to bury his pain. As long as he could turn his attentions elsewhere, he didn’t have to think about Billy or Tom. He threw himself headlong into finding everything he could about James Ketterling. The NCIC report had come back with a felony want on the man in Colorado. . . and one in Texas. . . and in Nebraska. It seemed that the man got around. He had a long criminal history. The wants were all for murder one, with special circumstances. James Ketterling had not been a nice man. Peter checked with one of his few friends at the FBI. The victim was believed to be a free-lance hit man, working for whomever would pay his prices. . . and they were not low. Amazingly enough, Ketterling had spent several years right here in the city. He had lived here for almost a year following his release on parole five years earlier. He had served six months on an assault with a deadly weapon charge. The man had pulled a knife in a bar fight.

Peter printed out several copies of Ketterling’s arrest photo then grabbed his jacket. He was headed out the door when Kermit’s voice startled him.

"Going somewhere?" Kermit said from just behind him.

"Damn it, you must have taken lessons from Pop," Peter groused. "I am going to go flash this guy’s picture around at some of the local hangouts, see if anyone recognizes him."

"Without a partner?" the computer wizard questioned. As renewed as Peter was by the case, he was still a little too unpredictable to be out on the streets alone. Kermit had not forgotten fact that a serial killer had targeted the homicide cop, either.

"In case you haven’t noticed, my partner is now working with someone else on a case that I should have," Peter snapped, instantly regretting it. It wasn’t Kermit’s fault. Damn it, it wasn’t anyone’s fault.

"Mind if I ride along? I’ve been meaning to spend some time in sleazy bars. I haven’t had my quota of second hand smoke this week." Kermit’s tone made it clear that he was not *asking.*

"Sure, come on. What is a cop without a good babysitter along?" Peter’s petulance was short-lived. He was secretly happy to have Kermit along. He had been trapped alone in his own thoughts so long that he looked forward to an actual conversation.

***

The afternoon was less than fruitful, but Peter was happy just to be out of the precinct and doing something. One bartender said that he might have seen the guy a little over a week ago, that he might have been in there with some other guy. He couldn’t remember what the other man looked like, only that the pair had gotten loud and been asked to leave.

"That is, if it is the same one," the bartender had qualified his remarks. "A lot of guys come through here. We don’t exactly have them sign the social register or whatever." It was obvious that they were not dealing with a moonlighting rocket scientist.

It was getting close to 5:00 when Peter’s cellular phone rang. He answered it with his usual "Caine."

The sultry voice on the other end of the line spoke a single word "Dostoevsky," paused then spoke again. "Tonight, 5:30."

Peter pushed the disconnect button and turned to Kermit.

"Let’s call it a day. I have to get back anyway. I’ve got an appointment tonight."

"Who was that?" Kermit’s curiosity shifted into high gear.

"Who was who?" Peter asked, a confused look on his face.

"Don’t give me that crap. Who was the call from?" Kermit was getting irritated. The homicide cop beside him had shifted gears midstream. One moment he was gung ho to hit a half dozen more bars, one short phone call later he wanted to call it a night. Something did not track right. He had a nasty suspicion that the call was from Jessica LaKaison.

*Damn, I wish that background check on her would come back,* he mentally growled. There had been trouble on the ‘net and his queries had not been processed immediately.

"It wasn’t anyone. Nobody was on the other end. Must have been a wrong number." Peter’s answer sounded contrived and hollow. He wasn’t trying to mislead Kermit, however. The man in green glasses had never had difficulty telling when Peter was lying to him. His friend gave no indication that he believed that the call had been anything other than what he had said it was.

The pair headed back to the precinct in silence, Kermit keeping a close eye on his friend. The animation that had been present most of the day was gone. All was not well in the world and Kermit was determined to find out what was making the disturbance. Perhaps a visit to Blake and his magic world of listening devices would be in order tonight. He wouldn’t be able to get the bug planted on Peter for tonight’s therapy session. Tomorrow night Peter would not be *alone* in the office with Dr. LaKaison, Kermit would make sure of that.

[end part 14]

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