by Harry Hoge
Frank did not consider Jack Coleman his colleague. He was a patrol officer who had stopped an old girlfriend of Frank's on a bogus speeding violation and abused his authority by hitting on her. He decided nothing would be gained by bringing up any of this now.
"I remember," he answered.
"Your file is very impressive for the most part. You were a regular superstar around here before I came. You're too old now to be a boy wonder, but I'll assume you're still a first rate detective."
Frank nodded.
"Your problem is that nobody wants to work with you."
"It's never popular when you're the one to send your partner to Huntsville." A ring of impatience and resentment hung in his voice. He knew all of this and he knew the lieutenant knew. They had discussed it before. It annoyed him that she was bringing it up now, particularly with a stranger in the room.
"You'll need help on this one, Detective." She glanced over his shoulder at the woman in the chair. "I want you to meet- your new partner, Geraldine Gardner."
The woman he had identified as a cop jumped up from her chair and extended her hand. "Hi. I am Geraldine. Most people call me Gerry or G.G. I don't care which, as long as you call me when the donuts get here." She looked down at her body with a grin. The smile lit up her entire face.
"Officer Gardner recently transferred from Kingwood," Barker reported. "She too, has trouble staying with partners."
Geraldine hung her head in a manner suggesting contrition, but Frank decided she was posing. What he had seen so far told him that Geraldine Gardner did not back down from much of anything.
"I guess you're stuck with me," she grinned as she stuck out her lower lip.
Frank sensed that he was going to like this woman. "Sounds good to me," he smiled. "We may be stuck with each other. At least I'll finally have a partner that isn't an ex-Marine."
Geraldine laughed. "Man, this ain't your day. I was a BAM for four years."
"A what?"
"A BAM. A Broad Ass Marine. You've never heard that?"
Frank rolled his eyes and groaned.
"Frank," the lieutenant interrupted. It was the first time she had called him anything other than detective. "I'm pleased you're accepting this without a quarrel."
Frank shot her a look, but said nothing.
"If there are no questions, you two should get on with your work."
"Yes, Ma'am," they both nodded and left. Outside, Geraldine took Frank by the elbow and said in a soft voice. "She doesn't want you to know it, but she admires you."
"She's damn good at keeping it a secret," Frank mumbled.
Chapter 2
"In there," Frank tossed his head toward the lieutenant's office door, "you said you didn't care whether I called you G.G. or Gerry. Which do you really prefer?"
"I think of myself as Gerry. My grandmother insisted on naming me Geraldine so she could call me Gigi. She loved the movie. Gigi sounds like a damn poodle or a stripper, and I hate the Geraldine moniker."
Frank nodded. "Gerry it is. You can call me Frank."
Gerry stopped and stood back. Frank turned toward her, a quizzical look on his face.
"Not Francisco or Riojas?"
"Where did you hear about that?"
"Hey, Frank. When I get orders to team up with someone, I do my homework. Sumbitch ain't the only one that's read your file."
Frank smiled. He liked the fact that she cared enough to do a background check. It showed she had the mind of a detective. "My dad thought I'd have a better chance in the world as Frank Rivers." He started walking again. Gerry caught up. "You can call me Francisco it you want." She did not reply. "If you've read all about me, you have a definite advantage. Tell me about Geraldine."
"I won't say another word until I have a hot cup of coffee in my hand."
They had reached the squad room. Frank opened the door and stood back, making a sweeping gesture with his left arm to allow her to enter ahead of him. "We can take care of that right now. There's always a pot going in here, but it isn't always good."
"Coffee's like sex, Frank. Some's better than others, but it's all good. How's that go? The worst I ever had was wonderful."
Frank smiled and went to the coffee bar. He poured Gerry a cup and handed it to her before pouring his own. "You ought to bring a personal cup in and label it so everyone doesn't slobber in it. I keep a spare in the desk drawer."
"Who's is this?" Gerry asked, looking at the cup in her hand.
"Mine. I'm using my former partner's."
"That would be Skip," Gerry guessed in a quiet tone. Frank nodded. He indicated a white cardboard box beside the Bunn. "They're stale as hell, but they're donuts."
Gerry turned and walked away. "No way, Jose. I've convinced myself that sugar doesn't exist. I have a hard enough time keeping my figure without cramming donuts into me."
"You said you liked them."
"I consider them soul food, but 1 don't eat them."
"Then why did you make that comment in the lieutenant's office?"
"That was play acting for Sumbitch. You know, the stereotype? Cops eatin' donuts and black folk eatin' watermelon and fried chicken. Typecasting. Talk about stale and mean-spirited, if you ask me, but it's what a lot of people like to think."
Frank grinned again and walked to his desk. I love donuts, he thought, but I'll never eat another one without thinking about watermelon. He invited Gerry to sit in the side chair. "I asked you to tell me about yourself, but I get the feeling that if I have patience and listen, I'll find out everything I need to know."
"There isn't much to tell, Frank. I was born in the fourth ward and raised by my mother and grandmother. Grandmother's name was Laverne, and she named Momma, Lilly. That would be short for Lillian-Lillian Gish. Laverne had a penchant for the silver screen."
"What about your father?"
"Beats me. I know I had to have one, but I never knew him. The fact that Laverne's last name and Momma's last name were both Gardner presents a clue."
"Were?"
"What?"
"Were? You said your grandmother and mother's name were the same, rather than are. Are they both dead?"
"Yeah. Momma died of cancer during my last year in high school. Laverne passed on about a year later. Complications during surgery for a routine gall bladder operation." Gerry studied her coffee cup. Frank remained silent until she had time to relive her misfortune. She caught herself, blinked and took a sip of the coffee. "Good Lord! That's bad coffee. Anyway, Laverne always wanted me to go on stage, and Momma argued I needed to go to college. 'That girl need a education so she don't have to live in no slum like us,' she'd say. I never figured we could afford either, but I always said I'd go to college and study to be an actress."
Gerry's gaze locked on her cup again. "Hey," Frank smiled. "'We don't need to do this. Let me bring you up to date on the clown case."
"We've got plenty of time for that," she answered without looking at him. "I want to give you an outline of Me." She turned her head and looked him directly in the eye. "If we're going to be working together, we need to understand what makes each other tick."
"Okay. I can agree with that."
"So there I was, not quite 19 years old and alone. That's when I joined the Marine Corps. I did four years, then used the Montgomery GI bill to go to college at U of H. The training I got in the Corps helped me decide to get into law enforcement. Once I had my degree, I petitioned the department and went to the academy. After graduation, they assigned me to the unit in Kingwood where I spent the last three years chasing peddlers and pushers, and now I'm here." She flashed a fleeting smile.
"Joining the armed services was a good idea, but why the Marine Corps?"
"Growing up in the ghetto sets a mark. I always wanted to prove I could do anything anyone else could. The Corps seemed like the most challenging gig. It was sort of like, if I went to the Olympics, I wouldn't shoot for the bronze, I'd shoot for the gold.”
"Why did Lieutenant Barker in
dicate you had a hard time keeping a partner?"
"Come on, Frank. You're a better detective than that. How many reasons do you need? I'm an unmarried black woman who doesn't know her place in a male dominated profession where men automatically assume all female cops are dykes. Nobody wants to be saddled with that every day."
Frank let that sit a while before he responded, "Well, you may have left the gulf coast for four years, but neither one of us can be mistaken for jet-setters."
"Hey, Frank. You know, once you've had a taste of Blue Bell ice cream, you just can't pull yourself away."
"More soul food?"
"You got that right."
Frank took the time to show Geraldine the routine of the squad room: how they kept files, who used which desks, including a brief rundown of each detective, and which computers did what. When they reached a desk near his and covered with dust, he stopped. "You'll move in here. This was Skip's desk. He won't need it right away."
She ran her hand over the glass veneer that covered the gray metal top. "You gonna have trouble with me sitting here?"
"No. I've made peace with that whole affair. It'll be better seeing you there than looking at it empty. Skip and I worked well together, but I can't say we were really friends." He kept his eyes on the desk while he talked, staring at it much as Gerry had stared at her coffee cup earlier. There was no way to tell how long they might have remained silent. The telephone interrupted.
Frank grabbed the receiver and barked, "Rivers." Gerry folded her arms and watched him react to the caller. "Hey, Al, don't you ever go home?" He pulled out his notebook and pen and scrawled something. "That's great, Al, thanks. Yeah. See you tomorrow." He hung up.
"We caught a break, Gerry. Shuman got an ID on the clown. He ran the fingerprints on a whim, and it turned out the guy worked for the Post Office. His prints were on file. His name is..." he paused, checking his notes. "Hon Cu Loa."
"I doubt that's his real name," Gerry answered.
Frank looked up. "Oh?"
"Hon Cu Loa translates as Monkey's Island."
Frank could not hide his astonishment. "You speak Vietnamese?"
"Some. I'm far from fluent, but I know some words and particularly locations. Hon Cu Loa is well known in Nam."
"Well, crap," Frank grunted in disgust. "Those prints won't help much if we don't know his real name."
"Xin loi," Gerry smiled.
"And that means?"
Gerry shrugged. "Xin loi means, 'Sorry, Charlie.' Sort of."
Frank made several notations in his pad. When he finished he asked, "Listen Gerry, do you mind working Saturday?"
"Hell no. I don't have anything planned. I'd rather work than sit around trying to find something on television I want to watch."
"Al Shuman's going to run the autopsy in the morning. One or both of us should be there." He noticed Gerry's expression turn sour. "You've never witnessed an autopsy before?"
Gerry shook her head. "I'm not squeamish. At least I don't think I am. This has to happen sooner or later if I'm staying in homicide, but it's not something I'm looking forward to."
"I don't think you ever get used to it. Even Al blanches on occasion, and he's been at it for years."
Gerry straightened and took a deep breath. "What do you want me to do?"
"Are you still living in Kingwood?"
Gerry nodded. "Pine Grove actually."
"Okay. Drive me home and you take the squad car. Pick me up at 0730. We'll go watch the autopsy before we eat, and then see if we can run down any information on the clown AKA Monkey's Island."
"You got it, Boss man." She held up her hand for a high five, a grin spreading ear to ear. Frank decided that maybe she should have gone on stage. She could definitely portray emotions.
As they drove west on 1-10, Frank purposely did not give directions. He won a bet with himself. Gerry turned into the apartment complex where Frank lived and into a parking slot close to his apartment. They both sat quietly, neither one obviously ready to put an end to their first acquaintance.
Sports teams talk often about chemistry among the players, Frank thought. Whatever chemistry is, it's important to fellow detectives. This seems so right. I hope it's still there tomorrow. He glanced at Gerry. She was looking at him.
"You got a girl, Frank?"
"What? You mean they left it out of my dossier?"
"Yeah. Just the facts, man."
"Her name is Paulette. I call her Pauley. We've been an item for years."
"Wedding bells coming soon?"
Frank shook his head. "Never, probably. She doesn't want to be married to a cop. Scared, not judgmental."
"I can identify with that," Gerry said. "I try to keep my social life as free of uniforms and stress as I can, but who else is there to hang around with? Life's too short to try and balance this career with a fawning civilian."
Frank opened the door and stepped out. He leaned in before he closed it and winked. "See you at 7:30, partner." Gerry grinned and put the car in gear. Frank pushed the door closed and watched as she backed out of the space and left the parking lot before he turned toward his apartment. He was whistling when he let himself in. The morose mood from the morning was gone. He was probably just tired. He got grumpy when he was tired.
Chapter 3
Frank entered the empty apartment. One reason he did not mind working weekends, was that Pauley worked late on Fridays and all day Saturday. It was the best time for him to get some work done without interfering with their social life.
He checked the answering machine. Nothing. He did a quick sweep of the room. No note from Pauley. He changed into a tee shirt and jeans, and dug into a box he kept in the coat closet near the front door. He found what he wanted in the far corner under other precious paraphernalia. It took a half an hour to pull out the college textbook he was looking for and get everything back in its rightful place. He took the book to the kitchen table and opened the fridge. He chose a can of Keystone Light, opened it, took a swig and sat the frosty can on the table by the book before heading to the living room.
He started whistling again, caught himself and smiled. He lugged the black leather case containing his laptop computer into the kitchen and hooked it up. While it booted, he sliced some summer sausage and cheese, and opened a fresh box of crackers. He took another sip of beer and started leafing through the book.
The book was required for a course he had taken while at Sam Houston State - History of Homicide. The professor, Henry Rafferty, was a retired homicide detective and one of the most demanding in the major. The man remained Frank's favorite, his mentor. Often, in the early days of a new case, Henry would intrude into Frank's dreams, cajoling him to do better work and remove a murderer from the streets. Henry had not bothered Frank yet on this case, but then Frank had not been asleep yet either. Maybe if he reviewed the lessons he had learned, he could avoid a nightmare.
When the computer beeped that it was ready, Frank activated the web search and hunted for information concerning serial killers. He thought of himself as a good profiler, but he knew there were others who were better. Referring back and forth between the textbook and various web sites, he made copious notes. He had opened his third beer and put an exclamation point after the last line of his summary when he heard the key in the lock. Pauley was home.
She burst through the door, a wisp of dark brown hair swinging on her forehead, and slapped her briefcase on the table, leaving her hands doubled into fists on the top. Her plum colored flannel blazer over a matching silk mock-turtleneck sweater accented her dark eyes, and gabardine stretch wool trousers of winter white accentuated her shapely legs. Frank thought her beautiful. Who needed to be married? They had lived together for years, with one minor separation, and had all the intimacy, both communal and carnal, enjoyed by most married couples.
"Tough day?" he asked.
She reached over, picked up his beer and took a long drink as an answer. Frank stood and pulled another from the refrigerator
. He opened it and held it out as a toast. Pauley pushed the hair off her face. It flopped back. She ignored it.
"I thought you'd be asleep after your early start." She took a sip from the can. "I'm glad you're not." She slouched in a chair opposite from Frank. "Want to tell me about it?"
"Why don't you change and then we can catch each other up."
She stared at him for a moment as if mesmerized by what he had said, and then nodded. "Good idea, but if 1 get too close to a bed, I might not come out until morning."
"I'll come with you and do my best to keep you stimulated."
She grinned. "Start with a hug. I could use a hug."
He came around the table and pulled her to her feet and into a tight hug. "Welcome home, working girl."
"Oh, Cisco. It's good to be here. When I'm with you, the world feels safe." She pushed away and headed for the bedroom, pulling him along by the hand. He grabbed her jacket as she shrugged out of it, and leaned back against the wall, sipping his beer as she undressed. When she went to the dresser in nothing but her panties, and bent over to select a tee shirt, he felt like grabbing her, but he did not. That would come later. It was a ritual. She pulled on the white and black striped shirt, wiggled into black sweat pants and brushed her hair into a ponytail that she secured with an elastic band.
They carried their beers back to the living room and flopped side by side on the sofa. She snuggled up under his arm, pulling her feet under her on the couch. "Did you eat?" she asked.
"I did the sausage and cheese bit. How about you?"
"I grabbed a salad at the food court. Maybe I'll eat a banana and have a yogurt before bed. Tell me about the new case."
"Later. I want to hear what has you so frazzled first." He waited through her silence, knowing she was organizing what she wanted to say.
"You remember when I told you I was thinking of expanding the business? Well, you should always be careful what you wish for. Mark Simeon was waiting for me when I got back from lunch. He's an executive with a corporation that markets women's wear under several franchises, Evelyn's Visions being the most popular here in Houston. He said he had researched The Fashion Center and me, and wanted to make a proposal. To make a long story short, he wants to finance two new stores under my name, one at the Woodlands Mall and another at Katy Mills."
