PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT

by Tim Matson

Well, that wasn't what he expected.

He stood with his hands on his hips and surveyed the scene. His sharp eyes tried to gather everything in, attempting to miss nothing of the information that had been brought out while doing this experiment. He pursed his lips in concentration, and jotted down short notes on a yellow legal pad attached to a clip board. It was difficult to write legibly with the gloves on, but this was about the science and sacrifices had to be made. The work had to be precise; there wasn't any room for error.

The white hazmat suit was beginning to get a little hot, and his skin itched where the sweat was running down his back. It covered every square inch of his body, and even though it came equipped with a breathing apparatus, it was a little difficult to get any air. Still, it was worth the discomfort to keep the scene as close to perfect as possible. He had learned so many things today, but he had worked like a dog to get the results that he wanted.

So much to learn, so little time, but when you embark on a task that had such incredible repercussions, it paid to keep it perfect. To practice. To go through each step one by one; slowly and carefully. The experiments he performed today were time consuming and strenuous, but he was confident that he had learned his lessons well, and when it came down to it, he'd be ready to go.

He looked around at the walls and the floor through the plastic shield that was attached to the helmet. God what a mess he'd be cleaning up. Oh well , he thought, better safe than sorry .

***

Detective Jack Gallow was re-reading on old Tom Clancy thriller. He had bought it years ago; paid full price for it at Barnes and Noble, not used at Half Price Books where he usually hunted for books he didn't have. He really liked the way the story was woven together, but suspected that the reason he really liked Mr. Clancy's books so much was the he and the main character, Jack Ryan, shared the same first name. Not that he considered himself that much of a hero. His life, even as a cop, was incredibly boring compared to rooting out terrorists or being the leader of the free world. Still, it was a very pleasant diversion while eating breakfast at the diner and waiting for Sandra.

Detective Sandra Reese was rarely late. But this morning she walked into the diner forty minutes later than they had planned. Jack's eyebrows were up in a question. She grinned at him in answer to the question.

“Don't start,” she said.

“Who, me? Say something about being late? Me? The guy that always gets a sharp word if I'm late? Say something to you? Who's never late? Ever? Ever ever ever?”

She sighed and slid into the booth they usually sat in. They called it “our” booth, but without the slightest romantic significance. She grunted with satisfaction as she grabbed a laminate clad menu and began to look at it.

Jack's forehead creased, forming a little “v” in between his eyebrows. He smiled and said, “So. It worked out.”

Sandra lowered the menu so only her eyes showed over the top. Jack could sense the smile he couldn't see.

Jack lowered his eyes back to Jack Ryan and said, “Well. He better be good enough for you.”

“Oh Jack. He's...he's wonderful.”

“Well.” He paused. “I'm jealous, of course.

Their waitress came over with a coffee cup, and set it in front of Sandra, and while she was pouring she asked, “The usual?”

Sandra looked up at her, her face glowing. “No. Today I'll have the platter. Eggs, pancakes, hash browns, and a double order of bacon.”

The waitress looked at her as if she had grown a third eye. Jack looked up from his book and asked, “What?”

“Now don't you two start on me.” She paused and said, “A girl needs to keep up her strength, doesn't she?”

***

They were driving away from the diner when Jack asked, “Are you gonna tell me more about him? You've been very secretive about this knight in shinning armor.”

“Maybe more later. I don't want to jinx it.”

“Now I'm a jinx? C'mon. I'm your good luck charm.”

Jack's cell phone started ringing, interrupting Sandra's retort.

“Gallow. Yeah. Yeah. Gimme the address one more time. Okay.” He snapped the phone shut, and turned to Sandra. “We got a homicide. Or two. Or three.”

“What the hell?”

‘I don't know. We'll see when we get there.”

***

Jack pulled the unmarked next to a black and white that still had its lights flashing. The uniform standing watch recognized both of them as they approached the door to the warehouse. The man, Detective Jack Gallow, looked the same as he always did. Finger combed brown hair with a bit more gray than the last time the officer saw him; wrinkled brown suit jacket and mismatched pants, and a cooked tie. Detective Sandra Reese was the complete opposite. The officer was beginning to think the Detective Reese had taken lessons in fashion from the television series CSI. Crisp white button down shirt that hung down below her belt line; skin tight pants, and a working woman's heel. Her perfectly coiffed blonde hair framed her pretty face, accentuating the high cheekbones and big blue eyes.

They walked past the officer and into the warehouse. The thirty foot ceiling was darkened with age, and the tall dirty windows barely gave enough light to see the scene. Someone had set up some portable lights on stands, and the bright yellow glow was a sharp contrast.

Their boss, Lieutenant Gary Anderson, was standing by the lights, frowning at the stains on the floor.

As they approached him, Jack asked, “Whatcha doing here, Boss?”

He looked up at the both of the, the frown never leaving his face. “I was in the neighborhood, and thought I would take a look-see. I'm glad you two are here, this one is weird.”

Jack and Sandra wandered over to the spot illuminated by the portable lights. The techies were already there, doing what they do best: collecting evidence. A couple grunted hellos to the detectives, but the others were very intent on their work, and seemed not to notice.

Sandra took a few steps away from the two men, and looked down on the concrete floor. A thin line made up a large square that was perhaps twelve by twelve. It was dark brown in color, and perfectly straight on all four sides.

“It's blood. Human,” said the Lieutenant.

Sandra bent for a closer look. On the outside of this line, there were small chips in the concrete approximately eighteen inches apart. Sandra pulled two latex gloves out of her pocket, slid them on and felt the small divots. “They're nail holes.” She paused and looked around the square. “Someone built walls here with two-by-fours, and shot nails through boards to hold them to the concrete.”

“You know about construction?” Jack asked.

She smiled up at him. “My dad built houses. I worked with him in the summertime when I wasn't at school.”

“Summer school?”

“Just to take some extra classes. I wanted to get some college stuff out of the way.”

Jack nodded, understanding his overachieving partner. “Why do you think someone built a room here?”

“And why is there blood?” asked the Lieutenant.

“Who let us know about this, Boss?” asked Jack.

“The owner of this building is trying to sell it, and brought some buyers here to check it out. He saw the imprints and the blood, and called it in.”

“He recognized the blood?” asked Sandra.

The Lieutenant nodded. “He was in the war. He's probably seen more blood than all of us put together.”

“We got lucky, then.” He paused, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the square. “We gonna check him out?”

“Yep.” Anderson turned to Jack. “I may spend some time in the office, but I haven't forgotten all of this shit.”

Jack smiled back at him. “No offense, boss. Just thinking out loud. Is anybody renting the space?”

“He says it hasn't been occupied in months, because it's been up for sale,” Anderson said. He turned back to the techs. “How much longer, you guys?”

A carrot-topped techie spoke up without taking his eyes off the floor. “Not long, Lieutenant. This place was cleaned up very well. For some reason, the blood soaked into the floor pretty deep.” He nodded up at Sandra. “I think it wicked right through the two-by-fours. Other than that,” he got up on his haunches and stood up, “there ain't a hell of a lot here. But there is one hell of a lot of blood.”

“How much?” Jack asked.

“Well, you figure that the average healthy adult has between ten to twelve pints of blood in them,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“I figure that there is about...” He paused, and everyone could see the math wheels spinning in his head. “I figure about twenty five to thirty pints here.”

“Three people?” Anderson asked.

He looked at them, and said,”Yeah. Three to four, possibly five, depending on how much they weighed.”

“Jesus Christ!”

The tech nodded. “Uh huhh. Look, we're gonna chisel out as much of this as we can, to try and get a DNA match. We'll see how it goes. I've never matched DNA that's been soaked in concrete for this long.”

“How long?” Sandra asked.

“Four of five days, I'd guess. The bad part is that whoever did this cleaned up.”

“Meaning?” Jack asked.

“If they used some sort of bleach, or anything that will wipe the sample, we won't get bupkiss.”

“Great. Look, let me know first thing, okay?”

“Sure thing, Lieutenant.”

Anderson walked over to Jack and Sandra, and said, “You guy's are on this, okay? You know the drill. Keep me up to date with everything.”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” said Sandra.

Jack was still staring at the bloody square, his face a mask of concentration.

“Jack?” she asked as the Lieutenant walked away.

“What?”

“What are you thinking?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, and said, “Sure looks like a lot of work, doesn't it?”

"What's that?”

“Building a room in a warehouse that's basically abandoned. For what? It just seems that someone went to a great amount of effort.”

“What are you thinking, Jack?”

“Nothing, lovebird. Let's go clear off our desks and wait for the reports to get back, huh?”

***

Jack handed Sandra one of the last packets, and she in turn filed it in one of the big file drawers. She had long ago stopped asking him to put things in their right place; he just wasn't very good at it. He had such a great analytical mind when it came to solving crime, but filing? Not in this lifetime. His reports were concise and to the point, but getting him to write the reports, well, that's when she had to give him a little shove.

“I'm glad you suggested getting things cleaned up,” she said.

He looked at her and smiled. “I thought you might need to clean things to get everything else straightened up.”

“You mean Albert?”

“Is that his name? Albert?”

Her cheeks reddened, and she said, “Yes. Albert.”

“Hmmm. Let me guess. A geek?”

“Dammit, Jack. You shouldn't profile a person just because of his name.”

Jack smiled innocently at her, and waited.

“I shouldn't even bother,” she said. “I knew this would happen.”

The sweet smile never left his face as he stared at her.

She sighed, rolled her eyes, and sat at her desk. “Yes. He's a geek. He's a brilliant man, Jack. He develops some sort of software...I don't really understand it myself. But I know that it's important to him, and that's all I need to know.” She glared at him. “I really like this guy, Jack, and what's more I respect him. So don't go giving me a lot of shit on this, okay?”

Jack thought about it for a minute, and said, “Okay. If you think he's good enough for you, and you're one smart cookie, I'll follow along.” He paused again. “I just want you to be happy, Sandra.”

Her face brightened. “Oh, I am. He's unlike anyone I've met before.”

“Didn't you say that about the last one, too? The professional mime?”

“Shut up, Jack. Or you can finish the rest of this paperwork yourself.”

He smiled and said, “I can do the silent type.”

***

The reports came back as the carrot top tech suspected. Whoever did whatever happened in the warehouse cleaned up very well indeed. The person or persons unknown had used a bleach mixture to wipe out any trace of DNA, so they couldn't start looking for a specific victim. Or victims. They started checking with missing persons, but it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack in the dark. And the needle might not be there to begin with. All they could do at this point was wait for the bodies to start showing up. Or if. But they did, the next day.

“Maintenance workers found them. Scared the shit out of them,” said the officer.

Jack and Sandra were standing on the docks down by the river. They were talking to the first officer on the scene, and he was reading to them out of his notebook.

“How many?” Jack asked.

“Four bodies. All adult. Three female, one male, from what I can tell.”

“What kind of shape are they in?”

“Uhhh. Have a look for yourself. I wouldn't want to try to describe it. I will say that it's not good.”

Jack nodded, and they boarded the barge.

Of all the places he had been doing his job for the force, Jack had never investigated a murder on a barge. Or murders, as the case would be. Of course, he had seen them on the river, being pushed by white towboats. Usually there were multiple barges lashed together, with the current of the Mississippi taking them down to St. Louis loaded with corn, grain, or fuel. This one was in dock, being repaired. The sunlight seemed to be absorbed by all the dark rust that covered it. One of the compartments was open, and the hub of activity was centered there. A gangplank had been centered across the barge and the dock, and Jack and Sandra walked gingerly across, looking at the scene.

The techs were inside, ankle deep in brackish liquid. The smell that assailed their nostrils made Sandra take a hanky out of her pocket, and put it up to her face. Both of them had smelled decomposing bodies before; that was part of the job. But the thick dark liquid appeared to be raw sewage. Jack coughed out the first breath he took, and began to breathe through his mouth, trying not to smell the worst of it.

The bodies were all nude. The techs were standing to one side, trying not to breathe.

Two of the three females were face down, and the man and other female were face up, their bloated faces blank with questions of how they came to such an unnatural end.

“Is the scene processed?” Jack asked.

The carrot topped on spoke. “Yeah. We got as far as we could before you got here. We have samples of the...liquid...and we'll bag the hands and feet before we get them out. Harry's already got the pictures taken.”

“Alright. Let us take a gander, and then let's get them to the lab.”

“Are you thinking about the warehouse?” Sandra asked.

“The number of bodies is right. We can't match the DNA, but it seems likely, doesn't it?”

“Yes. No clothes, so nothing to trace there.” She paused, trying to concentrate on the scene instead of the smell. “The timeline is the big thing, I think. Let's see if we can match the warehouse scene to this one, and see what happens.”

Jack looked up to her with admiration. “Well, done. Your love life isn't throwing you off at all.”

She looked back at him, he eyes above the hanky smiling. “Shut up, Jack.”

***

“They were all killed in the same manner; their throats were slashed,” said Sandra. “The weird part is that two of the victims, the females, were slashed from left to right. The other female and male were right to left.” She flipped over a page in the file. “Fingerprints are back already. Every one of them is in the system.” She looked up at jack. “All for solicitation.”

Jack frowned and set his feet up on the desk. “So. Willing victims. Did they do a tox screen?”

“Yes. Three of the four were positive for cocaine and THC, the other one, the male, was also positive for opiates.”

Jack leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. “So. The usual drug addiction that would be associated with street prostitution.” He paused, and chewed on his lower lip. “Is there any mention of the area around their lips?”

Sandra raised her eyebrows in a perfect arch, and flipped another page. “Hmmm. Yes. All had some sort of chemical irritation around their lips. The coroner assumed it was from the crack pipes.”

“I don't think so,” Jack murmured. “We've gotten lucky twice. One: having the building owner recognize the blood. Two: Those workers on the docks happening to work on that particular barge.” He opened his eyes, and looked at her. “We should buy lottery tickets. Do you realize what the odds are of those events happening that way?”

She shook her head. “I don't have the foggiest. Or what you are getting on to.”

“Think about it. Throats slashed from two different directions? Doesn't that strike you as strange?”

“This whole thing is weird.”

“Agreed. But those particular points are very suggestive.”

“Of what?” she asked.

Jack shook his head. “Not yet. I could be wrong. All I'll say is that knives are very hard to trace. They are not like guns in that respect.” He pushed his hands through his hair, hooked them at the back of his neck, and closed his eyes. “Guns and bullets, while still very hard for us to trace, are a hell of a lot easier than someone who just grabs a knife at the scene to kill someone.”

“Of course. Especially if it's a crime of passion. But they usually leave fingerprints on the knife.”

Jack opened his eyes. “Yep. There'll be fingerprints alright.”

“Maybe we should do some police work here and try to find out who picked up the prostitutes.”

Jack sighed and nodded as he brought his feet off the desk. “Yes. Of course you're right on that. It won't solve the case, but we'll need it for court.”

“What the hell are you saying, Jack? Do you know who did this?”

“Nope. But I have an idea of what he's trying to accomplish.” He paused. “I need you to do something. Check the sheets to see if there have been any suicides in the last few days.”

“Suicides?”

Jack smiled. “Indulge me, lovebird. I'm gonna go check on some stuff. I'll give you a call.”

***

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” Jack said, the smile on his face beaming with humor.

Sandra blushed to her hairline. “Jack! What are you doing here?”

“Here” was a seafood restaurant situated next to the river.

“Mind if I join you?” he said as he sat on one of the metal deck chairs. “He looked at the man seated across from Sandra. “You must be Albert. Sandra has told me so many nice things about you.”

Sandra recovered from her surprise and said, “Albert. This is my partner, Jack Gallow. Jack, this is Albert Seabring.”

Jack reached his thick hand across the table. “Very nice to meet you.”

Albert's eyes narrowed for a split second, but then his bland face was calm. He shook Jack's hand “Likewise. It's an honor to meet the great Detective Gallow. I've read a lot about you in the papers.”

Jack waved his hand. “All exaggerations.”

Albert smiled. “I doubt it.” He looked at Sandra. “You're all she talks about.”

Jack looked over to Sandra, but she was gesturing to the waitress for another coffee cup. “She's the best partner I've ever had.”

“Well,” Albert said, “we might be sharing her if everything goes as well as it has been going.”

As Albert spoke, Jack took a long look at the new man in Sandra's life. His face was bland and lineless, but had a good tan, suggesting a recent vacation or possibly a tanning booth. He had thin blonde hair that was beginning to recede creating a widows peak. His eyes were a light shade of blue peeking out from rimless glasses. A strong, sharp nose wasn't supported by the weak chin, but his lips were full, as if he had botox treatments on them. His suit was definitely not off the rack, and the tie alone probably cost more than what Jack spent on his entire suit. Which was definitely off the rack.

“What do you do, Albert?”

“I'm a scientist. I work for a company that develops software for the healthcare industry.”

“Wow. That must be very fulfilling.”

Albert sniffed, and pulled out a neat white silk handkerchief out of his breast pocket. “Very. We are developing systems to save lives. But it can be frustrating as well. It's hard to secure funds at times.” He shook his head. “Fighting with the bean counters always slows the process.”

Jack nodded. “I can imagine.”

The waitress brought over a coffee cup for Jack, and set it in front of him. He smiled at her, and told her that he didn't need a menu, just the coffee.

How did you find me, Jack?” Sandra asked.

“I am a detective, Sandra.”

Sandra smiled, and took a sip from her coffee.

“I like your attitude, Detective Gallow,” Albert said.

“Please call me Jack.”

“Alright...Jack. Sometimes people mistake a healthy ego for bragging. But you're very good at your job, just as I am at mine. People should respect you as an expert in your field.”

Jack gave Albert a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

Albert paused, and shook his head. “Oh nothing.” His smile was frosty. “Just a little pressure at work from my...bean counters. Sometimes they don't understand that it's important to take a chance...as long as you do the research.”

Jack looked at him evenly. “Yes. I agree with you, I think.” He paused, his brow forming that little “v”. “Research is important.”

Sandra saw something, and interrupted. “Jack. Tell Albert about that case we had a while ago...the one about Santa Claus.”

His eyes narrowed at her. “Sure.” He turned back to Albert. “You may have read about this one. It happened last August.”

Jack's cell phone started to ring, interrupting him. At the same time, a phone began to ring in Albert's suit jacket. Albert stood up, and began to walk to the end of the deck.

Jack spoke into his cell phone. “Gallow. Yeah. Really? Okay. Thanks for calling.”

Sandra looked a question at Jack.

Jack looked over at Albert, and then turned to Sandra. “We have a suicide. A guy cut his own throat.”

Her eyes widened, and she looked over to Albert, who was walking back to them.

“I'm sorry, but I must go.” He paused. “There's been an...incident.” He looked at Sandra. “I'll call you later.” And with that, he strode off.

Sandra was opening her purse, looking for money to pay the tab.

“You got stuck with the tab, Sandra.”

She looked at him. “Not a biggie. It was just lunch.”

He frowned, and said, “Let me get the tip.”

“Sure.”

“Do you know the name of the company he works for?”

She thought for a second. “Something Synergy Systems.”

Jack tossed a bill on the table, and said, “Huh.”

“What's the matter?”

“Comstock.”

“What?”

“Comstock Synergy Systems. That's where Albert works.”

She stared at him. “How did you know that?”

“That's where our suicide is at.”

***

The building was newer, made up of black glass and steel. Some architect had a great time trying to blend it into the surrounding buildings, but didn't quite make it. It was too modern, too much glass, and just plain too much.

Jack and Sandra walked into to the entry and nodded to the uniformed cop standing there. He directed them to the elevator, and they took it up to the top floor. Another cop greeted them and directed them to the end of the hall, where all the activity was.

“Albert!”

Albert looked up at Sandra, his face ashen. “Sandra. What are you doing here?”

Sandra walked over to him as Jack started to talk to the techs.

“What happened, Albert?' she asked.

“Bill killed himself,” he said in a hushed tone.

“Who is Bill?”

Albert didn't look at her, but instead kept his eyes turned towards the office where Jack had entered. “My partner, William Comstock. He's dead.”

Sandra turned towards the office. “Just wait here.”

Jack was looking at the body as she entered the office of the late William Comstock. The body was seated at a huge mahogany desk. Blood spray had covered the top, and soaked through stacks of papers. The head of the victim hung lopsided over the back of the chair, but the body had somehow remained upright. Jack was looking at the floor next to the body.

He glanced at Sandra, and motioned his head at her. “Come look at this.”

She walked over to him carefully, trying not to disturb the scene. A letter opener was lying on the ground, covered in blood. The victims hand was pointing at it, as if he had cut his own throat, and dropped it as he died.

“It's not often a suicide will kill themselves by slitting their own throats.”

“No. It's not,” said Sandra.

Jack stood up, backed away from the body, and looked at the whole scene. “Do you see the direction of the arterial spray?”

Sandra followed the blood pattern. “Yes. It suggests that the vic was left handed.”

Jack walked up to the desk, and looked at the objects on top of it. “It looks like he was. Notice the pen set...and the position of the phone.”

“It seems conclusive so far. But why were we called on this?”

He looked at her. “I asked to be notified if there were any suicides. Especially if a knife was used.”

“But why?”

His lips thinned as he once again looked at the body. “Because I have a theory that whoever killed those four prostitutes was using them for practice for something else.”

Her eyes widened. “To set up a murder and make it look like suicide?”

He nodded. “Yep. It makes sense.”

She thought about it. “Yes. But probably not here. This is Albert's partner.”

He just looked at her.

“No, Jack. Albert wouldn't do anything like that. I know him.”

He turned back to the body. “I hope you're right.” He spoke to one of the techs. “You guys got your pictures? Good. I want to see something. Pull out the body away from the desk. No, just leave it in the chair for the time being.”

Two of the techs rolled out the chair away from the desk. Jack walked over, and pulled aside the victims suit jacket. “Huh,” he said.

“What's that, Jack?”

He was about to speak, when he looked at her face. “Maybe nothing.” He turned back to the techs. “Okay, bag it up, and get it back to the lab. But don't do anything to the body until I get there.”

“You got it, Jack.”

“What did you see, Jack?”

He shook his head. “Let's get the story, and go from there.”

***

“He was a little despondent about some of the sales figures, but I didn't think it was this bad.”

Jack, Sandra, and Albert were sitting in a conference room one floor below the crime scene.

“Did he mention that he was having troubles at home?” Sandra asked.

“He was pretty closed-mouth about his private life, and I'm not one to pry, but,” he nodded, “I got the sense that things weren't going right for him.”

“Was he married?” Jack asked.

Albert shook his head. “No. A confirmed bachelor. He always said he didn't need that kind of trouble.”

“How were sales?”

“Not good, not bad. I always told him that we needed to spend more money on the research, so we could develop better products, but...”

“But what?”

“Bill was tight-fisted. Wasn't willing to take the risks necessary to make it go.”

Jack began to doodle circles on his notepad. “What happens to the company now, Albert?”

“I'm not quite sure. This is quite a blow to me, as you could suspect. I'll have to talk to the lawyers, and figure out what to do next.”

Sandra put her hand over Albert's. “I'm sure it'll be okay, Albert.”

He smiled weakly. “Thank you, my dear.”

Jack cleared his throat, and said, “We have to get back and fill out some reports. But it looks like he just went off and killed himself.”

Albert shook his head. “It looks that way to me as well. Poor Bill. If only he could have talked to me, maybe I could have helped him out.”

“I'm sure you did your best,” said Sandra. “Call me tonight when things settle down.”

“I will, Sandra. I was lucky you got the call. I appreciate the understanding.”

Jack and Sandra stood up, and made their way to the door. Sandra looked back at Albert, and waved as they left. In the elevator down, Jack didn't say a word, but when they got in the car, he said, “Huh.”

“What's that, Jack?”

He looked at her for a full ten seconds, and then said, “I'm going down to the lab. Can you start on the report, and I'll meet you there?”

“Sure. Why do you want to look at the body again?”

“You know me. Cross the tees and dot the ayes.”

“Okay. I want to finish the reports up fast, though. Albert will need me tonight.”

He looked at her from the corner of his eye as they drove away, and said, “Yes. He will.”

“Look, I know where you are going, but he didn't do this. I know him well enough to tell you that. So don't even go there.”

Jack kept his eyes on the road, and didn't speak.

***

“Hey, Jack. Whatcha doin' here?”

“Tom. How is my favorite medical examiner?”

Tom Schmidt snorted. “Your only medical examiner.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you need something?”

Jack sighed. “Yes. First, I want to see the body of William Comstock.”

“The suicide? What for?”

“Just checking something out.”

“Sure.” They walked over to one of the gurneys covered with white sheets, and Tom pulled it back. William Comstock was still dead.

“This is the one you didn't want touched until you got here, isn't it?”

“Yep.”

Tom sensed that something was up, and both men peered closely at the body.

“Throat slashed, right to left, with a very sharp, non-serrated blade. Looks like a bleed-out. Must have been blood all over the damn place.”

“There was,” Jack said quietly.

“C'mon, Jack. What's up?”

Jack wasn't looking at the gaping slice in the neck, but rather at the man's waistline.

“Look at the belt, Tom.”

“Nice belt. Leather...no, snakeskin. Costs a fortune.”

Jack looked at Tom and frowned. “Have another look.”

Tom looked closer. “Hey. Wait a sec...”

When Tom raised his head, Jack said, “Here's the other favor. I need you to keep this quiet for a bit. Not long. Just until I can get some more info.”

“But Jack, that's evidence.”

Jack nodded. “I know. But I gotta help someone here. I'm not gonna cover it up, you know me better than that. But I gotta help someone before I make the bust.”

Tom looked at his watch. “I won't get to this for awhile. It hasn't been marked as a high priority.” He looked back at Jack. “You got some time to wrap it up.”

Jack smiled. “Thanks, Tom.”

Tom took a full breath in through his nose and breathed it out and asked, “Sandra?”

“Yes, Goddamit.”

***

Sandra was just pouring the sauce over the pasta when the doorbell rang.

She smiled over to Albert. “I don't know who it is so late, but I'll get rid of them in a hurry.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I'd like us just to be alone tonight.”

Jack was standing there, his face pinched with pain, and his eyes hollow.

“It's late, jack. What's up?”

“I tried calling...”

“I turned my phone off. We didn't want to be disturbed.”

“He's here?”

“Yes.”

His frown deepened. “Aren't you going to ask me in?” He pushed his way past her. “Mmmm. Something sure smells good. I'm ravenous.”

He walked right over to her cupboard, and pulled out a plate. “One thing I know for sure is that for a Swede, you make great pasta.”

He strode over to the sink where the noodles were draining, put a large helping on his plate, and poured some of the red sauce on top. Sandra's mouth was open in surprise.

“Uhhh...Jack...we sort of wanted...”

“Hey, you got any parmesan cheese?”

Albert walked into the kitchen. “Detective Gallow? What are you doing here?”

Jack looked over at Albert as if he was seeing him for the first time. “Albert? How are you?”

“Uhhh...fine, but...”

“I'm glad you're here Albert. I needed to talk to you.”

Albert's face grew wary, and his eyes narrowed. “That's fine to ask me some questions, but couldn't we do them tomorrow?”

Jack walked into the living room as if he didn't hear a word. “Here's the deal, Albert. I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place.” He took a fork full of the pasta, put it in his mouth, and began to chew. “Sandra,” he said after he swallowed, “you've outdone yourself this time. This is excellent.”

Sandra didn't reply. She sank into one of the overstuffed chairs and gaped at him.

“You see Albert; my partner cares about you a lot. She may not have told you that, but I can tell, because, well hell, I've known her a long time, and I've seen her date a lot of losers.” He looked directly into Albert's eyes. “She really does like you. And arresting you is going to be all the harder on her.”

Albert and Sandra began to speak at once, but Jack silenced them with an upturned hand. “So, this is really going to suck. I have to hurt my partner, well; it might hurt more than you hurt William Comstock. Or the four prostitutes.” He shook his head. “No, not the prostitutes...they took awhile, so I'll bet that hurt like a sonofabitch.”

“Jack...” Sandra started.

He looked at her. “Don't kill the messenger, okay?”

She moved to the edge of the chair, and asked, “Are you sure?”

His eyes softened. “Yes, Sandra, I'm sure.”

He took another mouthful of pasta, and looked with curiosity at Albert. “I figure the hookers were for practice.”

Albert stood, and then sat back down, his face a white mask and his body trembling.

“You don't have to speak; in fact, I'll read you your rights so we get that out of the way.”

“Don't bother,” Albert snarled.

Jack shrugged. “Suit yourself. You've probably heard it enough on television.” He took another fork full, and chewed on it. “Really excellent pasta.”

“Come on Detective Gallow. Where do you think I went wrong?”

At that moment, Sandra realized she was no longer in the room to Albert. Tears began to fall down her cheeks.

Jack swallowed again, and said, “The buckle. You forgot about the buckle. The desk was perfect. I looked at the photos of the crime scene for hours. It was perfect. Using the weapon at hand was brilliant. But you forgot about the belt buckle.” He opened his hands. “Think about it, Albert. Put on a belt in your mind. How do you do it?”

Albert's eyes went blank, and then he returned. “Shit.”

Jack nodded. “I'm sure when you experimented with the hookers, you made sure the blood splatter would be right, the direction of the knife would be right, and everything else would be perfect.”

Albert began to nod unconsciously.

“But, you see, a man will put his belt on one way only. If he is right handed, the buckle will face the right; if he is left handed, it will face the left. For some reason, you had to go right-to-left with the blade when you cut his throat... I'm guessing it's because you're left handed. And then you changed the desk around so we would think he was, too.”

“He was left handed!”

“He was ambidextrous. I checked. But his primary hand was his right. And if he was going to kill himself, that's the hand he would have used.”

Albert's jaw dropped, and he stared at the carpet on the floor.

“Of course, I did some checking. You would get the business...your insurance policy told me that much. And double indemnity life insurance as well for the both of you, in case one of the partners dies.” Jack shook his head. “We would have started looking on that much alone. How did you ever think you could get away with it?”

Albert pointed at Sandra. “Her. She was my ace in the hole. She was supposed to make this all go smoother.” He looked back at Jack, his eyes wild. “Do you know how long I planned this? I thought I had everything accounted for. Do you know how many tests?” His voice began to shriek. “All for nothing! I'm a scientist! I did the research! The facts supported the conclusion! It can't fail!”

He reached into his sport jacket, and just before he had the gun out, Jack threw the plate of pasta square in his face. Albert yelped with surprise, but still managed to get the gun out. But that was it. The bullet from Sandra's cop-issue .38 plowed straight into his chest, just like they taught her at the academy.

Albert fell over the chair, and landed face down on the floor. Jack scrambled over to him, but knew it was too late.

He looked back at Sandra, and shook his head. She tossed the gun on the overstuffed chair, put her face in her hands, and began to cry.