Culture Shock Part 18

"Sorry. I guess I'm feeling cranky today. I can't even blame it on my hormones anymore. I gotta get dressed."

She went back into the bedroom.

At work, well before the start of Alex's s.h.i.+ft, Cynthia sat in front of the computer. She fed Sorenson's information into the database and waited to see what popped up. If something of interest developed, she really wanted to share the outcome with Mike. He had far more experience than she, and right now, she could use the help.

She weeded her way through the mult.i.tude of forms on the computer, hoping to find one that would lead to previous addresses, but all she turned up was a blank form with a big red "confidential" stamped across it. "c.r.a.p," she muttered.

With no experience, she had no idea what it meant. She logged off the terminal and headed for the locker room.

The hallway was filled with officers from the graveyard s.h.i.+ft headed home. Cynthia brushed past a group in the corridor and overheard a tall, skinny guy talking to his friends. "Yep, they found the last one. We've got ourselves a serious serial...."

Cynthia turned around, and looking past the man closest to her, addressed the man she heard speak. "Excuse me..." She didn't have the benefit of a name tag. "I can't recall if we've met or not. I'm Alex Carlyle." She was actually getting comfortable calling herself by his name. "I think I overheard you talking about the case to which I'm a.s.signed."

"Jenkins, David Jenkins is the name." He reached across his friend to shake hands.

"If you're a.s.signed to the serial creep, then you've got another vic."

Her heart dropped. "He killed again?"

"Afraid so. Another blonde, with baby doll and blanket, just like the rest. My partner and I took the call around one a.m. this morning. She was sprawled-"

"Spare me the details," Cynthia begged. "I'm sure I'll hear and see all about it after roll call."

The group dispersed and moved toward the door. "Good luck to you, Carlyle," called Jenkins as he disappeared outside.

Good luck was something she needed. Since moving to town, she'd had nothing but bad. Any hope for improvement, she'd pinned on her brother.

She pushed open the double doors of the locker room and went inside. Laughter and loud talking greeted her. The behavior seemed totally inappropriate given the fact that women were dying and nothing was being accomplished with regard to finding the killer. She wanted to scream at them, but choked back her frustration. She opened her locker and took a deep breath.

Mike punched her in the arm. "Hey, buddy! You look like s.h.i.+t. Someone run over your dog?"

She glared at him. "No, no one ran over my dog."

Mike held up his palms. "Sorry, I was just joking."

"Well, I don't see anything funny right now. I just heard from the graveyard guys that we have another victim."

Mike's face turned somber. "I'm sorry, Alex. I didn't know."

"And I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm just frustrated we can't catch a break in this case!"

"It's okay. I understand. We all get testy some times. Hey, what are partners for?"

Cynthia grinned to hide her anxiety. "For helping catch the bad guys, and we really need to catch this one."

Chapter Twenty.

Cynthia's head throbbed. She and Mike had spent the entire morning following up on dead-end leads. Her stress-level hovered at maximum when they pulled over a vehicle matching a car seen in the vicinity of the latest crime. As Mike took the pa.s.senger side of the vehicle, Cynthia approached the driver and asked for his license and registration. He presented her with out-of-state doc.u.ments. "He's from Oklahoma," she called across the roof of the car to her partner. Did she handle him differently than in-state drivers?

The dark-haired man in the car bore a marked resemblance to the living victim's description of her abductor, but then half the population did. The driver fidgeted while keeping a white-knuckled grasp on the steering wheel. He turned his ebony eyes on her. "What did I do, Officer? Was I speeding?"

Cynthia held on to his license, leaned over and compared him to his picture. "No, sir, you weren't speeding. We're following up on report of a vehicle the same color as your automobile that may have been used in commission of a crime."

His eyes widened. "I've been at work all day. I'm just on my way home."

"So, I a.s.sume you are living in California at this time?" She gazed at his address.

"Yes, just a few blocks from here." He gestured to the north.

"How long have you been in the state?" She glanced at his I.D. "Mr. Caruso."

"Only about a month. I've applied for a new license and registered my vehicle. I just don't have the DMV receipts with me."

Mike peered inside the pa.s.senger window. "Sir, would you have any objections if we searched your vehicle?"

The driver shrugged. "I guess not. I've got nothing to hide."

Cynthia took the keys from the man at Mike's insistence. "You check the trunk, and I'll keep Mr. Caruso company."

She walked to the rear of the car and unlocked the compartment. Inside, she found only two cans of motor oil in a paper sack and a small locked box. She eyed the set of keys in her hand, and noticed one that looked about the right size. She inserted it and the box opened. Inside, she found a gun.

She carried the wooden container back to the car's front. It seemed strange that Mr. Caruso didn't seem worried when he saw it in her hands. She showed it to Mike, and then looked at the driver. "Well, I'm sorry to tell you, Mr. Caruso, that we're going to have to cite you for carrying a concealed weapon."

"But, Officer, I only have it in the car to keep it away from my kids. I plan to buy a gun safe for the house. I just haven't had time."

Mike walked around the front of the vehicle and gave her that "come hither" nod.

"Please remain seated, sir." She excused herself. "I'll be right back."

Puzzled by Mike's interruption, she joined her partner. "What do you want?"

"What's wrong with you, Alex? He's not carrying a concealed weapon. To quote California Penal Code, 12025 does not prevent a citizen of the US over eighteen years of age and who resides or is temporarily in California from transporting by motor vehicle any pistol, revolver, or other firearm capable of being concealed upon the person if the firearm is unloaded and in a locked container."

Which should she feel, fear of revealing her real self or embarra.s.sment from having just made a fool of herself in front of a citizen? She swallowed hard and struggled for an explanation. "I think I've just been working too many hours. Shoot."

"Shoot? What's with this new found lingo of yours? You don't say, 's.h.i.+t' anymore? I don't know, Alex, I think you're headed for a breakdown. You've always quoted the codes to me, and you pull a b.o.n.e.r like this?" He shook his head.

Cynthia flashed a smile at the driver, hoping to keep him comfortable and praying her cheeks didn't flush red from humiliation. After all, she had to go back to him and usurp her own authority.

She turned to go, and Mike grabbed her shoulder. "Hey, how long did Caruso say he's been in California?"

"About a month. Why?" Was there something else she'd overlooked?

"Then you'd better remind him about PC 12072. Here, give me his gun, I'll put it back."

"Yeah, right. I'd better." What the h.e.l.l was PC 12072? Alex never warned her she'd have to remember the whole darn penal code in a few days. She was certain her heart rate tripled.

Cynthia inched back toward the driver's door, trying to think of a way to get herself out of yet another pickle. Was this what life had come to? One jam after another? She decided to feign a coughing attack.

She doubled over, with self-induced spasms. "Hey...cough, cough...Mike. Can you...cough...cough...take over for me here, please?"

As soon as she handed Mike Mr. Caruso's credentials, her symptoms improved in time to listen in as Mike thanked the man for his cooperation and apologized for the inconvenience. She craned her head closer to hear his explanation of PC 12072.

"Oh, and Mr. Caruso, sir, you have sixty days from the date of your arrival in which to register any weapons you have brought into the state and plan to keep. If you fail to do so you'll be considered as a personal handgun importer and treated accordingly should you be caught." He handed him his keys. "Have a nice day."

Back in the patrol car, Mike turned to her. "That was quite a coughing spell you had. Are you all right?"

"I think I breathed in a bug or something. I'm fine now. Thanks for asking and for handling the stop for me. Appreciate it." She turned from his suspicious glare.

Thank G.o.d the day ended when it did. Cynthia couldn't take another minute of Mike's picking at her about her mistakes. Instead of going to her own apartment, she went directly to Alex's, figuring that's where Kevin might be. Since he learned their little secret, he appeared more comfortable there with her despite her outward appearance.

He was stretched out on the divan when she entered. He raised his head from the thread-bare arm. "Shoot. I thought you might come home in uniform. I wanted to see how you look as a cop." He chuckled.

"Don't start," she warned as she held her hand up. "I've had a very bad day and what I need from you is good news, not more ha.s.sle."

Kevin swiveled around and sat. "I wish I had some to share. I found absolutely nothing helpful at the library. Oh, there's lots of speculation that it could happen, but no cases unless you count people who have been possessed by spirits."

She kicked off her shoes and plopped down in the easy chair. A loose spring made a threatening squeal. Cynthia hung her head in her hands. "I wish I was possessed. I could have an exorcism and be done with it." Glancing up, she looked with pleading eyes at her brother. "What am I going to do, Kevin?"

He rested his hand on her broad shoulder. "I don't know, Cyn. I feel like a creep leaving you, but I have to go home in a few days. I have a job waiting and I can't afford to lose it. I'd risk it, but I don't know what I can do. You tell me ... just say the word and I'll stay."

She touched his cheek with sisterly concern. "No, you go. It's all right. There is nothing you can do. We're only a phone call away and if Alex or I think of something, we'll call you." She peered into those eyes she'd loved all her life.

"Sis...uh...."

"Yes, Kevin?"

"Could you...like...." He backed away. "It creeps me out when you touch me like a woman and I see Alex's face. I hope you understand."

She chuckled. "I guess that would freak me out, too. I imagine that's how Alex felt when you picked him up and twirled him around at the airport."

Cynthia came out of the bathroom when she heard a knock.

"I'll get it," Kevin hollered from the living room. "It's Alex, Cyn."

She entered the room, buckling her belt. "How'd it go today, Alex? Do I still have a job?"

"Of course. You just keep doing your homework, and I'll hold down the fort." He held her attache case in the air. "In fact, I brought you some of your favorite yellow folders tonight."

"Gee, thanks. Just what I needed."

"So, fill me in. Kevin already said the library was a waste. How was your day?"

"Oh, don't ask." She took the briefcase from him, went to the kitchen table and sat.

Alex followed and pulled out a chair. "Why shouldn't I ask?" He sunk onto a chair and leaned on the table. "Do I really want to know?"

"Nothing major happened. I just made a penal a.s.s of myself on a traffic stop."

"A what?" His brow furrowed.

"You never warned me how many penal codes there are. I tried to cite a man for having a gun inside a lockbox in his trunk."

"Tsk, tsk." Alex clicked his tongue against his teeth.

"Oh, like that sound makes me feel better."

"Don't worry about it. n.o.body remembers all of them. It's okay."

She rubbed a growing stress ache in her temples. "Yeah, well, Mike didn't seem to think it was okay for you, Mr. I-know-Every-Code-There-Is-To-Know, to forget one."

"Don't pay any attention to Mike. He's a good guy, but he can be a real pain sometimes."

Alex crossed his fuzzy-slipper-clad feet and rested them on the arm of the adjacent sofa, barely touching Kevin's sleeve.

Kevin's attention was drawn from the TV and he looked over his shoulder. "Hey, those furry critters tickle, but don't let me crowd you."

"Not a problem. I don't mind sharing, after all, look what your sister is letting me use." He gestured down the length of her body.

"Not by choice, I'm not." Cynthia kicked his chair leg and almost made him fall.

"Hey, watch it." He struggled to remain upright. "You might hurt yourself." He sat straight and leaned on the table again. "Did you know your computer has games on it?"

"Is that what you do all day?"

"I have to find something to keep myself busy. There's only so many paper airplanes you can fly, and after a while, playing tic-tac-toe by yourself gets really boring."

Cynthia looked up from her stack of folders "I almost forgot. I ran Sorenson's name again and tried every form I could find to get more information on what he does. I came up empty again. What does it mean when you get a screen with a big, red confidential stamped across it?"

"I don't know. I've never seen one, but it sounds like someone is hiding something."

Cynthia rested her head in her hands. "Like we are?"

He pondered climbing the stairs and putting an ear to the door to see if he could hear what went on in her apartment, but he recalled her houseguest or was it her boyfriend's visitor? Didn't matter. An extra body threw a wrench into his plans. Oh, and he did have plans for his blonde beauty. The timing had to be right, along with the place and opportunity. Too many cops combed the neighborhood, searching for him waiting for his next move. This time, he'd do something different. Besides, he grew tired of lurking in alleys and playing stupid games with the law. He thrummed his fingers on the chair's arm and grinned.