Ed Gorman - Cold Blue Midnight

'Yeah, maybe we should have waited for the full fifteen minutes. I think we still had fourteen to go.'

'I want to hate you.'

'Well now, that's a nice neighborly thing to say.'

'You really hurt me.'

He didn't say anything for a long time, just stared at the TV screen without seeing anything and finally said, 'I'm sorry, Jill.'

'That's the terrible thing.'

'What is?'

'I believe you. That you're sorry. And I don't want to believe you.'

He turned on the couch and took her slowly in his arms. 'You should believe me, Jill. You really should.'

After they had finished making love, they snuggled beneath the covers and listened to the wet chill wind slap against the windows.

She couldn't get enough of his touch, or the familiar way he felt pressed against her, the smell of his hair, the gruff feel of his chin. He was one of those men who needed to shave twice a day. At this moment, he was lover, friend, brother and confidant and she loved all of them equally.

They were going to get married and love each other forever more. There might be children, and there would certainly be a rambling rustic house as idyllic as those she always saw in the romantic movies of the thirties and fortiesa true retreat from the wickedness and pain of the world, a place where sunsets were unspeakably beautiful, and lasted for days at a time, a kingdom where the crystal blue lakes remained untouched by industrial pollution. She closed her eyes and imagined such a realm, with herself as the princess and Mitch, of course, as her prince. The only trouble was, reality always intruded. Here was this handsome fairytale princewho was always in need of a shave.

'I don't think he believed me,' she said.

'Who?'

'Lieutenant Sievers.'

'About what?'

'The girl who came into Eric's office. I think he thinks I made her up.'

'This is all a formality, honest.'

'He didn't sound like it was a formality.'

'He's just trying to scare you. That's second nature to cops.'

'Remind me not to buy any tickets to the policemen's ball next year.'

'You won't have to.'

'Why not?'

'Because by then you'll be married to a policeman. And you'll get your tickets free.'

'I'm getting scared again.'

'Of Sievers?'

'Ummm. Of Sievers. And you. And us.'

'It's going to work this time, Jill. Honest.'

'Will you come visit me in prison?'

'Don't talk like that. That isn't funny.' Pause. 'In fact, don't talk at all.'

Before they made love a second time, he simply held her there in the darkness. And eventually she started feeling better, not scared, and safe. Definitely safe.

Holding Mitch was even better than holding her Lone Ranger mug.

At home, Rick went to the dry bar, had two quick drinks of JB Scotch, and then decided to go back to Adam's room and look through the drawers. This time, he wouldn't let anything interrupt him.

But as he reached the hallway, he wondered if he should do it. No matter how hard he tried to leave things just as they were, he knew how angry Adam would be if he found out.

But no, dammit. He knew very little about Adam and now the man's background had begun to interest him a great deal. Who was Adam Morrow, anyway?

He walked to the bedroom door.

Clicked on the light.

Adam really was such a slob.

Rick went in.

Straight to the bureau.

But he couldn't help it. He felt guilty. A naughty little boy, that's what he felt like.

He bent down to the third drawer. That's where he'd left off, right? The third drawer.

He opened it and saw handkerchiefs and cufflinks and tie bars and mementos of weddings and mementos of birthday parties and mementos of New Year's Eves and so on. A junk drawer, that's what the third drawer was.

He sifted through everything but, as he'd suspected, the contents were of no interest, except for what they revealed about Adam. A pack rat, that was Adam. Not major league but minor league at least.

There was one more drawer.

He wasn't expecting much.

All these months, he'd thought of how neat it would be to sneak into Adam's room and go through his drawers and find

Engraved swizzle sticks? Paper accordion-fold party hats? Gag napkins with dirty jokes on them?

God, he hoped there was something worth looking at in the fourth drawer.

He opened it and pulled it right out. Except for one small white envelope tucked in the far corner, the drawer was empty. Wow. All this room and just this one teeny-tiny envelope.

Wonder what's in it?

Either it's so important that it deserves its own draweror it's so unimportant that Adam just tossed the envelope in here and forgot about it.

He lifted the envelope up.

Surprisingly heavy.

Rubber band around it.

Took off the rubber band.

Looked inside.

And foundphotographs.

All the photographs showed the same boy at various ages.

A handsome boy. Bright-looking.

Many of the pictures showed the boy playing in the grounds of a fantastic mansion.

Rick realized how little he knew of Adam's background.

He turned some of the photos over, to see if there was any kind of identification on them.

Peter Tappley.

This was written on six or seven of the photos.

A few of them were also dated.

And then, darknessa cold sweat breaking out across his face and under his arms. Blackout…

He groped frantically for the bureau. Supported himself while the darkness moved through him like a terrible disease.

Then, slowly, he was able to stand erect. Able to see clearly again. Able to stop shaking.

Slowly, he went back to examining the pictures. He went through each and every one of the photographs, occasionally checking for names and dates on the back.

Following the very last photo, he found a newspaper clipping.

He unfolded it.

HEIR TO TAPPLEY FORTUNE DIES IN ELECTRIC CHAIR

Peter Tappley, one of two heirs to one of America's greatest fortunes, was put to death in the electric chair last night, after both the Supreme Court and the Governor refused to grant any more stays of execution. Witnesses say that the execution went off without any problems. Coroner J. K. Whitsone pronounced Tappley dead at 12:14 a.m., CST.

There was more but Rick didn't read it.

He put the pictures back in the envelope and the envelope back in the drawer. The newspaper clipping the slipped into his pocket.

He left the room, turning off the light.

Rick took great pride in the way he had soundproofed the basement. He had brought his CD player down here and turned on a Sousa march until the speakers began to wobble from the fury of the music. Then he'd gone outside to see if he could hear it andnothing. Perfect.

The utility room he walked through was big and cold and pretty much empty; some appliances, the furnace, and a stack of cardboard boxes were its only furnishings. At the far end was a door leading to a storage room.

He looked at the door, then walked down to it.

He opened the door, groped around and found the light switch, and flipped it on.

Hard as he'd tried, he hadn't been able to clean all the blood from the concrete floor and walls. Lots of faint red splashes remained.

Fortunately, he had spent a lot of time fixing up the drainage system, altering the soil stack that emptied into the main drain beneath the house. In three years, he'd killed seven women in this basement room. While he'd carted most of the body parts away, pieces of meat and organs were inevitably carried down the drain to the main drainage system. He'd had some problems at first, but once the soil stack had been rigged differently, they were solved.