Bettmeir crossed the office and shut the door to their war room as he slipped inside.

"Christ, I thought the Captain was gonna call us in."

"If he does, we're screwed, partner." Jerry propped his large face on a larger hand and gazed unhappily at the pile of notes in front of him. "I can come up with a theory but there's nuthin' in the way of solid evidence to back it up."

Bettmeir took off his jacket and sat across from Jerry. "Let's hear it anyway, maybe we can put something together. We need some information on this board."

Jerry sat back and picked up his notes. "Okay then. The one solid thing we have is that floppy disc with the pictures of the goings on at Bootheel. Chester Hargrave. From him we found out about drug use by the members and the fact that the club is a front for much bigger drug trade. We know the name of the supposed owner and kingpin, Milton Greenbaum, but there is nothing anywhere about the guy... just Chester's word. We know Roger Cullen and Hatti or Rita or whatever, were engaged in compiling blackmail material on the members. We do know Roger is dead but we can't find Rita or Hatti or..." he waved a hand in the air. "We don't know if they knew about any drug operation or if they were just using the sex stuff."

Bettmeir doodled on his desk pad with a pencil.

"That's a theory?"

"So what have you got, smartass?"

"A knowledge of the meaning of the word theory... knothead."

"Screw you, Ward." Jerry stood and went to the blackboard, shoulders slumping.

"I'd bet they uncovered the drug bit either on purpose or by accident, it doesn't really matter, and that's what got Roger killed." Bettmeir continued with his partner's thought.

"Without whatshername we can't substantiate any of this stuff. Chester might not even pull through and even if he does, another questioning might blow another artery." Jerry tossed his notes onto the desk. "We don't have proof of anything except there's some funny stuff takes place at the club."

"You're right, we need to find this Rita dame." They stared at one another without a clue as to how to proceed.

The phone rang and the Desk Sergeant's light blinked. Bettmeir grabbed the phone and listened, his face scrunching into a painful frown.

"What?"

"Elora Gates just created an impression on the front sidewalk entrance to Hargrave's apartment."

"Holy shit! You mean she fell?"

"I doubt it but we should go and have a look, it's too odd to be a coincidence. I think Miss Gates may have had some of the knowledge we seek."

"You mean she knew something."

"Yes, Jerry, that's what I mean. Christ!"



Rita lifted her dark glasses and leaned closer to the newspaper, her sore mouth silently forming the words in the caption under the picture of Elora Gates. Her swollen lips had taken a purplish green hue and the same colour that surrounded her eyes was hidden behind the huge glasses, which she lowered back in place. Continuous applications of ice had reduced a lot of the swelling and now she just looked like a Botox overdose. She glanced about to make sure no body else in the coffee shop was paying attention and she covered her mouth with a hankie, positive she might just throw up. Two public utility employees across from her broke into a fit of noisy laughter, punching one another's arms and generally performing the jock behaviour hard hats and coveralls seemed to inspire. Rita was thankful for the distraction.

Jared Weiss murdered Elora Gates, she was positive and it was she that had told him about her. Her stomach heaved and Rita hastily left the table and the shop, heading aimlessly up the crowded street. If Jared killed her it must have been because she wouldn't talk; Rita couldn't imagine another reason but she was certain that she needed an ally or she had to disappear once and for all and forget the plan. She had her papers and as soon as her face more closely resembled the photo on the documents, she would leave the country. Meanwhile, she felt, the ally idea might be prudent... someone else to maybe deflect attention.

*************

Jerry paced around the penthouse balcony asking questions of the forensic team and examining the clothes that had been left behind. There were a few crude jokes until the team leader cut them off with a terse command to get back to work. Jerry waved his fingers and danced back inside. Bettmeir was talking to the case detective and trying to keep from being treated like a pest. The glass vase was an item of interest as was the condition of the cushions, scattered and squashed as they were, traces of saliva and what was determined to be tear stains. Also, the broadloom showed that something might have been dragged across the pile; it was so thick it had almost completely returned to its original shape.

"Foul play, eh?"

"You think so, Bettmeir? That's pretty shrewd detecting."

"Knock it off, Ryan, like you guys never foul up."

"Not like you and your partner." The detective named Ryan moved off to consult with the medical examiner and then came back. "Doc says she has a welt on her face that was not from the fall and bruising on her arm indicates the two breaks she suffered were quite possibly also not from the fall. He thinks she may have been beaten  and then tossed."

"What about the clothes outside?"

"Use your imagination... oh sorry, you guys don't have one between you." Ryan laughed meanly and walked away.

"Asshole."

Bettmeir called to Jerry to go down to the street to have a look at the body before it went to the morgue.

"Ryan have anything?"

"Yeah, a big attitude." Bettmeir slouched against the elevator wall. "It's going down as a murder." He explained what he'd been told and when the doors opened to the lobby, Bettmeir made a beeline for the front desk.

The elderly man sat quietly, his dark skin taking on a grey pallor. He looked up when Bettmeir spoke and answered the questions in a flat, soft monotone.

"Does the TV system store the images?"

"For twenty-four hours, then it rewinds."

"Has anyone asked for the tapes?"

"A Detective Ryan took them."

"Prick," Jerry muttered. "Didn't mention that, did he."

"Call Rose and lay on a bit of your renowned charm. See if we can get a look at them later today."

They went out to the sidewalk, studied the mess on the cement for a few minutes, looked up, looked down, shrugged and walked over to the gurney and asked to see the victim.

"Not pretty." The attendant said, hauling back the sheet.

"Jesus!" Jerry turned away. "Just the head, asshole."

Bettmeir peered at Elora's damaged face and confirmed identity. "Thanks." The attendant sneered at Jerry and covered the body then pushed the gurney into the back of the van.

"Goddam ghouls." Jerry stalked off toward their car.

"Just a job to them, Jer. Call Rose and then—"

"I'll call, okay. Christ we just came out the building."

"Hey! Back down a bit. I was just planning out loud." Bettmeir pulled into traffic and looked away in disgust. The lack of any direction in the case was taking its toll.