Kovacliska - Dust To Dust Part 1

Tami Hoag.

Kovacliska.

Dust To Dust.

P R 0 L 0 G U E.

I T I S S T U N N I N G how quickly it happens. How little time it takes to go from trouble to tragedy. Seconds. Mere seconds without air and the brain begins to shut down. No time to struggle. No time to panic even.

Like a boa constrictor choking the life from its prey, the noose tightens and tightens. It makes no difference what thoughts explode in the brain. Move!

Grah the rope! Get air!The commands don't make it down the neural pathways to the muscles of the arms. Coordination is gone.

The st.u.r.dy rope makes a tearing sound as the weight of his body stretches it.The beam creaks.

His body turns slightly this way and that.The arms pull upward in hideous, slow-motion spasms. A macabre marionette's dance arms moving up and down; hands twitching, twisting, bending; fingers curling. The knees try to draw upward, then straighten again. Posturing: a sign of brain damage.

The eerie contortions go on and on. The seconds stretch as the death dance continues.A minute.Two. Four.The rope and beam creak in the otherwise silent room. The eyes are open but vacant. Mouth

moves in a final, futile gasp for air. The most acute, exquisite split second of life: the final heartbeat before death.

And then it is over. At last.

The flash explodes in a brilliant burst of white light and the scene is frozen in time.

T A M.

C H A P T E.

T H E Y 0 U Q N T A H A N G the son of a b.i.t.c.h came up with this s.h.i.t," Sam Kovac groused, digging a piece of nicotine gum out of a crumpled foil pack.

"The gum or the wrapper?"

"Both. I can't open the d.a.m.n package and Id rather chew on a cat t.u.r.d."

"And that would taste different from a cigarette how?" Nikki Liska asked.

They moved through a small throng of people in the wide white hall. Cops heading out onto the steps of the Minneapolis city hall for a cigarette, Cops conung back in from having a cigarette, and the odd citizen looking for something for their tax dollar.

Kovac scowled down at her from the corner of one eye. Liska made five-five by sheer dint of will. He always figured G.o.d made her short because if she had the size of Janet Reno she'd take over the world. She had that kind of energy-and att.i.tude out the wazoo.

"What do you know about it?" he challenged.

"My ex smoked. Lick an ashtray sometime. That's why we got divorced, you know.

I wouldn't stick my tongue in his mouth." "Jesus, Tinks, like I wanted to know that."

He'd given her the nickname-Tinker Bell on Steroids. Nordic' blond hair cut in a s.h.a.ggy Peter Pan style, eyes as blue as a lake on a sunny day. Feminine but unmistakably athletic. She'd kicked more a.s.s in her years on the force than half the guys he knew. She'd come onto homicide Christ, what was it now?-five or six years ago? He lost track. He'd been there himself almost longer than he could remember. All of his forty-four years,. it seemed. The better part of a twenty-three-year career, for certain. Seven to go. He'd get his thirty and take the pension. Catch up on his sleep for the next ten years. He sometimes wondered why he hadn't taken his twenty and moved on. But he didn't have anything to move on to, so he stayed.

Liska slipped between a pair of nervous-looking uniforms blocking the way infront of the door to Room 126-Internal Affairs. "Hey, that was the least of it," she said. "I was more upset about where hewanted to put his d.i.c.k."Kovac made a sound of pain and disgust, his face twisting.Liska grinned, mischievous and triumphant. "Her name was Brandi."The Criminal Investigative Division offices had been newly refurbished. Thewalls were the color of dried blood. Kovac wondered if that had been intentional or just trendy. Probably the latter. Nothing else in the place hadbeen designed with cops in mind. The narrow, gray, two-person cubicles couldjust as well have housed a bunch of accountants.He preferred the temporary digs they'd had during the remodeling: a dirty,beat-up room full of dirty, beat-up desks, and beat-up cops getting migrainesunder harsh white fluorescent lights. Homicide crammed into one room, robberydown the way, half the s.e.x crimes guys wedged into a broom closet. That wasatmosphere."What's the status on the Nixon a.s.sault?" The voice stopped Kovac in his tracks as effectively as a hook to the collar.He bit a little harder on the Nicorette. Liska kept moving. New offices, newlieutenant, new pain in the a.s.s. The homicidelieutenant's office had a figurative revolving door. It was a stop on the wayfor upwardly mobile management types. At least this new one Leonard-had themback working partners instead of like the last guy, who'd tortured them withsome bulls.h.i.t high-concept team c.r.a.p with rotating sleep-deprivationschedules. Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't an a.s.shole."We'll see," Kovac said. "Elwood just brought in a guy he thinks is good forthe Truman murder." Leonard flushed pink. He had that kind of complexion, and short, white-grayhair like duck fuzz all over his head. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing workingthe Truman murder? That's what? A week ago? You're up to your a.s.s in a.s.saultssince then." Liska came back then, wearing her cop face. "We think this guy's a two-fer,Lou. He was maybe in on Nixon and Truman. I guess the Nation wants to startcalling the Bloods the Dead Presidents."Kovac laughed at that-a cross between a bark and a snort. "Like thesed.i.c.kheads would know a president if he p.i.s.sed on them.". Liska looked up at him. "Elwood's got him in the guest room. Let's Yo beforehe uses the L word." 9 Leonard stepped back, frowning. He had no lips, and ears that stuck outperpendicular to his head like a chimpanzee's. Kovac had nicknamed him theBra.s.s Monkey. He was looking as if solving a murder would ruin his day."Don't worry," Kovac said. "There's more a.s.saults where that one came from."He turned away before Leonard could react, and headed for the interview roomwith Liska. "So this guy was in on Nixon too?" "Beats me. Leonard liked it.""Bra.s.s a.s.shole," Kovac grumbled. "Someone should take him out and show him thef.u.c.king sign on the door. It still says'Homicide" doesn't it?""Last I looked." "All he wants is to clear a.s.saults." "a.s.saults are the homicides of tomorrow." "Yeah, thatd make a great tattoo. I know just where he can put it." "But you'dneed a rminer's hat to read it. I'll get you one for Christmas. Give yousomething to hope for."Liska opened the door and Kovac preceded her into the room, which was aboutthe size of a s.p.a.cious coat closet. The architect would have described it as"intimate." In keeping with the latest theories on how to interview sc.u.mbags,the table was small and round. No dominant side. Everybody equal. Pals.Confidants. No one was sitting at it.Elwood Knutson stood in the near corner, looking like a Disney D U S T.

T 0.

0 U S T.

cartoon bear in a black felt bowler. Jamal Jackson had the opposite corner, near the totally useless and empty built-in bookcase, and beneath the wall-mounted video camera, which was required by Minnesota law to prove they weren't beating confessions out of suspects.

Jackson's att.i.tude hung on him as badly as his clothes. jeans that would have fit Elwood were slipping off his skinny a.s.s. A huge down coat in Nation black and red colors puffed up around his upper body. He had a lower lip as thick as a garden hose, and he stuck it out at Kovac.

"Man, this is bogus. I din'off fto-body."

Kovac lifted his brows." No? Gee, there must be some mistake." He turned to Elwood and spread his hands. "I thought you said he was the guy, Elwood. He says he's not the guy."

"I must have beim mi*staken:'Elwood said. "My profuse apologies, Mr. Jackson."

"We'll have a radio car take you back home:' Kovac said. "Maybe have them announce over the bullhorn to your 'hood that we didn't mean to bring you in.

That it was all a big mistake."

Jackson, stared at him, the lip moving up and down.

"We can have them announce specifically that we know you weren't really involved in the murder of Deon Truman. just so there's no mistake what we had you in for.We don't want a lot of bad rumors going), around about you on account of us."

"f.u.c.k you, man!" Jackson shouted, his voice jumping an octave. "You trying to get me killed?"

Kovac laughed. "Hey. You said you didn't do it. Fine. I'll send you home."

"An' the brothers think I talk to you. Next thing, my a.s.s is horizontal. f.u.c.k that!"

Jackson paced a little, pulling at the short braids that stuck up in all directions on his head. His hands were cuffed together in front of him. He gave Kovac the eye.

"You put me in jail, motherf.u.c.ker."

"Can't do it. And here you asked so nice. Sorry." "I am under arrest, "Jamal insisted.

"Not if you didn't do anything." "I done plenty."

"So now you're confessing?" Liska said.

6 T A M.

Jackson looked at her, incredulous. "Who the h.e.l.l is she? Your girlfriend?"

"Don't insult the lady," Kovac said. "You're telling us you capped Deon Truman."

"The f.u.c.k I am." "Then who did?"

"f.u.c.k you, man. I ain't telling you Jack." "Elwood, see that the man gets home in style."

"But I'm under arrest!" Jackson wailed. "Put me in J'ail!

"f.u.c.k you," Kovac said. "Jail's overcrowded. It's not a G.o.dd.a.m.n hotel.Whatd you pick him up on, Elwood?"

"I believe it was loitering." "Petty misdemeanor."

"The f.u.c.k!" Jackson shouted, outraged. He pointed at Elwood with both index fingers. "You saw me selling cr-k! Right there on the corner of Chicago and Twenty-sixth."

"He have crack on him when you arrested him?" Kovac asked. "No, sir. He did have a pipe."

"I ditched the goods!"

"Possession of drug paraphernalia:' Liska said, unimpressed. "Big deal. Cut him loose. He's not worth our time."

"f.u.c.k you, b.i.t.c.h!" Jamal said, swaggering toward her. "I wouldn't let you suck my c.o.c.k."

"I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty nail." Liska advanced on him, blue

glare boring into him like a pair of cold lasers. "Keep it in your pants,Jamal. If you live long enough, maybe you'll find some nice guy in prison todo it for you.""He's not going to prison today," Kovac announced impatiently. "Let's wrapthis up. I got a party to go to."Jackson made his move as Kovac started to turn for the door. He pulled one ofthe loose shelves out of the bookcase and rushed Kovac from behind. Caughtback on his heels, Elwood shouted an obscenity and jumped too late. Kovacswung around in time to catch the corner of the shelf, the board slicing agash above his left eyebrow."s.h.i.tV, "Dammit!" Kovac went down on his knees, his vision lacy with aspiderweb ofblack. The floor felt like rubber beneath him. D U S T T 0 D U S T Elwood grabbed Jackson's wrists andjammed his arms upward, and the board wentflying, a corner of it gouging the new wall.Then Jackson screamed and went down suddenly, his left knee buckling beneathhim. Halfway down he screamed again, back arching. Elwood jumped back,wide-eyed.Liska rode Jackson down from behind, her knee in the rmiddle of his back ashis face hit the floor. The door opened and half a dozen detectives stood with guns drawn. Liskaraised a short black ASP tactical baton, looking surprised and innocent."Gosh, look what I found in my coat pocket!"She leaned down over Jamal Jackson's ear and murmured seductively, "Looks likeI'll get to fulfill one of your wishes, Jamal. You're under arrest."'LOOKS KIND off.a.ggy.""Is that the voice of authority, Tippen?" "f.u.c.k youjinks.""Is that a no or wishful thinking?"Laughter erupted around the table, the kind of raw, hard laughter that camefrom people who saw too much ugliness on a day-to-day basis. Cop humor wasrude and biting because the world they lived in was a crude and savage place.They had no time or patience for Noel Coward repartee.The group had snagged a coveted corner table at Patrick's, an Irishnamed barowned and run by Swedes. On an ordinary day the pubstrategically locatedequidistant between the Minneapolis Police Department and the Hennepin CountySheriff's Office-was packed belly to b.u.t.t with cops this time of day.Day-shift cops gearing down and loading up for life off the Retired cops who'd found they couldn't socialize with regular humans once they'd leftthe job. Dogwatch guys grabbing dinner and camaraderie, killing time beforethey were up for their tour.This was not an ordinary day. The usual crowd had been augmented by PD bra.s.s,city politicos, and newsies. Unwelcome additions that put an extra layer oftension in the air that was already blue with smoke and language. A news crewfrom one of the local stations was setting up near the front window.T A M "You should've insisted on real st.i.tches. The old-fashioned kind:' Tippen went on. He tapped the ash off his cigarette and raised it to his lips for a long drag,his attention narrowed on the camera crew. He had a face like an wi is Irish wolffiound: long and homely ith a bri tly gray mustache and fiercelyintelligent dark eyes- A detective With the Sheriff's Office, he had been amember of the task force that had worked the Cremator murders a littJe more than a year before. Some of the task force members had become the kind of&1ends who did this-met in a bar to drink and talk shop and insult oneanother.

"Then he ends up with a big ugly Frankenstein scar," Liska said. "With theb.u.t.terfly clamp, he gets a neat, thin scar-the kind women find s.e.xy.""s.a.d.i.s.tic women," Elwood commented. Tippen curled his lip. "Is there anotherkind?" "Sure. The kind who go out with you," Liska said. "m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.ts." Tippen flickeda corn chip at her.Kovac regarded himself critically in the mirror of Liska's compact. The splitin his forehead had been cleaned and patched by an overworked resident in theHennepin County Medical Center ER, where g.a.n.g.b.a.n.gers were regularly patched upor zipped into body bags. He'd been embarra.s.sed to go there with anything lessthan a gunshot wound, and the young woman had gi ven him the att.i.tude that treating anything less was beneath her. s.e.xual attraction hadn't been apart1 of the picture.He a.s.sessed the damage with a critical eye. His face was a quadtanglepunctuated With stress lines, a couple of scars, and a hawkish, crooked nosethat made a nice accompaniment to the crooked, sardomc mouth lurking beneaththe requisite cop mustache. The hair was more gray than-brown. Once a month hepaid an old Norwegian1 1 barber ten bucks to cut it, which probably accounted for the fact that ittended to stand up.He'd never been handsome in the GQ sense of the word, but he'd never sentwomen running either-at least not because of his looks. One more scar wasn'tgoing to matter.Liska studied him as she sipped her beer. "It gives you character, Sam.""It gives me a headache," he groused, handing the compact back to her. "Ialready had all the character I needed."D U S T T 0 0 U S T 9 "Well, I'd kiss it and make it better for you. But I already kneecapped theguy who did it. I think I've done my part.""And you wonder why you're single," Tippen remarked.Liska blew him a kiss. "Hey, love me, love my ASP. Or in your case, Tip, kissmy ASP"The front door swung open and a gust of cold air swept in, along with a newpack of patrons. Every cop's eye in the place went instantly flat, and thetension level cranked a notch.The cop collective guarding against outsiders."The man of the hour," Elwood said, as recognition rippled through the crowdand a cheer went up. "Come to hobn.o.b with the unwashed ma.s.ses before hisascension." Kovac said nothing. Ace Wyatt stood in the doorway in a doublebreastedcamel-hair topcoat, looking like Captain America, master of all he surveyed.Square jaw, white smile, groomed like a f.u.c.king game-show host. He probablytipped his hairstylist ten bucks and got a complimentary blov'Job from theshampoo girl."Is he wearing makeup?" Tippen asked under his breath. "I heard he gets hiseyelashes dyed.""That's what happens when you go Hollywood Elwood said. "1 'd be willing to suffer the indignity," Liska said sarcastically. "Did youhear the kind of money he's getting for that show?"Tippen took a long pull on his cigarette and exhaled. Kovac looked at CaptainAce Wyatt through the cloud. They'd worked on the same squad for a time. itseemed a hundred years ago. He'd just made the move from robbery tohomicide.Wyatt was the top dog, already a legend, and angling to become a staron the bra.s.s side of things. He'd succeeded handsomely within the department,then branched out into television-maintaining his office as a CID captain and starring in a Minneapolis cross between America's Most Wanted and amotivational infornercial. The show, Crime Time, was going national."I hate that guy."He reached for the Jack he wasn't supposed to Mix with his painkillers andtossed back what was left of it. "Jealous?" Liska needled. "Of what? Being a p.r.i.c.k?""Don't sell yourself short, Kojak. You're as big a p.r.i.c.k as any man here."0 A 0 Kovac made a growl at- the back of his throat, suddenly wanting to be anywherebut here. Why in h.e.l.l had he come?. He had three parts of a concussion, and aperfect excuse to beg off and go home. So there was nothing to go home to-anempty house with an empty aquarium in the living room. The fish had all diedof neglect while he'd pulled nearly seventy-two hours straight on the Crematorcase. He hadn't bothered to replace them.Sitt* for Ace Wyatt, he was as big a m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t as any ing at apartywoman Tippen had ever dated. He'd finished his drink. As soon as Wyatt's possecleared the door, he could make his way through the crowd and slip out. Maybego down to the bar where the Fifth Precinct cops hung out. They could give as.h.i.t about Ace Wyatt.In the instant he made the decision,Wyatt spotted him and zeroed in with ablinding grin, a quartet of minions trailing after him. He wove through thecrowd, touching hands and shoulders like the Pope giving cursory blessings."Kojak, you old warhorse!" he shouted above the din. He took hold of Sam'shand in a powerful grasp.Kovac came up out of his chair, the floor seeming to shift beneath hisfeet.The aftereffects of his close encounter with the board, or the mix ofdrugs and booze. It sure as h.e.l.l wasn't his thri at Wyatt's1 in attention. The a.s.shole, calling him Kojak. He hated the nickname. People whoknew him well mostly used it to grind him.One of the minions came in close with a Polaroid and the flash d.a.m.n near blinded him. "One for the sc.r.a.pbook," the minion said, a thirty-something cover-boy typewith shiny black hair and cobalt-blue eyes. He had the looks for a part in alow-end prime-time drama."I heard you took another one for the cause!" Wyatt bellowed, grinning."Jesus, quit while you're ahead. Quit while you still have a head!""Seven to go, Slick," Kovac said. "Hollywood's not beating my door down.Congratulations, by the way.""Thanks. Taking the show national is a chance to make a big difference."To the Ace Wyatt bank account, Kovac thought, but he didn't say it.What theh.e.l.l. He'd never had a taste for designer suits or a weekly mam'cure. He wasjust a cop. That was all he'd ever wanted to be. Ace Wyatt had always set hissights on bigger, better, brighter, faster;D U S T T 0 D U S T 11 reaching for the bra.s.s rings of life--and catching every G.o.dd.a.m.n one of them."Glad you could make it to the party, Sam.""Hey, I'm a cop. Free food, free booze I'm there."Wyatt's gaze was already roarming'for a more important hand to shake.Thepretty-boy minion caught his attention and directed it toward the televisioncamera. The Wyatt grin brightened by a couple hundred watts.Liska popped up out of her chair like a jack-in-the-box and stuck her hand outbefore Wyatt could move on. "Captain Wyatt. Nikki Liska, homicide. It's apleasure. I enjoy your show."Kovac c.o.c.ked a brow at her. "My partner. Blond ambition." "You lucky olddog:'Wyatt said with good-natured chauvinism. The muscles flexed in Liska's J'iws as if she was swallowing something unpleasant." I think your idea of strengthening the link betweencommunities and their police forces through the show and the Internet is abrilliant innovation." Wyatt soaked up the praise. "America is a multimedia culture:' he said loudly,as the TV reporter-a brunette in a bright red blazeredged in close with amicrophone. Wyatt turned fully toward the camera, bending down to hear thewoman's question.Kovac looked to Liska with disapproval."Hey, maybe he'll give me a job as a techmical consultant. I could be atechnical consultant," she said with a mischievous quirk to her lips. "Thatcould be my stepping-stone to working on Mel Gibson movies.""I'll be in the John." Kovac made his way through the mob that had come in to drink Ace Wyatt's boozeand chow down on spicy chicken wings and deepfried cheese. Half the peoplehere had never met Wyatt, let alone worked with him, but they would gladlycelebrate his retirement. They would have celebrated the devil's birthday foran open bar.He stood at the back of the main room and surveyed the scene, made all themore surreal by the Christmas decorations reflecting the glare of thetelevision lights. A sea of people a lot of the faces familiar-yet he feltacutely alone. Empty.Time to get seriously hammered or leave.Liska was hovering around Wyatt's people, trying to make nice with the mainminion. Wyatt had moved to shake the hand of an12 T A M 0 A 0 attractive, serious-looking blonde who seemed vaguely familiar. He put hisleft hand on her shoulder and bent to say something in her ear. Elwood wascutting a swath through the buffet. Tippen was trying to flirt with a waitresswho was looking at him as if she'd Just stepped in something.It'd be last call before they missed him. And then missing him would be just afleeting thought.Mere's Kovac? Gone? Pa.s.s the beer nuts. He started for the door. "You were the best f.u.c.kin'badge on the job!" a drunken voice bellowed. "Theman who don't think so can talk to me! Come on! Come on! Id give Ace Wyatt myG.o.dd.a.m.n legs!" he shouted.The drunk sat in a wheelchair that teetered on the top of three shallow stepsleading down to the main bar, where Wyatt stood. The drunk had no legs togive. His had been useless for twenty years. There was nothing left of thembut spindly bone and atrophied muscle. In contrast, his face was full and red,his upper body a barrel.Kovac shook his head and took a step toward the wheelchair, trying to catchthe old man's attention. "Hey, Mikey! No one's arguing," he said.Mike Fallon looked at him without recognition, his eyes gla.s.sy with tears."He's a f.u.c.king hero! Don't try to say different!" he said angrily. He swungan arm in Wyatt's direction. "I love that man! I love that man like a son!"The old man's voice broke on the last word, his face contorting with an innerpain that had nothing to do with the amount of Old Crow he'd put away in thepast few hours.Wyatt lost his glamour grin and started toward Mike Fallon just as Fallon'sleft hand landed on the wheel of his chair. Kovac leapt forward, crashing intoanother drunk. The chair pitched down the steps and spilled its occupant. Mike Fallon hit thefloor like a sack of potatoes.Kovac pushed the drunk aside and hustled down the steps. The crowd had clearedback in surprise.Wyatt stood frozen ten feet away, frowning as he stared downat Mike Fallon. Kovac dropped down to one knee. "Hey, Mikey, let's get you off yourface.You've got it confused with your a.s.s again."

Someone righted the wheelchair. The old man rolled over onto his back and madea pathetic attempt to sit up, flopping on the floor likeD U S T T 0 D U S T 13 a beached seal, tears pouring down the sides of his face. A guy Kovac knewfrom robbery took one side while Kovac took the other, and together theyhoisted Fallon back into his chair. The people standing nearby turned away, embarra.s.sed for the old man. Fallonhung his head in abject humiliation-a sight Kovac had never wished to see.He'd known Mike Fallon since day one on the job. Back then, every patrol copin Minneapolis had known Iron Mike. They had followed his example and hisorders. And a good lot of them had cried like babies when Mike Fallon wasgunned down. But to see him like this-broken in every waywas a heartbreak.Kovac knelt beside the wheelchair and put a hand on Fallon's shoulder. "Comeon, Mike. Let's call it a night, huh? I'll drive you home.""You all right, Mike?"Ace Wyatt asked woodenly, stepping up at last. Fallonheld a shaking hand out to him but couldn't bring himself to look up, evenwhen Wyatt took hold. His voice was tight and raw. "I love you like a brother,Ace. Like a son. More.You know, I can't say""You don't have to say, Mike. Don't.""I'm sorry. I'm sorry," the old man mumbled over and over, bringing his otherhand up to cover his face. Snot ran in an elastic string from his nose to hislap. He had wet his pants.In his peripheral vision, Kovac could see the newsies creeping in likevultures. "I'll see he gets home," he said to Wyatt as he rose.Wyatt stared down at Mike Fallon. "Thanks, Sam," he murmured. "You're a goodman." "I'm a f.u.c.king sap. But what else have I got to do with my time?" The blondehad vanished, but the brunette from TV sidled up to Wyatt again. "Is this MikeFallon? Officer Fallon from the Thorne murder back in the seventies?" The black-haired mimion appeared like the devil's farmiliar and pried thewoman away with a serious something whispered in her ear. Wyatt collectedhimself and turned away, waving off the reporterswith a look of disapproval. "Just a little accident, folks. Let's move on."Kovac looked down at the man sobbing in the wheelchair.Let's move on. T A M 0 A 6 C H A P T E R Y E A H , T H I S I S why I hired a sitter tonight," Liska said. "So I couldcart a drunk home. I got enough of that when I was a uniform.""Quit b.i.t.c.hing," Kovac ordered. "You could have said no, partner." "Sure. Andlook bad in front of Mr. Community Service. I Just hope he took note of myselflessness and remembers when I hit him up for a job on his program," shesaid, teasing."Looked to me like you were trying to hit up the a.s.sistant for somethingelse." Liska reached across and slugged his arm, trying not to laugh. "I was not!What do you take me for?""What would he take you for? There's the real question." "He wouldn't.""He didn't.There's a difference." Liska pretended to pout. "He's obviously gay." "Obviously."They drove in silence for a few blocks as the windshield wipers swiped at thesnow corming down. Mike Fallon was propped up in a corner of the backseat,smelling of urine, snoring."You worked with him, huh?" Liska said, nodding to their pa.s.senger. "Everybodyworked with Iron Mike when I came on. He was the 15 original warhorse. Always above and beyond the call. 'Cause it was right, he'dsay. That's what being a cop is supposed to be about. And he's the one takes aslug in the spine. It's never some lazy s.h.i.t just putting in his hours tillthe pension comes."2here's no such thing as fair."'There's a news flash. At least he nailed the mutt who shot him." :,That wasthe Thorne murder." 'You remember it?" "I was a child at the time, Methuselah.""Twenty years ago?" he scoffed. "You were probably busy making out with thecaptain of the football team.""Wide receiver," she countered. "And let me tell you, they didn't call himHands for nothing.""Jeez"' Kovac grumbled, the corner of his mouth twitching against a chuckle."Tinks, you're something else.""Someone has to break your moods.You're too content to wallow in them.""Look who's talking-""So what was the story with Thorne?""Bill Thorne was a cop. Rode patrol for years. I didn't know him. I was new onthe job at the time. He lived in a neighborhood over by the old West HighSchool, where a bunch of cops lived back then. So Mike's patrolling theneighborhood, sees something doesn't look right at Thorne's place. He calls itin, then goes up to the house himself.""He should have waited for backup.""Yeah, he should have. Major mistake. But Thorne's car was there. It was aneighborhood full of cops. Anyway, there was a handyman who'd been workina inthe neighborhood.A drifter.Thorne had tried to run him off a couple of times,but the wife felt sorry for him and paid him to wash windows. Turned outThorne was right-the guy was bad news. He broke into the house and raped thewife. "Thorne had been scheddled to work that night, but he stopped back at thehouse for something. The mutt had found a gun and he used it on Thorne. Killedhim. "Then Mike showed up and went in. The bad guy shot. Mike shot back. Nailed theguy, but he went down. Ace Wyatt lived across the street at the time. At somepoint Thorne's wife called him, hysterical. He kept Mike alive until theambulance got there.""That explains tonight."16 T A M 0 A G "Yeah," Kovac said, pensive again. "Part of it, anyway."There was a lot of story between Iron Mike Fallon, fallen hero, and old MikeFallon, pathetic alcoholic. The profession was too full of sad stories andsadder drunks. The one in the backseat tipped over and puked on the floor as Kovac pulled upin front of Fallon's house. Kovac groaned and hit his forehead on the steering wheel.Liska opened her door and looked at him. "No good deed goes unpunished. I'mnot cleaning that up, partner."FROM THE OUTSIDE, the house was small and tidy in a neighborhood of small,tidy houses. Inside was a different story. Fallon's wife had died yearsbefore. Cancer. He lived here alone. The place smelled of old man and friedonions. The rooms were spare, the furnishings kept to a minimum to make way for Mike'swheelchair. An odd mix of worn junk and state-ofthe-art. A high-end ma.s.sagerecliner sat front and center in the living room, pointed at a thirty-one-inchcolor television. The couch was a relic from the seventies.The dining roomlooked as if it hadn't been used in two decades, and was probably exactly as Mrs. Fallon had left it, with the exception of the booze bottles on the table.Twin beds nearly filled the little bedroom-one stacked with pil-es of clothes,the other a tangle of sheets. Dirty laundry had been thrown in the generalvicinity of an overflowing hamper. A bottle of Maker's Mark bourbon sat on thenightstand beside a jelly-jar gla.s.s sporting the likeness of Barney theDinosaur. On the other end of the room, the dead wife's dresser was lined withfamily photos, half a dozen of them turned facedown."I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Mike muttered as Kovac went about the job ofputting him in bed.Liska found a laundry basket and to6k the discarded clothes away, nosewrinkled, but not complaining."Forget it, Mike. It's nothing we all haven't done once in a while," Kovacsaid. "Christ, I p.i.s.sed myself." "Don't worry about it.""I'm sorry.Where ya workin', Sam?" "Homicide."0 U S T T 0 D U S T 17 Fallon gave a weak, derisive, drunken laugh. "f.u.c.kin'big shot.Too good for auniform." Kovac heaved a sigh and straightened, his gaze landing on the photographsacross the room. Fallon had two sons. The younger-Andywas a cop. He'd workedrobbery for a while. His were the photos turned down on the dresser, Kovacdiscovered as he turned them up.Good-looking kid. Athletic, handsome. There was a shot of him in a baseballuniform. He was built like a shortstop: compact, catlike. Another photo showedhim in his police uniform, graduating from the academy. Mike Fallon's prideand joy, carrying on the family tradition."How's Andy doing?""He's dead," Fallon mumbled. Kovac turned abruptly. "What?"Fallon turned his face away. He looked frail in the lamplight, his skin aspale and wrinkled as old parchment. "He's dead to me:'he said softly. Then heclosed his eyes and pa.s.sed out.T H E S A D N E S S A N D finality of Mike Fallon's words haunted Kovac allthe way back to Patrick's, where he left Liska to catch the last of the party.He dropped her at the curb and drove on through .empty side streets fillingwith snow, away from downtown to his own slightly shabby neighborhood.Old trees dorru*nated the boulevard, their roots buckling the sidewalks likean LA freeway after an earthquake. The houses were crammed shoulder toshoulder, some big and square and cut up into apartments, some smaller. Oneside of the street was lined with a motley a.s.sortment of cars, the other sideclear for snow removal. The house just east of Kovac's was decorated for Christmas to within an inchof its life. It appeared to sag beneath the burden of colored lights. Aplastic Santa and reindeer were mounted on the roof Another Santa was crawlingdown the chimney. A third stood on the lawn, contemplating the others, whiletwo feet away the wise men were about to visit the Christ child in amanger.The entire yard was spotlit.Kovac trudged up the sidewalk to his house and went inside, not bothering toturn on lights. Plenty spilled in from next door. His18 T A M home was not so different from Mike Fallon's in that it was short on furniture.The last divorce had left him with the castoffs, which he had neverbothered to replace or add to. He was himself a castoff, so it seemed onlyfitting. His biggest indulgence in the last five years had been the aquarium.A sorry attempt to bring other living creatures into his home.There were no photographs of children or famidy. Two failed marriages seemednothing to brag about. He had a lot of bad memories and a daughter he hadn'tseen since her infancy. She was dead to him in a way, he supposed. But it was more as if she had never existed. After the divorce, her mother had remarriedwith embarra.s.sing haste, and the new family had moved to Seattle. Kovac hadn't.w.a.tched his daughter grow up or play sports or follow him into lawenforcement. He had trained himself not to think about the lost opportunities... most of the time. He went upstairs to his bedroom, but the bed didn't interest him. His head wasthrobbing. He sat down in the chair by the window and looked out at the garishlight show next door.He's dead to me, Mike Fallon had said about his son.What would prompt a man to'say such a thing about a child who had clearly beenthe pride of his life? Why would he cut that tie when he had so little else?Kovac dug his Nicorette gum out of his pocket and tossed it in thewastebasket, reached into the nightstand drawer for a half-empty pack ofSalems, and lit one up.Who was gonna tell him not to?D U S T T 0 D U S T 19 C H A P T E T H E P H 0 T 0 G R A P H H A S a fake quality to it. Most people would haveglanced at it, felt an immediate burst of horror, then quickly decided it wa.s.some kind of sick j oke.The photographer is not most people.As the artist considers the portrait, there is an initial sense of shock, butwhat follows immediately on its heels is a strange,.complicated mix ofemotions: horror, fascination, relief, guilt. And beneath that layer, anotherdarker dimension of feeling: a certain sense of excitement ... a sense ofcontrol ... a sense of power. Feelings that are frightening, sickening.There is tremendous power in taking a life. To take a life: the phrase impliesto take the energy of another living creature and add it to1 Addict' one s own life force. The idea * s seductive in a sinister way. ive to a certain type of individual: the kind who kills for sport.I'm not that. I could never be that. Even as the pledge is made, memories of another death flash frame by framethrough the memory: violence, movement, blood, white noise roaring in theears, a deafening internal scream that can't be heard. Then silence and thestillness, and the terrible realization: I did that.20 And the sense of excitement ... and power ...The dark feelings move through the soul like a snake, sinuous and shiny.Theconscience shudders in its wake. Fear rises like a flood tide. The photographer stares at the captured image of a corpse dancing on the end of arope, the image reflected in a mirror, thescrawled with the single word. Sorry. So sorry.D U S T T 0 D U S T 21 C "A N DY FA L L 0 N is dead." Liska met Kovac with the news at the door into the CID offices. The breath went out of him. "What?" 44 1. Andy Fallon is dead. A friend found him this morning. It looks ikesuicide." "Jesus '"Kovac muttered, feeling as disoriented as he had this morning whenhe'd rolled out of bed too fast for his throbbing head. In the back of hismind he saw Mike Fallon, frail and white; heard him say the words. He's deadto me. "Jesus." Liska stared up at him, expectant.

He shook himself mentally. "Who's up?" I Springer and Copeland," she said, glancing sideways for eavesdroppers." Were up. Past tense. I figured you'd wa .nt it, so I grabbed it." "Iidon't know if I should thank you or wish your parents had pract ced better birth control," Kovac grumbled, heading toward their cubicle.

"Did you know Andy?"

"No. Not really. I met him a couple of times. Suicide. Man, I don't want to be the one to tell Mike."

"You'd rather some u i niforin do it? Or someone from the ME's office?" Liska said with disapproval.

Kovac blew out a breath and closed his eyes for a second as the burden settled on his shoulders. "No."

Fate had tied him to Iron Mike years ago, and again last night.The least he could do was maintain some continuity for the old man. Let the news come from a familiar face.

"Don't you think we should jump on it?" Liska said, glancing around for Copeland and Springer. "Try to keep a lid on things. Andy being on the job and all."

"Yeah," Kovac said, glancing at the blinking light on his phone. "Let's blow this Joint before Leonard saddles us with another'murder of tomorrow.'"

A N D Y F A L L 0 N L I V E D in a one-and-a-half-story house just north of the trendy district known as Uptown. Home to the upwardly mobile and the stylishly hip, Uptown was, in fact, south of downtown, which had never made any sense to Kovac. "Uptown" in the sense of being too chic for the likes of him, he supposed. The business center was an area of reclarnations; and renovations-coffee bars, yuppie restaurants, and art house movie theaters.

Homes on the west side, near Lake of the Isles and Lake Calhoun, went for a premium. Fallon's was just far enough north and east to be affordable on a single cop's salary Two radio cars sat at the curb out front. Liska. marched ahead up the sidewalk, always eager for a new case. Kovac trailed behind, dreading this one.

"Wait'll you get a load of this," said the uniform who met them at the door.

"It's one for the sc.r.a.pbook."

His tone was almost sni'de. He'd been at it too long, had grown numb to the sight of dead people to the point where they were no longer people to him-they were bodies. All cops got that way or they got off the street before they could lose their minds. Death simply couldn't affect them in a personal way every time they encountered it. Kovac knew he was surely no exception. But this time would be different. It already was.

Liska gave the cop the flat look all detectives mastered early on in their career. "Where's the body?"

D 11 S T T 0 D U S T 23.

"Bedroom. Upstairs." "Who found him?"

"A 'friend" " the uniform said, again with the snide tone, making the quotation marks with his fingers. "He's in the kitchen, crying." Kovac looked at the name tag, leaminig in, crowding him. "Burgess?" "Yeah," he said, visibly resisting the urge to step back.

Liska scribbled his name and badge number in her notebook. "You were first on the scene"' Kovac said.

"Yeah." "You used that mouth to talk to the guy found the body?" Burgess frowned, suspicious. "Yeah . . ."

Kovac took another small step into the cop's s.p.a.ce. "Burgess, are you always such a fiicking a.s.shole or is today special?"

The cop colored, his features growing taut.

"Keep the mouth in check," Kovac ordered. "The vic was a COP, and so's his old man. Show some respect."

Burgess pressed his lips together and took a step back, eyes cold. "Yes, sir."

"I don't want anyone coming in here unless they've got a badge or they're fromthe ME. Got that?" "Yes, sir.""And I want a log of every name, badge number, and the time they walk in thedoor and walk back out. Can you manage that?""Yes. Sir." "Ooh, he didn't like that:' Liska whispered gleefully as they left Burgess atthe door and headed toward the back of the house. "Yeah? f.u.c.k him." Kovac glanced down at her. "Andy Fallon was queer?""Gay," she corrected. "How would I know? I don't hang out with IA rats.What doyou take me for?""You really want to know?" Kovac asked, then, "He worked IA? No wonder Mikesaid the kid was dead to him." The kitchen was hunter green with pristine white woodwork and had everythingin its place. It was the kitchen of someone who knew how to do more than runthe microwave commercial range, pots hanging from the iron rack above agranite-topped island loaded with big-a.s.s knives in a wood block.On the far side of the room, at a round table nestled into a bay window, satthe "friend," head in hands. A good-looking guy in a darkT A M 0 A Qsuit. Red hair, stylishly cut. A rectangular face full of sharp angles andfreckles.The freckles stood out against skin washed ashen by stress and bythe cold gray light spilling in the windows. He barely glanced up as theywalked into the room. Liska flashed her ID and introduced them. "We understand you found the body,Mr.-" "Pierce," he said hoa.r.s.ely, and sniffed. "Steve Pierce. Yes. I ... found him.""We know this is terribly upsetting for you, Mr. Pierce, but we'll need totalk to you when we finish. Do you understand?""No:' he said, shaking his head. "I don't understand any of this. I can'tbelieve it. I Just can't believe it." "We're sorry for your loss:'Liska said automatically."He wouldn't do this," he mumbled, staring at the tabletop. "He wouldn't dothis. It's Just not possible."Kovac said nothing. A sense of dread built in his chest as they climbed thestairs. "I've got a bad feeling about this, Tinks"' he muttered, pulling on latexgloves. "Or maybe I'm having a heart attack. Thatd be my luck. I finally quitsmoking and I have a heart attack.""Well, don't die at the scene," Liska said. "The paperwork would be a big painin the a.s.s." "You're full of sympathy.""Better than what you're full of.You're not having a heart attack." The secondfloor of the house had probably been open attic s.p.a.ce at one time, but hadbeen nicely converted to a master suite. joist -beams had been left exposed,creating a loft effect. A lovely, private place to die, Kovac thought, takingin the scene at a glance.The body hung from a traditional rope noose just a few feet beyond thefour-poster bed.The rope looped over a ceiling beam and was tied off somewhereat the head of the bed frame, that end of it hidden by the bedding. The bedwas neatly made, hadn't been slept in or even sat upon. Kovac noted thesethings in t4e back of his mind, his concentration on the victim. He flashed onthe photographs he'd turned over on the dresser in Mike Fallon's bedroom thenight before: the handsome young man, the star athlete, the fresh-faced newcop with Mike beaming proudly beside him. He could see that same academygraduation photograph sitting on Andy Fallon's dresser. Good-looking kid, heremembered thinking.D U S T T 0 D U S T 25

Now the handsome face was discolored, distorted, purple and bloated, the mouthfrozen in a kind of sneer. The eyes were half-open and cloudy. He'd been therea while. A day or so, Kovac guessed from the apparent lack of rigor, thetautness of the skin, the smell. The sickly sweet aroma of beginning decayconirmingled with stale urine and feces. In death, the muscles had relaxed,bladder and bowel discharging on the floor.The body was nude. His arms hung at his sides, hands curled into fists heldslightly forward of the hips. Dark spots dotted the knuckles-lividity, theblood settling in the lowest levels of the extremities. The feet, no more thana few inches off the floor, were swollen and deep purple as well.Kovac squatted down, took hold of an ankle, and pressed his thumb against theflesh for a moment, then let go. He watched for the skin to blanch, butnothing happened. The blood had clotted long before. The leg was cold to thetouch. An oak-framed full-length mirror was propped against the wall some ten feet infront of the corpse. The body was reflected fully, the reflection distorted bythe angle of the mirror. The word Sorry had been written on the gla.s.s withsomething dark."I always figured these IA guys for kinky."Kovac looked to the two uniforms standing ten feet away, smirking at thermirror. The cops were a pair of buzz-cut no-necks, the bigger one having ahead as square as a concrete block. Their name tags read "Rubel" and "Ogden.""Hey, Dumb and Dumber," Kovac snapped. "Get the h.e.l.l outta my death scene.What the f.u.c.k's the matter with you? Tromping all over the place.""It's a suicide," the uglier one said, as if that mattered.Kovac felt his face flush. "Don't tell me what's what, Moose. You don't knowd.i.c.k. Maybe in twenty years you'll have a right to an opinion. Now get thefiick outta here. Go downstairs and secure the zone. I don't want anyonecorming closer than the street. And keep your big fat yaps shut. Where there'sa corpse, there's newsies. I read one word about this," he said, pointing tothe reflection in the mirror, "I'll know who gets reamed new ones.You got me?"The officers glanced at each other sullenly, then headed for the stairs.T A M 0 A Q" IA rat offi himself," the ugly one said under his breath." So what's thecrime? Looks like a service to everyone, you ask me."Kovac stared at the body. He could see Liska snooping around, making notes ofevery detail, sketching the room, the placement of the furniture and ofanything that might be deemed significant. They took turns at that job-keepingthe notes at the scene. It was his turn to shoot the preliminary Polaroids.He started with the room itself, then slowly moved in on the body,photographing it from all angles. Each flash burned an imprint on hismemory-the dead thing that had been Mike Fallon's son; the beam from which thenoose hung; the Reebok exercise steps that sat Just behind the body, nearenough to have been what Andy Fallon had used for his big dismount into thehereafter; the mirror. Sorry.Sorry. Yes, it was.Had Andy Fallon been sorry? About what? Or had someone else scrawled the word?The furnace blower kicked on, and the corpse began to twist slightly like agiant rotting pifiata. The reflection in the mirror was a macabre dancepartner."I never understand people who get naked to commit suicide," Liska said."It's symbolic. Shedding their earthly skin." "n.o.body is finding me naked.""Maybe he didn't commit suicide," Kovac said."You think someone could have done this to him? Or forced him to do it? Murder by hanging is rare.,,"What's with the mirror?" Kovac asked, though it wasn't a question to him.Liska studied the naked corpse for a moment, then looked to the mirror, catching a slice of her own reflection with that ofAndy Fallon. "Oh, man," shesaid quietly. "Autoerotic misadventure? I've never had one before!,1 1 1 ike. Kovac said nothing, trying toimagine what he would tell Mi Bad enough to have to explain autoeroticasphyxiation to strangers, which he had done a couple of times in his career.But how did you tell a tough, hard-line, old-time cop that his son had beentrying to get himself off by cutting off his oxygen supply, and had strangledhimself in the process?D U S T T 0 D U S T 27 "But why the message?" Liska wondered aloud. "Sorry says suicide to me. Whywould he write that if he was doing this just to get offl"Kovac touched a hand to the top of his throbbing head and winced. "You know,some days it just doesn't pay to get out of bed." "Yeah, well ... Here's youroption," Liska said, nodding to the body."Doesn't look too sweet to me. I always figure a bad day living beats any daydead." "f.u.c.k me:'Kovac muttered. Liska squatted down in front of the mirror to examine the letters moreclosely. She looked at Kovac's reflection. "Not in front of a corpse. 17m notthat kind of girl.""You know what I mean." "I do." She rose slowly, dropped the act, and touched his arm, looking up athim with earnest blue eyes. "I'm sorry, Sam. Like ol' Iron Mike doesn't haveit bad enough."Kovac stared at his partner for a moment, stared at the small hand on his coatsleeve and briefly considered taking hold of it. Just for the comfort ofcontact with another human. She wore no rings-so as not to confuse potentialsuitors, she said. Her fingernails were short and unpolished."Yeah," he whispered.Below them there was a shout, then a sudden loud crash, followed by moreshouting. Liska ran down the stairs like a mountain goat. Kovac pounded downbehind her. R,ubel was trying to haul Steve Pierce off Ogden's p.r.o.ne body. "Off him!"Rubel shouted. In a rage, Pierce shrugged him off and took a swing at Ogden, connecting, bythe sound of the thump and the grunt. Rubel grabbed Pierce again, hooking athick arm around his throat and dragging him up and back, screarming in his ear. "I said, off him!"Ogden, scrambling to get his legs under himself, slipped on the polished wood.Shards of broken gla.s.s and china crunched beneath his thick cop brogues. Hegrabbed the edge of the china cabinet they had crashed into and hauled himselfup, rattling everything left in it. His face was mottled and his nose wasbleeding. He swiped a hand under it, eyes widening in disbelief He had to haveforty pounds on Steve Pierce.28 T A M "You're under arrest, a.s.shole!" he yelled, pointing a b.l.o.o.d.y finger at Pierce."Let him go!" Liska. shouted at Rubel.Pierce's face had gone purple above the choke hold. Rubel released him andPierce dropped to his knees, wheezing. He gasped and looked up at Ogden withvenom in his eyes. "You son of a b.i.t.c.h!""n.o.body's under arrest," Kovac declared, stepping between them. "I want themout of here!" Pierce demanded hoa.r.s.ely, fighting his way to his feet. His eyesgleamed with tears and fury. "Get them out of here!""You-" Ogden started.. Kovac hit him in the chest with the heel of his hand. It was like slapping aslab of gramite. "Shut up! Outta here!"Rubel stalked past and Ogden fell in step, fuming. Kovac dogged their heelsinto the living room.

"What the h.e.l.l did you say to him?" "Nothing," Rubel returned."I was talking to the other ox.You said something stupid, didn't you? Christ,what a question! I might as well ask if s.h.i.t is brown," Kovac said withdisgust."He attacked me '" Ogden said indignantly. "He a.s.saulted an officer.""Yeah?" Kovac said tightly, getting in his face. "You want to go there, Ogden?You want to make a report detailing this little fiasco? You want Mr. Piercethere to give a statement?You want your supervisor reading what a d.i.c.khead youare?" Sulking, the officer pulled a dingy handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbedit under his nose. "You're gonna be lucky he doesn't call the citizens' commission and sue thedepartment," Kovac said. "Now get outta here and go do youriobs-"Rubel led the way out the front doorjaw set, eyes narrow. Ogden hustled upalongside him to the street, b.l.o.o.d.y rag held to his nose with one hand, theother gesticulating as he tried to impress something on his partner, whodidn't want to hear. The crime scene van pulled up behind the radio car at the curb. A pair ofs.h.i.tty compacts swarmed in from opposite directions like buzzards. Newsles.Kovac felt his lip start to curl. He stepped back into the house, catchingBurgess reaching for a stack of videoca.s.settes on a shelf beside thetelevision. D U S T T 0 D U S T 29 "Don't touch anything!" Kovac snapped. "Get out on the lawn and keep thereporters away.'No comment'--do you think you can manage that, or is it toomany Syllables?"Burgess ducked his head."And I want every license plate on the block noted and run. Got that?" "Yessir," the cop said through his teeth as he went out.Where do they get these guys?" Kovac asked as he went back to the kitchen."They breed them up north as pack animals," Liska said, meeting him at thearchway into the room. "Ogden made a crack about one less f.a.g. Pierce lost.i.t.Who can blame him?" "Great:' Kovac muttered. "Let's hope he doesn't decide to get vocal about it.Bad enough Andy Fallon's dead. We don't need to broadcast to the wholemetropolitan area which way his w.i.l.l.y waggled."The crime scene team came through then, toting their cases and cameras. Thescene would be photographed again and videotaped. The area of the death scenewould be dusted for prints. If there wasidence to gather, it would be photographed, its exact posit' any evi ion measured and noted;it would be logged and marked and packaged with great care taken to establishthe chain of custody so that its every moment could be accounted for. And allthe while Andy Fallon's body would hang there, waiting for the arrival of theME's people.Kovac briefed the senior criminalist and directed them upstairs. Liska hadherded Steve Pierce back to the kitchen table. He sat like a man who wanted to pace, one hand rubbing his throat. Ogden's blood stained his knuckles. He hadpulled his tie loose and undone his collar. The black suit was limp andrumpled."Mind if we sit down, Steve?" Kovac asked.Pierce made no reply. They sat anyway. Kovac produced a microca.s.sette recorderfrom his pocket, turned it on, and placed it on the table."We'll make a recording of our conversation here, Steve he explainedcasually. "So that we're sure we've got all the details straight when we getback to the station to write our reports. Is that all right with you?"Pierce nodded wearily, dragging a hand back through his hair. "I'll need youto answer out loud, Steve."T A M 1 0 A Q"Yes. Sure. Fine." He tried to clear his throat. Distress etched lines beside his mouth. "Will they ... take him down now?" he asked, his voice closing offon the last words. "The medical examiner's people will do that:'Liska explained. He looked at heras if it had only just dawned on him there would have to be an autopsy. Hiseyes filled again and he looked out the window at the snow in the backyard,trying to compose himself"What do you do for a living, Steve?" Kovac asked. "Investments. I'm withDaring-Landis.""Do you live here? In this house?" "No.""What brought you here this morning?""Andy was supposed to meet me for coffee at the Uptown Caribou yesterday. Hewanted to talk to me about something. He didn't show. He didn't answer mycalls. I was concerned so I came by." "What was your relationship with AndyFallon?" "We're friends:' he said. Present tense. "From college. Buddies. You know.""Suppose you tell us," Kovac said. "What kind of buddies?"Pierce' brow creased. "You know, out for beer and pizza, the1 s occasional basketball game. Get together for Monday Night Football. Guystuff." "Nothing more ... intimate.Kovac watched his face carefully. Pierce colored from the collar up. "What areyou suggesting, Detective?""I'm asking if the two of you had a s.e.xual relationship," Kovac said with calmbluntness. Pierce looked as if his head might burst. "I'm straight. Not that it's any ofyour business.""There's a dead body upstairs," Kovac said. "That makes everything mybusiness.What about Mr. Fallon?" "Andy's gay," Pierce said, resentment bitter in his eyes. "Does that make itall right that he's dead?"Kovac spread his hands. "Hey, I don't care who plugs what in where. I justneed a fi7ame of reference for my investigation.""You have a real way with words, Detective.""You said Andy wanted to talk something over with you," Liska prompted,diverting his attention to her. Allowing Kovac to watch every facial tic. "Doyou know what?"U S 7 T 0 D U S T 31 "No. He didn't say.""When did you last speak with him?" Kovac asked. Pierce cut him a sidewayslook, the resentment lingering."Urn, Friday, I guess it was. My fianc6e was busy that might so I swung by tosee Andy.We hadn't seen much of each other lately. I came by to suggest we gettogether for coffee or something. Catch up.""So the two of you were supposed to meet yesterday, but Andy was a no-show.""I called a couple of times, got the machine. He never called back. I decidedto swing by. See if everything was all right.""Why wouldn't you just think he was busy? Maybe he had to go to work early."Pierce glared at him. "Pardon me for being concerned about my friends. I guessI should just be an a.s.shole like you. I could be at my desk now. I could havesaved myself the trouble of seeing-"He cut himself off as the image rose in his memory again. His face was stillred but with a waxy sheen to it now as he looked out the window, as if thesight of the snow, white and serene, imight cool and soothe him."How'd you get into the house?" Kovac asked. "You have a key?" "The door wasn't locked.""Had he talked about suicide? Had he seemed depressed?" Liska asked."He had seemed ... frustrated. A little down, yes, but not to the point thathe'd kill himself I just won't believe that. He wouldn't have done somethinglike that without trying to reach out to someone first."That was what the survivors always wanted to think at first. Kovac knew fromexperience.They always wanted to believe the loved one would have asked forhelp before taking that fatal step. They never wanted to think they might havemissed a sign. If it turned out Andy Fallon had committed suicide, at somepoint Steve Pierce would start wondering if there hadn't been a dozen signsand he'd missed them all because he was selfish or scared or blind."Down about what?"Pierce made a helpless gesture. "I don't know. Work. Or maybe his family. Iknow there'd been some strain between him and his clad." "What about otherrelationships?" Liska asked. "Was he involved with anyone?""No."32 T A M"How can you be sure?" Kovac asked. "You weren't living here. You weren'tseeing each other.You just got together for the occasional cup o'joe.""We were friends.""Yet you don't really know what was bothering him. You don't really know howdepressed he might have been.""I knew Andy. He would not have killed himself," Pierce insisted, his patiencewearing thin."Aside from the door being unlocked," Liska said, "did anything seem to benu'ssing or out of place?""Not that I noticed. I wasn't looking, though. I came to find Andy." "Steve,did you ever know Andy to practice any unusual s.e.xual rituals?" Kovac asked.Pierce shot up out of his chair, sending it skidding backward. "You people areunbelievable!" He jerked around as ' scanning the kitchen iif 1for a witness or a weapon.Kovac remembered the knives on the island and the rage in Pierce's face ashe'd pounded Ogden. He got up and put himself between Pierce and the knifeblock."This isn't personal, Steve. It's our ob," he said. "We need the clearestpicture we can get."You're a bunch of f.u.c.king s.a.d.i.s.ts!" Pierce shouted. "My friend is dead and-""And I didn't know him from Adam," Kovac said reasonably. "And I don't knowyou from Adam. For all I know, you might have killed him yourself.""That's absurd!""And you know what?" Kovac went on. "I find a dead guy hanging naked, watchinghimself in a mirror ... Call me a prude, but that strikes me odd.You know, Igotta think maybe this guy was into something a little out of the ordinary Butmaybe you're into that too. Maybe you don't bat an eye at s.h.i.t like that. Whatdo I know? Maybe you choke yourself to get off every other day. Maybe you playspank the monkey with a cattle prod. If you do, if you and Fallon wereinvolved insomething like that together, you're better off telling us now,Steve."Pierce was crying now, tears streaming, the muscles in his facestraining as if he was fighting to hold in all the raw emotions rippingthrough him. "No."D U S TT 0D U S T 33 "No, you weren't involved in that kind of thing, or no, you won't tell us?"