Dorothy Peters was pleased when Officer Edmond Exley took her to a diner and ordered coffee. In the back of her mind, she feared the boy would take her to a bar, feed her alcohol and expect service. She was not interested in such things at the moment. It had been a very trying night.

He was quiet as he sipped and she fought a smile, noticing how very young he was. Finally, he cleared his throat but still had nothing to say so she began.

“Tell me what you think of me, Officer Exley.”

His eyes rose and a kind smile pulled at his lips. “My name’s Ed. And I don’t think anything bad about you, Mrs. Peters. Nothing bad at all.” He lounged comfortably in his seat and watched her. “I wanted to bring you here so you can talk if you’d like, that’s all. You seem like a woman who might need to get a few things off her chest.” And his face went beet red.

Dorothy grinned but avoided making a comment on the obviously unintended double entendre. “I can tell you that I feel shame, Ed. I feel embarrassed and I feel … weak. A sinner.”

“Can I tell you what I think?”

She nodded and sipped hot coffee.

“I think you had no choice. Mrs. Peters … Dorothy … everyone deserves to feel loved and important. After all, isn’t that why people get married?”

“You are a very young man, Ed,” her eyes sparkled. “But a very wise one too. And I did have a choice you know. There was a time when I was strong enough to divorce him. That time is past I’m afraid.”

“No, it’s not. Damn, you’re a beautiful woman. There’s a good marriage out there for you. Do you think for one minute your husband is off on the road all those weeks and being faithful to you? Granted, what you did was … extreme. But I do kinda understand it. Leave that bastard. Start over, Dorothy. You deserve a better life.”

She smiled, liking Ed Exley more and more. “I’ll think about it.”

w

Stensland hadn’t even suggested a drink, didn’t really want one and pretty much knew White wouldn’t show at the bar anyway. Besides, he had other things on his mind; shit he hadn’t thought about for a long, long time. Dick Stensland went straight home.

There he found his wife sitting in the dark living room in front of a silent television. She slowly looked up, showing only a slight surprise at his presence and groaned to her feet. She went to the kitchen and he followed, not real sure what he wanted to do next.

“Martha,” he said and she bustled around.

“I have your dinner ready. It’s not too cold tonight,” she said, setting a loaded plate on the table and jangling her hand in the silverware drawer, retrieving a fork and knife. She turned and put the coffee pot on the stove, lit the burner and sighed. “Chicken, carrots, some potatoes.”

Stens watched her back, how her shoulders had slumped, the way she looked in that ragged old housedress. Her hair was wrapped in a dull scarf, only a wisp here and there of the orange-gold that used to shine in the sunlight. When was the last time Martha looked pretty? Happy? Content?

She poured coffee and placed the mug near his plate then simply walked out of the kitchen. Stens blinked. Yeah, chicken smelled good but he wanted something else. He went to the dark living room and saw her again sitting, silent, almost … dead. He cleared his throat.

Martha blinked and looked up. “Something wrong with your dinner, Richard?”

“Are you okay?”

“What? Me? Sure, I’m fine.”

“I mean … Martha … are you … I dunno,” he leaned against the doorjamb, “happy?”

“Am I happy?” she said the words slowly, like they were a foreign language, rolled them, tasted them, even repeated them. “Am I happy?” Finally her hazel eyes met his and his breath caught for a moment. He’d forgotten how beautiful they were. “Dick, I … I don’t even remember … happy.”

He tentatively sat on the sofa beside her and she turned to watch him. He reached, switched on the table lamp and again marveled at how washed out, how empty and still she was. “Were you ever happy? With me?”

So slowly it hurt to watch, a smile grew on her lips that reached all the way to her hazel eyes. “Oh yes, Richard. I remember happy. Yes, I was happy … with you.”

“But,” he swallowed hard, “you ain’t happy with me anymore, are you?”

“I’m sorry,” she lowered her gaze to her still hands. “I feel … alone … lost all the time. I can’t be happy with you if you’re never … here,” her hand rose and settled over her heart.

Stens took that hand and brought it to his lips, placing a tender kiss on her knuckles and thrilled to see her again looking into his face. His voice came thick and choked. “It’s kinda my fault and I’m sorry. Shouldn’t be fucking ignoring you like this. It won’t happen anymore.”

Dick Stensland took his wife to their bedroom. He tenderly undressed her, amazed at the body he hadn’t even really looked at for years. Yes, he’d roll over her once in a while. A quick fuck when he wasn’t tired enough to fall asleep. Yes, he’d been cheating and messing with other broads through most of their marriage. Yes, he’d forgotten what he had at home, forgotten how much he once loved her, how crazy he was for her, how damn long he waited for her.

He met Martha at his brother’s wedding ten years ago. She was the prettiest thing he ever saw in his life and he knew he was going to have her, by hook or by crook. He proceeded to use everything he could to make it happen, including hiring a private dick to follow her fiancé and finally catch him in a nice, juicy, compromising photo. Within months after Martha was shown the incriminating evidence, she left the guy and began seeing Stens. A year later, they were husband and wife.

He didn’t feel bad about what he did to get her, he wanted what he wanted. What he felt bad about, that night as he lovingly molded and pressed himself to Martha … was that he’d missed a hell of a lot of time with her. And why? Because he was the big guy? The tough guy? The one who wasn’t gonna look like he was tied to his wife’s apron strings? Shit … years lost. And he was going to do everything he could, that night and for as many nights as she’d let him, to regain that time. Maybe even regain her love and make her happy.

After all, the last thing he ever wanted to see was his beautiful Martha in the Saturday night lineup for the fucking study.

w

Bud White wasn’t in so much of a hurry to get his ass home. He did stop at the bar, expecting Stens to be there but it seemed he’d be drinking alone. After just one scotch, he was ready to face Lorna. Lorna, that mistake he’d somehow gotten himself all tangled with.

But when he got home, his apartment was empty. Suddenly he forgot the irritation at having her under foot all the time, all he could think about was her pimp, that brutal fuck who was sure to make her bleed if he got his hands on her. He grabbed his keys and headed out.

He went everywhere he could think of, spied Leroy Belkner on a corner near Echo Park and drove on. He checked the hottest corners for finding hookers, looked in alleys and watched activity in West Hollywood. Finally, around two AM he gave up, figuring that maybe it was all for the best. Maybe she just ran away, learned her lesson and realized it wasn’t gonna work between them.

As he reached the top of the stairs and turned toward his place he stopped. Sitting on the floor at his door was indeed a broken, bleeding Lorna. She was sobbing silently and raised terrified eyes to him.

Bud didn’t say a word. He lifted her into his arms and took her inside. Her wrist was bruised and her eye was black but she was generally okay. He was both pissed and afraid for her and had no clue how to handle it. Without asking where she’d been, without voicing his frustrations, without even thinking, he stripped her to the bone and fucked her hard. His mind was loving and protective, but his actions were punishing and as Lorna finally turned her back from him and listened to his soft snore, she knew it was over. Where she would go next or what she would do was a complete blank. That she loved the man asleep beside her … would haunt her until the day she died.

w

Jack drove home after the evening’s interview, unable to shake the uncomfortable feeling Dorothy Peters had created. Here she was, a normal, reasonably attractive woman who by all standards was respectable and likable. How many others were there like her? As much as he wanted to convince himself that she was an anomaly, his gut told him otherwise.

He and Linda had once been compatible and happy. Back in the days when they were hungry, before the days of Badge of Honor and his dealings with Sid Hudgens, he’d come home after his shift and Linda would have dinner ready or warming in the oven if he was late. They did things together like a normal married couple; went to movies, visited friends, took vacations together. Then somehow, it all stopped. When did they turn into the people they’d become?

As usual, no lights were on when he unlocked the front door, but he could hear Linda moving around in the bedroom as he walked inside. Amazingly, she didn’t start yelling, and this gave him a glimmer of hope. He knew he was to blame for what had happened to their marriage, and although he knew it was too late to make amends, he needed to let her know that he was sorry for not doing the things he should have done. She had deserved better.

He switched on the table lamp in the living room and went over to the bedroom door to check on his wife.

She knew he was standing there, watching her sleep. “I’m awake.” She wanted to avoid a confrontation with Jack, but to be honest; she was tired, so maybe tonight would be different.

Jack leaned against the door frame, blocking the beam of light from the other room. In the darkness she could almost imagine that he was still the man she had fallen in love with, if she tried. Problem was, daylight wasn’t that far away.

“How was your day?”

Why was he asking her now? She tried to be pleasant. “Not bad. I had a few big parties come through and they tipped well. How about you?” She wasn’t sure that she really cared any longer, but it seemed rude not to at least pretend that she was interested.

“Linda, I’m sorry for all that’s happened between us. You deserved better and I know you tried long after another woman would have given up.”

Okay, it must have been a bad night at the precinct. The only time Jack Vincennes was contrite or apologetic was when he’d witnessed something that hit a little too close to home. Like that time the housewife and her teenage daughter were murdered by the mother’s jealous boyfriend. It was a particularly gruesome case, and Jack had been one of the first cops to arrive at the scene. Was he the first cop to arrive at another scene tonight?

“What do you want me to do, Jack? Say that all is forgiven? You’re right; I tried to keep things together, begged you to talk to me, but you just drifted further and further away, no matter how hard I tried. Maybe six months ago, your standing there and saying these things might have made a difference, but here we are. Am I sorry that things didn’t work out the way you promised? Yeah, I am. But I’ve already made my plans and I’m moving out at the end of the month.”

There, it was done. For a moment he thought about trying to talk her out of her decision, to look into her eyes and ask for another chance to try and make it right. But who was he to deny her the opportunity to lead a normal life, perhaps to remarry - a man who had regular hours and a regular, 9 to 5 job? A man who listened? She was still young enough to start over, while he felt about a hundred years old. And even if he could start over, could he do it better? Or would he just be destined to make the same mistakes?

Linda held her breath as she lay there, watching Jack’s shoulders slump from the realization of his defeat. “Listen, I gotta get up early, so why don’t we call it a night?”
What use was there in wishing for what could have, should have been? She turned away from him so he couldn’t see that she was crying. “Could you turn out the light?”

There was nothing left for either one of them to say.

w

Dudley Smith was extremely disappointed with Exley’s reports. They read like endorsements for Calloway and this is most certainly not what he was looking for. All weekend he stewed over it and finally Monday morning, the Captain had had quite enough.

He demanded to see Exley the moment the kid arrived and Edmond had his concerns. He walked into the Captain’s office and closed the door, sat and waited, and waited, and waited. Captain Smith ignored the boy, shuffling and signing papers, digging files from the pile on his desk and reading copious reports. Finally he set everything aside, removed his glasses and folded them neatly before sliding them into his desk drawer. He cleared his throat.

“Explain yourself, Edmond.”

“Sir?”

Dudley slid a folder toward him and leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled and his eyes harsh. “Are you to have me believe that Carson Calloway is a canonized saint?”

Ed’s hands trembled as he flipped through the reports. “Ah … of course not, sir. I’m just reporting everything I see.” Ed was worried. Things had just begun to go really, really well for him and he was starting to believe that he’d soon never find himself wearing a uniform again. He was learning every minute, shadowing Calloway like he was, seeing how the man thought and how his mind worked in any given situation. He admired Calloway more than any detective he’d ever known … including his father, the legendary Preston Exley. He respected the man’s integrity and knew he couldn’t ask for a better model. He also knew that if he didn’t give the Captain some semblance of what he was looking for … he’d lose it all. Back in blue … starting all over again.

He was guarded with his words, careful with how he delivered them, finally choosing exactly what to say and how to say it. “Cap, I figure he’s so smooth he’s hiding things deep. I’m digging; I just haven’t found the right field to mine. Give me time, I am looking. A man doesn’t get this far being obvious with his crimes, now does he?”

Again Ed waited … and waited … and waited. He could see Captain Smith’s mind grinding everything, wondering if it was him or Calloway who was really pulling it over on him. Maybe even wondering if Exley had gone to the other side. None of that mattered; all Ed wanted was more time to learn from Calloway.

Finally Smith huffed and waved a hand. “You’ve got another few weeks and no more, boyo. Get to it.”

As Ed walked to the desk he shared with Calloway, he began to wonder if it was time to come clean with the detective, let the man know he was under such scrutiny, maybe even in some danger too for Ed would put nothing past a man like the Captain. He’d known Dudley Smith since he was a child and never, ever felt sure about him.