"What can I expect in terms of the pattern of these attacks?" Rebecca asked, making notes as she listened.

"Its hard to say. There isnt anything particularly ritualized about them. As far as Im aware, the only similarities are the site, and the fact that all of the victims are runners."

"There is something else," Rebecca said. "All of the victims were sodomized -- there was no vaginal penetration."

Catherine raised an eyebrow as she considered this new information. "Well, I could theorize, of course, but I doubt that it would help you much."

"Go ahead. You never know what may help."

"It could be that the rapist is potent only that way -- fear of vaginal intercourse, of `losing ones penis, is not that uncommon with sexually maladjusted men. There is also the possibility that he is acting out a fantasy in which the victims femaleness is a detractor."

Rebecca stopped writing and looked up. "You mean a homosexual fantasy?"

"Possibly."

"Terrific," Rebecca said disgustedly. "That would definitely help public opinion of gays."

"Its not likely that he is consciously gay, Rebecca. It would be much more likely that he is suppressing homosexual ideation -- and, as I said, Im only theorizing."

Rebecca snapped her notebook shut and rubbed her face in frustration.

"I cant do anything but wait for his next move -- and that means waiting for him to attack another woman."

"What about staking out the area?"

"We try," Rebecca snorted, "but its pretty difficult with only a few people to cover twenty miles of river front."

"I wish I could help you more."

"You can. You can help me find out what Janet Ryan saw that night."

Catherine remained silent, torn between conflicting emotions. At length, she stood up, not wanting to leave but knowing she must.

"I want to see you again, Rebecca," she said at last. "Not here, and not about police business. I want to be somewhere with you where we can talk and rest. I want to be able to touch you."

Rebecca turned quickly towards Catherine, pulling her close against her, kissing her firmly on the mouth. Her hands traveled the length of Catherines back, caressing each curve with trembling hands. When she stepped back, her heart was racing.

"And Ive been wanting to do that since you walked in the room," Rebecca said breathlessly. She touched Catherines cheek softly and then slipped quickly from the room.

Catherine was aware that Rebecca had again successfully avoided her suggestion of any intimacy between them. And she was also aware of how good Rebeccas hands felt on her.

Chapter Seventeen

Rebeccas beeper went off before the hospital elevator touched the ground floor. Threading her way through the log jam of wheelchairs, elderly patients shuffling behind steel-framed walkers, and clumps of disoriented visitors, she reached a public phone and called the station.

"Frye, here," she announced into the phone.

She edged her way out of the path of a speeding adolescent and waited impatiently for her call to be put through.

"This is Watts," the heavy male voice intoned in a bored voice.

"What do you want, Watts?" Rebecca snapped, unable to hide her dislike for her new partner.

"A call came in on the night shift -- a desk clerk down on Delroy found a dead hooker in one of the upstairs rooms."

Rebecca waited for more and was rewarded with the faint background buzz of the phone line.

"Watts," she said in exasperation, "we dont have time to track down some faceless john who got too rough with a hooker. Turn it over to Homicide."

"Yeah," Watts said. "Youre probably right. The whore was just a kid --thirteen, they said."

Rebecca expelled a ragged breath. "Fuck! I was hoping we had quieted that action down."

"Funny thing about it. The M.E. called in a preliminary report -- seems the kid was beaten to death first, then sodomized. The semen analysis showed up type O."

"Jesus!" Rebecca exclaimed. "Why didnt you say it might be our guy straight out! Give me the address -- Ill meet you there."

She knew the place. The Viceroy Hotel. It had once been a respectable hotel, housing long-term tenants and the occasional tourist. With the decline of the neighborhood and the gravitation of junkies, prostitutes, and drug dealers to this area, anyone who could afford to had moved out. Now the hotel was a stop over for hookers and their clients, junkies waiting for their next fix, and the lonely wino who had scrounged the price of a thin mattress for the night.

Rebecca made the cross-town trip easily, despite the rush of lunch hour traffic. Watts was waiting in front of the four-story building, looking apathetic and bored. His crumpled suit, too tight across his bulging middle, had once been expensive but now reflected the neglect and disinterest which was evident in the man himself. Rebecca knew that he had once been considered a sharp detective, but apparently, something had changed. He looked every inch the burnt out veteran, just putting in time until his pension came up. Rebecca did not want to be saddled with him; he was clearly a loser.

She joined him wordlessly, and they pushed through the hotels double entry doors into a dank, dimly lit foyer. Thread-bare chairs sat haphazardly on a rug of indeterminate color. Piles of old magazines lay strewn randomly over the surface of a scarred coffee table. Beyond this waiting area was a small counter where the desk clerk leaned on his elbow, watching them impassively. The room was empty except for an old woman who reclined on a sofa against one wall, snoring softly.

The clerk clearly read them as cops and continued to stare at them without speaking. As they approached, Watts flipped his badge open and leaned against the cigarette-scarred desk top.

"You Bailey?" he said without preamble.

"Thats right," the man said. His breath smelled of liquor, and he didnt look as if face had seen a razor in days.

"You find the body?" Watts continued, making no effort to introduce Rebecca. She was irritated but saw no benefit in making a show out of it. She let Watts carry the ball.

"Yeah, I found it."

Watts nodded slightly. "Says in the report that you called in at 3:42A.M."

"Probably. I didnt look at no clock."

"How come youre on the desk now? Wheres the day shift?"

The man looked at Watts blankly. "I work the day shift."

Watts paused for a moment, a befuddled frown on his face. "That so? Then how come you were here in the middle of the night? You work the night shift too?"

The desk clerks face registered dismay, and he looked quickly around the room. Rebecca had the sense that he was looking for an exit, and she stepped slightly to the left, blocking the hinged section of counter that led out from the narrow space between the mailboxes and the registration desk. She slowly moved her hand to unbutton her jacket, allowing her access to her automatic. She wasnt sure what Watts had in mind, but he was certainly after something. It would have helped if he had briefed her first.

Watts studied the clerk, his face still creased with confusion.

"You got other work here, maybe?"

"Like what?" the thin greying man asked uneasily.

"Like maybe you run a few of the girls yourself?"

At Watts suggestion the man gave a frightened snort and backed away from the counter.

"No way, no way at all. I never pimped -- I swear. I just --" he stammered into silence.

"You justwhat?" Watts asked.

"Nothing."

Watts turned to Rebecca and raised a questioning eyebrow. "What do you think, Detective Frye? Isnt soliciting clients for prostitutes a felony in this state? Maybe we should take Mr. Bailey here for a ride downtown?"

Rebecca followed his lead. She nodded agreement, and responded, "Youre right, Detective Watts. Mr. Bailey does seem in clear violation of the law."

Bailey squeaked in protest, words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush.

"Wait a minute! I didnt solicit for nobody. The girl was up there a long time, and I just went to see. There she was -- spread out on the bed, naked except for those shorts around her ankles. She was cold already. I could tell that from the door. Sos I called the cops -- thats what a citizen is supposed to do, isnt it?"

He glanced from one to the other, hoping for a sign of approval. They returned his gaze impassively.

Rebecca stepped a little closer to the counter and said softly, "Why were you watching her, Mr. Bailey?"

He looked uncomfortable and shifted from one foot to the other. He seemed to come to some decision, speaking slowly. "They pay me a little to keep an eye on the girls. You know -- to see how many tricks they turn -- if theyre holding back on their pimps. I dont do nothing but keep an eye on traffic, so to speak."

"Who pays you, Mr. Bailey?" Rebecca asked, keeping her body between Bailey and Watts. They were playing good cop/bad cop all right. She only wished that Watts had given her some notice.

"You cant arrest me for watching hookers -- that aint no crime!"

Watts moved closer to Rebecca. "It is if youre an accomplice to the act --which you are, Bailey."

Bailey blanched but remained silent.

"Who went up there with her, Mr. Bailey?" Rebecca asked suddenly.

"Didnt see him," he answered quickly.

Rebecca turned to Watts. "Maybe Mr. Bailey would remember if we took him downtown. What do you say, Watts?"

Watts appeared to be thinking, his brow knit in consternation. "Yeah -- you might be right, Frye. But then wed have to fill out all those reports and probably run Bailey through the computer. You know how long those computer checks take." He sighed as if the idea didnt appeal to him much.