Time Frame: 6th Season 1997-98.  After episode 94,”Abduction” and before episode 95 “Full Court Press”
 

 Eight solid hours after the conclusion of a full-scale investigation conducted to rescue Shawn Marshall, the four-year old boy abducted from the merry-go-round at the science center, Lieutenant Giardello was back in the squad room.  He sat at his desk taking a few minutes to assess the status of the board.  Mindful of the four red names added to the board in the last two weeks, he decided it was time to steer the detectives back to clearing murder cases.  As a predominantly vigilant Shift Lieutenant, he enduringly anticipated having to fend off the brass.  Four additional unsolved murders, even if the victims were members of the Mahoney organization, could attract the attention of a zealous superior in search of ammunition.  He deliberately stormed out of his office determined to affect the detectives with the full impact of his commanding presence. The Lieutenant, in the expected manner, would have proceeded to demystify the process of solving cases by roaming around the squad room asking questions-he knew the answers to-and making self evident suggestions.  As he stepped out of his office, he captured the attention of the detectives but became instantly distracted by the sight of a visitor walking into the squad room.  He stared at her inquisitively, but in a matter of a few seconds, he recognized her and affectionately smiled.  As he relaxed his stance, his disposition brightened, and he remained exclusively engrossed by her presence.  Detectives John Munch, Tim Bayliss, Mike Kellerman and Paul Falsone paid close attention to the unfolding action.   The perceptive bystanders made the reasonable assumption that Gee was genuinely pleased by the interruption.

 Helena Hayek came to the City of Baltimore Police Headquarters on an errand unrelated to Homicide.  While in the building, she overhead bits and pieces of conversations related to the abduction case.  As she heard people mention Gee’s name, she was instantly transported by a flow of precious memories back to the time when she and Michael Giardello were close friends.  She remembered how beautiful and regal she thought Gee was, and how she used to stare at him all the time.  Peculiarly, as she heard him speak, she would conjure up images of proper settings, polished silver teaspoons and charming porcelain cups.  Gee spoke precisely, measuring each word, while emphatically conveying ample meaning.  The thought of seeing him again pleased her, so lightheartedly, she decided to pay him a visit.  Upon entering room 203, she paused.  Until then, she had not considered the possibility of Gee not remembering her.  After all, several years had passed, and even back then she didn’t come upon Gee that often.  She casually reflected on Michael’s strained relationship with his father.  Police work persistently interfered with their home life and she understood Michael’s dilemma.  Michael had plenty of relatives and friends who gladly helped him out when needed.  Oddly, this trade-off poignantly validated the fact that his father could not be replaced.  Gee’s absence was as prominent and palpable as his powerful physical presence.

 Gee particularly noticed that Helena had not changed much.  It was the collective manner of her appearance that triggered his memory.  She wore a tailored business suit designed with particular sensitivity to the touch, feel and precise measurements of her feminine features.  She looked absolutely assured, comfortable, stylish, and unequivocally exotic.  Helena couldn’t be easily defined in terms of a specific ethnic group.  In fact, numerous racially diverse admirers often impetuously claimed she was one of their own.  As soon as Helena noticed Gee’s reaction, she felt reassured.  They quickened their pace and embraced.  Helena stood on the tips of her high-heeled classic leather pumps to kiss him on the cheek.  She gently wiped off the lipstick mark she had left on his face, and they started an animated exchange.  In spite of speaking to each other in unison, they managed to give each other due consideration.  They answered questions about their respective relatives, before long, they were both brought up to date.

 A highly contagious case of curiosity spread from person-to-person through the squad room.  Helena became the target of everyone’s undivided attention.  Instantly, the squad room was transformed into a boiler room.  She felt the atmospheric energy ripple through her body and settle on her blushing cheeks.  The excitement kindled her natural radiance.  She sought relief from the heat by taking off her coat.  Gee gently guided her toward the coat rack and gallantly offered to hang up her belongings.  Helena noticed that all other conversations had stopped, so she purposely decided to keep her conversation with Gee flowing.

 “I came to pick up a police report I need for an insurance claim.”  An explanation was probably not necessary, but she decided anything would be better than the awkward silence starting to build up around them.  “If this is an inconvenient time, I’ll be glad to come back some other day.”

 “It doesn’t get better than this.  Helena, you come back, anytime.”  After a split second pause he continued. “Traffic?”

 “Traffic?  Oh!  No, burglary.  My campus office was broken into.  Some artifacts I had brought back from Greek and Syrian excavation sites were destroyed.  The items cannot be replaced, but I’m hoping I can expedite the insurance claim so I can get other teaching materials.”

 “I can get someone here to get the report for you.”

 “Thank you.  That’s very kind, but I’ve already picked it up.”

Gee and Helena did not see Detective Frank Pembleton set foot in the squad room.  He reached out for a coat hanger and startled them with an emphatic remark directed at Helena.

 “What are you doing here?”

 “Ah! Frank, nice to see you too.”

Frank stared at her expecting an answer.  Since meeting Frank, a few months earlier, Helena developed a genuine affinity for engaging in non-contact sparring matches with him.  She viewed their verbal exchanges as effective self-defense exercises. On the verge of answering his question, she took a short breath, but Gee beat her to the punch.

 “Good morning, Frank.  Helena came to see me.  She’s been telling me about her very productive morning.  Quite impressive, really.”

 Frank ignored his superior’s willful remark because it was obviously made with the intention of pointing out that Frank was, as usual, the last detective to report to the unit.  Frank moved on.  He walked by his desk, glanced at it, forgetting about Gee and Helena, he smiled triumphantly.  He had finally taken back sole possession of his desk and wouldn’t be sharing it with Detective Ballard anymore.  He proceeded to get himself a cup of coffee from the break room and returned to the squad room to take his place alongside his partner.  He and Tim greeted each other with nods.

Gee took a few wandering steps as he mused over flashback images of Michael and Helena.  Helena followed him, and they inadvertently gravitated toward Frank.  Gee spoke as if everyone had been privy to his thoughts.

 “You and Michael were always up to something . . . CYO trips . . . cavorting from one lively soiree to another.”  He chuckled and gave her an effusive pat on the shoulder.

Helena eagerly seized the opportunity to revisit the topic.  Coincidentally, she had made a mental note about how lightly they had touched on the subject of Michael.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed him, lately.  I lived abroad for a while and moved back to Baltimore a few months ago.  Since then, my parents have talked me into joining them at a couple of church dances.  One of which was at Holy Cross.  I was told Michael had moved to Arizona.  I wished he’d been around … for old-times sake… to dance the night away.”

 “Oh please!  There you go again.  Talking about the dance.”

 Helena moved even closer and leaned to whisper in Frank’s ear.  “Frank, are you complaining?  Because as I recall … umm … I thought you and Mary had a great time at the dance?”

 Frank’s opponent momentarily subdued him with a sweeping smooth self-defense block.  He was unaccustomed to being at the receiving end of an unsettling whisper.  His situation was further aggravated by the allure of her perfume.  The refined blended scent of jasmine, lily, rose, apricot, as well as notes of amber and sandalwood, sedated him, so he took longer than usual to react.  Noticeably unnerved and stunned, Frank stumbled out of stupefaction in time to observe tiny hot and glowing sparks generated by the gravitational force between Tim and Helena.  The other detectives began to compete for her attention.  The distracting noise of chairs squeaking throughout the squad room prompted her to acknowledge the presence of others outside the exclusive circle formed by Gee, Tim and Frank.  Helena was introduced to all the other curious detectives.  As she realized the interruption of her morning-errand-run had taken a lot longer than she initially intended, she also noticed that Gee’s demeanor had shifted from temperate to serious.  She turned her attention back to him, graciously excused herself and left the squad room hastily waving at everyone else.  Gee stood in front of the case board.  With one fleeting, continuous stare, he scrutinized the entire squad room. Then, in utter silence, he returned to his office.  On her way out, Helena inadvertently bumped into Detectives Stewart Gharty and Laura Ballard.  He saw her attempting to put on her coat with one hand while holding her heavy briefcase with the other.  He capriciously helped her out by holding it for her.  She recuperated the briefcase and thanked him with a warm smile.  Stewart beamed and didn’t move until she was out of his sight.

“What a hot tamale, uh?”  He searched around for a reaction.  Some looked right through him and others ignored his crassness.  He turned to his partner, but Laura just shrugged her shoulders.

Paul sneaked into the Lieutenant’s office.  Gee was reading the stack of paper work that Naomi brought in while he was out of the office.

“Gee?”

“Eh?”  He didn’t stop reading.

“You know … er … the lady who just left.”

“What about her?”

“Um … paizana?”

“No.”  He picked up a pen, started to write and without uttering a word he conveyed the message to get back to business.  Paul mumbled to himself in Italian as he went back to his desk.  Distracted, he passed by Laura and didn’t acknowledge her presence.  She tried to give him the chance to make up for his faux pas and pay attention to her, but he remained oblivious.

“Munch, did a light just go out, again?”  Mike spoke glancing up at the ceiling.

“Uh-huh, Mike.  I know exactly what you mean.  She scourged us with her luminous vivacity and then left us in the dark.”
Frank stared at his partner, but Tim, trying to look busy, ignored him.

 “What?”

 “What?”

 “Tim, just say it.”

 “I don’t know what you mean.”

 “Oh! I see.  You want me to say it.”

 “I didn’t say anything, Frank.  Did I?”

 “I know you Tim.  I know you are curious about Helena?”

 “Is that right? UH! Then, tell me Frank, how come you never mentioned her, uh?”

 “See, I knew it!  She’s Mary’s friend not mine.”

 “OH! I see.  Mary’s uh?  Fine, I’ll ask Mary.”

“Well, Mary did talk about … umm … getting the two of you together, but, Oh!  I disagreed on account of you being so confused lately.”

 “Frank, I’m not confused.  You’re confused if you think I wouldn’t be interested.

 The telephone rang and the stare contest between partners ended.

 “Homicide, Tim Bayliss.  Uh-huh, ok, we’re on our way.  Frank, let’s go!”

The dispatcher informed Sgt. Sally Rogers that Detective Bayliss had taken the call, so she assumed relay position and waited, standing by the curb, to pass the torch to the homicide detectives.

“Hey, Rogers! So, what’s up?”  Tim took the lead.

In an effort to block the main entrance of the residence in question, the crime scene tape was wrapped around a tree, a fire hydrant and a four-step-hand rail.  Sgt. Rogers lifted the tape and the detectives ceremoniously passed under.

“Wow!”

“Oh, My!”

The detectives were flabbergasted by the bizarre contrast between what they expected the interior of an average row house on East Fulton Street to look like and the condition of this particular one.

“The fairy godmother must have stopped by last night, uh?”

“Yeap! Tim, I think you might be right …er …now, if we could get our wishes granted, let’s see … three … the culprit, physical evidence and eyewitnesses.”  They opened and closed their eyes in unison.

“Nope.”

“Well, Frank, maybe it’s not our lucky day.”

 Sgt. Rogers led them on a guided tour.  They couldn’t shake the sensation of being in a furniture gallery or model home.  The complete interior looked like materialized pages of a home-decorating magazine.  The formal living-room had an opulent quality brought about by the shiny, glazed finish of the leather furniture; the accessories made of brass, glass and chrome; the dark, shiny finish of the polished hardwood floor and the draperies made from tightly woven lustrous fabric.  The dining room was designed, paying close attention to detail, in a traditional Queen Victoria period style.  The contemporary décor of the family room was carried through with casual furniture and enhanced with baskets, textured pottery and carved wood pieces.  The brand spanking new functional kitchen incorporated bleached pine furniture, Folk art and copper pots to create the rustic feel of pioneer days.  The bedrooms were redone with ornate patterned wallpaper and the colors, patterns and textures of the window treatments, area rugs and throw pillows harmonized with the clean, crisp contemporary styled furniture.  The empowered hand of an industrious professional home decorator was painstakingly exposed.  The smell of new furniture, industrial glue and fresh paint lingered in the air but barely covered the smell of death.  The two detectives and the uniformed officer walked into the main bedroom.

“So, Rogers, this is why you called us, eh?”  Tim took a pad from his pocket, flipped it open and started to write.  “Name?”

“Virginia Walker.”

Tim swapped his leather gloves for latex ones and inspected the body.  “No signs of struggle, no apparent defense wounds, severe blunt trauma to the head.  Do we know with what?”  Sgt. Rogers handed him a sealed see-through evidence bag containing a poker.  “There’s a fireplace?”

“A fake one.”

“Fake?”

“Sure, Tim, you know, for those shivering glacial winter nights when people pretend they’re cold.”

 The sound of laughter, the extravagant presentation of the room and the disfigured corpse profoundly underscored the comradeship between the on-duty public servants.

 “Who called this in?”

 “Next door neighbor.”  Sgt. Rogers handed Tim another evidence bag.  It contained Polaroid pictures taken of the victim in the same position and dressed as she was found, in men’s clothing, but taken before she had suffered the ill-fated head blows.
“She called us after she found these scattered on the sidewalk.”

 “Frank, take a look.  Did the Jesuits teach you about this?”

Around the victim’s neck, Tim found a scapular with a Byzantine image and an inscription stating, Saint Sergius and Saint Bacchus, Martyrs, d. in the Diocletian persecution in Coele-Syria about 303.  Frank did not recognize the image or the names and confided in his partner about being uncertain of whether it was something he never learned, or he couldn’t remember.  Perplexed, they contemplated the possibility of a connection to the Greek Orthodox Church rather than Roman Catholic.  The third relay lap was initiated as Sgt. Rogers stayed behind to pass the torch to the Medical Examiner’s crew and the detectives proceeded to canvass the neighborhood.

The statements given by the neighbors were basic and consistent.  Mrs. Walker was a widow, her husband died of a heart attack a year earlier, they had one daughter, Paige, a college sophomore.  She lived on campus and hardly ever came by the house.  Several bystanders noted the sudden increase in activity around the Walker’s home, which started a couple of months earlier.  Detailed information was provided regarding conspicuous movers bringing new furniture in and taking old pieces out, home improvement laborers and house painters.  There was one piece of information everyone eagerly passed on.  The neighbors were frequently inconvenienced by the customized van the interior decorator parked on the street hours on end, and sometimes, all night long.  As far as having seen or heard anything unusual in the last few days, it was the opposite that struck them as odd.  The activity suddenly started and, in the last couple of days, it abruptly ended.

 On the college campus, Tim and Frank went to the student services office located in a Tudor style building.  Dr. Lowell, Dean of Students, was well acquainted with Paige Walker’s school record.  She indicated Paige was diligent, intelligent and modest, which according to her, was a combination of traits rarely exhibited by students her age.  The Dean was explicitly delighted with the fact that Paige, daughter of one of their graduates, had chosen to attend their school.  Urged to consider any other noteworthy aspects of Paige’s college experience, the Dean felt obligated to disclose that since ninety-five percent of their students received some form of financial aid, Paige’s case was peculiar.  Her parents covered all her college expenses with personal funds.  The Dean offered to find and notify Paige of her mother’s unfortunate demise.  The detectives, as much as they disliked the task, emphasized it was part of their job.

Tim and Frank reached Jenkins Hall at the same time the indicated class was being dismissed.  They were instantly ambushed by a swarm of vivaciously curious female students.  In the midst of the magnetic eyelash-batting buzz, the detectives, enjoying the attention, strayed, until the instructor approached them and broke up the commotion.

 “Gentlemen?  Need assistance?”

 “Uh?” Tim disengaged from the idolatrous whirling nested loop.  “We’re looking for Paige Walker.”  Tim flashed his shield and identified himself.

 “Paige didn’t come to class today.”   Amused, the instructor held up the attendance register and kept on going.

 “Frank, let’s go check out her next class.”

 “What is it?”

 “Let’s see, Anthropology 276, Humanities Center, Room 531, Ja!  Instructor: Professor Helena Hayek.”

A giggling infatuated student overheard the remark and promptly announced that Professor Hayek had cancelled all her classes for the day.  With the assistance of the student-housing manager, they located Paige’s dormitory.  The young lady who opened the door looked like she had just woken up. Despite her slumberous state, she immediately sensed the presence of authority figures and reacted distrustfully.

 “Are you Paige Walker?”

 “No.”

 “Can we come in? We’d like to ask you some questions.”

 “No.  I rather you didn’t.”

 “I see.”

 “Is Paige here?”

 “No.”

 “Do you know where she is?”

 “No.”

 “When was the last time you saw her?”

 “I dunno, a few days, I guess.”

 “She’s been away for a few days?

 “No. I dunno.”

 “No?”

 “I’ve been away.  I don’t stay here all the time.”

 “Do you have any reason to believe Paige didn’t spend the night here?”

 “Where else would she go?  She’s always here or in class. ”

 “She could’ve spent the night with friends … a boyfriend … or home?”

 “No.  I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have a boyfriend, and she hardly ever goes home.”

 “Have you ever seen her wear something like this?”  Tim showed her the scapular.

 “Wurjagitdat!”

The student linked the scapular to a recent Anthropology lecture given by Dr. Helena Hayek.  The departmental secretary supplied an address, explaining that Dr. Hayek took the day off to take care of the last-minute details of moving into a new home.  She assured the detectives she was home, but calling her was out of the question, because waiting for a telephone company technician was one of the reasons she was home bound.  Helena lived in a converted barn in Hampden.  She was drawn to the area because she liked the fact that there were lots of artists living and working around Hampden.  Her new home symbolized the novel way the neighborhood mixed the newer Hampdenites and the old ones.  When Helena’s mother opened the door and greeted them, they felt like they had just walked up to the set of “That Girl-the later years.”  Mrs. Hayek’s broad confident warm smile, twinkling dark eyes, raven hair, healthy countenance, self-composer and spirited mannerisms, plainly suggested, she was perfect for playing the leading role.  She was delighted to meet Frank and charmed by Tim.   Frank beamed and his smile just got bigger and bigger with each heartfelt compliment extended by Mrs. Hayek.  She talked about how glad she was about Helena and Mary becoming friends, his bright and beautiful daughter, Olivia, how cute the baby was, and how much she enjoyed seeing them.  While Mrs. Hayek and Frank talked, Tim glanced around and noticed a few things.  Among them, framed photographs of Helena’s grandfather: with Jimmy Carter in the White House Rose Garden, a private audience with the Pope, and a picture taken when he received the highest honor the Lebanese government bestows upon a civilian--the medal of the National Order of Cedar.  Tim candidly advised Mrs. Hayek of the official nature of their call.  Helena left moments before the detectives arrived, and Mrs. Hayek had insisted her daughter borrow the cellular phone, so she was able to facilitate communication.  She graciously suggested they return another time for a visit.

Helena stood by the gym locker getting ready to store her personal belongings, the phone rang, and she remarked on her mother’s impeccable timing.

“Hello, Mom.”

“Umm … Dr. Hayek?”

“Oh my God! What’s wrong?  Where’s my mother?”

“This is Detective Bayliss, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.  Mrs. Hayek is fine, she gave me this number.”
Helena’s frame of mind switched from anxious to delighted.  Although Tim explained they needed her assistance with a case, her heart kept beating faster, apparently denying the professional aspect of his request.  They agreed to meet back in the squad room.  The detectives left Hampden taking Interstate 695, Frank, basking in Mrs. Hayek’s warm hospitality, talked about Helena and Mary.  They met at an appeal for volunteers meeting held by the director of Baltimore Catholic Charities.  They both signed up to assist with the January 1988 Opportunity Fair.  A couple of weeks later, they recognized each other at a reception and exclusive screening of “Under the Bridge,” an award-winning film by Charles Weinstein.  As they became acquainted, they realized how much they had in common.  Helena invited Mary to attend the opening of Hampden’s newest art gallery.  Frank said he thought it was called “tic-tac-toe or something,” but the gallery’s name was Paper-Rock-Scissors.  Frank made a comment about his work schedule often preventing him from accompanying Mary to the places she liked so much, and on his time off, he admitted to having a preference for spending it home with Mary and the kids.  In a serene moment of clarity, he was grateful that Mary had found a friend in Baltimore who shared her interest in cultural activities.

Tim escorted Helena to his desk and familiarized her with every aspect of the case.  Her first reaction was to express utmost concern for the welfare of her student.  She clarified her connection with the subject at hand.  She asked her students to make a short presentation on a biological or cultural aspect of pair bonds.  A student chose the topic of Saint Serge and Saint Bacchus and generated a great deal of interest among all her students.  She then decided to take up an entire class to objectively elaborate on the subject.  The other detectives, hanging on her every word, slowly drifted toward Tim’s desk.  As requested by Tim, Helena continued to explain.

“Saint Serge and Saint Bacchus were early Christian martyrs, servants of God, canonized by the Catholic Church.  They served in the imperial bodyguard unit for Emperor Maximianus: Serge was primecirius and Bacchus secundocerius.  Together, they converted to Christianity and persuaded others to do the same, which caused them to fall out grace with the emperor.  As partners, Serge and Bacchus, united in spiritual brotherhood, were unwaveringly devoted to protecting and respecting each other…”

Helena’s words, like airborne droplets, were transmitted and absorbed by the susceptible listeners.  In a state of hypersensitivity, the detectives perceived the once thought to be “gone for goode” sounds of former partnerships. The past warped into the present in the form of bursting ethereal bubbles bringing back conversations between:

Gee & Jimmy, Gee & Megan, Kay & Beau, Crosetti & Lewis,

Stan & Mitch and Stan & Munch.

“… Put to the test, Serge and Bacchus refused to offer or even witness sacrifice at the temple of Zeus.  They were stripped of their arms, badge, rank, and then humiliated by being led through the streets dressed in women’s clothing.  Bacchus, beaten over several hours, died under the blows.  After the death of his brother and fellow soldier, Serge endured much more suffering and was decapitated seven days later.  Historical sources referring to the passion, reported angelic visitations, supernatural healing, voices from heaven, and Bacchus’ after death appearance to Serge.  They became the heavenly protectors of the Byzantine army.  Excavated ruins of churches erected in their name, Greek documents later translated to Latin and unearthed relics confirmed wide spread devotion to the saints during early Christendom.  Some scholars scrutinized the accounts and concluded that the basis for the cult was fictitious.  Others affirmed the passion of the saints as an example of a compassionate union based on brotherly love and mutual respect.  Saint-martyrs Serge and Bacchus are invoked in the Adelphopoiaa rite used in Orthodox and Greek Catholic churches to bless spiritual relationships between brothers.  The equivalent in Roman cannon law is the provision for “Josephite” marriages. Contemporary followers embraced the principle of the passion of the saint-martyrs as a form of ecclesiastical blessing of same sex unions.”  With a gesture, Helena asked Tim if she should continue.

“Let’s see, the image around the victims’ neck,  lethal blows,  humiliating photographs--woman dressed in men’s clothing … seven days later?”  An imaginary red ball bounced around and landed on Tim’s lap.  “Naomi, please get Gee out of whatever meeting he is in …um … he needs to know about this … the possibility that we are dealing with a double murder.”
Tim took front stage.  Helena, still sitting in Tim’s chair, started to write a summary for his file.  The exhilarating scent, sight, sound, and fantasized touch of Detective Bayliss distracted and prevented her from staying on task.  She watched him as he confidently addressed the group, speaking in a firm soothing voice.  Helena took fleeting periodic glances at Tim.  She committed to memory a montage of extreme close up images, including his long legs, broad shoulders, loosened tie, recent hair cut, mouth --bottom lip--, hands, long fingers.  She was mesmerized by the sound he made as he tapped the notepad with a pencil, which matched the rhythm of his speech.  Tim’s reference to campus security brought about a change in Helena’s train of thought.  Helena was troubled by recurring vague images of the incident in her office and her recent encounter with campus security.  She gasped, looked around, didn’t think anyone noticed, so she started to leave.

“What?”

“Frank!”

“Did you just remember something in connection with the case?’

“Umm … I’m not sure, I want to think about it.”

“No.  You tells us what it is, we’ll do the thinking.”

“Gee, Frank! Here I am in the habit of doing all the thinking on my own.  Go figure.  Uh?”

Helena and Mike exchanged mischievous smiles.  Mike was especially affected by the talk about partnerships.  He transferred from Arson, where he didn’t work with a partner, and was paired with the currently suspended Lewis.  While Helena talked, he examined their unfolding partnership.  Glad to get his mind off the subject, he approached Helena whispering notions of how cute and fiery she was.  He came dangerously close, and she reacted defensively by gently tugging at his tie.  Mike felt a faint burning sensation on his chest.  She delicately returned the compliment, and then left.   Gee entered the squad room through the opposite door.

“Ok!  Here’s a recap for the benefit of those who weren’t listening!”  Tim glanced over to Frank and Mike.

He reviewed the case and handed out assignments.  Falsone-Stivers: Medical Examiner’s preliminary report.  Ballard-Gharty: The victim’s home, look for letters, bills, and other material, we need to get a complete picture of the family’s situation during the last few months.  Munch-Kellerman: Interior decorator, we were told the name of the business had something to do with Rossetti Sisters.  Detective Munch tilted his head, looked over his glasses and asked if Tim was kidding.  Frank, campus security, follow-up on missing student.  I’m going to review statements and the information Helena just gave us.

“Hey, Tim, why don’t you let me do that.  You know, Dr. Hayek, me, the box.”  “I think his right!”

“See even your partner agrees!”

“Frank, stay with me on this, Ok!”
 

“To bad, I think …er … great …me … her … the box.”

“Not, you.  Me!  Don’t look at me like that, Kellerman!  It’s all about the case, focus, uh?”

Tim, visibly annoyed, asked Frank what was going on.  Frank explained that when Helena left the squad room, he was pretty sure she had remembered something related to the case.  He suggested Helena should be asked to come back to the squad room.  Tim refused, saying he would give her a call and make arrangements to meet her.

“Man! You have her telephone number?”

“Yes, Kellerman!  I have her number, I know where she lives, works and I’ve met her mother.  Ok?”

“Shit! You’re way ahead of me.”

“What is this?   A competition?  Mike, Tim …Ahhh!”  Frank snapped his fingers twice.

With thoughts and images spinning in her head, Helena struggled to regain composure.  She tried to focus on Paige’s situation, but she recalled her own experience with her mother a few hours earlier.  Mrs. Hayek was getting on her nerves, so she elected to take a break by going to they gym, but then when she answered the phone, her first instinct was to fear for her mother’s safety.  Outside the squad room, she saw handcuffed kids, her students’ age or even younger, being led through the police department.  She thought about Mrs. Walker, the nature of the crime, and contemplated the possibility than anyone in a matter of a split second, compelled by mitigating circumstances, was capable of taking someone else’s life.  She decided to go back.  She found Tim, Frank and Mike still arguing.  She explained that at first she had reported the incident to campus security as a burglary, but when she noticed how distressed Jamal was, she changed her mind realizing it could have been a cleaning accident.  Helena often worked late, knew Jamal relatively well, and did not want to jeopardize his employment.  Since the artifacts were not school property, she dismissed the campus officer indicating she would resolve the issue with her insurance agent.  When she heard Tim talking about campus security, she analyzed the incident, Jamal’s agitated state and associated them with the several occasions she saw Paige stop by to chat with him while he was working.

Munch and Kellerman arrived at the interior decorator’s one-person office and were greeted by a cheerful young lady from England.  She was petite, had a spiked pixie haircut and wore flagrant accessories invoking several decades starting with the sixties.  They asked for her boss, she said she wasn’t there and added that she was actually worried because she had not heard from Ms. Rossetti in a few days.  Kellerman said they would find Ms. Rossetti for her.  She naively asked how they would go about it.  Mike was insulted by her lack of confidence in them, but Munch opted for solving the mystery.

“We’re wizards, you know, that’s how.  On our tenth birthdays we received a mysterious letter inviting us to enroll in the renowned Baltimore School of Gumshoe and Wizardry.”

“Bridget? That is your name, isn’t?”  Kellerman interjected.

“How did you know that?”  She was barely able to contain her astonishment.

Mike picked up a nameplate and tapped it on the desk, and she directly turned to observe Munch’s sorcerer screen go up in smoke.  Munch and Kellerman proceeded to question Bridget about Ms. Rossetti and her connection with Mrs. Walker.  Bridget affirmed Mrs. Walker’s status as their best customer ever.  She then precipitously added they were recently reunited college roommates, and that their relationship flourished, in the last couple of months, into more than just friendship.  She then added: “not that there’s anything wrong with that.”  Ms. Rossetti was in the habit of not coming to the office on consecutive days, but she always touched based with her secretary.  Bridget tried paging her earlier, but had not heard from her.  The detectives asked for a description of Ms. Rossetti, her pager number, driver’s license and the vehicle registration information.  An All Points Bulletin was issued.

Falsone and Stivers returned with the medical examiners preliminary report.  It was inconclusive in regard to the manner of death, because homicide could be ruled out.  The summary of the gross exam indicated cranium lacerations due to impact with a blunt object and several of the blows were lethal.  However, blood and tissue toxicology, as well as the undigested food flow indicated presence of narcotic analgesics, MAO inhibitors and amphetamines.  The overdose initiated a sequence of events that consequently could have killed the victim.  Whether the blows caused the injury that finally killed Mrs. Walker was yet undetermined.  Microscopic slides were prepared, but were not expected to be ready for processing for a few more days.  The report also noted the significance of the absence of defense wounds and fingernail scrapings.

Ms. Rossetti’s van was spotted outside Baltimore on Interstate 95.  She was completely unaware of why she was being stopped and did not comply with the summons from the homicide division until she was told the matter was in reference to Mrs. Walker’s death.

Ms. Rossetti and Jamal arrived at the same time.  Mike and John talked to her in the aquarium, while Tim and Frank interrogated Jamal in the box.

Ms. Rossetti was devastated by her friend’s death and struggled to get through the questioning.  She indicated she had been in North Carolina visiting furniture showrooms.  Before she left, Mrs. Walker told her she was going to call Paige to tell her about their relationship and asked that she not to stop by the house or call for a few days.  She had never met Paige and had no idea of her whereabouts.  Disconcerted, she asked about the condition of house, she was keenly interested in finding out whether the house had suffered damage or if there were things missing.  Once the detectives checked out her North Carolina story, she was told she could leave.

Jamal patiently, without any visible signs of tediousness, waited for the detectives to go through the unabridged version of the interrogation routine: file slamming, table shaking, ear whispering, shoulder stroking, and tete-a-tete between partners.  He had hopped someone, sooner rather than later, would have made the connection between him, Paige and the break in.  He was concerned about her, and was doing what he thought was best for her.   Jamal gave them only one piece of information, where to find Paige.

 After the birth of her daughter, Mrs. Walker’s hospitalization was extended due to the onset of severe depression.  For the rest of her life, she was afflicted by an affective bipolar disorder typically characterized by alternating phases of acute mania or depression.  During her early childhood, Paige took on the responsibility of taking care of herself, and by late childhood she was her mother’s main caretaker.  Mrs. Walker’s persistent non-compliance with prescribed therapy aggravated her condition.  Mr. Walker consistently worked over time as a technician for a telephone company.  As he often indicated to Paige, his plan was to retire when she graduated from high school.  Until then, their personal finances were precariously safeguarded with the purpose of sending Paige to college.  Mr. Walker asked Paige to enroll in the same school her mother had attended.  He figured if his wife, as afflicted as she had always been, referred to her college experience as the best time of her life, then it had to be a good school, and he did not want to take a risk with Paige’s chance at happiness.  Paige persevered at home and school on account of her innate ability to learn effortlessly and quickly adapt to different circumstances.  Everything went as planned, even after the sudden death of Mr. Walker.  Unexpectedly, Paige received a call from her mother.  She detected in her distorted voice the familiar symptoms of an elevated mood.  Mrs. Walker, in a talkative state, projected racing thoughts, inflated self-esteem, and extreme restlessness.  When Paige went home, she came face to face with her worst nightmare.  Her mother inadequately explained that in the last couple of months, she had finally understood why she had been so depressed all those years.  She had been reunited with her college roommate and love of her life, the instrumental interior decorator she had hired to improve their house.  Mrs. Walker recklessly overlooked the painful consequence of her excessive involvement in self-indulgence, the depletion of the funds set-aside for Paige’s education.  Mrs. Walker witnessed her daughter’s dimmed spirit expire right before her eyes.  Paige left without saying a word.  Mrs. Walker took the action she had thought of attempting so many times before.  Her medicine cabinet was stocked with the prescribed remedies she so often neglected.  Paige returned to school and looked for the one person she thought of as a friend.  She didn’t find Jamal, but as she passed by Dr. Hayek’s office, she was propelled by the sudden onset of rage.  She was disturbed by images of the lecture on pair bonds and spiritual brotherhood and destroyed the artifacts that triggered her memory.  She decided then to go back to the house and, for the first time in her life, confront her mother.  Jamal saw a student leaving the office and didn’t immediately recognize that it was Paige.  She went back home and became further inflamed by her mother’s unresponsive state.

 Gee received a phone call from Helena letting him know that the school was offering to help Paige with legal, psychological and peer support.  An attorney, a psychologist and someone representing the student government association were on the way to police headquarters and hoped to meet up with Paige.

Paige was picked up from Jamal’s home located a few blocks from hers.  They lived on the same street, but different sides, Paige on the east and Jamal on the west.  After leaving her mother’s house, she again looked for him, and this time she found him.  Defeated, she lost her ability to speak, eat or sleep.  She was picked up, brought to the squad room and put in the interrogation room.  The box, with Paige in it, was appreciably simpler and grimmer in intent.  Paige, shrouded by a limpid complexion, seemed to be undead, reduced to a physical haunted manifestation, and an inanimate existence.  The detectives were prepared to throw everything they had at her, the scene of the crime was inconsistent with a stranger intruder, the impending threat of her fingerprints matching the ones lifted from the fireplace poker and the scapular, the motive and the proof of absence.  They were not prepared to hear the sepulchral sound of her voice.  The words resonated through the hollow body that had once been a repository of deep emotion.

“I killed my mother … the day she brought me into life.”

District Attorney Ed Danvers took over the case.  Detective Bayliss walked up to the board and changed the eighth case under his name from red to black.

Tim went back to his desk, picked up the notepad Helena had used earlier, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply trying to recapture the fragrance of Helena’s perfume.  Tim opened his eyes and saw Frank starring at him.  Frank knew exactly what he was doing.

“Frank, you cover me, ok?  If Gee asks about the paperwork, tell him I’ll get on it, soon.”  Tim’s invigorated state had more to do with what he was thinking while he sniffed the notepad, than with the elusive aroma.  His smile gave it all away.

“Yeah, get out of here.  In this condition, you’re not going to do anyone any good.”

“No one?”

“Get out of here!”  Frank wanted to add, but didn’t: “Enjoy, while it lasts.”

The End