Emalee sat at her desk reviewing the photos she had taken at the crime scene. She knew there had to be something they were missing. How could a guy who was described as a good kid be tortured and murdered in such a brutal manner? She kept thinking about the picture hanging in the entry of The Western Club, with his handsome smile and twinkling eyes. He was young and full of life, hope, and dreams. What was it that took him from that image to the one that lay in front of her?

“Sweeny wants your report of the day’s interviews,” Victor said walking into her office.

Emalee glanced up briefly, then began stacking the pictures together without acknowledging his presence. After their interview with Natalie, they drove back to the station in silence. The argument from earlier that day hung heavily between them and neither was in the mood to add to the tension.

Victor stood in the doorway watching her with a slight frown creasing his brow. He knew he had upset her and hurt her feelings, but she had to understand, this side of the investigation could be dangerous and only a seasoned professional could react to the situation quickly if it arose. The truth was, he wasn’t ready to explain the other reason he didn’t want her involved, a reason, he himself was having a difficult time coming to grips with.

“Was there anything else?” she asked with a slight tilt to her head, as she took the report she had already typed up off the printer.

Victor opened his mouth as if he was trying to form the words of a very serious comment, but shut it quickly and turned around, leaving her to watch his departure.

Emalee exhaled, unaware she had been holding her breath in anticipation of what he might say. She had been here for three long years, working side by side with these people every day, yet she could no sooner pretend to understand them, then she could explain the reasoning behind the earth’s rotation. Victor was the hardest one of all to figure out. He was open and friendly most of the time, laughing and joking with everyone, but she had managed to witness him closing off completely several times. He became a stranger right in front of her eyes, cold and distant, ignoring anyone who came close to him. His actions earlier that day was proof that she knew very little about him. He had never once told her to stay in her place before, she had no idea he even considered her beneath him. Now, she understood what Amanda Woods once told her about him, when she caught Emalee staring at him from a distance.

You don’t want that one, Woods told her with a smirk on her face. He’ll use you up and spit you out and won’t remember your name after he walked away. He’s a closed book with a long history that has never been written and doesn’t like people knowing anything about him.

Emalee took her report and a copy of the photos to Sweeny’s office, knocking on the door softly. She waited for a few seconds until the barrier opened and she came face to face with Victor. His eyes were dark and hidden, and the set expression on his handsome face told her she had interrupted something important, between him and their captain.

“Peker, come in,” Sweeny said as Victor walked past her and out the door.

Emalee watched him leave before turning and stepping into the office, handing her report to the man behind the cluttered desk.

“I’ve never actually written a report before, but I hope it’s what you want,” she said gently.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Sweeny said, looking at her with an expression that said he understood all she had endured that day. “So, how was your first day of the investigation?”

“It was a lot like I’d always imagined, though I have to admit, we didn’t really get any insight into the deceased. Everyone agreed he was a great kid, but nobody knew much about him outside of work. Even his sister didn’t know much about his personal life.”

“Keep digging. I’m sure something will come up. People aren’t killed without a reason. Try looking into some recent cases and see if there’s any match to this one.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Emalee turned to leave when her Irish blood took over and she paused by the door. She had another question that had been plaguing her all day that demanded an answer.

“May I ask you a question, Sir?” she asked, watching him sit back in his seat and stick the unlit cigar he kept in the ashtray, between his teeth.

“What is it?” he asked with a look that said he already knew what was bothering her.

Emalee shut the door and stepped back to his desk, sitting in one of the leather chairs that faced it.

“Detective Armstrong said he had been fighting to keep me out of the field every time I asked to join. Is that true?”

“Yes,” he answered flatly.

“Why?”

She couldn’t believe her ears, she thought they were friends…okay, maybe that was too strong of a word, but they were familiar acquaintances.

“That’s a story he needs to explain. Armstrong is a good cop, the best I’ve got, but he has a few dark skeletons in his closet that keep him in line. Just don’t give up on this case, or on him. He’ll come around sooner or later.”

“Yes sir,” she said with a frown.

Talking to her captain left her with more questions than answers, and she was beginning to feel the frustration of the day catching up to her.

“Go home Peker and get some sleep. You and Armstrong have more people to interview tomorrow.”

Sweeny sat forward and replaced his cigar stump back into the ashtray as he picked up her report and began reading. Emalee nodded silently as she stood and left the room. It had been a very long day and one she wasn’t all that eager to repeat, but tomorrow held the promise of another emotionally frustrating day, with the man she had been partnered up with.

A buzzing sound echoed through her sleepy consciousness, stirring Emalee awake with an exhausted moan. She reached to the bedside table, fumbling with the light and knocking over her glass of water onto the floor. Again, the buzzing sounded, and she struggled to sit up, flipping the lamp on as she hid her eyes from the glare. It took all of three seconds before she was awake and looking around the room, hearing the familiar buzzing yet again. With a grunt of frustration, she struggled out of bed and padded across the wet carpet, to the door that separated her private apartment from her studio.

The clock on the wall beside the door read two twenty-one in red digital numbers, and she grunted, pulling the lock back on the door and opening it. She hadn’t bothered to collect a robe to cover her pajama shorts and tank-top, nor did she take the time to think and ask who was waking her at this ungodly hour.

“What?” she snapped as she yanked the door open and saw a tired Victor standing on the opposite side of her threshold.

He paused for a moment as he took in her attire, before drawing a deep breath and opening his mouth to speak.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Emalee snapped before he had a chance to speak. “Most people would have the decency to at least use the phone, before barging in on a person, in the middle of the night.”

“We have another victim,” he said softly, watching as she began to comprehend the meaning of the words.

Emalee stepped aside and waved him into the room, then locked the door behind him and led him through the room, back into her apartment. She walked barefoot into the kitchen and pulled out a clean towel from the bottom drawer, then went back to her bed, wiping up the spilled water that soaked into her carpet.

Victor watched with interest as she bent over, oblivious to the fact she was nearly naked in front of him. She was a very beautiful woman and he had to remind himself, once again, she was a co-worker and a friend. He found watching her had a serious effect on his libido and was forced to look around her apartment, as a distraction. He had been here only once before, when he helped her move an armoire she found at a flea market, into her upstairs guest room, but he found interest in inspecting its open floor plan once again.

There was a nice size kitchen with stainless steel appliances, attached to a living room complete with flat-screen television, fireplace, and piano. The dining room had been bypassed to be used as a bedroom since Emalee hated stairs and refused to go up them if she could avoid it. Instead, she had her bed, dresser, and workstation set up in the middle of the room, with a bathroom behind. It was ideal for a single woman, and the upstairs two guest rooms served for her many nieces and nephews, who would come to spend time with their aunt.

“Hello?” she said, snapping her fingers in the air to bring Victor back to the reality that she had been speaking with him.

“Um, sorry, what were you saying?” he asked in a soft tone that sent strange tingles down Emalee’s spine.

“I asked if you knew who the victim was,” she said in a voice much less harsh than it had been the past five minutes.

The way he looked at her, suddenly reminded her of her lack of attire and she felt like fleeing into the bathroom, where she kept her fluffy housecoat.

“Only that he was found three hours ago, and he has hypothermia,” Victor continued, watching her hurry to her dresser to retrieve a pair of blue jeans and a long-sleeved pullover.

“You mean he’s alive?” she asked, stopping her actions in midair.

“Barely, he’s been taken to the hospital, but he has similar marks on his wrists and bruises across his torso just like Sevati. Sweeny wants you to photograph the area before we go to the hospital to check up on him.”

“Give me two minutes, I’ll be right back.”

Emalee nearly ran to her bathroom and shut the door as Victor drew a deep breath, readjusting his jeans that suddenly felt very tight. He moved into the kitchen and opened her fridge, spying the six-pack of Diet Pepsi, a bag of grapes, two bananas, and a box of leftover pizza. He took a soda along with a bagel from the platter next to the sink and sat down at the island to await his partner.

Partner? That was a term he hadn’t thought of for a long time. Nearly five years. The last partner he had, had run off to the Mayor’s office and joined the rat race as a political adviser. Not exactly the choice he would have chosen for a career change, but at least Kelly liked it. Victor was certain one day soon, he would hear of Kelly’s decision to run for mayor himself, so long as his wife could stay sober long enough for him to develop a platform.

Drinking was a problem Margo had been dealing with, since her teens, yet it managed to get worse when Kelly was promoted to homicide. Never knowing if your husband was coming home at the end of a shift or not, gave her reason to continue her drinking, then the death of their baby to SIDS three years ago, aided in the fuel. To Victor’s knowledge, the only thing that held the two of them together was her father’s support in his political career. The man was the owner of one of the city’s largest publishing firms, which meant a lot of powerful contacts to help Kelly reach his goals.

“I’m ready,” a voice said behind him, startling him from his private thoughts.

Victor turned and eyed the woman with interest. She had pulled her blonde hair into a ponytail at the back of her head, a dark navy pullover sweater hugged her torso, and made her breasts appear more prominent than ever, and her tight jeans had his palms itching to touch her little round bottom. She looked simple, honest, and much younger than her twenty-six years, though at the moment he could care less what her age was. He was fighting the urge to pull her to him and claim that sweet mouth as his own.

“Are we going to leave or are you just going to sit there staring at me, like I’ve got two heads?”

That’s the Emalee he knew, the one with the smart-ass comments and an attitude that reminded him she was no pushover. It was just what he needed to pull himself under control, as he stood up and took his drink and bagel and followed her out the door.

“What else do you know about this guy?” Emalee asked as Victor drove his black sedan closer to the familiar warehouse in the mission district.

“He’s white, has dark hair and eyes, mid-twenties, and he’s been beaten pretty badly. We’re running his prints now, but so far there’s nothing.”

“Do you think he and Sevati are connected somehow?”

“Maybe, he was found in the same area as Sevati and his wounds are similar. We’ll have to wait until we can get a background on him to find out if there is any stronger connection. Once he regains consciousness he may be able to tell us a thing or two about who did this.”

“Provided he regains consciousness you mean.”

Victor nodded, that was a slim hope they had to hang on to.

He pulled the car to a halt in the same place where they had parked a few nights before, and Emalee stepped out, with her camera in hand. The night was cold but clear, the storms had passed for now, and the full moon reflected off the fresh snow, allowing natural light to illuminate the scene. Victor stepped up to the area that had been marked off and noticed the familiar old man in the worn jacket standing nearby.

“Who found him?” he asked as Woods turned to see them approaching.

“The old man did,” she answered, a puff of fog filtered from her mouth as her warm breath met with the chill of the winter night.

“Coincidence?” Emalee asked as she glanced between the two.

“Possibly, let’s find out.”

Victor started toward the man who looked up and saw him, then tried to back away but was stopped by a nearby policeman. Emalee joined her partner, ignoring the need to take photos and stopped in front of the old man.

“You found the body?” Victor asked with a frown. The old man nodded but didn’t say a word. “And you just happened to be in the area?”

“I live here,” the man said with a rush of whiskey-soaked words that escaped his mouth. “Over there,” he pointed at the docks that once served as a loading/unloading area for the old warehouse. “I just came back from eating when I saw a foot under the rubble. I thought it might belong to the guy from the other night, but it moved and nearly scared the hell out of me. I pulled the junk off him and saw him breathing, so I went to the church and called the police.”

“Had that rubble been there long?” Emalee asked, causing the man’s attitude to soften slightly as he turned and looked at her.

Another bonus for her looks, it made men stop their ranting long enough to speak logically around her.

“It’s been there about a day. It was there when I came back from the police station.”

“Did you see anyone unusual in the area yesterday or hear anything out of the ordinary?”

“No ma’am, but then I wasn’t here all day. I went out to find something to eat. I didn’t get back, like I said, until after supper.”

“Woods, take him in for questioning,” Victor began as the redheaded woman stepped up to his side.

“Yeah, I know, get him something to eat and a warm place to lay his head.”

Woods grabbed the old man by the jacket as he started to laugh.

“I should make this a career. Just keep finding bodies and I’ll have a nice place to call home.”

“Come on,” Woods growled as she pulled him beside her toward the waiting squad car.

“Do you remember seeing that stuff here when we found Sevati?” Victor asked as Emalee began snapping her camera.

“No, but then I wasn’t really looking. I’ll review the pictures when we get back to the station.”

“Michaels,” Victor shouted across the distance of the parking lot. “Once Peker has her photos, I want every piece of trash and cardboard inspected. Load it up and take it too forensic, let’s see if we can find anything that may help us.”

“Yes sir,” the young man said, moving off to get a couple of the police officers to help him collect the pile of rubble.

Emalee carefully began photographing every angle, snapping picture after picture of the pile of cardboard, trash, rocks and newspapers. She moved to the backside and continued to take pictures when she spotted something familiar.

“Victor,” she called, drawing his attention from the three men who stood by, waiting for her to finish. “Come look at this.”

Victor squatted down to the pile and frowned as he looked at the torn, used matchbook with the distinct cowboy hat on the worn cover.

“Look familiar?” she asked.

She pulled the matchbook she had taken from the club the day before, out of her coat pocket, and showed him. Victor pulled his pen from the breast pocket of his jacket, and carefully lifted the used matches up by the fold of the cover and looked at it closer. It was definitely the same, though older and partially burned. He placed it in the plastic bag he carried for such occasions and slipped it in his pocket.

“I want to talk with Banton again,” he said in a soft tone as she closed the cover across her lens.

“Do you think there may be a connection?” she asked, as they walked together back to the car.

“I don’t know, but it’s a starting place.”

Five thirty found them walking into the hospital, exhausted and in need of a cup of coffee. They went to the nurse’s desk where Victor showed his ID, then asked for the doctor in charge of the victim they found. A few minutes later a middle-aged man with grey streaked red hair stepped out of a room to greet them.

“I’m Dennis Patrick,” he said shaking their hands in turn.

“I’m taking care of the man you found.”

“I’m Detective Victor Armstrong, this is my partner Emalee Peker. We’d like to ask you some questions if you have a few minutes.”

“Of course, why don’t we get some coffee?”

Emalee almost praised the man for his insight, as they followed him into a door down the hall that read Doctors Lounge and stepped through. The room was large, white, and held a refrigerator, microwave, and a round table with four chairs. Two large sofas were positioned on the opposite walls, one holding the sleeping form of a young African-American man with a bald head and blue scrubs.

“I’m not sure what to tell you just now,” the doctor began in a quiet tone as not to disturb his colleague. “The man is still unconscious and I’m going to keep him that way for a while. He’s suffering from hypothermia, which may be the only thing that kept him alive. Once he’s stable we’re going to have to operate to repair a punctured lung, and two of his ribs need to be pinned. He does have some internal bleeding, but until we can cut into him to find out where it’s coming from, I can’t say how serious it is.”

Victor and Emalee accepted the coffee the man poured for them, from the large metal pot on the counter, and waited as he sat down across from them. The coffee was strong and had a sting of age to it, but it was hot and appreciated by both of them.

“Do you have any idea how he got those injuries?” Victor asked as he swallowed the mouthful of black liquid.

“It’s obvious he’s been beaten, and pretty significantly, if you ask me. He has marks on his wrists and ankles that indicate he was either tied up or restrained somehow, and he has bruising on his…genitalia,” the doctor said, glancing at Emalee as he chose his words. “I can’t say as to how he got them, I can only speculate, but he has marks across his back that appear to have been created by a whip.”

“Can you tell how old the marks are?” Emalee asked, setting her cup back on the table.

“No more than a few days, a week at the longest. There are a few injuries that show signs of healing, and several wounds that should have had stitches. There are tape marks on his skin, across the more serious ones, which indicate they had been bandaged.”

“So, whoever did this took the time to try and care for him?” Victor asked with a frown.

“I know, and I don’t understand it either. Why go to the point of wrapping the wounds if you’re only going to kill the guy in the long run?”

The doctor shrugged his shoulders as the man on the couch groaned and rolled over to his stomach, his long arm falling to the cold tiled floor.

“Can you estimate how long he had been exposed to the cold?”

“With the temperatures being what they have the past couple of days, I’d say no more than six or eight hours.”

“Any idea what caused the genital bruises?” Victor asked, ignoring the look the doctor gave Emalee.

If she wanted to be a detective, she had to get used to hearing all kinds of stories.

“Not right off hand, but I can tell you whatever it was, it was pretty rough. His scrotum is bruised as well and there’s a considerable amount of swelling. I’ve ordered an ultrasound to see if there’s been any permanent damage, but his urine has a significant amount of blood in it. I can only imagine what the extent of his torture must have been like.”

The three stopped talking as the doctor was paged overhead. Emalee and Victor watched the man stand up and take his cup to the small sink in the counter and run water into it.

“I’m sorry but duty calls,” he told them with another handshake for both. “I’ll stay in touch and let you know what happens.”

“Thank you for your help Dr. Patrick,” Victor said as they stood up and walked with him to the door.

“I just wish I could be more help. If the boy has the will, he’ll pull through this, but he’s in for a long recovery.”

“Just one more question, sir,” Emalee began. “Have you ever had any other patients with similar injuries?”

It was a question that had been scratching at the back of her mind, since the doctor began relaying the man’s injuries to them, something in his manner told her it was all too familiar to him.

“Yes, I have,” he said with a heavy sigh. “About a year ago the paramedics brought in a young man who had passed out at a party. His girlfriend said he had been drinking and fell down the stairs, but he had very similar marks on his wrists and ankles as this boy has. He too had bruising and swelling of his genitalia.”

“Do you know what caused it?” Victor asked with a deep frown.

“His girlfriend finally broke down and admitted they had been at a club learning BDSM and foreplay techniques, and it got out of hand. One way of sexual satisfaction, apparently a new and perverse, not to mention a dangerous act, is to insert marbles into the penis for added pleasure. The boy had extensive damage to his urethra and ended up having one of his testicles removed, because of the injury caused by their playing, as the girlfriend called it. The boy recovered, but it was a long and painful recovery and one that could have been avoided completely.”

“Can we see this patient’s records?” Victor asked, knowing they would need a court order unless the doctor agreed.

“I’m sorry. It’s against hospital policy,” he said hesitantly then drew a deep sigh. “Still…if it means helping save another man’s life…but it’s between you, me, and the doorknob, understand?”

Victor nodded and followed the doctor out into the hallway, where he met up with a nurse at the counter. He whispered something into her ear and turned back to Victor and Emalee.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said briefly, then headed down the hallway and around the corner, disappearing from sight.

“Will you follow me please?” the nurse asked as she turned and walked down another hallway toward a locked door.

She pulled a key from her uniform pocket and opened the door, then held it for Victor and Emalee to proceed through. Once inside she went to a computer and punched in a password, then began to scroll through a list of names. When she came upon the one she was looking for, she clicked on it and moved aside, allowing the other two to approach the computer screen.

“When you’re finished just leave, the door will lock behind you,” the nurse said as she turned and walked to the door, pausing momentarily as she glanced back across her shoulder. “I trust discretion will be observed in this matter,” she said, more as a warning than a question, then left the room and allowed Victor and Emalee to begin reading the private chart notes of Kevin Friedman.

After half an hour, and a stomach that flipped every time Emalee read about the marbles and the extent of injuries caused by them, they had reached the end of the report. Victor played with the settings for a moment, and Emalee glanced up as papers began filtering out of the printer on the desk behind them.

“You can’t do that,” she argued in a hushed whisper. “It’s illegal to take a patient’s chart without signed permission or court order.”

“Like the good nurse said, discretion is in order. I think this will come in handy. If Sevati has any connection to these two men, we may be solving a lot more than just two prospective murders.”

“Do you really think Sevati’s murder and the man we found, are related to this person’s perverse sexual appetite?”

“We won’t know until we dig a little further.”

Victor shut down the computer and removed the papers off the printer, folding them and tucking them inside his jacket before opening the door and glancing down the empty hallway.

They walked casually out of the hospital door and back to their car. Emalee couldn’t help but think about the three men and the torment they had endured, one positively for the purpose of pleasure. She had known people who were really into sex, but she had never known any who was masochistic or sadistic.

“Are you alright?” Victor asked, glancing across the car to the silent woman.

“Yeah, I was just thinking. I can’t understand how anyone would beat another person or allow someone to beat them in the name of sexual satisfaction.”

“Sex is like a drug. It’s addictive and fascinating. A lot of people can’t refuse experiencing more, once they had their first taste of it.”

“But to the extent of causing bodily injuries? Who would do something like that?”

“Some sex games can be fun, even if punishment is involved, but there are a lot of people who take it to extremes and enjoy it. Our society is filled with them.”

Emalee fell silent again as she looked out the window, noticing the direction they were taking that would lead to his favorite train car diner. She smiled as she glanced across the seat to him, watching the light of the sun dance in his eyes.

“I don’t know about you,” he began, causing her smile to widen.

“But I’m starving,” she said finishing his familiar statement.

Victor smiled cheerfully, causing the familiar jump to her stomach, as her heart skipped a beat. There were times when she still remembered him as an Adonis, and this was one of those times.