Sacred Sins

sang its way up to his head.
    “Don't worry about it, Paris.” Lowenstein leaned on the doorway, carefully avoiding the small river. “Chances are you're still a stallion.”
    “Kiss my ass.”
    “Honey, you know my husband's a jealous man.”
    Tess crouched down beside him, giving him a sympathetic tut-tut. Her hand was gentle as she patted his cheek, but her eyes were lit with laughter. “Are you all right?”
    “Oh, I'm terrific. I like absorbing my coffee through my skin.”
    “Executive branch, right?”
    “Yeah, right.”
    “Want to get up?”

    “No.” He resisted reaching a hand between his legs to make certain everything was in place.
    The laugh wasn't quite muffled as she pressed a hand to her mouth. The long, narrowed look he gave her only made it worse. Her voice hitched and bubbled. “You can't sit here all day. You're sitting in a puddle, and you smell like the floor of a café that hasn't been washed over the weekend.”
    “Great bedside manner, Doc.” He took her arm as she fought a losing war against laughter. “One good tug and you're down here with me.”
    “Then you'd have all those guilt ramifications to deal with. Not to mention the cleaning bills.”
    Ed walked down the hall, still bundled in his outdoor gear. As he avoided the worst of the wet, he dug the rest of his breakfast yogurt out of the carton. Licking the spoon, he stopped in front of his partner. “Morning, Dr. Court.”
    “Good morning.” She rose, still swallowing laughter.
    “Nice day.”
    “Yes, a little cold though.”
    “Weatherman said it should hit fifty this afternoon.”
    “Oh, you two are a riot,” Ben told them. “A real riot.”
    Tess cleared her throat. “Ben … Ben had a little accident.”
    Ed's bushy brows lifted as he looked at the stream running down the hall.
    “Just keep your sophomoric humor to yourself,” Ben warned.
    “Sophomoric.” Ed rolled the word around on his tongue, impressed. He handed his empty carton to Tess, then hooking his hands under Ben's armpits, hauled his partner effortlessly to his feet. “Your pants are wet.”
    “I was restraining a prisoner.”

    “Yeah? Well, things like this happen in the midst of all that tension and excitement.”
    “I'm going to my locker,” he muttered. “Make sure the doctor hasn't hurt herself laughing.” He sloshed, a little spread-legged, down the hall.
    Ed took the empty carton and plastic spoon from Tess. “Want some coffee?”
    “No,” she managed, strangling a bit on the word. “No, I think I've had enough.”
    “Give me just a minute, and I'll take you in to Captain Harris.”

    T HEY met in the conference room. Though the heater sent out a hopeful mechanical buzz, the floors remained chilly. Harris had lost his annual campaign for carpet. The blinds were closed in a fruitless attempt to insulate the windows. Someone had tacked up a poster urging America to conserve energy.
    Tess sat at a table, with Ed lounging beside her. The light scent of jasmine steamed out of his tea. Lowenstein balanced on the edge of a small desk, idly swinging one leg. Bigsby hunched in a chair, an economy-sized box of Kleenex on his lap. Every few minutes he blew his already red nose. Roderick's flu had him in bed.
    Harris stood beside a green chalkboard on which the names and other pertinent information on the victims had been aligned in neat columns. A map of the city stretched over the wall, pierced with four blue flags. There was a corkboard beside that. Black-and-white glossies of the murdered women were tacked to it.
    “We all have transcripts of the phone calls Dr. Court received.”

    It sounded so cold, so businesslike, she thought. Transcripts. They couldn't hear the pain or the sickness in transcripts. “Captain Harris.” Tess shifted her own notes in front of her. “I've brought you an updated report, with my own opinions and diagnosis. But I feel it might be helpful if I explained these phone calls to you and your officers.”
    Harris, with his hands linked behind his back, only nodded. The mayor, the media, and the commissioner were snapping at his ankles. He wanted it over, long over, so he could spend some time doting on his new granddaughter. Seeing her behind the nursery window had almost made him believe that life had its points.
    “The man who contacted me called because he was frightened, of himself. He is no longer controlling his life, but is being controlled by his illness. The last …” Her gaze was drawn