I AM THE ANSWER
Part 1

By Joan Stephens


      I AM THE ANSWER  

You are the call, and I am the answer.
You are the wish, and I am the fulfillment,

You are the night, and I am the day.
What else? it is perfect, enough.

It is perfectly complete,

You and I,

What more . . . ?

D. H. Lawrence

"Lo," Cathy mumbled into the mouthpiece of her bedside telephone, staring bleary-eyed at the glowing hands of the clock sitting on her night stand. 3:14 in the morning? Who in the world would be calling her at this hour?

"Cathy?" Joe's voice cut through the sleep induced fog that held her hostage. It must be something serious as he seldom called her anything but Radcliffe.

"Joe?" Sitting up, she sat Indian style, pushing her hair out of her eyes behind her right ear. "What's wrong?"

"Can you meet me at Diana Bennett's loft? She was murdered tonight." The weary, bitter statement shocked her wide awake.

"No! When?" Her heart skipped a beat then she was scrambling out of bed, attempting to dress while still talking with him. "What happened?"

"Someone called the 33rd bragging about what he had done to her. You've been working with her lately. Anyone you can think of that could have done this?"

Hopping on one foot while pulling on her jeans, she thought for a minute. "She was working on a serial killer case, but she had hit a dead end. She did mention that she had just found out that a guy she had sent to prison had been released last week, but she didn't seem too concerned about it." Cathy held the handset between her ear and shoulder, freeing her hands to pull up her jeans. Fastening them, she grabbed a yellow angora sweater from her closet and struggled into it switching the handset from one ear to the other.

"Well, meet me there as soon as you can. Be prepared for the worst. I guess its not a pretty sight." Usually the DA's office didn't become involved until after the arrest, but Diana Bennett was one of their own and that made the case very personal.

"Ok, Joe. I'll see you there."

"Ok," he answered with a discouraged voice. She slammed the receiver down, jammed her feet into a pair of sneakers, grabbed her keys and purse, and bolted out of her apartment. After hurriedly locking her door, she flew through the hall and punched the elevator down button. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she fretted until the elevator finally arrived. What kind of a monster were they dealing with and how did he trap a knowledgeable detective like Diana? On the ride down to the lobby, she got Diana's address from her address book. Traffic was light at this time of the morning. The daytime heat still lingered, and she had no trouble hailing a taxi, arriving at Diana's loft just as Joe was pulling up. Police cars lined the street, and an ambulance was parked in front of the entrance. Grim faced, Joe waited for her to park, and together they rode the freight elevator to Diana's loft.

They stepped out into a scene of organized chaos. Forensics, detectives, and policemen swarmed over the apartment. Shouted instruction, questions and answers filled the air. "Can I check this part of the room?" "Yeah, we've already been there." "No, don't go in the kitchen; we haven't been there yet." So forth and so on.

Joe buttonholed the chief forensics investigator. "Where is she, Carter?"

The severely nearsighted man looked up distractedly from saving a muddy footprint and nodded abruptly in the direction of the bedroom. The coke bottle lens magnified his angry eyes. "In there, Joe."

Carefully threading their way through and around the busy investigators, Cathy and Joe tried not to disturb any evidence. A tall, thin uniformed cop stopped them at the bedroom door. "D.A.'s office, mac." Joe flashed his identification.

"Oh hi, Miss Chandler," the young officer greeted her. "I didn't see you standing behind Mr. Maxwell."

"Hi, Reg," Cathy greeted the young rookie. She could see that he was very upset, but was trying to maintain a professional attitude.

Joe held her back with a hand on her arm. "Let me go in first, Cathy. Ok?"

The smell of death wafting from the bedroom convinced Cathy that she would gladly agree to Joe's proposal. She gave a curt nod, "Yeah, sure."

Hesitantly, Joe stepped into the room. Cathy heard the sharp intake of breath and the muttered, "Sweet Mother of God." Joe backed out of the room, grim faced and angry. "How in the hell did something like this happen?" he spat, so angry that he was shaking.

Cathy took a quick peek. She would never forget the scene in front of her. She swallowed noisily, trying to keep her composure.

"C'mon, Cathy. Let's get busy. We gotta get this bastard." Grabbing her by the arm, he steered her to Diana's computer. "Hey, Carter, have you processed this side of the room yet?" he called to busy man.

Carter muttered under his breath, "Why the hell can't people leave me alone and quit asking so damn many questions, quit interrupting me." Then answered peevishly, "Yeah, we did that first. We figured you'd want to get into her files. It's clean."

At this moment all activity ceased as the ambulance crew wheeled the gurney out of the bedroom. All eyes followed the white sheet covered body into the elevator. The silence thundered in Cathy's ears. Blinking back the beginning of tears, she turned back to the computer. She had just turned on the computer when Joe said from beside her, "Radcliffe, I want you at the autopsy tomorrow. I want this pervert caught asap." Surreptitiously, he had studied the young woman seated by the computer. She was pale but composed, and he wondered, not for the first time, why she was working for him when she could have the cushiest job in town. Cathy Chandler was the only child of a wealthy, corporate lawyer, and she could be home right now sleeping the sleep of the unaware, secure in her knowledge that all was right with her world. Instead, she had joined the staff of the New York District Attorney's office. He had a feeling that it was a matter of pride. If she had remained in her father's law firm, she would always be daddy's little girl and judged accordingly. He was a witness to that vaunted Chandler pride. When combined with her mothers tenacity and self-sufficiency, it was a formidable combination, as he had learned through the years. She took great pride in doing the job right and stuck with a case until its conclusion, never foisting her problems on another. Reluctantly, Joe had come to depend on her good sense and honest opinions. So much so that he had decided to place her in charge of the investigative phase of Diana Bennett's murder.

"Do I have to, Joe?" Cathy shivered at the thought. "I hate autopsies."

"Yeah, I know, but I want you there, and I want the report as soon as its done. Stand over Marx if you have to."

"Ok," she sighed.

"I want you on top of this, all the way, kiddo. I don't want any mistakes. This is your baby, Radcliffe. You're in charge of the investigation; you report directly to me." His hand gently squeezed her shoulder, giving her his complete trust.

"Really, Joe? I coordinate everything?" In the three years she had been working for Joe, this was the first time he had put her directly in charge of an ongoing investigation. How proud it made her feel that he trusted her.

"Yeah, you knew her better than anyone. You worked with her several times."

"That's just it, Joe, I didn't really know Diana all that well. She was a very private person. The only time we spent together was when we were working on a case. Other than that, we were relative strangers."

"Maybe, but that's more than I did."

"I'll do my best."

"I know you will. That's why I assigned the case to you. I'm heading back to the office. I'll see you later. Find something, Cathy. Please." With a wave of his hand, he turned and headed for the elevator.

Cathy turned back to the computer. Diana had password protected her files, and there was no way that Cathy could get into them. Disgusted, she leaned back in the desk chair, muttering under her breath, "Come on, Diana. I know you were a private person but did you have to make it so darn hard for us?" She arranged with Greg to have the computer taken to her office where Edie could have a go at finding the passwords.

She wandered over to Doug Carter. "Joe's given the case to me, so if you find anything will you let me know?"

"Sure," he smiled at the pretty, young woman standing beside him. She was from a totally different stratum of society, but she was the easiest person in the D.A.'s office to work with. Oh, she had a sharp tongue when necessary, but she had never turned it on him. She would go anywhere, do anything to see justice triumph. He liked and admired her.

"What's that you've got there?" she asked, pointing to a book with well worn buckram binding.

"This was on her bedside table." He handed the book to her.

"A Tale of Two Cities," she said as she examined it. "A first edition. I didn't know she was interested in the classics." She opened to the frontispiece. There was an inscription that read,

"Happy Birthday, Vincent."

"Humph . . . Vincent. Diana never mentioned him."

Doug replied, "She never mentioned much of anything but you know what she did? When she found out that my sister had been attacked, she found the perp. She was great."

Cathy agreed, "She was very good at her job. Now its my job to find and prosecute her killer." She heaved a great sigh. "Get all reports to me asap, ok?"

Carter nodded and turned back to his work. "Sure will," he agreed over his shoulder.

There was nothing more that she could do here, so she left, going back to a desk piled high with case files. Somehow she had to find time to concentrate on Diana's case.

*****************

Diana's computer was the first thing Cathy spotted as she approached her desk. She veered into the computer section of the office and grabbed Edie. Sitting the vociferously protesting young black woman in the chair behind her own desk, Cathy opened up the computer and asked Edie to try to download the files. "Where are you going to sit, girlfriend?" Edie asked.

"Oh, I'll find a place, don't worry about that, just see if you can download those files," Cathy replied.

After a frustrating morning for both of them and a hurried lunch at the vending machines, Edie was back at the computer and Cathy was ensconced at Jeff's desk. For the last two days, the poor man had been home in bed with food poisoning, leaving them more shorthanded than usual.

Cathy looked over at Edie, noting the frown lines on her otherwise smooth forehead. The young computer operator was getting nowhere, and it was bugging the hell out of her. Reluctantly, Cathy placed the phone call she had dreaded all day. A voice roughened with tears hesitantly answered. "Hello?"

Cathy straightened her shoulders and plunged on. "Mrs. Bennett?"

"Uh, no, this is her daughter, Susan." The voice strengthened.

Cathy straightened her shoulders and plowed ahead. "Oh, hello, Susan. My name is Catherine Chandler and I work for the D.A.'s office."

There was a sharp intake of breath. "Diana has spoken of you often."

Pleasantly surprised, Cathy asked, "She did?"

"Yes, she admired you. She looked upon you as a friend."

"Well, I admired and liked her, too. But I need to talk with your mother. Is she available?" Cathy heard a muffled question.

"Hold on," Susan said. "She'll be right with you."

"Thanks. Susan, I'm very sorry about your loss."

"Thank you. Diana said you were a very caring person. Here's my mother."

A firm, composed voice said, "Miss Chandler? You wished to speak with me?"

"Yes, thanks for taking the time to talk with me during this sad time, but I have a few questions to ask you." Rain began to splatter the dingy office windows. Somehow it seemed appropriate.

"All right."

"Did Diana ever say anything about her cases?"

"No, she never shared anything of that part of her life with us. She told me once, most of it was too gruesome to share with anyone."

"Yes, some of it was." Cathy sat back in her chair. Mrs. Bennett impressed her as a very strong woman. Diana had an excellent role model. "Did she ever mention a boyfriend or any male friends?"

"Not that I can recall. Susan was always teasing her about becoming an old maid, but it didn't seem to bother her. No, if there was anyone, I wasn't aware of it."

"She never mentioned a Vincent?"

"No, never. Why?"

"I found his name on the frontispiece of a book in her bedroom." Gazing into space, Cathy tried to imagine the kind of man Diana would be involved with.

"She never mentioned him, sorry."

"I'm sorry to intrude on your grief, Mrs. Bennett. I worked with Diana on several cases, and I came to like and admire her a great deal. Rest assured that we will do all in our power to find her murderer." She turned away from the drab, wet rain drenched windows that she had been staring at unseeingly. The phone call was depressing enough without the heavy, dismal clouds that had moved in obliterating a bright sun filled morning.

"I know you will, Miss Chandler. If I think of anything, I will call you. When will they release her body?" she asked, her voice choked with tears.

"As soon as all the tests are finished, the M.E.'s office will contact you at that time." Cathy was finding it difficult to speak past the lump in her throat. This type of phone call was the most difficult for her to make, and it always saddened her deeply. "Thank you again. My condolences to you and your family," she offered formally. How inept it sounded. "Good bye." Pensively, she replaced the receiver on the cradle.

The preliminary reports had been pouring in. It seemed that the entire police force wanted this guy. She worked late into the evening and had to call Tom to cancel their dinner engagement.

*******************

In the tunnels beneath the noisy and crowded city of New York City, there existed a small community of disaffected and disenfranchised people who lived quietly and peacefully away from the turmoil of the world above. It was morning in the tunnel world and in a large, book lined, stone chamber, two special men 'father and son' were reading the daily news when the young man gasped and cried out, "No! It can't be. There must be a mistake. I would know." Throwing down the paper, he bolted from the rocky chamber, fleeing a pain that could not be outrun, only endured.

"Vincent? What is it?" the other man called after the fleeing man. He reached down and picked up the paper and read the headline, 'DETECTIVE SLAIN' and blazoned over a picture of a young woman was the secondary headline 'Found murdered in own bed.' "Oh my god, Vincent. What will this do to you?" the older man muttered to himself. "I warned you and warned you, but would you listen?" As fast as his arthritic hip would let him, he hurried after his distraught son.

******************

Over breakfast, Cathy read the news about Diana's murder. Her story was headline news today, but would be relegated to the second page tomorrow. By the end of the week, it would be forgotten by all but those who loved and worked with her. After taking a shower, she dressed very casually as she was observing the autopsy that Dr. Marx was to perform on Diana today. She would change into her office clothes before going to the office. She grimaced as she went through the door on her way to something that she would just as soon have left to someone else.

Later that morning at the local morgue, Cathy faced a thoroughly irritated Norman Marx. She had succeeded in making a complete pest of herself until he had thrown down his scalpel and ripped into her. "Chandler, if you don't stop pestering me with questions and ideas, I'm going to have you forcibly ejected from the room."

Cathy glared into Marx's furious eyes then backed down, dropping her eyes. "I'm sorry, Doctor," she said, "but Joe has assigned this case to me, and he doesn't want any mistakes. I don't mean to get in your way. I'll back off."

"Please do." He returned to his grisly work.

At least that's what it seemed to Cathy. She couldn't let him know that the constant barrage of questions had been for her benefit. That it had been to keep her concentrating on the evidence and not on her queasy stomach.

Taking a deep breath, she plunged into dangerous waters again: she asked a question. "Doctor, may I ask you a question?"

"What now?" he snarled at her.

"The last time you saw Diana, did she happen to mention anything about a case she was working on?"

"No, she was always really close mouthed about her cases." Marx mumbled, immersed in his work. "But she did grumble about getting her new Nikes all dirty."

"She did?" Great. Cathy remembered the muddy footprint Carter had been working on. In her quick peek into Diana's bedroom, she had noticed muddy footprints around the bed. It hadn't rained for a week so where could the mud have come from? "Excuse me, I need to make a phone call."

"Use the one on the wall behind you," Marx offered.

Punching in the phone number, Cathy leaned casually against the wall, waiting until the on-duty officer finally tracked down Greg Hughes. "Greg? . . . Cathy . . . Hi, can you go to Diana's loft and see if you can find a pair of Nikes? If there's any mud on them would you take them to the lab and have the mud processed? I want to know where it came from . . . You will? . . . Ok, good. . . . Thanks, Greg." Hanging up the phone, she favored Marx with a smile of thanks. He glowered at her, then smiled back. Who could stay mad at this young lady for long? She was a bright ray of sunshine in his otherwise dull, antiseptic day.

Half an hour later Dr. Marx was washing up. "I hope you're satisfied with my work, Chandler."

"I am, Norm. Joe is pushing me, that's all. When can we expect to get the report?" She finished drying her hands. Her hands weren't dirty, but being present at the autopsy gave her the feeling that they were.

"In a day or two. It's the fastest I can get it to you. Even longer for the lab test. I know everyone is anxious to get this case solved. I am too," he said as he ushered her out of the autopsy room. They separated in the hallway, he into his office and Cathy into the bright hot sunshine of an August morning.

******************

Joe waylaid her on the way to her desk. "What have you got so far, Radcliffe?"

"Not much. Lots of fingerprints. Mostly Diana's. Although there's one set of really odd ones. They're wondering if they are human but they don't know. I'm still getting the prelims. Oh, and I talked with her mother, and she doesn't even know the name of Diana's friend."

"I take it that its a man friend?"

"Yeah. I didn't know she was seeing anyone. She never mentioned him."

Joe's phone rang. "Ok. Keep me posted, kiddo." He hurried back to his office. Closing the door, he picked up the receiver.

Stopping beside her desk, Cathy watched Edie try one combination after another, hoping that one of them would be the one that opened the files. "I think she pass worded every file individually," Edie said, dejectedly. "That makes it even harder."

Cathy leaned a hip on the edge of the desk. "We know the names of the cases she was working on. Could she have used the person's name as a password? You must be able to make hundreds of combinations out of a three word name," she supposed.

"Yeah, I had thought of that and so far it hasn't worked: backwards, forwards, or scrambled."

Grimacing unhappily, Edie groused, "I'm going to be at this for the next year."

Commiserating with her downcast partner, Cathy said, "I certainly hope it doesn't take that long."

Edie shrugged her shoulders. "Well, we might have to get a computer hacker to break her code."

"Let's hope not." Cathy returned to her temporary desk and waded into the pile of folders sitting on the desktop.

*******************

Cathy leaned into the doorway of Joe's office. "Joe, I'm going home."

"Got a hot date tonight, Radcliffe? That why you're going home early? It's only seven." He made a show of checking his watch. "Kinda early, isn't it?" He grinned at her and she returned it twofold.

"No date, I'm tired and I want to go to bed early tonight." A sudden thought crossed her mind as she turned to leave. "Do you have Diana's loft keys?"

"Yeah, why?" He looked at her quizzically and leaned back in his chair, his hands laced behind his head.

"I don't know," she replied, shrugging her shoulders, helplessly. "I just want to go through her place by myself with no interruptions."

"Radcliffe," he said condescendingly, "they've gone over that place with a fine tooth comb. I doubt if they missed anything."

With a stubborn set to her chin, she replied, "I know, but I want to look at everything from a woman's point-of-view."

"The old female intuition thing?" Chuckling, he fished the keys out of his desk drawer and held them out to her. "You going there tonight?"

Nodding thoughtfully, she said, "Yeah. I think I will." She couldn't explain why she wanted to go this night. And she didn't want to explain her reasons to the patronizing man jiggling the keys at her. She wanted to clobber him and wipe that smirk off his handsome face. "Just give me the damn keys," she grumbled.

He winked at her as she snatched the keys out of his hand, spun on her heels and marched out the door. "Oh, Radcliffe, how I do love to kid you. Really gotcha this time," he grinned to himself.

But he hoped she would find something. Leaning on his elbows, he bent his head over the open file lying in front of him.

**********************

It was still early in the evening, she hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast and she was starved. She called Jenny, but only got her answering machine. That meant that she would eat alone tonight. She didn't want to go home; she wanted to go to Diana's place before she did. She found a small, clean diner, had a juicy hamburger and fries, not too good for the waistline but delicious, then hailed a cab. The cab dropped her off in front of Diana's building. It was so quiet compared to the last time she was here: police cars, ambulances, policemen all over the place. She unlocked the door. Luckily, the elevator was on the ground floor. The noise of the rising elevator shattered the silence. As she started to open the grill door after the elevator had ground to a halt, she saw a huge shadow hovering in the middle of the room. Quickly, she pulled her gun from her purse. She was on her own and couldn't call for backup; the phone had been disconnected.

***********************

Vincent had come to Diana's apartment to say a final good-bye. He hadn't seen her for a week and the unexpectedness of her death hit him like a sledge hammer. He felt empty and at a loss, as if something had been left unsaid. Tonight's visit had been designed to rectify that. A final good bye was necessary to allow him to continue on with his life. Sunk deep into his memories, Vincent was unaware of the arrival of the elevator. The clang of the folding gate penetrated his reverie. He spun around to see a petite, young woman in an orange colored duster poised in the dark elevator opening. In her right hand she held a snub-nosed pistol that was pointed at his midsection. He quickly turned his back to her, hoping she had not seen his face.

"Don't move," her cold voice demanded. He heard her move from the elevator into the room. "I'm with the DA's office. Who are you and why are you here?"

"I mean you no harm. Please . . . let me leave."

"That doesn't answer my questions." There was something about the tenor of his voice - so soft, but gravelly, that eased her tension, that touched something hidden deep inside her. The huge cloaked figure should have filled her with fear, but she knew with a certainty that surprised her that he was not dangerous. "Did you know Diana Bennett?"

"Yes."

"Did you know her well?"

"I loved her."

"And she loved you?"

"Yes." She barely heard the whispered word.

The sadness in his voice spoke volumes. "Oh, I'm so sorry." With her natural empathy and sympathy, she reached forward then dropped her hand when he flinched and stepped away. Excitement flared as she thought that this might be a missing piece to the puzzle. "What's your name?"

He hesitated. Obviously, he was struggling, deciding if he should or not. Finally, his shoulders sagged in defeat and he answered, "Vincent."

"Vincent! I found your name in a book." This was the man in Diana's life, the one her mother knew nothing about.

"Yes, I gave it to her on her birthday."

If Diana loved this man, and Cathy had no reason to suspect that she didn't, he must be trustworthy and so she put her gun away, he would not harm her. She reached for the wall switch to turn on the overhead lights.

"No lights," he implored, moving away from her, hiding his face in the hood of his cape.

"Why?" She dropped her hand, leaving the lights off.

"I will frighten you." He moved into the deeper shadows of the living room.

"You can't be that frightening if Diana loved you." She followed, almost stalking him, wanting to see what kind of a man Diana would love.

Helplessly, he backed away as she followed him into the shadows. "Please, no further," he begged. She had backed him into a corner, and he could not get past her without touching her. This is ridiculous, he thought, I could sweep her aside with the flick of my wrist. This small, determined woman had him totally flummoxed. She touched something deep inside him, and he knew that he could never harm her.

The ever-present light that was New York seeped through the windows of Diana's loft giving Cathy enough light to see that his deep blue eyes darted everywhere but at her. It was obvious that he was deeply disturbed by her nearness. When she reached up to remove his hood, he gasped in dread. She stared in wonder as his face was revealed to her. It was a wonderful combination of man and lion. The upswept brows, the deep-set blue eyes, the muzzle like nose, and the cleft upper lip, all blended with a human face into the most uniquely beautiful countenance she had ever seen. All was framed by a halo of shoulder length golden hair.

Vincent had flinched when she raised her hands to lower his hood, and he had braced himself for the gasp of horror and disgust that he had come to expect from anyone when they first saw him. However, there was no gasp, no horror filled scream. Instead, she had looked at him with wondering amazement and smiled. No one had ever accepted him as she did. Tears pricked behind his eyelids as he closed them, thankful that she had not found him a monster. Amazed, he gazed into her mild emerald eyes.

"Vincent," her voice was rich with disbelief, "do people really find you ugly and scary? You're not, you know. You are different, but you are beautiful."

She took one of his hands in hers, caressing the heavy fur on the back.

"No," he cried, jerking his hand free. "I must go." Gently picking her up and setting her aside, he moved away.

Cathy froze when she was so swiftly moved out of the way. Disoriented for a moment, she tracked his movement toward the stairs that lead to the roof. Then, breaking free of the paralysis that held her, she ran after him. "Wait! Don't go. I have so many questions."

He was fleeing as if the devil himself was after him. "I will answer them later."

"But how do I find you?" she called from the base of the stairs.

He hesitated just before bounding through the door to the roof and turned to her. There was a flash of moist blue eyes and a glint of white teeth as he looked down at her. "I will find you," he stated, then disappeared through the door.

It was futile she knew, but she raced up the steps and onto the roof. He was gone.

Heaving a deep sigh of regret, she walked to the waist high wall that enclosed the roof. Bracing her hands on the cement, she leaned over the parapet looking down into the night darkened streets. There was no sign of Vincent. Good work, Chandler, she chastised herself. She had found and lost a witness in less than an hour. She could only hope that he would contact her. Not only was he a witness, but he was a truly intriguing man. She sighed again and returned below. For the next hour she wandered through the various rooms, trying to get a fix on the illusive life of Diana Bennett. Finally admitting that she was getting nowhere, she returned to her apartment

Vincent stopped his headlong flight from the woman's touch when he reached the nearest entrance to his world below the streets. Climbing down into the manhole, he pulled the cover in place. Safe in the tunnels, he leaned against the wall, his hand on his heart, panting heavily, but not from exertion. Her touch seared through his body to settle into his soul, and he felt the beating of another heart next to his. Who was this woman? Her glowing, green eyes and beautiful face rose before him. No! This was not right. How could he slight Diana's love with thoughts of another woman? Resolutely he pushed aside the image of the woman and concentrated on Diana's lovely face. Her image filled him with peace and tranquility and he breathed easier.

Waiting in the tunnel threshold for the woman to leave Diana's apartment, Vincent spent the time reliving his memories of Diana. She was truly a lovely woman, physically and in her heart. He thought of all the time she had spent below, reading to the children; caring for them and the sick and aged; letting Father beat her at chess; listening to Mouse's wild, hair brained schemes; being a comfort to him personally when his demons pursued him. He would miss her all his life and would never love another, of that he was certain.

At last he returned to the loft. As he had assumed, the woman was gone. He wandered through the apartment, touching Diana's mementos, leafing through the books he had read to her, touching and smelling her clothes the scent of jasmine would always remind him of her. Finally, he sat on the edge of her bed, clutching her terry cloth robe to his heart. Tears streamed down his face as he choked out, "Good-bye, my love. I will remember you always. May your rest be peaceful and serene." Rising, he laid the robe on the bed and, without a backward glance, returned to his home below the streets.