I AM THE ANSWER

Part 2

By Joan Stephens


"So . . . you said your farewell, did you?"

"Yes, it felt . . . strange, walking through the empty apartment . . . lifeless . . . expectant . . . waiting for her return. A return that would never be . . . not to it . . . not to me." Vincent sagged into a nearby chair and dropped his head into his hands.

"I’m sorry, son, but I did warn you and now you must suffer the consequences." The older man ran a comforting hand over his son’s hair.

"To love is to chance being hurt, Father." the younger man stated with surety.

"Yes, yes, I suppose you are right. I only want what is best for you, Vincent. Please believe that." Father sat an empty cup in front of his disconsolate son and filled it with an herbal tea that William, the cook, had concocted. It would soothe his son and help him sleep. "She was a good woman, a wonderful friend to you and to all of us. We will miss her."

"I won’t forget her, Father. I swear," Vincent burst out.

Jacob Wells looked sharply at his adopted son who sounded almost desperate, almost afraid. He gave his head a sharp shake. No, he must be mistaken. "I received a note from Janice this morning saying that Diana’s body would be released to her family tomorrow. The funeral will more than likely be scheduled for two days after that." Janice Panos, who had lived Below as a child and worked as a histologist with the Medical Examiner’s office, had been asked by Father to let him know when Diana’s body was to be released to the family.

Vincent closed his eyes in pain. "If only I could be there for her."

"Yes, I wish some of us could be there, but it is too far and with our limited resources . . ." He reached across the table, resting a comforting hand on Vincent’s arm.

Covering his father’s hand with his own, he replied, "Thank you, Father. I know you loved her, too."

"We have been arranging a memorial service for her."

"Thank you, but I don’t know if I can attend."

"I understand, Vincent. Take all the time you need to grieve. Don’t try to end it too soon, otherwise, the healing will take much longer."

"I will. I’m tired, Father. I think I will try to sleep."

"Do that, son. You look worn out."

"Good night, Father." At the top of the small metal stairs, he stopped and turned back to look sadly at this man that he loved dearly. "Why is it, Father, that everyone I love--Devin, Lisa, Diana--leaves me somehow?"

"Not everyone, Vincent. I’m still here."

Rewarding him with a small smile, Vincent said, "Yes, you are and I’m so very grateful." Lethargic, his shoulders slumped, he turned slowly and trudged through the entryway.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Catherine stretched prodigiously then reached over and turned off the alarm clock. The beginning of another hectic, harried day. God, how she loved it! How had she lasted all those years at her father’s law firm? Corporate law was so boring. One never knew what would happen in criminal law. It kept her on her toes. An hour later; showered, dressed, and fed, she locked her door and hurried to the elevator.

Edie’s unhappy frown greeted her as she entered the office. Already the young black woman was diligently punching password combinations into the computer. She glanced up at Cathy and dispiritedly shrugged one shoulder. Cathy smiled at her encouragingly then went looking for Rita. Together they pored over the MacIntosh files looking for anything they had missed. Joe was scheduled to prosecute the fraud case at eleven o’clock, and he would be more than unhappy if the defense blindsided him with some evidence that they had missed.

Just after Joe left, a messenger named Benny brought the preliminary autopsy report from Dr. Marx. Benny was his typically cheery, bouncy self. He chucked her under the chin while calling her babe. Then, with a wave at Edie, scurried out the door.

As she was skimming through the report, the phone rang. "Catherine Chandler," she answered absentmindedly.

When she heard Mrs. Bennett’s soft, "Hello," she sat straight up in surprise.

"Mrs. Bennett? How are you?" Maybe she had remembered something.

"Call me Adele, please. I can’t get used to being called Mrs. Bennett. I always expect my mother to answer although she’s been gone for the last ten years."

Chuckling appreciatively, Cathy replied, "Then I’m Cathy. What can I do for you, Adele?"

"The Medical Examiner’s office just called and they’re going to release Diana’s body tomorrow. I was wondering if you would meet me at Smith and Stearns’ Funeral Home? I could use the moral support." Her voice was wistful and unhappy.

Leaning back, Catherine nibbled on the end of her pencil. Could she take the time? Yes, it was the only right thing to do. "Of course I will. What time?" She could sympathize with the grieving woman; she knew what it was to lose someone close.

"I have to arrange for the hearse to take her home. The M. E.’s office said she would be ready about ten, and I’ve called Smith and Stearns to pick her up at that time."

"Do you want me to meet you at the morgue or at the funeral home?" Cathy swivelled around in her chair, looking out at the bright, sunshiny day at odds with the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. This part of her job affected her deeply.

"Oh, the funeral home. I don’t think I could go to the morgue."

"I’m sorry. I should have realized that. All right, I’ll meet you at the funeral home at ten."

"Thank you, Cathy. I have one more favor to ask of you. Could you help me pack her things to take back home? I’ve arranged with a moving company to take her things home."

"Sure, I’ll tell Joe I’m spending all day with you."

With a hesitant voice, Adele asked, "And one last favor, could you come to the funeral? I know it’s asking a lot, but I know she would appreciate having some of her colleagues there."

"You don’t have to ask. I was thinking about coming anyway. I’d be proud to be the representative for the District Attorney."

"Thank you so very much, Cathy. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodbye." Her voice slowly trailed away into a soft sob.

Cathy thoughtfully returned the receiver to the telephone cradle.

"What’s up, girlfriend?" Leaning against the edge of the desk, Edie was a study in curiosity.

Soberly Cathy scrutinized her friend. "Would you go with me to Diana’s funeral? Her mother has requested a representative from the office--me."

An uncomfortable look flitted over Edie’s molasses hued countenance. "Ah . . . gee . . . I guess I could if it’s ok with Joe," she reluctantly agreed.

"Thanks, Edie, I appreciate that. I need the company; it’s a long drive." Cathy released a silent, relieved sigh.

"That’s one more you owe me, girlfriend, " Edie chuckled, "your tab is getting pretty big." With a toss of her head, she muttered, "Back to the salt mines."

As Edie flounced back to the computer, Cathy grinned at her back then turned to the siren call of a stack of yellow manilla folders sitting on her desk and, with a shrug of her shoulders, dug in.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Smith and Stearns was a lovely old brownstone near Amsterdam and 107th. The August heat struck at Cathy as she stepped from the taxi promptly at ten. Her father would be proud of her.

Adele Bennett was deep in conversation with the funeral director when Cathy entered. Standing to the side, she enjoyed the air-conditioned comfort, waiting until Adele acknowledged her presence. Diana was definitely a carbon copy of her mother: the same titian long hair, blue eyes, medium height and slim build. Around 50, Adele was still a vibrant and lovely woman.

"Cathy?" she exclaimed, coming forward with an outstretched hand.

"Yes. How are you, Adele?" Cathy clasped the older woman’s hand in hers.

"Oh, bearing up, I guess. I just finished making arrangements with Mr. Stearns for the transportation of Diana’s body."

The tall, obese undertaker nodded to the slim young woman and departed the room.

"When are they leaving?" Cathy asked.

"In an hour. Oh, could I use a cup of coffee," Adele confessed, surreptitiously wiping her eyes.

"I know a little tea room just around the corner. My treat. They serve an excellent brunch smorgasbord." Cathy guided the older woman out into the bright daylight.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

After a few stiff and uncomfortable moments, Cathy and Adele spent the next hour drinking coffee and sharing stories about Diana. Adele wanted to know everything that her young brunch companion knew about Diana; so, Cathy did most of the talking. Adele interrupted from time to time, asking questions and relating incidents from her daughter’s home life. Diana’s mother proved to be as strong as Cathy had surmised from her conversations with her on the telephone.

Adele had driven from Ellendale by car and drove them from the tea shop to her daughter’s building. "The last time I was here we celebrated her birthday," she said as she opened the door to the building.

Just as they were about to step through the door, a medium-sized moving van drove up.

"Oh good, here’s the van I ordered. I hope they remembered to include a lot of boxes."

Adele told the driver that she would call when she finished. He nodded, handed her the keys, then strolled off. Checking in the back, she found more than enough packing cartons. Both women manhandled several of the flattened boxes into the building, onto the elevator, and into the apartment.

"Whew, that was a job. I think we should have asked the driver for a little help," Cathy chuckled.

Nodding in agreement, Adele directed a slight smile at her. With a sigh, she began to pack Diana’s belongings into the packing cartons.

Working side-by-side, with a few short breaks and a pizza and beer lunch break, the two women had Diana’s possessions packed by five o’clock. Cathy learned much more about Diana, coming to understand why she was the way she was. Her mother said that she had always had a powerful intellect and exceptional deductive reasoning. It made it difficult for her to fit in, and she had learned at an early age to keep people at a distance--it had become second nature to her. Adele seemed to have a great need to talk about her daughter, to refresh her memories, and Cathy enjoyed listening and prompted her when she fell silent.

Surveying their handiwork, which was stacked by the elevator, Cathy dusted off her hands and took a deep satisfied breath. "Well, that’s done." Her voice echoed through the now empty rooms.

"Ok, now all I need to do is call the movers." Adele said. "Let me take you to dinner, Cathy. My way of saying thanks."

"You don’t have to do that," she protested.

"I know I don’t, but I’m really being selfish; I don’t want to eat alone."

"Ok, if you put it that way," Cathy grinned at her, "you’re on."

Arm-in-arm, the two women left the apartment, a place of deep sadness for one of them.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

The ‘Tavern on the Green’ was extremely busy this evening which gave Adele time to call the movers while they waited.

A firm friendship had been built between the two women regardless of the thirty years or more difference in their ages.

After a pleasant dinner, Adele offered to drive her home. Catherine declined, saying that Adele needed to get on the road if she was to get home at a reasonable time.

"I suppose you’re right. You’ve helped me through a very difficult day. I’ll never forget it."

"I’m glad that Joe gave me the day off. Under different circumstances, it would have been very enjoyable."

"I will see you at the funeral?" Adele asked as the two women embraced warmly.

"Yes, I’ll be there. I’m bringing another friend with me, Edie Simpson."

"Good, she can keep you company on the long drive," Adele said, giving Cathy an extra squeeze before she released her. "Good bye."

"Be careful driving home," Cathy called to her, watching her walk away. Then she hailed a taxi and settled back in the seat, pleased that she had been able to help an unhappy mother with a cheerless task.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

After taking a long, hot shower and donning a pale green silk negligee and peignoir, Cathy fixed a glass of iced tea then carried it out onto the terrace. ‘Pride and Prejudice’ was still lying on the glass-topped wicker table next to the chaise longue. As she settled back into the comfort of the soft cushions, she picked up the book. Opening it to the page she had marked, she began to read her favorite novel. When the light became too dim for reading, she closed the book, stretching to get the kinks out her back from sitting too long. Rising, she paced slowly to the low wall that surrounded the balcony to gaze at the ever fascinating lights of New York City. Suddenly, there was a rustle of cloth and the soft thud of booted feet hitting the floor. A bolt of fear shot through her, and she turned, ready to defend herself. The man standing there was the last person she had expected to see, although she had to admit that she had hoped against hope that he would come.

"Vincent?"

"I’m sorry that I startled you, Miss Chandler. But you did say that you wanted to talk with me."

His voice was as soft and gravelly as she remembered, easing her trepidation. She wondered briefly if it was because of the different shape of his mouth. "Yes, I did but I didn’t expect you to come."

"Why not?"

She relaxed, leaning back against the railing of her balcony, crossing her arms over her waist. "I thought that you might not want to expose yourself again."

"I trust you, Miss Chandler. I feel nothing but acceptance from you." He stepped up beside her and, gazing down at her, met her eyes with open faith.

"Thank you for your trust. I will not betray it."

"I know that. I knew that when you trusted me."

She grinned up him; he was so much taller than she, "How did you find me?"

"I had help," he said mysteriously.

Her easy acceptance confounded him. Copying her, he eased down on the low wall, resting on his right hip. She graced him with an understanding smile. She knew this pain he was feeling and asked gently, "Is there anything you can tell me? Did Diana ever confide in you about the cases she was involved in?"

"What can I tell you that you don’t already know?" he asked in return.

"Did she ever mention anyone that was threatening her?"

With a sharp intake of breath, almost a hiss, as if he had never thought of anyone threatening her, he shook his head vigorously, "No, never."

"If only she hadn’t been so secretive about her cases. It would have made it so much easier for us. We have very few clues to work with, and they all have come to a dead end."

" I tried to help, but she would only allow me so close. It was as if she had built a wall around her heart." Staring down at the toe of his boot, he sounded so helpless and alone that Cathy wanted to take him in her arms and comfort him.

"Maybe she was afraid to let you too close, afraid that you would be hurt, afraid of something like this," Cathy offered as an explanation.

So slightly, that she would have missed it if she weren’t looking directly at him, he nodded his head, "She warned me many times that something like this could happen."

Silently they stood, each within their own thoughts, until she asked, "Is there anything you would like to ask me?"

He was silent--still--for several seconds more then raised his eyes to hers. His look was a combination of apprehension and expectation. His words weren’t unexpected. They were the words she would have asked were she in his position. "Did she suffer?"

Cathy hesitated, wondering just what to tell this grief-stricken man.

"Please don’t keep anything from me. Do not lie to me, thinking it is a kindness. It is not."

She gazed at him steadily, judging his strength. Then, deciding he deserved the truth from her, she said, "All right, the truth it will be, but I will make a pact with you. I will never lie to you, and you will never lie to me. Agreed?" She held out her hand.

"There are questions I cannot answer. The safety of many people depends on those answers. I will answer what I can and will not lie to you." He waited until she nodded in agreement then took her hand. Ignoring the flutter in the region of his heart, he asked, "Now . . . tell me."

With the touch of his hand, Cathy was suddenly breathless. She dropped his hand and, after she regained her breath, hurriedly began, "She wasn’t killed in her apartment. Somewhere else, probably where there was water. It hasn’t rained for weeks yet we found mud on a pair of her Nikes and muddy footprints around her bed." She was looking at her hands, or she would have seen Vincent’s eyes flicker. "As far as the Medical Examiner can tell she died almost instantly. We’re not sure yet. He thinks she was dead before the mutilations." Vincent flinched and leapt to his feet, stalking to the other side of the terrace. She continued, "Others think the killer miscalculated, but I think Diana fought back, and the killer became so enraged that he struck without thinking, killing her instantly. Furious at being denied his ‘fun,’ he had a tantrum and in a towering rage he struck at her repeatedly. What he did to her then is sickening, but she was gone by then." Softly she sank onto the white wicker chaise lounge that faced the rising moon and watched him pace the length of her balcony.

Vincent squeezed his eyes shut in anguish, his hands forming fists, wanting to smash something. Oh, how he wanted to smash something, anything. To think of a lovely, young woman, a woman he loved, being brutalized like that left him raging inside. He stopped pacing as a thought came to him and stared into the softly compassionate eyes of the woman sitting on the wicker chaise. "Or she willed herself to die," he whispered.

Cathy’s eyes widened. "She could do that?"

Slowly, he nodded. "Yes, I think so. Her mind was extraordinary." He dropped down beside her. "If she thought she was going to be tortured, she had the ability to will her death."

"I’m sorry, Vincent." Her sympathetic green eyes filling with tears as she placed a comforting hand on his arm. "She was a wonderful person." It was an old platitude but true in Diana’s case.

Deeply anguished, he burst out, "Yes, she was, but I couldn’t save her." He dropped his head into his hands, rocking back and forth. "I didn’t even know she was dead. My sense of her was not strong enough."

"Your sense of her?"

"For as long as I can remember, I have been able to sense other people’s feelings when I am close to them. But with Diana I could sense very little. There was that wall that she hid behind, and because she would not share herself with me, I was unable to go to her when she needed me."

"But she loved you."

"Yes, but she was afraid."

"Afraid to become to close, of possible rejection?"

"I think so, but I would never have rejected her. I know what it is to hide your emotions; I know what it is to fear rejection, but she always had her guard up." Suddenly, he realized he was speaking to a comparative stranger. "Forgive me, Miss Chandler, I did not mean to unburden myself like that. My problems . . . feelings . . . are mine alone."

"I’ve heard worse confessions, Vincent. Yours speaks of a gentle and caring heart. And, please, call me Cathy."

"Is that short for Catherine?"

"Yes."

"Would you mind if I called you Catherine, instead?" Maybe it was due to the fact that he didn’t really know his true name that he had always felt that a person was entitled to the dignity of their full given name. Allowing no one to give him a nickname, with the possible exception of one person that he loved, who called him many strange names, he never used them himself.

Inordinately pleased, Catherine smiled for the first time that night. "If that pleases you, do."

Marking her pleasure, he dipped his head. As he did, he saw how her smile lit up her face. "I’m sorry, Catherine, that I couldn’t be of more help." How easily her name rolled off the tip of his tongue.

Catherine loved the softness of his voice as he spoke her name. She could listen all night to that voice. "I am, too, Vincent. Is there anyway I can get in touch with you?"

"No, I probably will never see you again." There was no sense in bringing more pain to himself and his world. It was best to stay in his own small corner of his world.

"Oh," she said in a small voice. "Why?"

"It is not safe for me in your world." It was one of the reasons but not the main one. How could he tell her that he felt a strong attraction to her? It shamed him to think that he felt this so soon after Diana’s death.

It seemed that all she could say was, "Oh." She found it appalling to think of never seeing him again. "Then take great care, Vincent. Be safe," she said, struggling to keep a quiver out of her voice.

"Be well, Catherine. Goodbye." He disappeared into the shadows.

"Goodbye," she whispered into a suddenly cold night, tears burning in the corners of her eyes. She wished with all her heart that she could see him again. But then, what was she thinking, he was still suffering from the loss of Diana. How could she be so crass? Even so, that night as she slept, she dreamed the first of many dreams that included him.

A deep sadness settled over Vincent as he left Catherine until, once again, guilt flavored the pleasure he had felt in being with her. Firmly he concentrated on his unhappiness.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Early on the morning of the funeral, Edie was waiting in front of her apartment for Catherine. She took a close look at her bleary-eyed traveling companion. "Whoa, girlfriend, if going to a funeral bothers you like that, I wouldn’t go. You gonna be all right to drive?"

"It’s not that, Edie," she replied, a look of chagrin crossing over her lovely face. "I didn’t sleep well and, yes, I’ll be fine. I guess I was worrying about the case and what I’m going to tell Mrs. Bennett. I told her we’d get the SOB, but you know as well as I that the more days that pass the harder it is to solve a case."

"Yeah, I know," Edie agreed, fastening her safety belt as Catherine maneuvered into the light morning traffic.

Edie made the long trip bearable, and Catherine was pleased that she had prevailed upon Joe to let her wisecracking friend come with her.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

With time to spare, they arrived in Ellendale, a typical small New York town. They had time to find St. Joseph’s R.C. Church and to eat in a small diner they found on Main Street.

As with George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, and others of the Revolutionary period, the Chandlers were Unitarians and the succeeding generations were either practicing Unitarians or Congregationalists. Catherine was no exception, and when she went to church, she attended the Unitarian Church of All Souls or the Welsh Congregational Church. She had never been to a Requiem Mass before and keenly observed the ceremony. Edie seemed as interested as she.

After the grave side ceremonies, Mrs. Bennett sought out Catherine and her young black friend. "Thank you for coming, my dear," she said as she hugged her newfound friend.

"It was a lovely service, Adele."

"Father Paul is an old and dear friend and put his whole heart into it." Adele turned to Catherine’s companion.

"Adele, this is Edie Simpson. I think I mentioned that she might be coming with me." Catherine draped an arm around Edie’s small shoulders.

"Yes, you did. Thank you for coming . . . may I call you Edie?" At the quick nod, she continued, "Did you also work with Diana?"

"I did some computer work for her on occasion. I’m awfully sorry . . ."

"Thank you. You’re very kind. Will you two be stopping by the house?"

"I’m afraid not. We’ve got to start back right away. It will be late when we get home." Catherine took the older woman’s hands in her own, "Adele, we haven’t found the man that did this yet. I just wanted you to know that we are working very hard on Diana’s case."

"I know you are. I hope you catch him soon."

"Me, too" Edie nodded vigorously in agreement. After a light kiss and hug from Catherine and a friendly handshake from Edie, the young women left with Adele’s warning ringing in their ears, "Be careful driving back."

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

"How’d it go, kiddo?" Joe greeted her Monday morning when she stuck her head around the doorframe. Smiling faintly, she plopped down into the office-generic imitation leather couch. Crossing her legs, she leaned back, spread-eagling her arms across an arm and the back of the couch. "It was a lovely service and I know where Diana got her strength of purpose--her mother."

"Sounds like you and she hit it off." Picking up a rubber band, he ran it around his index fingers.

"We did. I really like her. Anything new?"

His eyes sparkled with good news. "Jack Crowe--you remember him, the 78th’s master hacker--found a back door into Diana’s files. Edie’s downloading them right now."

Clapping her hands, Catherine leapt to her feet. "Great. I better get busy." She was out the door before he could say ok.

Busy transferring the files to her own computer, Edie speared her with a knowing look. "Told you it’d take a hacker," she quipped with a big smile.

"Yeah, yeah, you told me." Cathy grinned at the happily crowing woman. "When you get them transferred, would you get hard copies to me?"

"Ok. Wait a minute, she had a journal too but . . . darn . . . it’s protected." Exasperated, she sighed, "Here we go again."

"Why don’t you let me work on the journal while you get the hard copies for me?" Urging Edie from the chair, she eagerly sat down. If she could open the journal, maybe she could learn more about Diana’ private life. She felt like a voyeur, but it was something she had to do. By lunch time she had tried everything she could think off. She could feel the beginnings of a stress headache forming behind her eyes, and she rubbed the bridge of her nose, hoping to relieve the ache. Fishing through her purse, she found a bottle of aspirin and took two with the last of her cold coffee. Her chair squeaked as she leaned back, threading her fingers together behind her head. Swiveling from side to side, she stared at the computer screen. If only she could open the journal, she was certain she would learn about Diana’s relationship with Vincent. Vincent?! Could it be . . . ? No! That would be too simple, but she had to try. It was about time some luck came their way. Excitedly, she typed in his name then punched enter. Holding her breath tensely, she listened to the computer clicking to itself. The first page of Diana’s journal appeared on the screen, and she puffed out a long, drawn-out sigh. Quickly scanning the pages, she found Vincent’s name prominently mentioned. How could Diana have been so careless? She had to get rid of the journal. Its existence was dangerous to Vincent, and she remembered his words, "It is not safe for me in your world." Closing the file, she shut down the computer and turned back to her other cases. After everyone was gone, she would save the file to a floppy to take home with her then delete the offending file.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Later that night she immersed herself in Diana’s life. Her admiration for her murdered co-worker grew by leaps and bounds: also, her compassion. Diana was a woman who craved love but was unable to lower her defenses and allow love in. Much of Diana’s life Catherine had learned from Mrs. Bennett, but a wealth of information came from Diana’s own reminiscences, especially after she had met Vincent.

Several entries captured Catherine’s interest as she scrolled through the journal.

July 28, 1985

I met the most unique man tonight. As I was putting my key into the lock, two rough looking men accosted me. I was holding my own when out of the shadows a frightening apparition appeared. Within a few seconds the hoodlums were limping away, holding each other up. In the melee my ‘rescuer’ had been stabbed in the arm and was bleeding. I grabbed his arm as he started to leave and that’s when I got a good look at his face. I cried out--I’m ashamed to say--when I first saw his face. It was the face of a lion. Still, I wouldn’t let him go, and when my racing heart had slowed down, I asked him who and what he was. In a low hesitant voice, he told me his name’Vincent. Somehow, I convinced him’-his arm needed medical attention--to come into my apartment; he was as skittish as a newborn colt. After I bandaged his arm, we spent the night talking and I learned that behind that terrible visage lurked a scholar, a gentleman, and the most caring and compassionate being I have ever known. We talked until the wee hours of the morning. The most stimulating conversation I have had in years. I hope I see him again.

September 2, 1985

I haven’t seen Vincent in over a month. Did I dream him? Is he real? Oh, I hope so. I have never met anyone with a soul like his. I keep waiting for him to return and each night I go to bed and dream of him.

Later: Oh, he came. Just as I was about to turn off the lights, he tapped on my skylight. I raced up to the roof like a schoolgirl, breathless and excited. He refused to come into my apartment so we stayed on the roof, watching the immutable stars sparkle in the sky and the transient glittering stars below. He is so gentle, so kind, wanting to know how I was, how my work was going--but I couldn’t share my work with him, it is too dreadful. I think I’m falling in love, and what I feel is so different from what I felt for Mark. When he left, I asked him--how I ever became so bold, I’ll never know--if he would come back and see me again. I think he was very pleased and readily agreed. I don’t know when, but it will be soon. At last, I think I have found someone who understands me.

September 30, 1985

Well, I finally persuaded Mr. Cautious to come into my parlor-as the spider said to the fly--but I’m not a spider, and he is certainly not a fly. Much too big for that. I had to remind him that he had spent almost the entire night sitting on my couch the first time we met. Over the evening I saw him begin to relax and to become comfortable. He dwarfs everything with his size, and my fairly large apartment seemed to shrink. Oh, he is so magnificent. How empty my days were before him. He even let me fix him something to eat and drink; he is a confirmed tea drinker. I have no real experience in love so I don’t know if he loves me or not. I know how I feel, and I know he enjoys being with me. We have such an easy relationship that sometimes it feels as if we are sister and brother instead of lovers. Whatever it is, I wouldn’t give it up for the world.

Catherine continued to read about their burgeoning affection for each other. Every entry was about Vincent and their time together. How she envied the relationship that they had. None of her lovers had ever made her feel as Vincent did Diana.

November 7, l985

Vincent has finally told Father about me and has invited me come Below to see his world and meet his family. I am almost as curious as I am excited about going Below. Father, I fear, is a formidable figure in Vincent’s life. I hope he approves of me. What will I say if he asks me what Vincent means to me? How can I tell him that he is the most important person in my life when I have never once said those words to Vincent. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I open up to him? Why must I forever hide behind these walls I’ve built? You would think with all my training I would be able to break down those walls, but when I think of exposing myself to rejection and possible ridicule once again, I can’t. I don’t think Vincent would do that, but I’m afraid; I’m a coward. But I can say the words here, I love you, I love you. Please, love me.  And I know that no one will ever read these words but me.

November 10,1985

What a wonderful day I have had. Vincent met me at the threshold nearest to my loft and showed me the wonders of his world before I met Father and the rest. Who would have ever thought of a world existing in the tunnels beneath the streets of New York? I never did, but it is amazing what Jacob Wells, or Father as everyone calls him, has accomplished. Father is the leader, but he governs with the help of a four-man council. With the aid of their Helpers, they have everything that they need. They are the most wonderful people. They accepted me as one of them. It is at once the most stimulating yet restful place I have ever been. The pace of life there is regulated by what a person wants to do without the constant pressure to get more. There is a pressure to achieve whatever you are capable of, but it is a gentle pressure. The children are so polite and well behaved that I felt as if I had gone back in time to a gentler era. Vincent has told me that I am welcome to come Below anytime I wish, and if I ever need sanctuary--he knows how dangerous my job is--I can go there. It sounds so wonderful, but would they want me if they knew of the demons my soul struggles against? I wonder. The more I involve myself in the lives and thoughts of the monsters that walk the world, the stronger my demons become. I cannot inflict them on anyone else. Only Vincent’s quiet acceptance of my abilities has the power to calm and soothe me. For that alone I shall love him all my life.

Diana, Diana, what were you thinking to put all this into words. Surely you must have known that this was dangerous. She had described the tunnels, their form of government, and the people in detail. Catherine shuddered to think what would have happened if she had not been the one to find the journal. Vincent’s world would have been destroyed, and he along with it. She knew instinctively that he could live nowhere else but in the safety of the tunnels. She was doubly glad that she had destroyed the journal.
 
 

April15, l986

I have been gone for a week. My father was seriously ill but is recovering nicely, and I went home to support my mother in this difficult time. She is a strong woman and, instead, became the pillar that we all leaned on. People tell me that I resemble her. I hope I am as strong as she is. I will need to be if I am to gain my heart’s desire. My heart’s desire: tall, blue eyed, and blond. It is easy to sit here before the computer and type those words. It is harder to act on them. I don’t know if he loves me as a friend or a lover. And I’m afraid to ask him. What if he looks at me in surprise, astonished that I should even ask him? I couldn’t face that. Maybe it is best that I keep our relationship at the level it is.

Briefly she wondered if there was a way she could get a copy to Vincent. She’d worry about that some other time, for right now the journal called to her, and she began to read again. Diana cited the time and date of each meeting as if it was the most important event in her life and went into specifics about what they did and what they spoke about. If she was reading this right, Catherine found very little in the way of an intimate relationship: no kissing, a few hugs, and definitely no sex. It was as chaste as the romantic love of the Age of Chivalry. Neither one of them seemed to be able to initiate the first kiss. Almost as if it was a schoolyard romance. Maybe if one of them had, Diana would be alive today. The last entry was dated two days before she was found murdered in her apartment.

August 1, 1986

Tonight, if I see Vincent, I’m going to tell him how I feel. I’m afraid it may drive him away from me, but I have to try. I lit a candle and said a prayer when I went for confession. I hope my prayers will be answered. . . .

How they wasted the opportunities they had. So many times they could have said what was in their hearts but never found the courage. How sad it was but way down deep inside of her, if she had been willing to admit it, there was a little kernel of relief that they hadn’t. If she had the chance for a love like that she wouldn’t waste it.

Catherine straightened up, stretching her shoulders back with her hands on her hips. She had learned much from Diana’s journal even just skimming through it. Diana’s life had been a constant search for love. Maybe that was what made her such a good investigator. In her search for love, she had honed her hunting skills. What was so sad was that when she found it, she couldn’t convince herself that she was worthy of love and she lost the chance. There was a lesson to be learned here.

Rubbing her grainy eyes wearily, Catherine glanced at her watch and was startled to see that it was four in the morning; she hadn’t noticed the passage of time. She shut down the computer and readied herself for bed. After donning her pjs, she stepped out onto the balcony. Bracing her hands on the cool brick wall, she leaned forward, looking up at the sickle moon. She wondered what he was doing tonight, if he was walking under the same moon. The pale moonlight insured that he would be safe to walk the night. She wished she could contact him, if only to give him a copy of Diana’s journal and, if she would but admit it, to see him. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. He was a constant presence in her thoughts, and she wondered if he would always be there. With a last look at the night sky, she entered her bedroom and went to bed

Vincent was having his own problems. He was walking through the park, feeling the enticement of someone’s emotions. If he followed that lure, he knew where it would take him, and he was determined not to go there again, but he couldn’t get her lovely face out of his mind, and she was slowly replacing Diana in his dreams. Also, the connection he felt with her was growing stronger day-by-day. Why did he have a connection with her and not with Diana? What was there about her that called to him? It was a constant struggle to stay away from her. The guilt he felt sometimes was overwhelming. He had loved Diana; he thought there would never be another love. Was what he felt for Catherine . . . love? Impossible. It couldn’t be. Fascination, maybe, but not love. Love was what he felt for Diana. The comfort, the ease of their relationship--that was love, not the fire that seemed to burn in his veins at the thought of Catherine--that was infatuation. But if that was so, why was Diana’s face fading from his memory? Only the picture that she had given him kept her face from disappearing completely. He was confused and he couldn’t go to Father with his confusion. He would only caution him about becoming involved with another woman, telling him of the life that could never be.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

The sweltering August heat faded into the gentle warmth of a cooler September followed by a cool, misty October. It seemed as if with the cessation of the hot and humid weather every thief and cutthroat was bent on making up for lost time. An already overloaded District Attorney’s office was now inundated with a flurry of new cases. And among those new cases was the murder and torture of another woman.

Aaron Sotherby had returned from a business trip on October the fifth to find his wife’s lifeless and mutilated body positioned in the middle of their bed. Judge Marion Sotherby, a District Court judge, was the victim of a crime that was a carbon copy of Diana Bennett’s murder. The autopsy showed that she had been slain on October the third, exactly two months after the first murder, but that this poor woman had suffered the horrors of torture while still alive. With this second murder, Joe was forced to admit that there was a serial killer on the loose. The M. O. was the same and both women were involved in the legal profession but there was nothing tangible to tie the murder to any specific person. The police and the D. A.’s office were stymied once again.

Sometimes with the pressure and stress of her overloaded work schedule, Cathy thought fondly--only for a second, of course--of the peace and quiet of her father’s law offices then optimistically jumped right back in the fray. Today was one of those times. But with the thought of her father, she realized how much she missed him and decided to call soon and make a ‘date’ with him. It had been too long since they had spent any time together.