Chapter 5  

Dick Stensland. Smoking. Glaring at his watch. Bleary eyes searching for the wall clock to make sure his wristwatch was making good time. Sitting in a blindingly bright, all night coffee shop on Ventura.

Goddamn that White, he muttered to himself. Where was the boy? Calls him up, middle of the fucking 3 a.m. in the morning, hauls his ass out of a semi-warm bed with a luke-warm wife ... "Meet me at the Koffee Kitchen, he says to me. Now, he says. It's that important. Yeah. Then where the f..."

Choked off the curse as the door swung back and his partner White swept in.

"Wendell, my boy, I'll kick your ass you ever pull another stunt like this," he said, nasty voice to go with nasty mood.

"I need a favor," Bud said, no other words, none needed. It was the look on his face, the body language. Shoulders almost folded in he was slouching so bad. His skin ... when had it turned gray?

"Spill it, boyo," Stens said, crudely imitating Dudley's Irish lilt, hoping to break the tension.

"I might have a lead in the Crisscross." Bud, running his hand over his face. Stens noted the slight shake. "Dudley told me ... He suggested ... If I go to Dudley with this ... Dick, I don't know what to do. I need your help."

Stens leaned over the table, tapped on Bud's arm. Recognized something about to break. "Wendell, take a breath. Tell your partner what's up. Let's take it one step at a time."

Bud spilled it: visits to Rita; Dudley's talk; someone cut Rita; someone cut and nearly killed two other working girls and Suzie had given him the names; he'd checked out the hospital records; eerie how they seemed to be the same only ...

"Only what?" Stens asked, impatient.

"Only ... they survived. Same type of wounds. The second one was worse though, Stens. And the first one, it was worse than ... Rita was cut, too. And I think there have been others, just not bad enough to take to the ER. I think it might have been the same guy but... Rita says that her guy wasn't the only one who liked to cut. But there was something about how each time got worse. Like ... Like ..."

"Like what? Say it, Bud, I can't read your mind."

"Like he was practicing."

Stens sucked in on his cigarette. Eyes narrowed until they were no longer focused on Bud. This was his 'thinking like a detective' mode, something he might have been a bit out of practice on. Running through layers of thoughts, putting together tip sheet material on the Crisscross Murders, already figuring out what they could do with Bud's new information, how it could be used to get more information, more leads.

"Not practicing, Bud. These guys don't practice. They perfect. They escalate. It's like something acts as a trigger and it goes from experimentation to perversion to torture and murder," Stens, his voice like the voice of God. Deep. Sure. Not a trace of booze slurring his words.

"Trigger. Yeah. And ..." Bud looked out into the night. "If it was the same guy who did both girls ... He was banned from the clubs after the second girl. She's so badly scarred, they couldn't even ... Well, she's retired now. Stens, if he couldn't pay for it anymore you know, banned from the sex clubs - but he still needed it ... and ... and maybe he got really angry over ..."

"Rejection by whores?" Stens smiled at Bud. "That would be tough for a sicko to get over, wouldn't it, is what you're thinking? Yeah, I like that way of thinking, Buddy boy. It's at least an angle for us to investigate. Even the sluts don't want you. Not even if you pay for it."

Sucking down more smoke. Blowing it out slow while his eyes took on a new shine. Peering sharply through a growing haze at Bud. Sudden insight.

"You're afraid of Dudley, aren't you?" Stens asked softly.

"Something there, Stens. Don't want to be owned by him. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah, Wendell, I do. He's a dangerous master. He's a worse enemy. We'll have to be careful." Stens thinking of how much he wished he'd never let Dudley become his master. But that was a done deal; no reason Bud had to go down the same, exact road, right? Maybe a side road, though; one where Stens could show him the real stuff, teach him that that's how it was in life, show him how to enjoy what he could of it, but still let Bud ... Well, let Bud be Bud. Maybe being a white knight for damsels in distress wasn't such a bad thing. Especially since Stens didn't for one little second believe Bud's abject devotion to saving women from abusive husbands and boyfriends wasn't a special kind of perversion. Nobody was that focused on something violent not to be working off either bad karma or bad childhood memories.

Bud's shoulders straightened, like the weight on them was being lifted. "I knew you'd help me."

"Wendell, my boy, I may be many things. Most are not good. But at one time, I was a good detective. Haven't really had the reason to care about the job that way in a long time. Sometimes, life can kick you in the ass, you know? And it's hard to get back up when you get disillusioned. But partners, my young friend, can only be real partners when they trust each other. We need to be straight with each other, Bud. We need to know how the other thinks and reacts. Only way we'll ever trust that we're willing to stop a bullet for the other. I'm gonna prove to you that not only can you trust me to stop a bullet, but you can actually trust me to stand with you when the going gets tough."

"Gee, Stens, gonna buy me flowers next?" Bud, suddenly cracking a joke, fire in his eyes again. Hiding his gratitude for Stens stepping in to help behind bravado.

"Roses, Bud, red ones. And then I expect a big wet smooch on the lips afterwards."

"Fuck you." They both laughed, tension between them turned into a wall of protection around their partnership. Them against the world. "I take it then that you're gonna help me crack this case wide open."

"Hold on there, Junior. We ain't cracking the case. We're running down a good lead just until we get it to the point where we can turn it over to Dudley without implicating your source. That's all."

Weighing this over. Accepting it. "Deal. Where do we start?"

By the next day, they'd shook down the names or possible names of johns whose kick had been cutting up girls working at various sex clubs near Encino. Stens working on the theory that Mr. Crisscross would probably be sticking close by. Only three sex clubs had the kind of action in which someone like him could have operated for very long.

The only good part of the day was watching Stens in action. Shaking down the sex club managers for the names of the johns. He was something else to Bud. A whole other Stens.

For Stens, it had been just as much fun watching Bud learn quickly that about all he'd ever have to do was look like the hard ass he was anything but at that point. It would come, Stens believed. Bud would go down a similar path as he had; it was just the way of the job. It beat you into it eventually, he thought. You sunk to your own level.

Once, he'd glanced at Bud as they were driving. Bud, bright and eager with the hunt. Pumped up with trying to work threads together. Don't get beat down too hard, he thought, I just may like you staying noble. Just not so pure. Boy, you will be meat for the dogs if you don't wise up.

Bud got an education. No way had he believed there could be more than one of these guys. But there were three. All prime suspects. They needed to find the two girls who'd been cut up. Let them help them by identifying which of the three was their attacker. Once they had the guy's name, they'd check him out and figure out the way to make it plausible that they'd come up with his name. Maybe say they'd got a tip from one of the girls Bud had talked to. But not Rita, Bud insisted; because that would give Dudley too big a hold on Bud's soul. And not Suzie either, because she knew all about Rita and Bud. Not all, perhaps, but enough that a man like Dudley would put it all together.

Two days later, working on their off time to keep from raising Dudley's radar, they'd tracked down the second girl. Both girls identified the same john. Not by name but by description. The girls had never known his name.

And, there was one other thing both girls mentioned about their attacker. It was the one thing he'd said to Patty that had also stuck in her mind. He'd told all three the same thing: 'I am going to send you to Hell.'

The next day was their day off. They spent it finding the three men. One was dead. The other two were not that hard to find. Stens knew some tricks and he knew the right steps to take. They had their man when the second guy opened up his door. Matched the descriptions dead on. Even to his smell.

Everett Mitchell. Caucasian. 44 years old. Most unlikely looking accountant Bud had ever seen. Powerful build; almost ape-like. Bristled black hair that was so neat the part looked like it could slice open a tin can as easy as a hot knife through butter. The creases in his pants and shirt were just as sharp. Every single thing about the guy so precise it was almost eerie.

Needed a cover story, Stens had told Bud. Don't want to spook the guy. So they had told Mitchell they were investigating a burglary that had taken place on the next block. The guy had been nervous, but that's to be expected, Stens said later.

We don't go in the apartment, Stens had warned. Just a look-see at the guy. Then figure out how we get it cleaned up enough to give to Dudley.

The guy gave them the creeps. Takes a lot to do that to cops.

"You see his fingernails?" Stens asked Bud. They both remembered - Patty had mentioned the guy's fingernails. Buffed and shiny. She remembered them because they had been something to focus on. Victims focus on different things, Stens said. In a case like this, she focused on something to keep her mind off what was happening as much as she could.

They were drinking in a bar in Encino. Somehow, this case kept them pulled into that area of town like a black hole. Drinking mellowed their minds and they kept at it until late that night. Most of the city went to sleep while they sat there figuring out where they'd go from there. Debating things until Stens finally settled it by going back to where they'd begun the discussion.

"I'll take the lead to Dudley," Stens said gruffly. "Tell him I went back and strong-armed the manager at the Dragon's Lair. That you'd overheard something from one of the girls that made you suspicious but you'd been too thick-witted to figure it out."

"Not too far from the truth," Bud said forlornly.

"Fuck you, Wendell. Get off the cross, someone else needs the wood. You got the smarts for this, you just ain't got the right level of degeneracy to function with Dudley. Let him think you're just muscle. No sense letting him get you on his radar." Stens gave a strangled chuckle. "The only thing Dudley really needs to know about you, Bud, is that you're willing to do what it takes to get a criminal off the street if you know he's guilty. You got that? If it takes beating a confession out of him because he won't cooperate. If it means making sure he don't ever get to trial if the evidence just isn't enough. If it means shutting your eyes to the shit that can come down ... but can you do it, Wendell? That'll be something Dudley will ask you about someday. I'll teach you all about what he wants to know and you'll be pleasantly surprised how it makes your life a lot simpler and tidier as a cop."

Driving. Raining out, one of those misty rains when the world seems to be dissolving. Nighttime driving and where was he headed?

Brain just the least bit fuzzy with booze shared with Stens. Feeling better to have a direction in the investigation. Now - if he just had a direction in his life.

Eyes up. Focus on his surroundings and he started shaking. Back where it had started and what shit in his head was calling him back to the Dragon's Lair?

Suddenly, he saw her walk out from the alley. Must have come from a back entrance. Walking with the big bruiser who guarded the front door. But he was just seeing her to her car, making sure she was safe.

Another long night, Rita? How many men did you hurt tonight? How many made you suffer?

Who's there to protect you now, baby? Now that you're not on the job?

Following her by instinct - like he could almost smell her. Her trail was so easy to follow. He watched her park at the curb and walk up to a bungalow. Watched the warmth of yellowed lighting snapping on as she moved through the bungalow. Home for the night.

Here was a different world for Rita. What was her world like? She probably thought she was safe in there. That she'd left the pain behind.

Bud was ringing her doorbell before he even realized what he was doing. Standing in the misty rain outside her apartment, he'd suddenly felt the need to make sure she was safe. He was worried about her. And he needed to make sure she was ... was there some other reason? If so, he didn't want to know.

Rita. Surprise showing in those blue eyes before she was able to cover it up behind a veneer of world-weariness. Finding Bud standing there, the night's relentless wetness coating him. It scared her to find him there. But it scared her more that her instinctive reaction was to be happy to see him. She'd have to just do something about that, she told herself darkly.

She was a whole different Rita to Bud's eyes. Or maybe it was just seeing her in a normal setting. Here she was just a woman. Not his tormentor. She looked frailer, like she could be hurt. Not physically hurt so much as emotionally.

Not stepping aside for him. Making him step into her, his hand finding its way to her cheek. She let him wrap her up in his arms, felt the way her body betrayed her at his touch, scent, sound.

Sound. The sound of him shushing her, soothing her. Surprising herself by realizing she was shaking ever so slightly under his hands. That her breathing had turned to a thready pulse verging on a panicked pant.

And then his mouth came soft and warm to her temple. Gentle. Lingering there. Reaching her. Breaching the metal round her heart. A promise of tenderness that hurt worse than any slap or punch would ever have done. She gasped at the pain and pulled away.

But he wasn't letting go. One big hand on her upper arm checked her and she found herself staring into his green-blue eyes, now dark with passion. His lips, slightly open, taking in a slow breath. He bent toward her, lips so close to hers that she could almost feel the warmth of them against hers. Inhaled the whisky-tinged sweetness.

"What's all this, then, baby boy? My office hours are over," Rita said, her voice instant steel. Her spine like Jell-O. "Think you know me so well that you can just drop in here now? Don't work that way, sweetie."

He heard her words. He also heard her fear underneath coming in louder. He responded to her fear; it was the one thing he could help her with. Chase it away, keep her safe in the night. How could he know she feared him most of all?

Big hand wrapping under her chin, spanning from one cheek to the other. Other hand behind her head and he had her helpless before him. His mouth fell over hers, his lips first soft and then demanding as his tongue sought entry. She struggled but he prevailed.

Momentarily, she gave in to what was happening. Feeling herself growing wet below and enjoying the feel of it. Almost humping his leg in response to the way just his kiss was affecting her. And then - the comprehension; she began to fight him off. Hands. Fists. Arms. Then trying to squirm her body out of his ever-strengthening grip. Last ditch effort: she bit his tongue.

Bud. Cursing. Confused. Insistent. Wanting her. Wanting her to want him. Determined to make her let him keep her safe. Didn't she understand? He would never hurt her. He just wanted to ...

What? A pause. What did he want from her? For her? Did he even know?

He let her go and she grew even more alarmed. Softness on his face that showed how far the power between them had shifted to him. How would she deal with a Bud no longer under her control?

"So what is it now, honey? You going all sentimental and trying to seduce Rita? Think you'll fuck her nice and sweet until she goes straight?" Laughing at him, forcing the sound from her lips. Knowing her mocking laughter had always worked in the past. "Life's not like that, Bud. I'm not going to change just because you've suddenly decided you want something that was never going to happen. I'm still me."

"I'm scared for you, Rita. There's a nut out there killing women. We think it's possible he's the one cut up two other pros before he began ... The Crisscross Murders? Surely it's occurred to you that the same sicko who cut that 'x' on you could be responsible?"

Rita stopped, coldness rising from her toes to her ankles, starting to numb her body. When it got to her knees, she asked, "Who's 'we,' Bud? You said 'we think' like ... Oh, God. Tell me you're not a cop."

When he didn't answer, the coldness reached her waist and she said, "You're investigating the Crisscross case? And you think that I ... Oh, God. You're a cop. Aren't you?"

Nodding at her. Watching what was happening as she processed this. He could see it shook her hard and wasn't sure what shook her worse: that he was a cop or that she might be involved in his investigation.

"Rita, honey, I can take care of you. No one will know about ... about us or about ... what happened to you. The cutting, I mean. I've worked it so you're clear of it all." Following her as she backed up to her couch and sat down heavily. Kneeling before her, touching her knees just to make sure she was still with him. "Let me keep you safe, Rita. You don't have to do this anymore. I can ..."

Short, derisive laugh. "What? What can you do, Bud? You gonna take me out on real dates? To the drive in? We gonna take long drives in the country and then get married and have babies? That what you see in our future?"

"I can get you out of this life. Give you a life worth having."

"You must be kidding. Are you a sap or what, Bud?" Mocking him now. "Some life you'd give me, baby boy. You and your fascination with tying me up and smacking me around. I see it now, sweetie. Or is it that you figure I'm too expensive as a whore so marry Rita and you get your rocks off for free? Christ, you are such a loser, Bud. Like I'd ever look at you if you weren't paying for it?"

'Rejection by a whore. Even the sluts don't want you.' Stens' words about the suspect came flooding over him. It was like a hard, intense punch to his gut. This whore he wanted not to be a whore, but a whore nonetheless, was rejecting him.

What decent woman would ever want him? Rita was right about that. He was so fucking screwed up; all that pent up anger in him, all that pain ... no wonder nice young women looked the other way when he looked at them. They probably read perversions in his eyes and abuse in his body language.

Except one nice woman. A girl almost. Still a virgin whatever he'd done to her. So inexperienced that she hadn't seen the monster within him.

Patty.

With her, he'd felt dirtier than he had with Rita. But in this moment, he wondered why he felt unworthy of Rita but hopeful that Patty might have seen something else in him. That maybe her innocence would wash him clean.

Rita watched Bud. Emotions warring in his eyes. His hands clenching into fists before relaxing against her knees again. Shaking his head as if trying to get something out. And then the fire seemed to ebb inside him and it almost made her cry. She all but hugged him in to her to comfort him.

Instead, she sat very still as he rose and stalked out of her apartment. She reckoned it was the kindest thing she'd ever done to any man.

Dudley Smith looked out among the faces. Freshly shaved, most even had bright eyes. Like they could feel the change in the atmosphere.

Even Dick Stensland on time and dressed reasonably well; looked like his shirt might actually have been clean. Stens was buzzed, Dudley knew. Barely able to contain himself because he'd been the one to bring in the lead that looked like the break they'd been looking for.

But there was still work to be done. They'd arrest the suspect, Everett Mitchell, the guy who'd cut up those unfortunate pros. They'd have to double check the girls' statements, medical records, other forensics that hadn't been contaminated or mislaid. Then they'd get to squeeze the perp for a confession. Meanwhile, they'd need to be tossing his apartment and place of employment. They'd also need to be canvassing the neighbors, looking for clues and traps. Talking to friends, co-workers, families.

But Dudley could taste it. The case was coming together. And, according to Stens, all because his partner had overheard something in that nefarious den of iniquity. And Dudley, while grateful that the more-experienced Stens had had the talent to understand what the comment could mean, wondered about Officer White.

Looking out among the men, he studied White as the rest of the men settled into their seats for the briefing. White looked more like the Wendell White he'd first met when he became a detective than he had over the last few days. As if he'd resolved whatever demons he'd been wrestling with for the last few weeks. But there was something different about young Wendell. Something not quite right, not quite the same.

"Lads, lads, let's settle down now," Dudley began. "Thanks to the illustrious work of our own Detectives Stensland and White, we believe the city's long nightmare may be ending."

He briefed them on the suspect. Handed out assignments. Dismissed them with the admonition, "Lads, let's get this one. The City of Los Angeles demands it."

He watched the men jump up from their seats, clutching their tip sheets and assignment backgrounds. Smiled at the level of excitement that even years being ground into dust by this job hadn't taken away when these men were on the scent of a killer.

Chapter 6  

Patty fastened up her coat and smoothed down her hair, rubbing her rouged lips together. You couldn't tell. Not like this. She didn't look like a freak. The door to the private ward swung open behind her, the sudden movement drawing an involuntary gasp. Officer White.

"Pardon me, Ma'am. I didn't mean to startle you..." always so polite, concerned about her feelings.

Patty smiled sadly. "It's OK. I have to get used to it. There will be worse moments than this."

They stood awkwardly, unsure what to say. Bud had not expected to see Patty dressed and ready to be discharged. She looked older now; clothes, makeup and hairstyle giving her that 'woman of indeterminate age' look - could be anywhere from sixteen to thirty-five. Guys made mistakes about that. Thought they were with a woman not a baby girl. Had the freak thought Patty was a whore? Rita had looked younger, Patty looked older. How could a guy read the signs? How come women read men so easily? Except for Patty. She couldn't read him. Maybe he could hide behind her innocence. Maybe some of it would stain him.

"They sending you home? So soon?"

Patty nodded. "Superficial wounds. Nothing that requires further treatment." 

"Jeez. It's only been a couple of weeks. They can't just throw you back out there." Bud was angry. This girl needed someone. She couldn't be just stitched up and abandoned.

"It's time. I'm not going back to the apartment. Too many memories."

"Where can you go?" Concern showing. 

"I'm going back to Fresno."

"Fresno?"

"My Dad lives there. He says that I can come back for a while. She can't stand me, his wife, you know, and the kids are brats but...it's home. People around. For a while until I get better..."

A pathetic image. Bud could read between the lines. One humiliation pouring on another. 'Dad says I can come back for a while.' Jesus fucking Christ. The girl had been raped and mutilated. Her father should want to wrap her up forever. What kind of father was he?

"You need a ride?" 

Patty looked up at him. "I'm going to the police department. They're sending a car. Looks like they've pulled in some guy. I have to identify him..." her voice cracked. "I can only smell him, feel him. What use is his face to me?"

"I know. About the guy. I'm the car. I'll take you. Go with you. You shouldn't be alone for this." Bud picked up the small case she had packed and opened the door. He caught her eye. Her expression shocked him. No one had ever looked at him like that before. Not true. One woman had.

They strolled out of the hospital into the day; it was fine. The rain had stopped at last. A weak sun was breaking through. The chance of better things to come.

"My appointment isn't until two," Patty suddenly remembered. He checked his watch; just past midday.

"Let's get some lunch."

He stowed her case and helped her in, noticing the stiffness in her back and the slight wince she made as she settled down. The edge of her coat was hanging over the doorway, he tucked it against her, his fingers brushing her leg; she stiffened imperceptibly. Then she caught his hand.

"Officer White. You don't know what this means to me. I never had a man take care of me before." Bud nodded, shut the door and walked round to his side. He wasn't sure where this was leading.

They drove to a nearby diner, ordered the usual lunchtime special.

"What's your name?" Patty suddenly asked him. "I mean, I'm having lunch with you - I can't keep calling you Officer White," she smiled perhaps the first real smile he had seen from her. She was a pretty girl, the prettiness of youth. It would fade. The world would flatten and deaden her potential; the process had already started.

"Bud. Call me Bud." He returned the smile, a little tentative, a little ill-at-ease. Typical Bud White when called on to reveal himself.

"Tell me something about yourself, Bud."

"Why?"

"Why not?" She shrugged. "I'm tired of thinking about my life. Maybe yours is better?"

Bud shook his head. "You don't want to hear about me, honey. I'm just another loser." He drank his coffee. She studied him closely.

"Married? Divorced? What's the matter? You seem lonely, too."

Another half-smile while he played with the grounds in his cup. "Not married. Never have been."

"Why not?" she asked without guile; it was just a question.

"No one would have me, Patty," he attempted a grin but it seemed to freeze on his face.

"You're not asking the right girls, Bud," Patty whispered.

He called for the check; it gave him a reprieve. She went to the ladies' room. Time to think. She had all but said it. She wanted to know him better. She thought he was a good man. Would he be a good man for her? Did he want her? She was a sweet girl. Could he love her? She deserved a man to take care of her. Did he want to give her his life? She wouldn't get another man. Perhaps this was all he could expect from life. All he deserved.

"OK, Bud, I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

They drove to the Headquarters, parked and Bud helped her in. He ushered her to a waiting room and sat by her side, waiting for the call.

Rita sat in the room with Cherry and Jeanette. Suzie had refused to come; she was scared the guy would get out and somehow know she had been involved in fingering him. The two girls were in a terrible state; someone had to be there with them. Rita was fucked if some sick freak was making her lie awake at night. She lit up a cigarette and smoked calmly, watched the two girls shake and tremble, mascara-smudged faces, bitten-down nails. Mother Hen was not her scene. She was here. She wasn't about to hold them to her bosom and let them cry.

Rising from the wooden chair, she paced over to the window. Sun was shining. Not often she saw daylight, never mind the sun. Down below a busy car park. Guy helping a girl out of a car. With a thud of recognition, Rita saw Bud. My Bud. My baby. He was with a girl. Looked like she was injured or something, walking uneasy. Bud's arm around her, gentle and caring. Officer Bud. Doing his duty to protect the good citizens of this city. Rita closed her eyes, willed herself not to look at him. Opened them and he was gone. Closed them again and saw him, beautiful and clean, pure and innocent. Only man in this world could make her feel this way.

Bud slouched back against the wall of the viewing room. Five Joes all lined up. Mitchell seemed to stand out - no one looked that creepy - but the game was played. Other girls had picked him straight off, so it seemed. Patty walked along the window, straight-backed, stiff-legged, eyes fixed on the men before her. Bud wondered what she actually saw in her mind's eye.

"I'm...not sure...I never saw his face..." A tiny voice, awash with failure. The final insult - could she be responsible for letting this monster out on the streets again?

"Was there anything else about him that you remember?" The sergeant spoke calmly and with no emotion, the veteran of a thousand of such moments.

"His pants. Wait...his nails. His hands...I remember his hands..."

The sergeant leaned over to an intercom switch, flicked and spoke into the receiver, "Get them to raise their hands, palms face in."

Instruction given, the five men complied. Patty looked carefully and then gasped. A shudder ran through her, a taste of the grave. "Number Four."

"You sure, honey? Want a second look?"

"Number Four. Let me out of here."

"Good. That makes it unanimous." The sergeant grinned at Bud; no grin in return; Bud was focused on Patty.

Bud stepped forward - too late. Patty's legs folded; he barely managed to secure her before she crumpled to the floor. Hoisting her into his arms, he carried her through to the room beyond to sit her on the wooden seat and try to make her comfortable.

The sergeant followed him in. "You did real good, honey. Now you just remember what he looks like so you can pick him out on the stand."

Bud nodded. He knew, they both knew, that no one should have coached Patty that way. But no defense attorney was ever going to know. And both cops knew this case was going to hinge on Patty's identification. Might as well make it stronger.

He turned back to Patty and gave her a soft smile. Seeing in her eyes that she'd needed that touch of encouragement from him. White, no guilt if it meant the sick bastard she'd identified was convicted and fried in the electric chair.

"You OK, Patty? Can you walk?" She indicated yes with a slight movement of her head and he raised her, bracing her against his body as she staggered slightly. She needed longer but he wanted her out of there. The place itself was seeping through her.

Along the corridor. "Wait a minute, White. Miss Thomasino? Step this way a moment." Capt. Smith.

They were led into his office; Bud stepped back, Smith called him in. Inside, a delegation waiting for Patty. The two lead detectives in the Crisscross case. The District Attorney. Everyone dressed in their finest, looking sharp. Anxious to know they'd nailed the perp's identification so they could go in front of the cameras and announce to the press that the case was solved.

"We're very grateful for the help you have extended to the investigation, Miss Thomasino. We know full well how hard it had been in these circumstances for a young lady as yourself. I think we have our man but this is the testing time. Will you be prepared to testify against him?" District Attorney Bert Lowell asked her. His voice small and nasal; it grated on Bud and he hoped it didn't upset Patty to be in this situation with these men. "It will be a grueling experience. No detail will be spared. Most of it in open court. The defense will rake through your past. Old boyfriends. Things you might prefer forgotten. Have you the stomach for it? We need to know now before we build a whole case around you."

Bud could have choked the DA. Couldn't any of them see how this would affect someone like her? Couldn't they have given her some time to get over the shock of coming face to face with the man who'd nearly killed her?

Patty sat hands clenched, licking parched lips. "I thought there were other witnesses."

"They are...ladies of the night, as you might say. As corroboration they can be used but...any prosecution could break them down. They took men like him for a living. So it got out of hand. What did they expect? You are the stellar witness. Can you do it? Have you got the strength it will take?"

Patty looked at her feet. Bud placed a hand on her shoulder. She felt his touch like a warm sun lighting up the cold, wet soil. "I think so. I must. I couldn't live with the guilt if he hurt another girl."

"Good girl. We'll give you all the help you need. What are your plans, Patty? You need to stay where we can find you," Dudley told her, his warm Irish lilt making her relax a little.

"I'm going home for a while."

Smith nodded. "We'd prefer you to stay around for the next few days. DA's office will need to see you to begin preparing your testimony for court. Can you put off your plans? Have you somewhere safe to stay in LA?"

Patty frowned. 

"She's got somewhere to stay, Sir. She'll be fine." Bud heard his voice before he realized what he had said. Smith raised an eyebrow.

"Over and above the call of duty, White. Not always a good idea. Do you get my drift, boyo?"

"Yes, sir. But my free time's still my own...sir."

Their eyes locked. That hint of defiance again. Smith filed that away. Leave him for now. But he was different. Hard to own. But not impossible. The opportunity would come. One day White'll make a big mistake. That temper will decree it. I'll have him then.

"If you're sure then, lad. Miss Thomasino will be grateful for your support. City of Los Angeles, too."

Neither spoke until they were in the car and on the road. "Where are you taking me, Bud?"

"Home."

"Home? I don't wanna go back there..."

"I'll stay with you. Until you can go back to your folks."

Patty shook her head. "Take me where you live. Please."

Bud stared into the traffic, face set. "I only got one room. You need ...privacy."

Patty looked at him a sudden determination on her face; she laid her hand on his thigh. "We can be private, Bud. Together. Seems like you know all about me. I'd like to know all about you. Drive the memories away. You're the only man who can do that for me."

Bud covered her hand and pushed it gently away. "You don't want me. You just think you do. No, Patty. I want to help but not like this. Believe me, it wouldn't work. I'm not what you think."

She sighed and wrapped her hands around herself. "I can't go home, Bud. I will kill myself there."

He raised his eyes. "OK. My  place. But don't get the wrong idea, Patty. I'm not the answer. I'm just the last lifeboat. Someone to hang onto for a while."

He showed her in. He hadn't exaggerated. It could have been an apartment for rent; hardly any signs that life went on there. Not much more than an unmade bed, half empty bottle of whisky, few clothes in the closet.

"Not much. Not the kind of place a girl like you can live in."

"It will do fine. You got someplace I can shower? I feel dirty."

Bud showed her to the bathroom, winced at the state of it. She just grinned, suddenly feeling a grateful sense of normalcy wash over her. "Men, huh? Jeez my Mom always said they'd live like animals if we let 'em."

Bud smiled, too. "Where's your Mom?"

Patty's smile faded. "She died when I was ten. Dad got married a few months later. His girl was already in the family way. He knocked her up when Mom was in the hospital."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. Just the way it is. Hey, you got any food in this pit?"

Bud shook his head and grinned. "I eat on the move."

"OK, you go and buy us something you'd like to eat and I'll fix myself up and then fix us some dinner. Least I can do to pay my way. Oh and Bud? Buy some cleaning fluid and a cloth. Boy, have I got my work cut out here!"

She was showered and changed when he returned. No make-up, hair natural, wearing a blouse and a loose pair of woman's pants. She slipped seamlessly into nurture; cleaned up the small cooking area, lit the gas and started on a simple meal. He wondered at the instant change - his place felt like people lived there, smells of food cooking, clutter, a woman humming as she busied herself. She poured him a beer, he sat on a chair and watched. Easy to settle for this. Someone to come home to. Shelter from the storm.

After dinner, he could see that she was tired. They cleared up together, straightened up the bed, she excused herself and went to the bathroom to change. He drank a glass of Scotch and stared out of the window. Wondered if Rita was at the club yet. Had an urge to drive downtown.

"I think I'll turn in then, Bud. Are you tired?"

Tired? Always tired. But sleep was rarely the answer. "Not 'specially. I might just go out for a few hours. You OK with that?"

A pause. "Yeah sure, I'll be asleep in no time. You go see your friends. Have a drink, shoot some pool. I don't want to interfere with your life, Bud."

"I'll wait until you're asleep."

He turned off the light and stayed by the window, deep in thought. Her breathing settled and he knew she was asleep. Turning away he went into the bathroom, took a leak, looked at himself in the mirror. Too many late nights, too much booze, needed a shave, a shower. Pulling off his shirt and wife-beater, kicking off his shoes and dropping his pants, he leant forward to hit the taps.

"Please, no...don't hurt me...oh, my God...NO! NO!" Bud ran for the room and found Patty thrashing about in the throes of a nightmare. How many times had he been there? Not sure what to do, he acted on instinct; lay down beside her and held her in his arms. She gasped and tried to fight him; he spoke into her ear gently, hushing her, calming her fears, saying his name, calling hers. Her eyes flickered open and she began to breathe more easily.

"It's OK, baby. I've got you. You're safe with me." Patty curled up in his arms and drifted back to sleep. He lay there holding her.

They both slept like babies.

Light streamed in and woke him up. He didn't know where he was. His arms pulled the woman in his bed against him and he instinctively rubbed himself against her butt. Then realization dawned. He pulled away, his erection diminishing. Christ, he would scare the girl to death! Rolling on his back, he tried to gather his thoughts. He had not meant to sleep with her.

Too late. Patty stirred, turned and nestled back against his chest. Her hand flopped onto his lower belly across the waistband of his shorts. He tried to ease himself away. Fingers traveled down to lie across his groin. He felt the response and gritted his teeth to regain control. No chance.

Patty lay there quietly, passive, but her eyes were fixed on him. Large, brown, saucers. Bud looked at her. He saw trust, affection, hope. The early morning light washed over her; no wrinkles, no revelation of the illusion of last night's whisky-fuelled desire. A real, sweet girl in his bed, his for the taking, begging him to love her. Something pure, innocent, untainted by corruption and the world out there. A way back.

He rolled her back in his arms and bent to kiss her. She shivered as their lips met, but did not draw away. Bud played with her lips, kissed the upper and the lower, ran his tongue along the joint, asking her to let him in. Her lips parted; he entered and poured himself into the kiss, shutting out the memories, her face held in his hands. The taste of purity on his tongue.

Under his experienced hands, Patty's body began to respond. Her neck fell back and her back arched into him; he felt her legs part and encircle his. She ran her hands down his back and writhed against him as he ground into her. Pushing aside her demure yellow flower print pyjama jacket, he bent to nuzzle at her breasts; his eyes saw crosses, blood red and scabbed, some already oozing as his hands kneaded at her flesh. Revulsion gripped him. What was he doing? Taking this poor, mutilated kid because she was there and he needed somewhere to hide? What about tomorrow when she believed that he loved her or that she loved him?

No. He would not do it. He couldn't save himself but he would not bring her down with him. Patty wasn't what he wanted in his life. They would destroy each other. Just like his mother and father had done.

Throwing himself out of bed, he made as if to walk away. "What's the matter, Bud?"

"I need to take a piss."

"Don't you want me?" A plaintive cry. He closed his eyes and grimaced.

"You're a pretty girl, Patty."

"But you don't want me."

Bud turned round and stood before her, aware of her eyes scanning his torso, eyes widening at the sight of him.

"It's not about wanting, honey." He knelt down by the bed. "It's about what's right. You think I'm the good guy? I'm not. I'm just a guy. Off duty I'm a bum like all the others. I drink too much, I'm violent. I sleep around. I use whores. I do stuff I wouldn't dare tell you about. Patty, you're trying to make me into a saint so's you feel better. What you gonna do when you find out what I'm really like? I wanna help you. Don't make me feel like one day you'll look at me like that sick freak who hurt you. Let me help you but don't mix it up with love. You're not ready for love and me...don't think I'm capable of it."

"I'm not a virgin any more. Let me know what a real man feels like." Her voice was pleading, her arms outstretched, pulling him towards her.

He shook his head. "We do that, it changes everything. I won't, so don't ask me again. You're a nice girl. One day you'll find a nice boy and he'll love you. Then you'll be ready."

"You think so? Some special boy who'll love a girl with scars all over her? Is that why, Bud? Does it turn you off to see me naked?"

"We all got scars, honey. I ain't scared of them." But that wasn't true. He was scared of them. Couldn't even handle his own. Couldn't take the weight of this woman's burden. He wasn't strong enough.

A week later. The bus station. Patty tearful; Bud relieved. She had to go. It would have been easy to drift into a thing with her, get her pregnant, have to marry. Be like all the other guys - isn't that what he aspired to? Unhappy marriage, a few wayward kids, debts around his neck, taking a bit free from street whores who offered so that he would turn a blind eye. Little pieces of corruption seeping in. Accept a bribe or two here and there. Poker on Tuesday night. Nice old routine. Be a real detective. He'd rather be alone. Find something real or nothing. Maybe he would never make the grade.

"Thanks for everything, Bud. Without you...I'd be dead."

"Anytime you need anything, Patty, you know where I am. When the trial comes up, I'll be around. You've got my number." He handed her luggage to the driver and helped her up the stairs. At the top step, she turned and flung her arms round him. They kissed. Chaste, friendly, warm kiss.

"You're wrong, Bud. About yourself. About me. We could have found some love. You are the best," she whispered and pulled away. Slipped from his arms. Took her place by the window and smiled through her tears.

The bus pulled away. Bud stood, hands in pocket, watched her go. He strolled back to his car and hit the traffic.

A bar downtown. Bud took a stool, called for a shot and idly looked over the other patrons - a reflex by this point in his career.

"Hey, mister! Buy a girl a drink and I'll tell you my life story."

Bud looked at the woman who had settled on the stool beside him. Blonde, eyes blue but watery, hopeful and cautious all at the same time. Blue dress - color of her eyes - filled it well, good legs. Not bad. Must be thirty-five, wearing a ring but what the hell? She needs some company. I need some company. A warm body in the night.

"Sure, honey. Beats thinking 'bout my own."

"My name's Barbara.

"Bud White."

He gave her a soft smile that he knew always got to these women; knowing they would go over easy if he made just the smallest effort for them, kept up the pretence of romance.

"What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" They still fell for it; even those who knew the score. Everybody wants a warm body in the night.