Catherine tried to absorb the realities of Rebeccas life, wondering if she would ever truly be able to understand it. Who but another cop could appreciate the soul-numbing inhumanity that was an everyday occurrence in the world Rebecca inhabited. She would try, and she was determined not to allow Rebecca to shut her out.

Catherine started to rise. "Let me get you some coffee."

Rebecca restrained her, pushing her gently down. "I dont want you to get up. I want you to stay here, so I can think of you like this until I see you again."

Catherine wrapped her arms around Rebeccas neck, kissing her tenderly. "All right," she replied huskily.

She lay in the dark, listening to Rebecca move about in the other room. She didnt sleep again until long after the outer door clicked shut.

Chapter Thirteen

Rebecca cruised slowly through the tenderloin, that part of town frequented by prostitutes and the men who sought their company, drug dealers, street people, and others society had cast out or forgotten. The prostitutes in their crotch high skirts and revealing tops leaned against buildings or strolled languidly through the litter-strewn streets. Many she recognized by sight, more than a few by name. Arresting them was not her goal--they were no more criminals than the hungry who stole for food. When citizens of the surrounding gentrified areas complained that the undesirable activity was encroaching on their neighborhoods, the cops would round up some of the girls, knowing full well they would be back on the streets in hours. All the participants knew it was a futile gesture. Rebecca chose instead to keep an eye out for new faces, especially the very young, hoping to get to a few before the streets became a way of life. Occasionally she succeeded.

She pulled over in front of a bar which sported a flashing neon sign reading, `GirlsLive Nude Girls. She wondered absently if anyone besides her found that sign absurd. It wasnt the bar she was interested in, but the thin blond woman in front of it. She was about five-five, heavily made up, with an expanse of leg showing that left little to the imagination. Her hair was bleached, in a punk cut, and she kept one eye on the cars cruising by as she talked with several other women. When she saw Rebecca climb out of her car, her face twisted into a frown.

"Hiya, Sandy," Rebecca said softly as she approached. The others in the group began to drift quickly away.

"Jesus, Frye," the girl hissed, looking quickly over her shoulder. "What are you trying to do to me? Ill be poison to every john on the street tonight!"

"So you can get a good nights sleep then," Rebecca said, turning so her back was to the bar, keeping a watchful eye on the street. She was alone, and it was no secret she was a cop. "I need to talk to you."

"Is that all?" Sandy said with contempt. Shed had too much experience with cops who wanted more than just information to trust any of them.

Rebecca met her angry gaze evenly. "Thats all right now."

"I dont have much choice, do I?"

"No, you dont."

"Can we talk inside? Youre killing my business out here."

Rebecca nodded and followed the girl into the dark bar, taking a table well away from the small platform where a woman did a tired bump and grind for the few patrons. Sandy signaled for a drink. Rebecca put a twenty on the table.

"So, what do you need, `Officer," Sandy asked in a bored voice.

"Two cops were killed the day before yesterday. What do you hear about it?"

Sandy sipped her drink and regarded Rebecca coolly. She didnt actually dislike the big cop; in fact, Rebecca was one of the few cops who didnt harass the working girls. Shed even let Sandy out of the police van one night after a raid rather than bring her downtown for the empty charade of booking. Still, Sandy didnt want her to get the idea she was some kind of stoolie. And it didnt help her reputation any to appear too chummy with the cops. There was something different about the tall, blond detective tonight, though. She seemed almost human, like she had feelings.Youre losing it, girl -- cops with feelings!

"Theres nothing going down that Ive heard," she said finally, which was pretty much true. Theyd all heard about it, of course. Usually when something like that happened it brought the whole force down on them, like they were the source of all the citys problems. Maybe this cop was just the first of many.

"What about the chicken trade? Any new faces in town?"

Sandy snorted in disgust. She hated the child procurers and pornographers as much as she hated the pushers. Like most of her friends, she stayed clear of them.

"Since that big bust six months ago, its been quiet. I heard there might be a new house open somewhere in a very ritzy location, but it isnt down here."

"Whos running it?" Rebecca asked nonchalantly, hiding her surprise at the information. She had been instrumental in cleaning out half a dozen establishments supplying children for all types of amusement in the city-wide crackdown Sandy referred to. If they were up and running again, there had to be big money behind it. Could that have been what Carmichael was on to?

"No one knows, and thats the truth. Theres more than a few people whod like to find out."

"Yeah," Rebecca muttered. "Where theres kids, theres money." She looked at the young woman before her, already cynical and hardened against life. There was nothing Rebecca could do to change her future, but maybe she could make a difference with a few of the really young ones. She pushed back her chair, leaving another twenty with the change on the table. "Thanks, Sandy. Keep your ears open--Ill be back."

"Hey, Frye," Sandy called. "Who were the cops who got it?"

"Just cops."

Chapter Fourteen

Rebecca was still in the car as the sun came up. She stopped at an all-night diner for breakfast before a quick detour to her apartment to shower and change clothes. The traffic was light, and her mind wandered, returning unbidden to memories of the previous night. Just recalling the sound of Catherines voice brought heat to her blood. Images of Catherine, wanton and passionate, threatened to unhinge her. Being with Catherine was at once the most comfortable and exciting experience shed ever had. It was more than she had ever dreamed, and easily the most frightening. Rebecca was relieved when the station house appeared, and she pulled into the lot on squealing tires. Work was just what she needed to put Catherine Rawlings in perspective.

It was too early for the day shift to arrive, and she walked unnoticed through the quiet halls. When she pushed open the ready room door she was astonished to see Watts at his desk with a half-eaten pizza in front of him. She wasnt certain, but she thought he was wearing the same suit as the day before. He was the only one in the room.

He glanced her way, grunting a greeting as he reached for another slice of the now congealed pizza.

"I was just going to call you, Frye," he said around a mouthful of bread and cheese.

"Whats so important at five-thirty in the morning?" Rebecca commented, not really caring what Watts had to say. She couldnt stand to see him sitting in Jeffs chair. She noticed a stack of folders beside the desk -- their open case files. Could Watts actually be working?

"Thought you might like to read the morning paper," he said, tossing the early bird edition onto her desk. He went back to eating, munching the cold crust, his face expressionless.

"What the hell!" Rebecca exploded as she glanced at the headlines. "Riverside Rape Witness Found!" She stared at him in astonishment, and he shook his head grimly.

"Read it. Its very interesting."

She began to read aloud, her voice tight and angry. "Sources reveal that a witness to the brutal rape of a college student on the River Drive last week may have been found." What followed was a sensationalized review of the previous two assaults, but it was the last paragraph which caused Rebecca to clench her fists in frustration. "Dr. Catherine Rawlings, a noted psychiatrist at University declined comment, but unnamed sources confirm her involvement with a patient who witnessed the most recent attack. The patients name has not yet been released, nor has a description of the assailant been made public." The article finished with an indictment of the police for failing to keep the public informed.

"Jesus Christ," Rebecca cursed, tossing the paper aside. "I cantbelievethe asshole put Catherines name in the paper! He might as well have put Janet Ryans in, too. Well need to tighten security down there today. Catherine didnt want us to put a guard on the girl, but well have to now."

This kind of media reporting only made their jobs more difficult. It engendered public distrust, and in this case could very well endanger the investigation. It might prompt the rapist to change his pattern, or stop temporarily, leaving them in the void. He might move to another city altogether. It was even possible he might try to silence Janet Ryan, now that he knew where she was.

"Looks like somebody talked," Watts remarked with disgust. "Probably the shrink."

"It wasnt her," Rebecca stated flatly, knowing that Catherine would never endanger Janet Ryan.

"She knows almost as much as we do," Watts continued unperturbed, fingering the reports in front of him. "Shes been present every time youve talked to the Ryan kid"

"I told you, Watts -- it wasnt her. Now let it drop!" Rebecca barked. Her patience was exhausted, and she felt fatigue settle around her like a cloak. "Go find the little twerp from the Daily and shake it out of him after morning report," she said, slowly standing up. "Im going home."

Watts wasnt convinced, but he knew better than to provoke her further. He didnt ask her anything else.

Chapter Fifteen

Catherine finished her second cup of coffee and glanced up at the cafeteria clock. It was 7:15. Residents and students were beginning to gather in tired clumps to discuss the nights events and the days demands over breakfast. She was one of the few staff present at such an hour. The real business of the hospital wouldnt begin until the outpatient clinics began at 8:30. Catherine had come early for one specific reason -- to intercept Hazel Holcomb before the Chief of Psychiatrys busy schedule made her inaccessible for the day. Catherine saw the familiar figure moving through the coffee line at precisely 7:30, carrying a coffee and danish as she had each morning for the fifteen years that Catherine had known her. She was nearing sixty, and her age showed only in the grey of her hair and a slight thickening of her body. Her brisk step and quick piercing gaze were as youthful as ever.

Hazel Holcombs face registered faint surprise when she saw Catherine beckoning to her from across the room. As she settled into the chair across from her colleague, she said, "I dont suppose this is just a pleasant coincidence, is it?"

Catherine flushed in embarrassment. She always meant to call Hazel just to chat, or perhaps have dinner, but her schedule never seemed to leave time for it. Hazel had been her supervisor when she was a resident, and they had since become friends. Perhaps more than anyone else she knew, Catherine valued Hazels opinion. She had the ability to provide insight without judgment, and the wisdom to hold her counsel until the patient --or friend -- was ready to accept it.

"No, it isnt," Catherine responded. "I have a professional problem I wanted to discuss with you. Do you mind me interrupting your breakfast time?" Catherine knew that this was probably one of the few private moments Hazel would have all day.

"Your company is always a pleasure, Catherine," the chief of psychiatry replied. "Tell me about your problem."

Catherine relayed the details of Janet Ryans involvement with the recent assaults and the amnesia that followed.

"Im not sure how hard I should be trying to reverse her amnesia," Catherine stated. "Obviously, its vital to know exactly what she witnessed. Its critical to the police investigation. On the other hand, I have to think of Janets psyche first. She is a sexual abuse victim herself. Her brother repeatedly raped her throughout her childhood. Im certain that the shock of witnessing the assault this week triggered many old terrors for her."

"Enough to account for the amnesia?" Hazel asked, dunking the corner of her cheese danish into the steamy black coffee.

Catherine shrugged. "The beating she took by itself may account for the amnesia --but shes beginning to have flashbacks from her early childhood. Previously unremembered episodes of abuse. That is a result of witnessing the rape, Im sure."