After the lecture, Lee took the A train to the Bronx. The young desk sergeant nodded to him as he entered the Bronx Major Case Unit station house. An older policeman standing nearby with a clipboard made a joke, and the young sergeant laughed. Lee continued through the lobby, trying not to think they might be laughing at him. There was a bonhomie and camaraderie in the police force he had never really been part of. For one thing, he was a civilian, and had not attended the police academy. Plenty of other civilians worked for the NYPD, but his position as the only full-time profiler was unique. And then there was his educational and cultural background. Few New York City cops came from the kind of milieu he did, and fewer still had attended Princeton.
When he opened the door to Chuck's office, he was surprised to see Susan Morton sitting in the chair behind the desk.
"Hello, Lee," she said, smiling. "Long time, no see." She raised a finger to her mouth and smoothed away an imaginary smudge from her perfectly applied lipstick, then rose from the chair and swayed toward him, insinuation in the swing of her perfect hips. She moved with the sinuous grace of a large and dangerous jungle animal-a panther, perhaps. She was wearing a peach-colored Chanel suit, charcoal stockings, and black high heels. She looked like she was dressed for a board meeting.
"Where have you been keeping yourself?" she said, moving inappropriately close, looking up at him. Her eyes were oddly round-big and green and almost perfectly circular. Instead of finding this attractive, Lee now found it off-putting. He was reminded of the sad, big-eyed children in velvet paintings you might see in a tacky motel room.
"I'm working on a case with Chuck," he replied, careful to avoid eye contact with her.
"Yes, I heard about that," she purred. "What a terrible thing." From her tone of voice, she might have been talking about a bottle of overpriced wine or a stain on an expensive dress. "And you hurt yourself," she said, looking at his bandaged forearm.
"Yes," Lee said, moving carefully to the other side of the desk, putting it between the two of them. "I had an accident."
"Poor thing," she said. "Someone needs to kiss it and make it better."
"I was supposed to meet Chuck here-any idea where he is?"
She ran a finger slowly over the wooden desktop. It was suggestive, sexual, and Lee avoided the impression that he was watching her, though he couldn't entirely avoid it. She perched on the desk, her slim legs dangling back and forth. She was very lean-maybe even thinner than in college. Back then she had struggled with bulimia, and he imagined her weighing herself daily, measuring each gram of fat she ingested.
"I don't know where he is-they told me to wait in here," she said.
Lee glanced at his watch without registering what he saw. It was just something to do other than look at her. "It's good to see you," she said.
"Yes," he answered, pretending to search for something in his pockets.
"Do you ever think about the old times we had together?" she asked, sounding wistful. "I guess."
She twirled a strand of fat black pearls around her finger. He had no doubt they were real.
"Me too. Sometimes I think about them a lot."
Lee's hand closed around his cell phone in his pocket, and his heart gave a little leap-he saw his escape route.
"Excuse me," he said, heading for the door, "I have to make a phone call."
Sliding off the side of the desk, she blocked his way. "Why can't you make it in here?"
"I don't get good reception in here."
"Use Chuck's phone-I'm sure he won't mind."
He held his ground and looked down at her. "It's private."
Her face hardened. "Fine-have it your way," she snapped, stepping aside.
But as he reached for the doorknob, the door opened to reveal Chuck standing there.
"Sorry I kept you waiting," he said, brushing past Lee and into the room. "Oh-hello there," he said, seeing Susan.
"Hello yourself," she said, in her best Lauren Bacall voice.
"What brings you to the belly of the beast?" Chuck said, rifling through the papers on his desk, looking for something.
"Oh, does it have to be something in particular? Maybe I just miss my adorable, handsome husband," she replied, with a sidelong glance at Lee.
But Chuck continued his search, clearly preoccupied.
She watched him for a few moments, her face darkening, and then she said, "I can see you're busy. I don't want to interrupt you," in a voice that clearly indicated that was exactly what she wanted to do. "I can tell this isn't a good time."
But Chuck wasn't reading her signals. "Yeah-sorry about that," he said distractedly. "I'll see you tonight, okay?"
She stood there, hands at her sides, her thin body twitching with irritation-if she were a cat, Lee thought, she'd be flicking her tail. She was used to getting what she wanted, especially with men, and it must gall her no end to strike out twice in just a few minutes. She looked at Lee, displeasure that he saw her annoyance and knew what it was about showing on her perfectly painted face.
"Didn't you have a phone call to make?" she said, trying to sound solicitous, but it came out as a kind of snarl.
"It can wait," Lee replied cheerfully. Maybe he was enjoying her defeat a little too much, but he didn't care.
She examined her French-manicured nails. Then, seeing she had lost, she picked up her tiny red designer clutch bag and swished toward the door. "Fine," she said to Chuck in a tight voice. "See you tonight."
"Okay," Chuck mumbled, too involved in his search to notice her mood. Lee figured there would be hell to pay somewhere along the line-maybe for Chuck, maybe for him-but it was worth it to him to win even this small victory.
"You had something you wanted to show me?" Lee said after she had gone.
"Yeah," Chuck said, "some papers. I was sure I left them right here."
Lee had the unpleasant thought that Susan might have moved them, or even taken them, but he didn't suppose even she would do something like that. Chuck pressed a button on this intercom and said loudly, "Ruggles, can you come in here?"
The door opened to admit the sergeant, who stood meekly awaiting orders.
"Ruggles, did you see those papers I brought in earlier today?" Chuck asked.
Ruggles went over to the corner of the room, picked up a soft leather briefcase leaning against the wall, opened it, and pulled out a handful of papers.
"Is this what you're looking for, sir?" he asked. "I saw you stuff them in there before you were called away."
"Ah-well done!" Chuck crowed, taking them. "What would I do without you, Ruggles?"
"I expect you'd get along just fine, sir," Ruggles said modestly. "Will that be all, then?"
"Yes-thanks very much," Chuck said, and Ruggles disappeared as quietly as he had come.
"Amazing man," Chuck said, looking after him. "He's always there when you need him-sort of spooky, really."
"Like Judith Anderson in Rebecca-whenever Joan Fontaine looks up, she's standing there, but we never see her enter the room."
Morton smiled. "Well, Ruggles isn't that creepy, I hope."
"No," said Lee. "What was it you were going to show me?"
"This," Chuck replied, thrusting the papers at him.
It was an arrest record of one George Favreau, a Peeping Tom who had finally been caught stealing women's underwear from laundry lines.
"Could this be our guy?" Chuck asked.
Lee studied the arrest report. Favreau's escapades read more like a Ben Stiller comedy than the exploits of a serial killer.
According to his file, George Lamont Favreau was a
Peeping Tom who liked to steal women's underwear from laundry lines in his suburban Jersey neighborhood. He had the misfortune to be caught when a sprinkler system had gone off, frightening him so much that he tripped on it and sprained his ankle. The occupants of the house had spotted him writhing on their lawn and called the police. The man of the house held a.45 to his head while the police were on their way, frightening poor Favreau so much that he peed in his pants. To add to his humiliation, several pairs of women's panties were found tucked into his coat pockets, still damp from the laundry line. He was then linked to a series of underwear thefts when a search warrant revealed the missing items neatly folded in the bottom of his dresser drawer.
Lee handed the report back to Chuck. "It wouldn't hurt to interview him, I guess."
"But you don't think it's him."
"Not really."
Chuck looked disappointed. There was another knock on the door.
"Yes?" he said.
Sergeant Ruggles poked his head in.
"Detectives Butts and Krieger have just arrived, sir."
"Send them in," Morton said.
Chuck and Lee exchanged a look. He wasn't sure what Chuck was thinking, but Lee was thinking that at least they hadn't killed each other in the lobby.