Shirley Richards possessed that rare combination of beauty and brains that made the rival New York television stations green with envy. Her appeal to the viewing public had long since been recognized as a given.
Since her rise to co-anchor of Eyewitness News three years earlier, the ratings had soared for the, then, third place local news show. Women trusted her and looked to her for fashion trends, while men seemed to both accept her intelligence and secretly lust after her model good looks. She was a rising star. Whatever the formula for success, Shirley Richards spelled viewers for WSNY. She knew it. The station knew it.
Jake Manero, Shirley’s thirty-six-year-old producer, was slick, polished, handsome, charming, in short—diametrically opposite from Sydney Berry. However, the two men did have one thing in common. They were both in love with Shirley Richards.
Jake, a ladies’ man of legendary proportions, had scarcely looked at another woman in months. Shirley was aware of his attraction—of that he felt certain—but she had yet to show any reciprocal feelings at all. He sadly came to realize that she seemed to treat him as her best friend. He wanted more. He wanted much more.
In recent days, he had noticed a distance in her. She had lost something, some spark that set her apart from other reporters, a spark that set her apart from everyone. The gorgeous auburn hair was still there. The fabulous figure and features were all intact; but the sparkle was gone from her eyes.
As Jake watched her close the news program, he studied those eyes. The passion was missing. When she laughed, her eyes did not sell it. When she flashed anger, her eyes had no fire. As she walked toward him, he felt the urge to wrap his arms around her. He wanted to know where that fire had gone. Instead, mustering his most winning smile, he gushed, “Good show, sweetheart.”
“Bullshit, Jake—I stunk up the place and you know it,” she said despondently.
“Marino had three interceptions yesterday,” he chirped in. “Everyone has an off day every now and then.”
“Bear with me—I’ll come around. I’m just going through some rough water right now.”
“Is it this Butcher business?” Jake asked, concern evident on his face and in his voice.
She smiled, shrugging her shoulders. “Yeah, I picked a great time to lose my edge. The biggest story to hit the Big Apple in years, and I blow it.”
“Cheer up—today’s a new day.”
“If you think that Brian or Maria should cover it—at least until I get my legs back—I’ll understand.”
Jake could not suppress his disbelief in the fact that Shirley Richards was offering to give up the biggest story of her career, with absolutely no explanation. He suddenly decided to take a different approach with her. “I can’t believe the horseshit I’m hearing. Shirl, this is your story. You’re the only reporter on this thing who will put the pressure on that tight-lipped, anal-retentive, smug Lieutenant Berry. You are the only one who will stand toe-to-toe with the guy.”
Her expression told Jake that he had struck a very sensitive nerve. That only egged him on. “Shirley, the people have a right to know—and we have an obligation to deliver. Berry has his way with these other wimps, so you have to stay after him. If not you, then who?”
“He has a very good reason for keeping things from us,” she answered weakly. “If showing us all his cards will jeopardize the case, then—”
“Sweetheart,” Jake interrupted, “where’s the tunnel vision that got you where you are today? It’s Berry’s job to stonewall you, and it’s your job to dig, dig, and dig some more. Berry respects that.”
She stared intently at her producer and close friend, trying to explain her reasoning. “He’s a good man, Jake. He’s torn up about this case, and I do not enjoy turning the screws any tighter.” She looked at the ground, her voice lowering considerably. “Not on this one.”
Jake began to sense something he didn’t like. “Berry seems like a cold fish to me. He has an irritating tendency to climb up on his high horse.”
“You try handling twenty pushy reporters, fresh from witnessing, first hand, the sickening work of this monster.”
Jake squinted suspiciously at her. “Very defensive about the good lieutenant, aren’t you?”
“You can stop with the grade school psychology, Jake,” she said, blushing noticeably. “I have simply chosen to give Lieutenant Berry and his department a little breathing room.” She set her jaw. “If that’s a problem, I strongly suggest that you do send someone else to cover the story.”
“There’s a little of that fire I’ve missed seeing in you,” Jake said, smiling uneasily. “Hell, you know I trust your judgment. You play it any way you see fit.”
Her features softened considerably. “Thanks, Jake—I promise you that I’ll give it the attention that it deserves.” A determined look came across her face. “I plan on burying myself in this case.”
“I never doubted you for a second,” he said, bending over and planting a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Now, why don’t we go back to my place, get naked in the hot tub and give each other full body massages? I’ll do your back and you do my front.”
“Your heart couldn’t take it, stud,” she said, laughing sweetly. “I’d ruin you for all other women.”
Jake chuckled lightly at the typical rebuttal by the woman of his dreams. She always held him at arm’s length, never allowing him to get as close as he would like. His eyes betrayed the sadness behind his laugh. “Yes, Ms. Richards, I do believe you’d ruin me for anyone else.” He sighed, turned to leave, then suddenly stopped and faced her once again. “But I guess we’ll never know, will we?” Not waiting for a reply, he shrugged his shoulders, shook his head sadly, and walked away.
Shirley went to her dressing room, then closed the door. She sat at the dressing table staring into the mirror, thinking. She knew Jake was crazy about her. He had never professed it in words, but it was obvious how he felt. Most people would take one look at the two of them together, pronouncing them a perfect couple. He was gorgeous, kind and funny—a real dream of a guy—no question about it. The chemistry was just not there—at least not for her.
Feeling the blood rising to her face, she once again thought of Sydney. He had a slightly receding hairline, the beginnings of a pot-belly, and the fashion sense of an aluminum siding salesman. His idea of a good date was a movie and a burger. His drink of choice was beer from a bottle. What was it about the man that captivated her? Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? her mind asked.
She smiled, picturing him. Those baby blue eyes, the way they easily watered when he laughed, tears literally streaming down his face as he watched Curly, Moe and Larry—or the Marx Brothers. He was simple and honest, pretense not part of his makeup.
She felt her body respond in other ways, as she felt the urge to run to him. Her decision to back off until this damn case was solved had been a sound one. She had to keep reassuring herself of that fact. For the first time in her life, she realized that absence really did make the heart grow fonder.
She shook her head roughly, mentally tugging herself from the sentimental yearnings. She had a job to do. She owed it to her station and audience to put her private life on hold, at least until the case was solved. She only prayed that Sydney would let her make it up to him afterward.
◆ ◆ ◆
It was quiet in the task force conference room. Sydney often went there to sit and think. The bulletin board, adorned with the smiling faces of the slaughtered women, stood in the room, a source of strength. Their eyes haunted him. That was why he insisted on posting photos of the victims in all their previous glory. He refused to display morgue or crime scene photos of the women, opting instead to show them with their vibrant beauty, open vitality, and stolen youth. Nothing angered Sydney more than to watch cops ogle some gruesome photo board, like so many seen hanging in precincts all over the city.
Sydney had to fuel the fire in his belly by continually humanizing the victims, staring into their eyes, imagining them as little girls, visualizing them going to their senior proms. He sometimes felt that they were returning his stare, their eyes burning holes through him to his core.
His thoughts and introspection were interrupted by Ellis, who had entered the room without Sydney even being aware. “Hey, Syd, you alright, man?”
Sydney looked up, startled slightly. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”
“I’m gonna do some research at some of the other precincts this afternoon. I’m going back a few years, look at any unsolved homicides that bear any resemblance to these.”
“What’s the angle?”
“I’m mainly concerned with the Reed connection. He was born and raised in Queens, so who’s to say that these murders would be his first?”
“Good idea—just be sure to stonewall anyone who asks what you’re looking for.” He once again stared at the bulletin board, his eyes betraying signs of depression and defeat, two characteristics that Ellis had rarely seen in him.
“Man, you look like shit,” Ellis stated flatly. “How much sleep are you getting?”
“Enough,” Sydney answered defensively.
“Getting an ulcer ain’t gonna catch this guy any quicker.”
Sydney looked at him skeptically. “And I suppose that if I called Selina right now, she’d tell me that you’ve been your usual jolly self lately?”
“She has made a few comments about a change in my disposition,” Ellis said, smiling, “but I have this stupid diet to fall back on. When I ain’t eating, Selina and the kids steer clear of me anyway.”
“What about Warren? Any trouble on his homefront?”
Ellis laughed, striking the table with his open palm. “Are you pulling my freaking chain? That bozo could be lined up against a freaking brick wall, a firing squad lining him up in their sights, and he would probably take a cat nap between ‘Aim’ and ‘Fire.’ Hell, if you told him there was a bomb in the building, he would pick up his coat on the way out the door.”
Sydney nodded, laughing. After a short pause, he glanced up at Ellis, his face once again becoming serious. “I’m not sure when it actually happened, but I think that somewhere along the line, I began to lose my objectivity with this case.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t surprised that the weekend passed quietly. I realized this morning that I never expected to see a fifth victim go down.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I must’ve mentally decided that the sheep were okay because the wolf was out of town.”
“What wolf would that be, Lieutenant?” a very familiar voice asked from the open conference door, shocking both Sydney and Ellis.
Sydney turned, facing Shirley Richards. “I suppose knocking has gone out of style?”
“The desk sergeant was busy, so I came on back. I heard the two of you in here laughing, so I was hoping I could attribute your good humor to a break in the case.”
Her attitude angered Sydney. “My, aren’t we feisty this afternoon, Ms. Richards. Me and Sergeant Moore were just standing around telling serial killer jokes on the taxpayers’ dime—that is—until you went and caught us.” He glanced at Ellis. “Would you excuse us, Sergeant—I believe Ms. Richards is here on official business.” Ellis nodded and left the room.
Sydney pointed to the chair across from his. “Have a seat if you’d like.”
She sat, frowning. “I was really hoping that our not being together right now wouldn’t adversely affect our working relationship.”
“It hasn’t—at least as far as I’m concerned.”
“Then how would you explain your attitude toward me just a moment ago, in front of your buddy?”
“I handled you exactly how I would handle any reporter who came into a room uninvited, making smartass remarks about something she knew absolutely nothing about.”
Shirley shook her head stubbornly. “Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it—fine. I explained my reasons for pulling back from our relationship—why I felt that I had to. You know that it wasn’t what I wanted. You know how hard it was for me to do. If you want to play the pompous ass, then go for it. Knock yourself out.”
Sydney glared at her, hurt and bitterness etched on his face. “You deal with pain your way, I’ll deal with it the only way I know how. I assume that you are here to discuss these nasty unsolved homicides we are currently experiencing?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
Shirley, deeply hurt by Sydney’s cold tone, softly replied, “This is one side of you I’ve never seen before. It is far from flattering.”
“You didn’t answer me,” he said, ignoring her criticism. “Are you here to discuss the case? I really need to get back to work, so let’s wrap this up.”
“Yes, I am,” she said, giving up. “You can start by telling me about this wolf who is out of town.”
“I believe I informed the members of the press that I would be giving periodic briefings, as I deemed necessary. Frankly, I’m a little surprised you’re here, your ethics being of utmost importance to you… as I recall. I could not, in good conscience, discuss this case with you under these circumstances.”
“Are you enjoying yourself,” she asked quietly.
Sydney’s eyes betrayed the sadness in his heart. “Not in the least, lady. You really don’t know me at all if you even have to ask that.”
“Sydney, let’s cut the bullshit. I saw your face the other night—you were lying through your teeth. You have a suspect… and we both know it. Is he the wolf that’s out of town?”
“Sorry, Ms. Richards,” Sydney answered coolly, “you are mistaken.”
She shook her head, frowning defiantly. “I don’t expect you to tell me about it, but you cannot keep the press and the city totally in the dark. People are terrified. You have to give them something… anything, to show that progress is being made.”
“We sleep together a few times, so now you can read my mind?”
A single tear rolled from the corner of her eye. She wiped it away roughly. “You’re just trying to hurt me. You know damn good and well that what we have is much more than just sexual.”
“Don’t you mean what we had?” he asked somberly.
“I like to think that the closeness we’ve shared has given me a greater understanding of you.”
“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, Karnak, but you are wrong this time,” Sydney replied quietly.
“I don’t think so, sweetheart. And I must say that the reporter in me is dying to know what could be so off limits.”
“If I am keeping something to myself as you say, then don’t I deserve the benefit of the doubt as to why? If you know me so well, then I would hope you trust my judgment.”
Shirley looked at him with warmth, compassion and confusion. “You’re asking me to choose between my obligation as a journalist… and my heart?”
“No, I’m simply asking you to trust me,” Sydney said glumly. “Can you do that, Shirl?”
Shirley rose and walked toward the door. Sydney stood, accompanying her. She stopped him as he reached for the doorknob. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks,” he said, smiling wanly, “I feel like hell. You, on the other hand, look like a million bucks.”
“You should try sleeping at night,” she said softly.
“I’ll give it a shot,” Sydney said, touched by her concern. He felt the need to grab her, squeeze her, beg her to stop all this maddening nonsense. Instead, he reached up, lightly touching her cheek. “I’ll see you later, Ms. Richards.”
She rubbed her cheek against the hand, her eyes closing in pleasure. She then took the hand, tenderly kissing the knuckles. “Take care of yourself, Lieutenant.”
She walked out, leaving him to his thoughts and fantasies. Her perfume hung in the air like an intoxicating fog. Sydney allowed himself the pleasure of savoring it, his mind a spinning reel of memories.