The Novelist

*Dum dum da*

NYPD OFFICE
ONE WEEK LATER

Goren plopped himself down in his chair across from Eames. Other than Sanderson, Landers hadn’t didn’t seem to have had any trouble with anyone, ever. Sanderson obviously hadn’t killed him, not that she was ever even a real suspect. She and her neighbour had been completely shocked to hear that he’d been murdered. Goren had been around enough to know when someone was lying to him and just the look of horror on Maggie’s face had told him that she’d had nothing to do with it. The DNA tests hadn’t turned up much that they could use, although they’d found a partial set of prints on the typewriter.

To make matters worse, a second writer had been killed yesterday. Jenn Delmarr was a freelance literary critic for the Times and had been found in her apartment, strangled to death with the cord from her computer mouse. She’d been attacked from behind, just like Landers, and the letters M and D were displayed in a size twelve Times New Roman font in a new document on her screen. The media was having a field day with it; all of the local papers were featuring stupid articles with phrases like “the pen is mightier than the sword.”

Goren had spent all morning canvassing Delmarr’s neighbours to see if he could learn anything. The only piece of information he’d found that might be even slightly useful was the fact that Delmarr’s next door neighbours swore that they’d seen her boyfriend go into her place at about 6:00pm the night she was killed. The only problem with that was the fact that her boyfriend had been at work at that time and had five other people to vouch for him.

This killer was good; Goren and Eames had nothing.

Goren took his jacket off and hung it over the back of his chair. This past week had really sucked. Eames had teased him the whole way home about how Maggie had made him blush.

“You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you, Bobby?” Eames said in a low voice as she hung up her phone. He hadn’t really noticed that she’d been talking to anyone.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said. “It’s nothing.” He knew Alex was trying to help; she’d been encouraging him to try dating more, but he wasn’t really into it. Sometimes it seemed like the only women who wanted to date a homicide cop were the weird ones who were into death or the silly ones who had some Hollywood-ish romantic notions that cops led sexy, adventurous lives and made a lot of money.

He couldn’t help it if he thought of Maggie’s cheery kitchen and pretty laugh every night he returned to his lonely apartment. He’d looked at her autograph in the front of his copy of her book more times than he’d care to admit, but he liked the swooping curves of her signature.

“There’s nothing wrong with thinking about a beautiful, smart woman, Bobby,” Eames chided. “You know what your problem is?” she said, leaning forward as far as her desk would let her.

“Oh hell, what?” he said, immediately thinking about how odd everyone seemed to think he was... not to mention the fact that his dad was a psycho and his mother was losing her mind...

“Your problem is that you date stupid women. I don’t know how you attract these dumb girls, but you seriously need to spend time with some smarter ones.” She raised an eyebrow at him and he winced a little. “You should take her to lunch,” Eames went on.

Goren rolled his eyes. “Look, I don’t even know her. I can’t just call her up... she’d think it was weird. Besides, she might call the captain to complain that I’m sexually harassing her or something... and y’know... she’s not really in my league...”

Eames sat back and blinked at him. “Not in your league?” she asked, confused. “You’re a good-looking guy with a good job and she’s a good-looking gal with a good job. You’re a great cook and she obviously likes to bake. You’re a neat-freak and her house was tidy. You’re allergic to cats and she has a dog. Where’s the problem?”

“How am I supposed to impress a girl like that on a cop’s salary?” Goren mumbled leaning his chair back on two legs to stretch. He rubbed his bare chin; he’d shaved everyday for a week and was beginning to feel a bit like his partner’s science project.

Eames sighed and twitched an eyebrow upward. “Bobby,” she said, gently, “what a woman likes and needs might really surprise you. I’d give you a course on it, but you don’t have time for it right now; she’s waiting for you downstairs in the lobby.”

The front legs of Goren’s chair hit the floor. “What?” he said. “Who?”

“Maggie,” Eames smiled. “She called this morning, wanting to talk to us.” She checked her watch. “She should be there now.”

Goren walked into the busy NYPD lobby. Eames had refused to come down with him and he felt like she’d thrown him to the wolves. Maggie was sitting in a corner with a small notebook open and was scribbling away in it, pausing occasionally to look up at the crack addicts, prostitutes, and handcuffed gang members that the patrol cops kept dragging in every few minutes. He caught her looking at a lawyer with a particularly loud voice and matching jacket, then looking back to her book to make notes.

“I guess that’s what makes her such a great writer,” he thought. “She’s a hardcore people watcher.”

Goren made his way through the crowd toward her. His size meant that people got out of his way and he didn’t have to go around them. She stood as he approached and tucked her book and pen into a satchel that hung over her shoulder. Goren thought that she looked kind of serious.

“Hi,” he said, over the noise of the crowd. “Were you waiting long?”

“Not really,” she said, as she shook his hand. It engulfed hers like it had before. She noticed this time that he stooped a little like a lot of tall people did in an effort to fit in. “It’s an interesting place in here,” she said.

Goren snorted, “You have no idea. Anyway, Eames said you called?”

“Um, yeah,” she nodded. “Is there anywhere we can go?” She bit her lower lip nervously.

“Yeah, sure,” Goren nodded.