Chapter Thirteen. "I can't believe you hung out here over the weekend," Leslie said

"I can't believe you hung out here over the weekend," Leslie said.

"Why not? I'm the only one without a life," Casey said as she pulled into a parking space.

"It's not like I was doing anything exciting. You could have called me."

"No sense in both of us driving around until midnight. Besides, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary."

"And there were no Peeping Tom calls from this area."

"So there you go. A wasted weekend stakeout." Casey stretched her legs out and tried to get comfortable. It would be a long three hours. That was the plan, anyway. She and Leslie would take Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Hunter and Sikes would take Tuesday and Thursday. They would decide weekends later, but Casey wouldn't mind volunteering. Like she'd said, she was the only one without a life, even though it was boring as hell over the weekend by herself.

Leslie unfolded the spreadsheet she'd brought along, then pointed her small penlight at it. "Did you do Brookhaven?" she asked.

"Yeah, but it requires walking. The parking lot is away from the building. But the interior common area opens up to all the ground floor units."

"Sliding door patios?"

"Yeah. Brookhaven is one of the most accessible. We can go there next."

"We thought Creekside would be tough," she reminded her. "Did you check it out?"

"Yeah. Ground floor units, but they all have tiny privacy fences around the patios, so you can't see in. And all the front doors face the opposite building. I don't think our guy is going to target Creekside."

"And I'm sure you did Twin Peaks," she said with a smile.

"I did. And I don't think our guy will choose a Friday or Saturday night for his business. There's just way too much activity. He would have a hard time sneaking around. Not to mention, most people are out on Friday and Saturday nights."

"The first murder was on a Monday night, the second on a Sunday."

"Yes, the two quietest nights. Yet most of our Peeping Tom calls have been on Wednesdays and Thursdays."

Leslie folded up the spreadsheet and put it aside. "Maybe that's when he's doing his surveillance. And it's just going to be a matter if we luck upon him."

"Afraid so."

They were quiet and Casey let her eyes slip closed for a second. She was tired. She'd been out until midnight the last two nights cruising around the apartments. By the time she'd gotten home and taken time to unwind, it'd been nearly two before she crawled into bed. Unfortunately, her internal clock had her wide awake by five thirty, the normal time she got up.

"I really enjoyed dinner with you guys the other night," Leslie said after a while.

Casey opened her eyes and rolled her head along the seat. "Yeah? Good."

Their eyes met for a moment. "You're exhausted."

Casey nodded. She was too tired to lie. "Yeah, not a lot of sleep this weekend."

"You surely didn't patrol around here all night, did you?"

"No. Just until about midnight." She sighed. "I've got the habit of...well, to unwind, I sit out on my deck in the dark and watch the lake, and just enjoy the quiet and all." She closed her eyes again. "And maybe a couple of glasses of wine."

"That's your ritual? Before bed, you sit outside in the dark?" She leaned back against the seat. "I think that sounds wonderful."

Casey smiled. "Yeah. Being on the lake reminds me of happier times," she said quietly. "My grandfather had a place out on Lake Fork. When I was younger, we used to go out there."

"But to hear you tell it, you have no family. I think you chose the no option on siblings."

"Is this your subtle way of fishing for information?"

"Is it working?"

Casey straightened up in her seat and rubbed her face. "I guess we should talk or I might fall asleep on you." She cleared her throat. "What do you want to know?"

"You already told me your mother is in California and you're not close, but you drew the line when I mentioned siblings."

"I did, didn't I?" She tapped the steering wheel absently, her mind flashing back over the years, snippets of events and conversations running by at lightning speed. She'd told Tori and Sam about her life. Before that, she hadn't really told anyone, not the whole story anyway. It was still a painful memory, but not talking about it wouldn't make it go away. She felt warm fingers caress her forearm before squeezing. She glanced over at Leslie, wondering why her touch caused her heart to quicken its pace.

"I don't want to pry, Casey. If it's something you'd rather not talk about, then tell me to mind my own business and we'll move on to lighter topics."

She met Leslie's eyes in the shadows, surprised by the gentle concern she saw there. She waited, feeling an odd sense of loss as Leslie's fingers slipped away from her. "I have a brother," she said. She sighed again, feeling how heavy it was. "He's ten years older than I am." She swallowed, trying to get the lump out of her throat. "And we were very close at one time." She reached for the binoculars, watching a man walking his dog. She lowered them again and smiled. "I saw that guy last night too." She drummed her fingers on her leg, wondering where to start with her story. "I had a pretty crappy childhood," she finally said. "My parents hated each other. They fought constantly. Hitting, screaming, fighting. All the time." She glanced at Leslie. "I thought that was what married life was all about, you know. I just thought everybody's parents did that."

"Your brother was still home?"

"Until I was eight. He and three buddies got an apartment when they went to college. He just went up to Denton, so close enough to home. Anyway, it got worse when Ryan left. He was a big guy. He was a buffer."

"Why did they stay together?"

"Oh, they split up once, when Ryan was young. But they got back together." She pointed at herself. "I'm the result of that wild night. I'm pretty sure that's the last time they slept together," she said with a laugh. "It was all so weird, you know. During the week, it was holy hell with them, but every Sunday morning we'd get all dressed up and head to Mass. And Sundays were always the best days. It was like they called a truce on Sundays. But that ended too. And the divorce was nasty. Restraining orders and accusations and more fighting. And in the end, the judge awarded custody to my mother and my father was not allowed visitation because of the alleged abuse."

"I'm so sorry," Leslie said. "When you said painful, I had no idea."

"I'm not even at the painful part, Les. That happened as an adult."

"I don't understand."

"My father never hit me. He hit my mother a few times, but the way they would go at it, I can't really blame him. I mean, she used to beat the hell out of him."

"Would you have rather gone with your father?"

Casey shook her head. "I loved and loathed them both equally. That wasn't really an issue. And anyway, Ryan would come get me on the weekends--most weekends--and take me to Lake Fork and we'd stay with my grandfather. That was the only time I felt normal, you know. There wasn't any fighting. There were no conflicts. I was just hanging out with my big brother. And even when he got married, he still came and got me. I was fourteen then, I think. Anyway, he had a couple of kids and I was Aunt Casey, and even that was normal. And he helped me get into college, helped me out with money, let me stay with them some. By this time, my mother had moved. She moved that summer right after I graduated high school, so it was really just us. His family and me."

"But you had a falling out," Leslie guessed.

"I guess you could call it that." Casey gripped the steering wheel, flexing her fists as she squeezed. "Their daughter, Erica, she just thought I hung the moon. She wanted to hang with me, no matter what. And when I became a cop, she thought that was so cool," Casey said with a quiet laugh. "Yeah." She wasn't surprised this time when Leslie's hand found her arm and gave a comforting squeeze. Leslie was affectionate. She liked that about her. "Erica was such a little tomboy. And she wanted to be just like Aunt Casey. She wanted to be a cop, just like Aunt Casey. And that's when my brother freaked. Because being just like Aunt Casey meant being gay. And even though both he and his wife were always accepting of me, apparently they drew the line at their daughter." Casey turned, glancing at Leslie who sat quietly watching her. "He very politely, but firmly, forbid me to come around anymore."

"You have got to be kidding?"

"Erica was twelve. I was twenty-seven." Casey tilted her head. "I was devastated."

"I take it your father was already gone?"

"Yeah. He died only a few years after they split. Dropped dead of a heart attack one day. But yeah, it was just me and my brother. So I went to see my grandfather. I mean, he was getting on in years, but I thought we were close, I thought he could maybe talk some sense into Ryan." She took a deep breath. "No. He agreed with Ryan. Erica had potential, he said. They didn't want me bringing her down."

"God, I am so sorry, Casey."

"So when you ask me if I have family, if I have any siblings, that's why my answer is no."

"And you just never saw them again?"

"My grandfather died, oh, three or four years ago now, I guess. I tried to get in touch, I wanted to go to the funeral. But my brother said...he said no." She took her hands off the steering wheel and rubbed them together, noting the dampness. She tilted her head back, then squared her shoulders, feeling them pop. "So there's my horrible little story," she said, trying to smile. "In a nutshell."

"After all that, I am totally amazed by you."

"What do you mean?"

"You're such a happy person. You always have a smile on your face, you're always in a good mood. I can't believe you're not bitter and just pissed off at the world."

"No, that's my mother," Casey said. "She always told me she got screwed at life. She said she got dealt a bad hand." Casey shook her head. "I didn't want to be like her. If you get dealt a bad hand, fold and ask for new cards. There's no sense in hanging on to it for years, hoping things will change."

"So that's the real reason you've not settled down, isn't it? You're afraid you're going to end up like your parents did?"

Casey ran her fingers through her hair a couple of times, finally nodding. "Yeah. I guess. I mean, the one time I tried it, it wasn't good. Toward the end, there was a lot of arguing, bickering. Not fighting, really. But like I said, she wasn't the one. And I refused to force things to make her the one. Because I think that's what my parents did. They tried to force the other into being something--someone--they weren't."

They were quiet for a moment, both looking out the windshield, watching the handful of people walking about the complex. After a while, Leslie turned to her.

"No offense, but your brother is an asshole."

Casey laughed quietly, but said nothing. Yeah, she'd used that word a time or two. She sat up straighter, starting the truck. "Let's try another, huh?"

"Sure. Brookhaven?"

"Yeah, but remember, we'll have to walk it."

"That's fine. Beats sitting still for so long."

"Yeah, at least it's cooler tonight. Can you imagine doing this in the middle of summer?" Leslie's reply was cut short by Casey's cell phone. She unclipped it from her belt without looking. "Yeah, O'Connor," she answered. She flicked her glance to Leslie, listening. "We're about four or five blocks away." She closed the phone, then sped up, turning at the next intersection. "That was Malone. They've got a body in Deep Ellum. Appears to be a homeless man. Homicide."

"Where?"

"In the alley behind Curtain Calls. It's a comedy club."

"I don't know this area at all."

"It'll take time," Casey said, turning again onto Elm Street and heading toward downtown.

There were three patrol cars with lights flashing, and Casey pulled to a stop next to the curb. She held her badge up before one of the officers could detain her. "O'Connor, Homicide. This is Detective Tucker. You got a body for us?"

"Yes, ma'am. Down the alley."

"Thanks." She walked on, then stopped. "Crime lab?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am, they've been notified. And the ME."

"Okay, thanks." She glanced at Leslie with a half-smile. "I've never done a scene without Hunter or Sikes," she explained. "That's the first thing Hunter always asks."

"We'll be fine."

But as soon as they reached the alley, they stopped, both covering their mouths as the sweet, putrid smell of death hit them. "Jesus," Casey murmured. She looked at one of the patrol officers. "What the hell?"

"Been dead a few days."

"I'll say." Her gaze followed where he pointed, just a lump beneath a blanket. "Who found him?"

"One of the clubs was taking out trash. Smelled him."

"Is this a hangout?" Leslie asked, looking around. "There are a lot of boxes broken down."

"Yeah. A lot of the homeless sleep here," he said. "They disappear during the day."

"Any of them around?"

"Yeah, they scattered when we showed up, but we talked to a few."

"This guy got a name?" Casey asked as she walked closer, moving the blanket aside with her foot.

"Depending on who you ask, it's either Rudy or Bobby."

She let the blanket fall and stepped back. "Damn, his throat's been cut." She looked at Leslie. "Let's see if we can find anyone who'll talk to us."

"There's a couple of guys standing down at the end."

But when they headed their way, the guys took off.

"Hey, wait up. We just have a some questions," Casey called as she chased after them. They caught up to them on the street. "Hey, man. Just a few questions."

"Don't want no trouble."

"There's no trouble," Casey assured him. She motioned to Leslie with her head, who went after the second guy. "You sleep out here?"

"Sometimes, yeah."

Casey looked him over, guessing his age to be about sixty or so, but knowing the street aged you. His hair and beard, both dirty and matted, were showing gray. His clothes were old and torn, his coat nearly in shreds. "Did you know him?"

The man shrugged.

"Know his name?"

"Rudy."

"Was that his normal spot?"

The man nodded.

Casey tilted her head. "And I don't guess you know who killed him?"

"Don't know nothing."

"How long's he been dead?"

The man closed his eyes and Casey imagined him counting. He opened his eyes again. "Three days."

"Friday night?"

He leaned closer and Casey tried not to back away from his smell. "You don't never know what day it is on the streets."

Casey finally took a step back and the man did the same. "If you knew he was dead, why didn't anyone tell the police?"

"Don't want no trouble."

"Do you think maybe he had something someone wanted? Money? Booze?"

The man shook his head. "If you score, you don't come back here until it's gone."

"Where do you eat?"

"At the shelter."

"Did Rudy go there?"

"Most days."

"Did he have a fight with someone? Was someone harassing him?"

The man took another step back. "Don't know nothing."

Casey leaned closer. "Who are you afraid of?" she asked quietly.

The man looked around them quickly, then shook his head. "Don't know nothing."

He turned to go and Casey let him. Whatever he did know, he wasn't telling. She looked down the street, finding Leslie. She was still talking to her guy and Casey took the opportunity to watch her unobserved. Tall, she was dressed similarly in jeans and lightweight boots, her dark hair windblown and unruly. Casey nodded. She fit in. The first couple of days, she'd worn pressed slacks and fancy loafers. But now, she'd taken her cue from her and Tori, dressing for the streets, not the office. As she stared, Leslie turned, catching her. Their eyes met for a quick moment, then Leslie jotted down something on her notepad before heading her way.

Casey waited, finally raising her eyebrows when Leslie got closer.

"Bobby."

Casey smiled. "Mine said Rudy."

Leslie shrugged. "Okay, so Rudy Bobby it is." She glanced at her notes. "He'd been around here the better part of a year. No fights with anyone, no enemies. Kept to himself. He's been dead a couple of days."

"Yeah, about what I got." Casey looked around the street, seeing several people watching them. "So, what does your gut tell you?"

"That he knows who did it and he's scared to tell."

Casey stared at her, again meeting her eyes head on. "Funny, that's what my gut says too."

"Another homeless man? Someone they see every day?"

"Most likely." She took a deep breath. "But we'll never get them to talk. They don't trust cops. If the killer was some stranger off the street, they'd come forward. They would have reported the murder. But not this. Not when it's one of their own."

"They'll just move on?"

"Yeah. Those who know what happened, they'll find another place to sleep. They don't want any trouble." Casey headed back down the alley. "Let's go to the shelter. Maybe someone there will talk to us. If there was some kind of turf war going on, they'd know about it."

But even there, they seemed nervous, unwilling to talk. Casey finally lost her temper after the fourth person told them he didn't know anything.

"Look, cut the crap, okay," she told him. "I'm in no goddamn mood for games. We know he came here to eat, so you know who the hell we're talking about."

But the man still shook his head. "No. There are so many. I don't know him." He glanced around him quickly. "Come back tomorrow. You ask for Maria."

He hurried away from them and Casey shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "Whatever happened to the good old days where a cop could ask a simple question, get a simple answer, and arrest the bad guy?"

Leslie smiled. "TV."

Casey tilted her head, watching Leslie as her fingers threaded through her hair, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. "It's nearly ten thirty. Ready to call it a night?"

Leslie followed her outside, pausing on the street. "Should we follow up with Spencer or Mac?"

"No. They won't work this until tomorrow. Besides, if they find something, they'll call," Casey said as they made their way back to her truck.

The drive back to the squad room was done in silence. Casey glanced a few times at Leslie, who simply stared out the window, a thoughtful expression on her face. Casey started to ask several times what she was thinking about, but she managed to curb her curiosity for once. She pulled up beside Leslie's car and cut the engine. They sat still for a moment, then Leslie turned in her seat, facing her.

"About earlier," she said. "I enjoyed our talk." She looked up, meeting Casey's eyes. "Thank you for telling me about yourself. I hope I didn't pry too much."

Casey shook her head. "No. No, it's okay."

"Good. Because I really want us to be friends. My other partners, they were always men, always older. We never really had a relationship other than work."

Casey shifted in her seat too, turning toward Leslie, whose face was hidden by the shadows. "It's funny. I've always gotten along with my partners, considered them friends, but if I think about it, we were just friends on the surface really. There's not a single one of them I'd ever have told my life story to. I knew them and their families, but I guess they never really knew me."

Leslie surprised her by leaning closer and pulling her near for a quick hug. "Thanks for trusting me."

Casey nodded mutely, staring as Leslie opened the door and got out.

"See you tomorrow, O'Connor."

Casey flashed a quick smile, waiting until Leslie had her car started before pulling away. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, moving into traffic without thinking, her mind still focused on the quick hug. And the unique smell of Leslie's perfume.

Leslie hit the expressway and eased into traffic, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

Why did you have to hug her? Jesus!

Why indeed?

"I like her."

Yes, Casey was that type of person. Who wouldn't like her? But a hug? You don't just hug. People don't just hug anymore.

She wondered what Casey thought of her. First, she pried into her personal life, practically dragging out her painful memories. Then she has to go and hug her.

I like to touch, she reminded herself. A curse, but yes, she'd always been that way. When she felt comfortable with someone, when she felt affection, she touched them when she talked. And for some reason, when she was near Casey, she simply felt drawn to her.

"There's nothing wrong with that."

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