Chapter Thirty-Four

As they made their way up the sidewalk to the shelter entrance, Leslie grabbed her arm and stopped her.

"Casey, can we talk for a second?"

Casey turned around, nodding. "Sure. What? You want to do the questioning? That's fine. Maria--"

"No. No, that's not it." Leslie pulled her to the side. "Why are we doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Casey, are you...I don't know...nervous because of what happened over the weekend?"

Casey laughed and realized it did sound nervous. "I may be a little, yeah. I didn't think it showed."

Leslie smiled slightly. "We had such a pleasant ride over here, talking about such diverse topics as the weather and our lingering summer temperatures. But I'm wondering why we're avoiding--and totally ignoring--the fact that we, well, that we spent the weekend together. Naked. "

Casey ran her hand through her hair, another nervous gesture, so she plunged it into the pocket of her jeans instead. Yeah, she was nervous. "I'm just not sure how we go about this," she said. "Like I said, the weekend was fantastic. But then--"

"But then now what?" Leslie turned and pulled her again to the side of the building, away from traffic. "I was thinking I should be the one nervous as this is all new to me, but it's really new to you as well." Leslie moved closer. "We should have talked about this before I left your bed yesterday."

Casey nearly stumbled from the impact of those words. Before I left your bed. She closed her eyes for a brief moment as images of their lovemaking flashed through her mind. "Let's do this interview, do our job, then please come home with me," she said quietly. "We'll talk. We'll get some rest. We'll get ready for tonight."

"If I come home with you, we're not going to get any rest."

Casey swallowed. "Of course we will. We'll talk. We'll decide where we go from here." She took a deep breath. "And we'll...we'll sleep."

"Okay. But I'll warn you now. If I get into bed with you, sleep is not going to be the number one thing on my mind."

She turned, going back to the sidewalk, leaving Casey staring after her.

No, sleep wouldn't be on her mind, either.

"Maria?" Leslie smiled. "Detectives Tucker and O'Connor."

"Of course. I remember. You have some news about Rudy?"

Casey stepped forward. "We'd like to talk to you again, if you don't mind. Do you have a few minutes?"

Leslie looked around the large room, most of the tables empty now as breakfast had already been served. A handful of volunteers busied about, clearing off tables. She turned back to Casey and Maria, waiting.

"The kitchen is very busy now. They are preparing lunch. Let's go into the storeroom. We should have privacy there."

They followed her, weaving their way between the tables to the other side of the room and down a hallway. The smell of soap and steam hit them as they rounded a corner. The showers, no doubt.

"How many do you feed at a normal meal?" Casey asked.

"There are no normal meals, Detective. Not surprisingly, lunch is the busiest meal. Some are still sleeping off the bottle of booze they scored and miss breakfast. And others start their evening prowls early and miss dinner. But lunch usually brings them all around." She stopped at a door. "In here."

The storeroom was large and nearly bursting at the seams. Leslie walked into the room, turning a circle. "Wow. Lot of stuff."

"Yes. We're stocking for winter. That whole wall there," she said, pointing, "is mostly blankets and coats. And of course, when we have a food drive, this is where the canned goods end up." She closed the door behind them. "But I'm sure you didn't come to inspect our inventory."

"We have some questions," Casey said. "About John Doe."

She smiled. "Oh, yes. John is very sweet. One of my favorites. He hasn't been coming regularly though."

"When he does come in, does he ever have anyone with him?" Leslie asked. She glanced at Casey. "Someone who looks like him? A girl that might hang with him?"

"No. I've never seen him with anyone. But he's friendly with most of the others." She frowned. "What is it you're asking?"

"John has a brother. Or a sister," Casey said. "Actually, it's a brother who dresses as a girl occasionally."

Maria's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "No. There's been no one with him."

"Okay. But does John always seem like John?" Leslie asked. "I mean his personality," she explained.

"Everyone has bad days, Detective. I don't expect John to always have that childlike happiness about him. Life is hard on the street. Some days, I wonder how old John is, he looks so young and carefree. Then other times, his eyes have a hardness about them, making him seem much older. He's not always friendly, not always sociable. Sometimes, he doesn't even speak to me." She shrugged. "But like I said, life on the street, you have good days and you have bad days."

"But when he's sweet, happy, friendly," she coaxed.

"Yes. Then he always speaks to me. He calls me Miss Maria."

She smiled. "Yes, that's the John we know."

"And you've never seen John in a dress?" Casey asked.

"No. Why would John wear a dress? And what does this have to do with Rudy?" Her eyes widened. "You surely don't think John had something to do with his murder?"

"No, no," Leslie assured her. "We're just trying to piece together all of our information."

Casey turned, apparently inspecting the shelves filled with canned goods, her back to them. "Tell me, Maria, when John doesn't seem like John, does he look like John?"

"Well, yes. He--" she paused, glancing between them. "Oh, my goodness," she said quietly. "No. The hair."

Casey turned around. "The hair what?"

"John has light hair. But sometimes it's darker. I don't know why it didn't register before. The other day when he was here, when he didn't speak to me, I went over to ask him if he was okay. There was something different about him, his expression, the look in his eyes. And his hair. It was dark. Like he had dyed it." She frowned. "What's going on?"

Leslie glanced at Casey who nodded. She moved in front of Maria. "John has a brother. A twin. His name is Patrick."

Her eyes widened. "You don't mean the Patrick that--?"

"We believe so, yes. He also dresses as a girl sometimes. John calls him Patty on those days," she said matter-of-factly. "We just can't seem to find anyone who knows Patrick. Our belief is that when he's out, he wears a dress so he won't be recognized. And when he does dress as a man, he pretends to be John."

"Which is why sometimes John speaks to me and sometimes he doesn't," Maria said, her voice trailing away. "Sammy. John hangs with Sammy at night. If anyone would know, he would."

"Where can we find him?"

"Sammy comes for dinner. Never misses."

"Do you have a description of him?" Casey asked.

Maria smiled sadly. "Yeah. An unkempt old man with a shaggy beard and torn clothes. You can't miss him."

"I'm sorry," Casey said. "I didn't mean--"

"It's okay, Detective. I know you're just doing your job. And honestly, despite my description, they do all have their own look, their own personality. Even the street can't take that away."

"What time is dinner?" Leslie asked.

"Starts at five thirty. By seven, we're out of food."

"Would it be too much trouble for you to call us when Sammy shows up?" Casey asked. "I don't want to stake out the place for hours. No sense in making everyone nervous," she said.

"I can do that," Maria said. "Sammy is usually here by six."

Casey handed over her card. "We'll wait for your call. Thank you."

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