"Until now."

"Until now," Frank agreed.

Their food arrived and Gail said, "It must be very exciting to have a lead after all this time."

"Exciting," Frank said around a fry. "I guess it's as exciting as popping a lead in any big case. There's the adrenaline thing. But I don't want to get too close to this, too excited. I mean, what difference is it gonna make after all this time anyway, huh, after all these years? And then if I don't find him, if this goes nowhere ..."

Gail finished, "You don't want to be disappointed."

"No. I don't."

"Well, do you think these flowers are an isolated incident?"

"Who knows? There's so many questions. I'm thinking of calling Fubar, telling him I'm gonna stay out here a little longer. I want to make sure Silvester follows up on this. Doesn't drop the ball."

"Maybe it's been going on for a while and you've just finally stepped into the picture."

"Great. So I could have solved my old man's murder years ago but I was too self-involved?"

"That's not what I meant. There's a big difference between being self-involved and moving on. There are positive and negative aspects to every situation. Running from the pain of your father's death was negative, but accepting it and moving on is positive. The feat then becomes incorporating the two aspects into a vital, integrated whole."

"Jesus." Frank stared her. "I think you've been to too many lectures this weekend." Gail's smile was easy and Frank tapped the doc's hand with a fingertip. "You know what?"

"No. What?"

Tracing a line between freckles, Frank suggested, "I hope we can incorporate our negative and positive aspects into a vital and integrated whole."

Gail pulled her hand away. "We'll see."

Frank cleared her throat. "I took the opportunity while I was alone in the squad room to Google the saint on the candle, Nino de Atocha. Turns out that the Moors were holding a bunch of Christians prisoner and were going to use them as slaves but weren't feeding them or giving them water. Then this little kid dressed like a pilgrim shows up. He's got a gourd of water and a basket of bread and for some reason the guards let him in to feed the Christians. Story is that the gourd never drained and the basket never emptied, so they decided he was Christ disguised as this kid from Atocha, doing his loaves and fishes thing. Ever after, the Nino de Atocha's been the patron saint of prisoners and those unjustly accused. Kinda interesting, huh?"

"I'd say so. What kind of flowers were they?"

"The ubiquitous white chrysanthemums you can buy in any grocery store. Nothing to work with there."

Gail declared, "I think it's a woman."

"Because of the flowers?"

She nodded. "And the candle. It just doesn't sound like something a man would do."

"No, probably not. So I'm thinking maybe the visitor is the perp's mom or sister. Maybe an aunt. His grandmother'd probably be dead by now. And a girlfriend or a wife would have found somebody else. Moved on, as you'd say."

"So now you just wait?"

Frank spread her hands. "What else can I do? I was thinking of going back to the station this afternoon and hanging out until Silvester gets back, or someone else who can pull the case for me. Until then, one thing at a time, right? So tell me, doc. You know how to skate?"

"No. And I'm not about to learn."

"Aw, come on. I went horseback riding with you. And hiking. I even tried golfing."

Gail giggled. "Try is the operative."

"So you owe me a sporting adventure."

"I'm too old," she protested. "The thought of falling on that ice. Ouch. No thanks."

Frank leaned over the table. "I won't let you fall."

Gail frowned. "You're flirting, Frank."

"Am I?"

"I thought we were just going to be friends."

"We are. What's a little harmless flirting between friends."

"Quit being so d.a.m.ned charming."

"Gail," Frank said seriously, "I'm not gonna lie and pretend I don't have feelings for you. Because I do. Very deep ones. If all I can be is a friend then I'll settle for that, but it's not all I want."

"You're pushing."

"I just want to put it out there. I want you to know exactly where I stand. Cards on the table and all that. And I promise this is as hard as I'll push. Just don't ask me to pretend I don't care. I won't do that. I'm trying to feel things, for once, and be honest about them instead of shoving them aside and pretending they don't exist. So I'm not going to pretend I don't love you." Frank sat back. "Ball's in your court. You gonna take a chance and go skating with me? Maybe have some fun."

"And maybe get hurt," Gail said, her implication clear.

"I promised you. I won't let that happen." Frank c.o.c.ked her head. "Weren't you the one who gave me a lecture a couple years ago about how you have to live life to the fullest? That by blocking out the pain you blocked out all the joy too? Wasn't that you?"

Gail's dark bob swayed. "I think you're mixing me up with one of your other girlfriends."

Frank stopped a laugh. "That's right. I have so many of them."

"You promise you won't let me fall?"

Making an X over her heart, Frank vowed, "Cross my heart, hope to die."

CHAPTER 11.

The Ninth's squad room echoed when Frank walked in, her cheeks still slightly numb from skating with Gail. The doc had been hopeless but Frank had fun holding her up. She looked at the clock on the wall.

Almost five. Two at home.

She called her captain. There was no answer on his cell, office or home phones and Frank wondered how her crew was supposed to get hold of him.

"a.s.shole," she whispered just before his machine picked up. "John, it's Frank. Something's come up and I'm going to be longer than I thought. I'll know more tomorrow. Call you then."

She hung up and dialed Figueroa. She asked the desk sergeant if he'd seen Foubarelle around and he snorted. "On a Sunday? You gotta be s.h.i.ttin' me."

"Anybody upstairs?"

"Hold on. I'll transfer you."

The phone rang and Darcy picked up. "Hey. You home?"

"Not yet. Might be a while. How's everything going?"

"Fine. Quiet."

"What are you doing there on a Sunday afternoon?"

"Catching up on sixty-days."

"I wish your work ethic would rub off on your colleagues."

Darcy grunted. "They have lives. When do you think you'll be back?"

"Don't know. Three thousand miles from home, and believe it or not I'm working a homicide. I'll tell you about it when I get back. How's Gabby doing?"

Darcy's pause told her his daughter's cystic fibrosis was flaring. "Marguerite had to take her to the hospital last night. She's home now. I might take off tomorrow if nothing's going on."

"Do that."

"Yeah. We'll see. Don't be too long out there. I don't want to catch something and have Fubar all over me."

"I'll do my best." She hung up, missing her crew and her routine. She found a phone book and the number she was looking for. She dialed it on Silvester's phone.

"Alcoholics Anonymous. How can I help you?"

"Yeah, I'm looking for a meeting tonight." Frank gave the man she was talking to the Ninth's address and the Crowne Plaza's.

"You got a couple to choose from. Any particular emphasis?"

"Anything but a men's stag."

"All right, get your pencil ready."

Frank wrote down half a dozen times and places. She hadn't planned on going to a meeting in New York, but then again there were a lot of things she hadn't planned on. She pocketed the list, thinking she'd need to find a cheaper hotel.

Seeing as no one was around, Frank took a seat in front of Silvester's computer. Because her computer skills barely exceeded turning the d.a.m.ned things on, Frank didn't have any luck searching for information about her father's case. She got up and rummaged through rows of gray file cabinets, snooping the old-fashioned way. Hearing loud voices she slipped a drawer shut and posed near the coffee machine.

Hooting and hollering in the language of a successful collar, four detectives stomped into the homicide room. Silvester, long past her second wind and running on a third or fourth, was one of them. Calling one of the men "Lieutenant" she told him, "We got the little b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He was hiding under his grandmother's bed. He c.r.a.pped his pants when we pulled him out."

"Nice job, Annie. How about the kid? How we doing on that?"

"We've got her nailed down to a mom-and-pop shop after she got out of school. There are a couple of mopes hanging around there that Vince and Billy are talkin' to. After I get this mutt processed I'm going to go home and grab a couple hours sleep, get a fresh start in the morning, huh?"

The LT nodded. "Yeah. Nice work. Vince and Billy gonna grab some shuteye, too?"

"Vince and Billy, too." Accepting the lieutenant's amiable pat on the shoulder, Annie turned and saw Frank. "Oh, spare me. Are you still here?"

"Charlie got the evidence booked but he couldn't tell me who was handling the case. Can you?"

"You're lookin' at her."

"You?"

"The one and only, Anne Marie Silvester."

Frank seethed, "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Because I didn't have time to check you out. You said you weren't just some mope off the street but how was I supposed to know that? You wouldn't believe the nut jobs we get in here."

"Yeah, I would. We get the same f.u.c.kin' nuts in LA. So what do I have to do make you believe me?"

Despite her obvious exhaustion, Silvester's eyes sparkled. "Nothin'." She grinned. "Charlie already did it. I told him to call LA and check your shield. He says you're all right."

Shaking her head at the floor, Frank muttered, "That's why it took him twenty minutes to make coffee. Okay. So can I see the file now?"

"Dear, did you happen to notice with your brilliant detective skills that I got a suspect here? Your pop's been dead what, thirty, thirty-five years?"

"Thirty-six."

"Thirty-six. So another day's gonna matter? G.o.d willin', this mutt'll talk and I can get some sleep tonight. You come back in the mornin', seven sharp. I'll get you your father's book for you. Deal?"

Being in no position to argue, Frank asked, "You like bialys?"

Silvester patted her hips. "Don't I look like I like bialys?"

"Not really."

"Psh. Enough with the brown-nosing. With a vegetable shmear, huh?"

"See you in the mornin'."

Frank zipped her thin windbreaker and walked out into the frigid New York night.