Part 12 (1/2)
She flashed him a disbelieving look. ”Care to share how you forget?”
”Okay, so maybe I don't, but I just want you to know that I still enjoy being with you.”
She smiled. ”Thanks, I feel the same. I just wish ...well, never mind. If wishes could be converted to money, I'd be rich.”
”Don't give up.” Alex covered a big yawn. ”As much as I love spending time with you, I hope you don't think me rude if I suggest that you go home. I'm tired and we have to work tomorrow.”
Cynthia sat in front of the computer workstation trying to figure out, from the menu, which screen to use to run a check on wants and warrants. Finally, she found it and entered the super's name. She pushed the search b.u.t.ton, and waited. Within a few minutes, the screen filled with information. She scrolled through, anxiously reading. ”John Cratski, arrested petty theft; second arrest - burglary; third arrest - rape and sodomy sentenced 5-10 years. Wow, this guy has run the gamut.” She scrolled down. ”Paroled: September 15, 2001.”
Scrolling further, her eyes widened at what she read.
”What are you doing?” Mike's voice sounded from behind.
Startled, she jumped up, making sure to block the computer. ”Just checking out someone, but, the lead didn't pan out.” She reached behind and pressed a b.u.t.ton to clear the screen.
”Are you ready?” he asked.
”For what?” Despite her still pounding heart, she managed a smile.
”To go back to the hospital....”
”Oh, sure.” She'd gotten so engrossed in checking out the super, she'd forgotten their main objective. ”I'm ready.”
She couldn't stop thinking about the information she'd found on John Cratski. Alex's intuition about the man's past had been right on target.
Cynthia got clearance for her and Mike to visit their only surviving victim. This time, Cynthia took a back seat while Mike led the questioning. The young woman appeared much more alert and composed this time around.
Mike ran through a battery of questions, asking the same things Cynthia had already touched on, but obviously hoping to jog her memory on additional facts that might lead them to the killer. After being repet.i.tiously grilled, she propped herself up on her elbows and glared at him. ”I've told you all I know. I can't keep going over this again and again. Please leave.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, Mike spun on his heel and left the room.
Cynthia stepped closer to the bed. ”My partner's attempt to get answers wasn't meant to upset you, ma'am. We're trying to see that justice is upheld and the man who did this to you is arrested and punished. We understand what you've been through and we do appreciate your time.”
She followed Mike out into the hallway.
He stood with his elbows resting on the empty nurse's station, his face in his palms. ”What a b.i.t.c.h,” he growled.
”That's not fair! You have no idea what she's been through.”
Mike's brows raised in surprise. ”What's up with you? When did you become 'Mister Understanding'? If I don't have an idea, I'm sure you don't either.”
She chose her words carefully. ”I only meant it must be hard to keep going over and over something she wants to forget.”
”Well, screw her. We're only trying to help. She didn't have to be so friggin' rude.”
Feeling his frustration, Cynthia patted his shoulder. ”Just let it go, Mike. We aren't going to get anything more from her.”
His shoulders sagged. ”You're probably right. I guess I'm tired and irritable. Let's go get a burger.”
”What? No donut?” Cynthia tried to lighten the moment. ”Isn't that what we cops are famous for?”
”Huh?” He flashed a puzzled look at her.
Just her luck. Mike had to be the only person in the world who didn't understand the connection between the police and pastries.
”Never mind! A burger sounds fine.”
Cynthia couldn't wait to get inside her apartment to see if Alex was home yet. He was. She slammed the door behind her and plopped down next to him on the sofa. Excitement s.h.i.+vered through her. ”I wanted to call you a thousand times today, but I couldn't shake Mike. I ran John Cratski through the system and you won't believe what I found out!”
”He has a record.”
”How did you know?”
”Just a hunch.” He showed no surprise, only sat straighter. ”So....”
”He was arrested numerous times on different charges. The last one was a rape, and he was sentenced to Atascadero for five to ten years. He was paroled last year...”
Alex snapped his finger. ”How convenient. Just maybe he's our man.”
”Wait!”
”There's more?”
”He's dead.”
”He's what?” He swiveled around and faced her with eyes wide.
”John Cratski died in a hit and run accident two months after he was released. He's dead, Alex.”
”Then who's our super?” He thumped a finger against his chin. ”Honestly, I guess there could be more than one John Cratski in San Francisco. Maybe he's clean and we're barking up the wrong tree, or....”
Cynthia raised a suspicious eyebrow. ”Or maybe he was a cellmate to John Cratski and is using a fake ident.i.ty.”
Alex laughed. ”Boy, you're really getting into this job, aren't you? Now you're even thinking like a cop.”
Chapter Thirteen.
Alex left Cynthia's apartment, on his way to work. Before descending the stairs, he stopped to hitch up his panty hose and take hold of the handrail. He still hadn't mastered wearing heels, even her lowest ones. One of life's biggest mysteries for him had become figuring out what shoes went with which outfit. Why did women care?
Men didn't pay attention to c.r.a.p like that. h.e.l.l, he only owned three pair himself: loafers, tennis shoes and work boots. Cynthia maintained her own footwear display in the bottom of her closet and it rivaled any shoe store he'd ever been in.