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the apartment, on the computer.”
    “You lost me there, but I’ll rustle up a tape measure.”
    “Eager to please, eh?”
    Schultz grinned a grin that sparked an uneasy feeling in PJ. If she had met a stranger in a bar and he had grinned at her like that, she would have beaten a path to the exit.
    “Always, Doc, always.”
    When he left, PJ was suddenly overwhelmed with the whole situation: the divorce; her son’s emotions; the new job; her tiny, smelly office; the graphic details of the murder; her confrontation with Leo; the photos on her wall; the prospect of visiting the murder scene; even her wrinkled clothes. Tears brimming in her eyes, she fled her office. In a stall in the ladies’ room, which stank of smoke in spite of the sign pasted on the door which said “Do not smoke in this bathroom!!!,” PJ Gray, polished professional woman, psychologist, and computer expert, took stock of her first morning on the job. It had one bright spot—she felt she had held her own with Leo—but on the whole was not an auspicious beginning.

CHAPTER 4
    W HEN SCHULTZ LEFT PJ’S office, he stopped at the water fountain across the hall alongside the door of the men’s room. He looked around and noticed that the hall was acceptably uncrowded. He took a small pill box from his pocket, shook out four Ibuprofen tablets, and tossed them back with a swallow of water. Then he went back to his desk, operating on automatic. He was angry, but it would have to keep for a few minutes. He needed to make a phone call to request a car assignment.
    “Vehicles.”
    “Doris, that you?”
    “Doris retired about three months ago. This is Casey,” a polite voice responded. “What can I do for you?”
    “Doris retired? Christ, she wasn’t that old. Did she get sick or something?”
    “As far as I know, she simply left after thirty-five years of service. Doris insisted on no fuss, so there wasn’t even a party. She and her husband are traveling around out west in a motor home.”
    “Christ.”
    “Can I help you?”
    “Yeah, sure, I need a vehicle. Name’s Leo Schultz, detective in Homicide. Authorized by Lieutenant Howard Wall.”
    “Unmarked? Any particular requirements?”
    Schultz knew what she was asking. Some assignments required a flashy car, but Homicide generally got the compacts with vinyl seats. Schultz hated vinyl seats. He got a heat rash in his crotch and on the back of his thighs whenever he sat on them, particularly if the car didn’t have air conditioning. Abruptly he realized that Casey’s voice sounded very pleasant, even when conducting Department business. He formed an image in his mind. Casey was about twenty-five years old, long blonde hair in one of those heavy braids down her back, sleek legs, compliant breasts that would comfortably fill his large hands…Schultz hadn’t slept with his wife in a long time, three or four years at least. Their relationship just didn’t include sex anymore. You wouldn’t have sex with a roommate, particularly an unpleasant one, and that’s how Julia seemed to think of him. Schultz, like other cops, knew more than he ever wanted to about the hazards of sex with a stranger. He preferred fantasy, and Casey was shaping up nicely.
    “Detective? Any requirements?” He heard her tapping a computer keyboard, and the spell was broken. Temporarily at least—there was always tonight, after Julia had gone to bed.
    “Nothing ritzy. Air conditioned, cloth seats, no loud colors. Automatic transmission.”
    “I’ll see what I can do. When do you need the car?”
    “Now. I’ll be going down to the garage in about ten minutes.”
    “I see. Well, I’ll do my best.” Schultz heard more clicking. “There, I’ve got one for you. Ask for license number MBF 181.”
    “Thanks. Say, you new to the Department?”
    “Why yes, I’ve only been here a few weeks. Just got my master’s degree in Sociology, but I couldn’t get a job in my field, at least not yet.” Her voice dropped to a