Elaine Foster set her glass of wine down. There was the light tap again and she smiled. Elaine checked the security camera, unbuttoned her blouse and went to answer her front door. “Why Billy. Is it that time of month again? Already?”

“Yes, Missus Foster, if you don’t mind...” The timid lad looked up, saw her breasts buoyed in a half-bra, flushed and turned his eyes to study the door frame. He wore a canvas bag that looked bigger than him. It had New York Times stenciled on the side.

This is so delicious, Elaine giggled on the inside. “C’mon-in a sec,” she opened the door wide, “my checkbook is in the study.”

“If it’s too much trouble,” Billy was still eyeing a crack in the paint, “I could come back tomorrow.”

“Nonsense. It’s no trouble at all. And I want you to have your money.”

Elaine reached, took the young boy by the shoulder and guided him across the foyer. “You know the way,” she added with a sly smile.

As Billy stood, toeing the tile with a sneaker, Elaine sat at her desk and scribbled her name across a check. She tore it from the book and turned to place it in Billy’s hand. “I added a little extra ... for you,” she said. “Just because I know how attentive you are.”

Billy folded the slip of paper and placed it in his bag. “Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

Elaine was coy. “Am I your favorite customer?”

Billy blinked and tried not to look at the spot where her nipples were peeking above the lacy edging of her bra. His lips moved but he said nothing.

“And how’s my little soldier?” Elaine ran a hand up his leg, her fingers coming to rest on the front of his jeans.

“Ma’am?” Billy moved to turn away but Elaine’s free hand held him at the back of a thigh.

“C’mon, Billy...” Elaine ran the tip of a pink tongue along her upper lip, “show him to me. It’s been a whole month and I’m dying to see.”

Billy visibly crumbled and he looked ready to sink to the tiles. “But what if my mom finds out...”

Elaine cut him off, laying a finger across his lips. “Well we just won’t let her in on our little game, okay? Problem solved.”

“But...”

Elaine was squeezing his small penis through the denim, tracing the line the head made with her thumb. “Now please, you can’t make me wait any longer. Show the little fella to me.”

Billy sagged. “You promise not to tell?” And he reluctantly pushed the strap of his newspaper bag from his shoulder.

“Our secret,” Elaine reassured him and she sat back to watch.

Billy glanced behind, as if expecting someone to be watching from the doorway. He twisted open the stud and pulled down his zipper. He worked his jeans down skinny thighs then with a sigh, he pulled down the front of his white briefs. His penis, looking like a frail bird, dangled outside the elastic.

“He’s so cute,” Elaine cooed. “Do you show him to other women? Other customers, maybe?”

Billy exhaled softly. “No ma’am. You’re the only one that ever asked to see.”

“My. So he’s all mine...” And Elaine reached to lift him in her hand. “Look. He’s leaking a little bit.”

Billy lowered his eyes and shuddered at the thought of her watching as a droplet of moisture formed at the tip. “Oh gosh, Missus Foster. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ... on your hand...”

“Don’t be silly.” And she gently pinched behind the pee-hole, encouraging the droplet to expand. “I think it’s sweet. Here, let me take care of it for you.” And Billy stood horrified as Elaine Foster leaned forward and lapped at his pee-hole, lifting the stringy dribble onto the tip of her tongue. His penis stirred in her hand and she glanced up. “He likes that, doesn’t he...”

Billy looked away.

“Sure he does,” Elaine continued. “But he’ll like this even more.” And she moved up on him and had no trouble sucking up the full length into her mouth. “Mmm,” she murmured as Billy fought to keep his balance on wayward knees. “So good.” And she held his penis against the roof of her mouth while milking with her tongue along the underside.

She pulled back. “Look at him grow. He’s turned himself into a regular lady-killer. You want to put him inside me ... like last time?”

Billy shifted his weight nervously. “I guess, if that’s what you want.”

Elaine quickly stood. In her excitement, she pulled her bra off, up over her head, stripped her jeans down and turning, stark-naked, she parked her buttocks on the desktop. She spread her knees and with long fingers, opened herself. “In here, okay? It makes me feel so nice.”

Young Billy stepped between her thighs and watched as she guided his penis between the vaginal lips.

Elaine’s hips came up. “Oh yes, you little bugger. Fuck me.”

Just then Billy stiffened. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I thought I heard a car door slam. Mister Foster?”

Elaine was rolling her hips, dragging her clitoris along his cock. “Naw. Kevin’s got a meeting. Won’t be home ‘till late.

Detective Jill Anderson threw her pencil at the computer screen and humped in her chair. “Now even the Borough Chief is calling me Jilly,” she muttered and she picked up the pencil again, but this time tossed it across the cubical. It ricocheted off the wall and kept on going.

Tomasina Vencenzi was stepping through, saw the yellow, eraser-tipped missile headed her way and plucked it from the air before it could bounce out into the Squad Room. “Trouble?” she asked.

Jilly glared at her. “Everyone’s calling me Jilly, even the Chief...” she hesitated. “Well he did correct himself, but even so. I wish you’d never told me.”

Tommy tossed the pencil back onto Jilly’s desk. “Case of shooting the messenger?”

Jilly slumped in her chair. “I wanna shoot somebody...”

“How about shooting the two from Auto Theft ... the guys who started it.”

“Of all the days I decide to hurry up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. And the one day all of my white bras were in the wash. And then I have to run into those two clowns on the landing.”

“Yeah, tough luck. They spotted your tits jillying-about in your blouse.” The corners of Tommy’s lips started to curl up. “And, it seems, the name is going to stick.” She tried desperately not to laugh.

Jilly was glaring at the pencil through red-framed glasses.

Tommy dropped file-folders onto the desk. “Complements of Sharon, upstairs.” Tommy eyed the lavender paint and the vase of fresh-cut tulips, made a face and turned to leave her old haunt.

It was true. When Jilly arrived on the scene fresh from the Academy, she and Tommy were assigned the cubical. But when Tommy didn’t seem too interested in shared accommodations, Jilly had taken it upon herself to have the piss-colored concrete block wall behind, painted lavender-blue.

The computer keyboard was so rank with skin grease and sandwich droppings, Jilly had picked it up by the cord and dumped it into the trash. The office chair with foam stuffing bulging from the seams was rolled into the Squad Room and left to others. Jilly had a new chair and desk delivered. She sat back then and, breathing electronically filtered and scented air, let out a sigh of relief and had enjoyed her tulips.

Tommy on the other hand, took one look at the renovations and retreated like a bad dog to the cafeteria where she finger-pecked her report on her twelve-year-old ThinkPad.

Jilly watched Tommy turn to leave and shook her head at the sight of Tommy’s ass bound in stretchy synthetic fabric. It was obvious that Tommy didn’t worry much about dirty underwear. Probably doesn’t even own a pair of underpants, Jilly thought, watching the roll of a buttock. Damn butt looks to have been cleaved out of a block of granite.

Tommy was dressed like she’d just come from humping weights. She wore black, head-to-toe spandex, flat soled boots laced to the knees with a .32-caliber Beretta clipped to the cuff and she carried a dusty-looking backpack slung from a shoulder.

The bodysuit fit like skin and didn’t hide much, especially the fact Tommy wasn’t wearing underwear. Jilly gawked. Even from behind, she could see the spandex was hiked right up into the slice of Tommy’s vag. Probably likes it, Jilly thought– the rough seam see-sawing– working her toward a frenzied orgasm with every step.

Jilly flushed and turned her face away. How can anyone show up for work dressed like that ... like ... like she is begging to be turned over a desk, and anxious to give every guy in the Squad Room a taste. Disdain marred her pretty features.

But, Jilly had to concede– no one seemed to complain, least of all the men. And even some of the women seemed to enjoy the show ... maybe a little envious of Tommy’s freedom of expression ... her unconventional take on life. Mavericks were a rare breed, especially in an institution as stayed as the Fourteenth Precinct.

“See yuh,” Tommy tilted her head back. “Love what you did to my fuckin’ wall.”

Jilly humped a shoulder, “What ever...” and she picked up the first file folder. She was just flipping through a Missing Persons Report when her desk phone buzzed. “Got a suicide, Detective Anderson. A woman took a header off the Whitestone Bridge. Could you run over and take a look? Frank Reid has been notified.”

Jilly signed out a car from the motor pool and drove north toward the Bronx. A young cop directed her to a gravel service road that led down to the bridge abutments and a line of cruisers. She followed the flashing blue lights and got parked in front of a CSV van next to the canvas barrier that had been erected around the woman’s body to preserve her dignity from the prying eyes of photographers.

Jilly showed her badge and moved to where she could see inside the enclosure. Doctor Frank Reid hovered above what appeared to be a smashed store-front mannequin. Jilly was drawn to the low drone of traffic above and looked up at the bridge silhouetted against the sky, two-hundred feet above her head. She thought of the woman’s last moments, hurtling through the dark. How bad could it have been that it drove a woman to this lonely demise among the rocks at the foot of a bridge.

“Detective Anderson,” the sound of her own name brought her back, “we haven’t met. I’m Frank Reid ... Medical Examiner.”

Jilly smiled and extended a hand. Then noticed the latex gloves. “Hi,” she said, pulling back, her voice sounding unsteady in her head. “They sent me to have a look.”

“Come ‘round, then,” Frank smiled and waved her to the opening in the canvas hoarding. He looked to be about retirement age, had a jolly face and immediately put Jilly at ease. “This is Brisco,” Frank continued, looking over his wire-rimmed spectacles. “He’s in charge of the squad.”

Jilly turned. Lieutenant Brisco abruptly looked up and Jilly realized he had been staring at her legs. She felt the heat rise in her chest and perspiration broke out across her shoulders.

He shot her a wolfish grin. “Jill-y,” he said knowingly, with the emphasis on the Y. “I’ve heard tell of you ... And all true, I might add.” His smile widened.

Jilly nodded and turned away. “He doesn’t seem too interested ... In the case, I mean.”

If Frank Reid heard, he pretended not to. “She’s Missus Elaine Foster,” he was bent over the body, focusing his camera. “Forty-two. Lived in Brooklyn. Her husband will meet me at the morgue for the ID.”

Jilly looked at the tangled body remains and the impact was unsettling. This wasn’t the Police Academy anymore. “She drove a-ways, before jumping. We have a time of death?” Jilly asked the obvious textbook questions.

Frank Reid snapped a shot. “I’ll know more when I get her on the table but judging by the blood whorl and the crime setting, for now I’m suggesting between ten and midnight. The man over there with his head between his knees, he found her and dialed 9-1-1. He was down here early to fish.”

Jilly saw a man who looked as rattled as she felt. “I’ll have a word with him in a moment ... So Missus Foster drove an hour before killing herself?”

A frown appeared above Frank’s eyes and he straightened. “Maybe working up the courage?”

Jilly looked doubtful. “She didn’t drive around thinking. She drove straight here. Had too. Brooklyn’s an hour away, right?” Jilly stooped to take a closer look at the body. “That’s odd. Why is she wearing her bra inside-out?”

Frank was still puzzling his way through the time element. He looked, then shrugged. “Actually, I hadn’t noticed.”

The woman’s blouse had been torn open from the impact with the rocks and she had ended up on her right side with her back, bare and exposed. Except for a slim bra strap.

“The label...” Jilly pointed. “Odd. Don’t you think?”

“Oh Christ. The woman was freaked out,” Brisco had come up from behind. “She got her friggin’ bra on backwards. Big deal. Can we wrap this up? My shift is almost over.”

Jilly bristled at the sound of Lieutenant Brisco’s voice. “Look. It’s a legitimate question.”

“You’re new, right? Trying to make a name for yourself, are we?” The Lieutenant waved a fat finger in Jilly’s face. “You’re making a mountain of paperwork outta a molehill.”

Frank stepped between them. “Jilly. Could you please go over and wait by the van.”

Jilly huffed. She turned and trudged toward the Coroner’s vehicle feeling like a two-year-old being sent to stand in the corner. She settled her shoulders against the side-panel and looked back. Reid and Brisco were laughing, like sharing a joke. Once again she felt the heat of embarrassment.

Frank Reid clapped a hand on Brisco’s shoulder and placed his camera in a leather pouch. Brisco went off to speak with the two medical assistants who stood, foot-shifting with a gurney parked between them. Frank looked in Jilly’s direction, sighed and moved forward.

“Sorry about that,” he gave her a weak smile, “the man’s a jackass.”

Surprise registered on Jilly’s face. “You mean...”

“Look. You stumbled onto something I missed. I want to know your thoughts before the autopsy.”

Jilly couldn’t believe it. Here was a guy who had been investigating violent death for thirty-five years and he was asking her... fresh out of the Police Academy ... asking her for her thoughts.

“You heard Brisco’s opinion,” Frank studied Jilly’s eyes a moment, “but you’re suggesting it wasn’t an oversight. The woman’s bra...”

Jilly squared her shoulders. “Look, Doctor Reid, not only would it be uncomfortable, but the catch would be backwards. She would have noticed right off. Putting her bra on inside-out wasn’t an accident. Couldn’t have been.”

“You have a theory?”

“Missus Foster was naked when she died. Someone dressed her. And it had to be a man. Any woman would have noticed that the bra was backward and would have turned the cups out before placing it about Missus Foster’s chest. Only someone who had never fumbled with hooking-up a bra catch would have missed the consequence: That would have to be a man, Doctor ... I’m sure of it.”

“Damn,” Frank muttered. “We need to take a closer look at the suicide note.”

“Suicide note?”

“Yes. It was in her pocket. I put it into an evidence bag, signed it and gave it to Brisco.”

“Doctor...” someone yelled.

Frank looked over a shoulder and saw that the gurney with its shrouded occupant was being loaded into the Coroner’s wagon. “Okay, Detective Anderson. I’ll be doing the autopsy myself and be looking for anything that proves your claim. I’ll be around tomorrow with my findings.”

Jilly floated on a cloud of euphoria, her tires never touching the asphalt on her drive back to the Fourteenth. Her very first case and she had uncovered an important fact that the Senior Pathologist had found sufficiently intriguing so as to re-shape his understanding of Elaine Foster’s death. Murder had suddenly entered the mix and it was all because of her attention to detail.

Even a first-place standing in her graduating class at the Police Academy couldn’t match the thrill she experienced when Doctor Reid asked her for her thoughts. But Jilly’s fanciful flight noise-dived shortly after:

“What’s this about the woman’s bra being inside-out?” Sharon was on the phone from upstairs.

“You’ve been speaking with Doctor Reid?” Jilly asked, excitement peaking her voice.

“No. I’ve got Lieutenant Brisco’s preliminary report. He says he noticed that Elaine Foster was wearing her bra inside-out.”

Jilly couldn’t believe what she was hearing and the dread she felt suddenly sickened her stomach. “The only thing Brisco noticed,” Jilly shot back, “was that I was wearing nude pantyhose.”

Sharon paused a moment, cleared her throat and continued. “It says here that he thought there may be some significance to the fact Missus Foster had put her bra on inside-out and that he had his suspicions. That he asked Frank to look into it. Are you saying this isn’t factual, Detective Anderson?”

“Damn,” Jilly whined, “I was the one who noticed. And Brisco’s going to take the credit for it?”

Sharon exhaled slowly. “Look Detective Anderson, I’ll talk to Frank and find out exactly what happened. But I warn you, there is nothing I can do for you. Brisco has twenty years of experience. If you make a fuss over this, you’ll lose. The Brass upstairs isn’t going to put much credence in the word of a rank beginner. Sorry. You’ll have to smile and suck it up. Don’t get labeled as a troublemaker this early into your career.”

Jilly lay her head forward. “Yes, ma’am,” she replied, fighting tears.

Jilly still had her head down on the desk when she heard the sound of a footfall. “That fucking asshole,” Tommy swore. “Your first time out and you had a run-in with Brisco.”

Jilly lifted her head and sniffed. “You find out already?”

Tommy nodded and dropped into the guest chair. “I was in Sharon’s office and overheard. I could just about spit.”

“He stole my account of what happened ... And he’s going to take credit for it.”

“Yup. That sounds like Brisco. You’re not the first. Trust me.”

“But what can I do?”

“Start by blowing your nose,” Tommy gestured toward a box of tissues.

“Oh gosh...” Jilly was suddenly more concerned about her hygiene. She pressed the corner of a tissue to a corner of an eye and then ran it under her nose. “That better?” She looked up, shyness softening her features.

Tommy smiled and nodded. “And I’m afraid Sharon’s right on this,” Tommy continued. “You don’t want to come off sounding like a second-grader whining but I was there first!”

Jilly tossed the tissue. “It’s just that I so wanted to make a good impression, yuh know?”

“Sure ... sure...” Tommy commiserated. “And don’t worry. You’re a little wet behind the ears but smart. There’ll be other opportunities, where Brisco won’t be around to hog the limelight.”

“I hope so...”

“And remember. The important people, Sharon, Frank ... and me– we all know what went down this morning. Word will get around. Brisco did himself a big disservice in our eyes. One that will come around one day, to bite him on the ass. The truth has a way of coming out.”

“You think...”

“I know,” Tommy said. “Hey. You wanna go for a Messerschmidt?”

Jilly’s eyes came up. “A measure-what?”

“Messerschmidt,” Tommy grinned. “It’s a kinda hot-dog but with a greasy German sausage, wrapped in fatty bacon and cooked on a grill. A guy in the park serves them up with spicy mustard. When I’m feeling depressed, I always go for a Messerschmidt.”

“I can’t imagine you being one to feel depressed. Ever.”

“Yeah,” Tommy smiled, “doesn’t happen often. And a good thing too ... They’re as fattening as hell.”

Jilly couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as she walked side-by-side with her new friend. Okay, it was true she had to run alongside like a terrier, taking two steps to keep up with Tommy’s every one. Tommy stood practically six-feet to Jilly’s five, but seeing the two of them together, everyone stopped to stare.

And being looked at was new for Jilly.

It was mostly men who were doing the looking and of course, they mainly stared at Tommy. She was magnificent in her stretchy body suit, Jilly decided, and Tommy had a physique a man would cry for: square shoulders, perfect A-line torso, and biceps and thighs that bulged and rippled as she strode through the park entrance.

The two of them possessed completely opposing body types but Jilly embarrassed herself, realizing that a lot of the men turning to take a second look, were imagining themselves in bed with the two of them, both her and Tommy, together. That the opposite physiques, big vs small, was a major turn-on for a lot of guys.

Suddenly Jilly found herself wondering what that would be like. Being in bed with Tommy. The weight forcing her slim body into the mattress, those arms crushing, the hips grinding. Jilly shuddered and forced the image from her mind. Craziness, she thought.

They found themselves a park bench and Jilly wondered how she was gong to get her mouth around the end of the giant German sausage that was dribbling grease onto her wrist. Tommy wasn’t deterred by the same delicate misgivings. Jilly watched Tommy turn the bun and chomp down on it, quickly leaning forward and separating her knees to avoid the hot juices that squirted out from the corners of her lips.

Jilly looked down at the front of the loose dress that swayed between her thighs. Forewarned, she leaned to one side and bit down. The taste of spicy sausage, the tang of mustard and smoky flavored bacon filled Jilly’s sinus cavities. Fatty juices overflowed her lips and she was aware of the dribble dripping from her chin. She leaned out further and started to laugh. “Damn, that’s good.”

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed, “better than getting fucked outside.” She reached, opened the backpack she had placed on the grass and came up with two bottles of Lowenbrau, each wrapped in a towel. “Here,” she said, twisting off caps. “Can’t enjoy a Messerschmidt without a decent beer.”

Jilly giggled as she sucked frosty ale straight from the neck of the bottle. Her mother would have a stroke, she thought and took a second bite of her sausage. “You- you like sex outside?”

“Sure,” Tommy laughed. “Especially in public. I once did it with a guy in the back of a pick-up truck doing eighty along the highway. It was wild. The wind in my hair, and in every other place. And the guys alongside, driving allover the road, trying to get a decent look. And then the guy I was doing stood up, with me on my knees. Amazing.”

“You took him like that? In the back of a truck with people watching?”

“Naw,” Tommy laughed. “Cop stopped us before anything happened.” she chewed happily, reliving the memory. “Boy, did he get an eyeful.” Tommy turned to Jilly. “The cop, I mean. You ever do anything crazy?”

Jilly swallowed hard. “Nothing like you...”

“C’mon. Spill...”

“When I was nineteen, a guy drove me home after my cousin’s wedding. I’d had some wine and wasn’t paying attention when he followed me through the door into my apartment. He didn’t seem to want to leave and he ... well, he kinda talked me outta my clothes. After he drove-off in the morning, I realized he had left his jacket behind, so I phoned him, figuring he’d want to drop by and pick it up. When he found out I had his jacket he just laughed...” Jilly paused a moment. “He told me to just throw it into the trash.”

“Jesus,” Tommy lowered her bun. “What a fucking jerk. And it was your first time, wasn’t it?”

Jilly shrugged. “It was my only time.”

“If it had been me, I would have taken his jacket and stuffed it up his asshole.”

Jilly smiled quietly. “Yes. But I’m not big and strong like you, Tommy. And I don’t know how to fight.”

Tommy stripped some of the bun away and chewed thoughtfully on the bacon wrapped sausage. “I’ve been thinking about a fight, for sometime actually.”

“A fight?”

“Mmm. Boxing. I belong to a fight-club but I haven’t been in the ring for a real match-up in a while. I was thinking of doing something about that.”

“Boxing...” Jilly’s eyes widened. “But who would you fight?”

Tommy washed her sausage down with beer. “Ernie Brisco.”

“Lieutenant Brisco? But he’s a ... I mean, you’d fight a guy?” Jilly thought a moment. “You’re not doing this for me...”

“Well partly,” Tommy confessed, “but there’s a better reason. I stepped into the ring with Brisco once before. We had a bet, that if I lost, I’d hand over my sports bra. It sounds stupid, saying it now, but that’s what I agreed to.”

“Holy cow ... I mean, what happened?”

Tommy grinned. “He knocked me on my ass in the second round. Word has it that he took my top and a photograph of me handing it over, and mounted them together in a plexiglass case. Got it hanging on his living room wall.”

Jilly’s eyes circled. “Let me get this straight. Brisco has a photograph of you– half naked– on his living room wall?”

“Just the top half...”

“Let’s not get caught up in the semantics.”

“Semantics! Wouldn’t be semantics if it were your trumpets everyone was staring at.”

Jilly looked down. “Trumpets?”

“Well they are kinda little. Maybe trump-lets would be a better. Anyway, I’m tried of the looks I get the morning after the boys in the squad do some serious drinking over at Brisco’s apartment. It irks me and I want my fuckin’ photo back.”

“So you’re planning on fighting him again, for the photograph. What makes you think he’ll go for it?”

“Oh he’ll go for it ... if I bet my bottoms this time. He wins, I take off my shorts in the middle of the ring and hand them over. He gets the complete set.”

“Geez ... And you won’t be wearing...”

“Hey ... you wanna come?”

“W-what ... Me? Come to a fight?”

“Yeah. I’ll need someone to attend me, at ringside. And you’ll give me incentive and bring me luck. I know I can beat him, but it’s always nice to bring a little something extra into your corner. And besides, you’ll look smashing in a sleeveless top and a pair of sexy silk shorts. What’dyah say?”

Jilly thought a moment. “Just be sure to bet your shorts, and not mine.”

Tommy grinned. “I’ll get my trainer to set it up.”

Jilly’s cell phone rang. She retrieved it from the bottom of her purse and checked the screen. “It’s Sharon.”

Tommy humped a shoulder and looked at the pigeons.

“Yes Sharon?” Jilly’s voice was tentative.

“Wipe the mustard off your chin, Detective Anderson, and hightail-it back to my office. And bring the Incredible Hulk with you. I need to speak with the both of you.”

“This is not a suicide note.” Jilly was looking at the blood-stained page in a plastic evidence bag. It had been sealed and signed by Frank Reid.

Sharon had her own misgivings but wanted to give Detective Anderson a chance to expand on her theory and explain in her own words.

“Look,” Jilly tore two slips of paper from her notebook and handed one to Sharon and one to Tommy. “Write something down. Anything. A note to yourself, then hand them back.”

Sharon jotted down her home address and Tommy a note to reminder herself to pay her boxing club dues. Jilly gathered the slips of paper and lined them up against Elaine Foster’s suicide note “Notice anything?” Jilly asked. Both Tommy and Sharon leaned in to see.

“My handwriting is better,” Sharon pointed out.

“Okay. Look at this ... Sharon, you began your note four lines from the top. Tommy, three lines down. Why?”

Tommy shrugged. “Because it just looks better. More centered on the page, I guess.”

Jilly used a pencil to draw their attention to Elaine’s suicide note.

“Hum-m,” Sharon looked. “Elaine started it on the top line.”

“No,” Jilly leaned back. “She ended it on the top line. We don’t have the complete note. Just the last couple of sentences. Send this to the lab and they’ll tell you that the top of the page has been cut off.”

Sharon grasped what Jilly was saying immediately. “Tomorrow’s garbage day, Tommy. Drop around the Foster household late tonight and go through the trash. Look for the rest of Elaine’s note. And one other thing. Frank is working on his preliminary autopsy report but he called with a bit of interesting news. He found three hair follicles on Elaine’s body. Not on her clothes, but stuck to her skin.”

“Mister Foster’s?” Tommy asked.

“Frank doesn’t know. He needs a sample of Kevin Foster’s hair for a DNA comparison.”

“Let me,” Jilly looked up. “But I have to go home first, to change.”

He checked his watch and touched the one-hundred dollar bill he had folded into his shirt pocket. If he left five-minutes early he could avoid the rush. Denise would give him a lap dance at the Calico Cat and for the hundred bucks, a blow job in one of the private rooms.

After, he would crossover to Bernie’s Delicatessen for a pastrami on rye and then head home. The Yankees were hosting the Red Sox and he wouldn’t want to miss that.