Chapter 6

Tom was saddened when he woke to a blaring alarm clock and an empty bed. He had truly hoped that Mia would still be there. He rolled over and caught sight of the note stuck to the pillow. His lips puckered in confusion as he read the rough, childlike scrawl. She had left an address but not a phone number. How decidedly odd. Still, he supposed that it was, at least, an invitation to see her again.

He quickly got ready for work and went out the door, only realizing belatedly that he had been whistling happily the entire time.

When he arrived at the station, Mark met him at his desk with a hot cup of the vile substance that passed for coffee at the station.

As Tom accepted the cup, Mark gave him a quick double take and arched an eyebrow in suspicion, "And just what are you so friggin' happy about this morning, boss?" Then his eyes widened in malicious glee, "Oh my lord, you got laid, didn't you? Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick! Here, I was starting to think that you might have gone all poofster on us."

Tom fixed his friend with a look of mock indignation. "Describing what happened to me last night as getting laid is like describing the finest seven course meal at the Grand Concourse as chowing down."

"Ha! Details! Give me details!"

"Pfft. A gentleman never tells. Especially not to brutish louts like yourself."

Mark clutched his hand to his chest, "Brutish lout?! You wound me to the quick, sir. I may have to thumb my teeth at you."

"Heh. Good to see you're actually getting some use out of that English lit degree."

"It never hurts to bring out a touch of class to brighten the lives of poor ignorant slobs. Besides, I get a lot of use from my degree. You should read some of my incident reports. Works of art they be."

"Well, before you launch into a scene from Hamlet to dazzle me with your brilliance, is there any chance my composite is ready?"

"Sure is, boss. Girlie looks like she should be in Playboy and not on the post office wall."

Tom chuckled as he accepted the sheet of paper Mark handed him. And then his world reeled, the cup of coffee falling from suddenly nerveless fingers to spatter across the floor.

Mark rushed to his side and grabbed his arm in support, concern writ large on his every feature. "What's the matter, Tom? Talk to me."

Tom's mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed to choke out, "It's her."

"It's who, Tom?"

"Mia. The woman I was ... with last night."

"Jesus Christ, Tom! You slept with the worst serial killer in this city's history?" Mark flushed as he realized how undiplomatic he was being and asked in a quieter tone, "What the fuck is going on, boss?"

"I wish to hell I knew, Mark. I really do."

"Well, we've had two cabbies give us a positive id and both dropped her off in roughly the same area in North Oakland. There are patrolman on their way now to canvas the neighborhood to see if anyone knows where she lives. With a little luck, you should be able to ask her yourself in a bit."

Tom looked at his friend blankly for a moment and then groped in his pocket. As he pulled out a rumpled post-it, he said grimly. "I think I already know where she is."