Looking back, I think the first time Bodie and I really noticed the change in the computer room was during that Arab diplomat assassination case. I remember because Bodie made some silly comment about the microchips being pretty chipper. It was about a week later Cowley put us on to Eddie Markham. The bloke was known to have at least three aliases, we needed to find him fast, and we didn't have a clue. I called down and left a message, put an A-1 Priority on it, then went off with Bodie to the nearest pub for a pint. We weren't very hopeful, but the streets were tapped out and anything was better than nothing.

Bodie had just paid for the first round when word came through on the R/T. He looked at me, astonished, and not a little disappointed. "Can't be," he said. "They haven't even had time to warm Matilda up yet!"

But when we got to Matilda-the-computer's room, and may I add--just for the record--it's the only decent looking room in the whole building, not only did the printout list all we already knew, but quite a bit we didn't. Like the names and addresses of about ten of Eddie's mates. One of those names was a bloke who had sworn on his mother's life he'd never heard of Eddie Markham just that morning.

I pointed out the name to Bodie then looked around for somebody to run a doublecheck.

Sara, a cute little brunette that Bodie had once taken out, was nearest. "Sara luv, would you...."

She glanced at the printout and shook her head, "That's Katrin's. You'd better ask her."

"I will if you'll point 'er out."

She waved a hand. "Look for the redhead."

I didn't find a redhead. By process of elimination I found a pair of small red trainers and the bottom half of a pair of overalls. Everything else was wedged under one of the consoles. I wiggled one of the shoes. "Katrin?"

"That's me." Her voice sounded tinny coming out from under the machinery.

"I'm Doyle."

One foot waved encouragingly.

"Could you doublecheck this printout on Eddie Markham?" Actually Bodie or I could do it ourselves, but knowing how and actually doing it are two different things. Neither of us are exactly speedy when it comes to programming.

Katrin was still under the console. "I already checked. It's right."

"But this bit about Les Aster...."

"Oh that's one of the names from Special Branch's CR."

Bodie nudged me and raised an eyebrow. Special Branch's computer was generally closed to CI5 without Cowley's specific okay which he gave about as often as he was seen dancing nude around Trafalgar Square. This was because Cowley and SB's Controller were always at loggerheads and mainly because part of our jobs included checking on each other. They couldn't get into ours either.

"You mean Cowley okay'd it?"

"No," she sckootched out and gazed up at me. "I just convinced SB's computer to talk to ours."

At first she seemed all green eyes and hair. Red wasn't the right word--it was more carroty and she had freckles, too. She looked about thirteen, very cute, and her smile took up what space those eyes didn't.

"Hi," she held out a hand and Bodie beat me to it.

"Hello," he turned on the charm, pulling her to her five foot nothing feet.

She didn't even notice, already reaching for the printout. "Look. See this mark? That means it came from Harold."

"Harold?"

"S'what the people here call SB's computer. Excuse me," she punched a couple of buttons and watched, satisfied, as the board started a smooth humm.

If there's anything Bodie hates it's being ignored. He can take outright rejection, but being completely overlooked puts him on edge. He tried again. "Come on, luv, you don't really mean you can get into SB's computer without Cowley's okay."

Katrin turned and suddenly she managed to look very dignified, despite the overalls. "Mr. Cowley told me last week that A-1 priorities can go through Harold...as long as SB doesn't find out. Besides, I said I did, therefore I did."

He backed off. "Okay, okay."

She smiled again, then somebody called her and she was off like quicksilver.

To make a long story short we found Eddie in half the time it would have taken and Cowley was pleased for once. After that, anytime we had need of Matilda for anything we asked Katrin to do it for us. She was a real find--a genius with machines, seemed to pull answers out of thin air and you never had to tell her to cross reference anything.

We weren't the only team to notice the new speedy results of queries and for awhile Katrin was the talk of the Ops Room. It was inevitable some of the lads would try and chat her up, but no one had any luck. I tried myself but all I got was a surprised look and a firm, "No." She didn't even bother with excuses. I didn't bother to try again and I doubt Bodie tried at all, though he swears he did.

It was about that time my partner and I discovered each other so when word got about that Katrin and Mike O'Malley were actually seen together at the pictures we were only mildly interested. Mike was about as Irish as they come and pretty new on the squad (new meaning he had less than five years in). I could see how they'd be noticed--two people with hair so bright it practically glowed in the dark. Mike's partner was Steve Parsons, a nondescript type that blended into the scenery so well that half the time you never realized he was about. They made a strange pair, but it seemed to work. (And, after all, nobody thought Bodie and I would get along either--especially us.)

I never saw them together until the Christmas party. It was a real knees up--even Cowley showed for a hour or so at the beginning of the evening. These things have a tendency to degenerate quickly so Bodie and I left not long after the old man--mainly because we had some serious partying of our own to do. Mike and Katrin were sitting on the stairs, sharing a bottle of Irish whiskey, and having a very weird argument about leprechauns. Katrin was for and Mike against--I think. It was hard to tell and since Bodie was whispering in my ear about the plans he had for me (he can get wonderfully kinky), I wasn't paying much attention to anyone else. We stepped over them, and being rather full of Christmas cheer and scotch both, I paused and wished 'em Seasons Greetings.

I don't think Bodie had ever forgiven Katrin's ignoring him. He said, "Merry Christmas!", picked her up and very soundly kissed her, then handed her to me. She was sweet and warm and tiny. I kissed her, too--not easy as she was giggling--then we left and went back to my flat where Bodie made me forget everything but him.

---

Along about the first of the year we got a weekend off and decided to spend it at Bodie's place (better heating), in bed. It was where we spent most of our time since that first night. That had been a weekend off, too, but if anybody had told me I'd wind up making love to Bodie I'd have laughed my socks off. Just goes to show what a little too much to drink and a lot of pent up emotion can do to a feller.

Anyway, we spent all Friday night so wrapped up in each other I doubt we'd have noticed World War III--or cared for that matter. Saturday I talked him into going to the pictures, then out to dinner. In the pub after he beat me at darts. We got home around eleven. It was me who pushed for that last drink--I keep thinking that if I'd left when Bodie wanted to I could have changed things. I don't know, but it hurts....

Sunday morning we slept in then read papers until noon, pleasantly arguing politics mostly. We were eating a hastily thrown together lunch when the call came in. It was direct from Cowley and we knew by his tone of voice something was very wrong.

Bodie made a face at me and held the R/T so we could both talk. "4.5's here, Sir."

"I know," Cowley said. "Get over to 16 Victoria Place SW1. Now."

I was indignant, "We're off duty!"

Cowley merely growled and cut the connection. We made it in twenty minutes and arrived with Bodie still eating his cheese sandwich. Steve Parsons met us at the door. He looked sick and was clutching at his stomach.

"It's Katrin," he said and swallowed hard. "She's been...." He shook his head.

Bodie asked, "Where's Mike?"

"Up north on that Pinburtun case. Cowley told me...to go up and tell him...oh Christ...."

I left Bodie, who is surprisingly good at such things, to deal with him, and went inside.

The forensics team was working in high gear with most of the activity centered in the living room of her small flat. They hadn't moved her body yet. I took one look and knew why Steve was sick. She had been beaten and stabbed--thirty-six times we found out later--and...cut. Little slash marks that ripped her pretty face into something unrecognizable. There was dried and congealing blood everywhere--the whole room stank of it. I felt my stomach turn over and then the anger started to churn inside me.

Behind me Bodie made a noise and I turned away from her to look at him. He closed his eyes once then gazed back at me solemnly. We'd get the bastard who did this--we promised each other in that second.

There was a movement beyond him. Cowley came in and I straightened away from the body. I couldn't think of a thing to say, and beside me, for once Bodie too was silent.

Cowley registered our presence and was brisk. "One of the neighbors noticed the door open and checked it. The police notified us at noon when they did a routine ID. You're off all other cases. Malone?"

Our head of forensics was ready. "No signs of B&E. Happened last night, probably between 10 PM and midnight. She bled to death. No fingerprints yet...don't count on anything."

"Weapon?" I asked.

Malone, who still wore gloves, held up a kitchen knife with a serated edge. "It was stuck in the wall over there. I think I can guarantee it's the one. We'll know more when the body's worked up. Suspects...man, woman, take your pick to sex and number. She was small. Doesn't look like there was much of a struggle."

"Head injury?" Bodie wanted to know.

"Not that I can tell."

Which meant she was conscious for most of the torture. I felt sicker.

"She had a black belt in karate," Cowley muttered.

Malone shrugged.

"All right."

They came for Katrin's body then and took her out in a slow shuffle. Bodie and I drifted around, trying to stay out of the way, looking through her things, piecing together a surface idea of her lifestyle.

The flat was clean but not tidy. In the kitchen there were dishes in the sink--lunch and dinner it looked like. There was a set of knives mounted on a board hanging on a wall. One was missing--the one Malone had. The loo was done up in blues and white--she used an electric razor, dandruff shampoo, and an hypoallergenic soap. The only hairs in the brush looked like hers.

We moved on to the bedroom. The bed was a double and was neatly made. There was a blue duvet on it and the curtains matched. Bodie flicked through the dresser drawers while I checked the closet. Her clothes ranged from a plethora of tatty jeans, those overalls, and teeshirts, to several frilly ultrafeminine negligees and dresses. Nothing very pricey. It looked like she lived well within her budget. On the top shelf in the back of the closet were several boxes. Mostly they were filled with off season clothes--one had nothing but pictures.

We went through them, sitting on her bed, laying out her life from birth to the present in rows in front of us. Bodie tapped one of the more recent shots. "This guy shows up a lot--clear back to her school days."

"Brother, mebbe?" I suggested, then, "No, boyfriend. Here he is taking her to a dance."

"None of him since last year. Here's a couple of Mike." Bodie held a photo up. "Takes a good picture, doesn't he? Must be the hair."

"You're just jealous," I accused, "'cause you always look like a squinty-eyed reject from Dartmoor."

He grinned and the mood lightened a little. We gathered up the photos and set them aside, then went back into the living room.

Malone's boys had gone, but the blood remained, turning brown now, in scattered patches. Cowley was still there, sitting on the sofa, leafing through a notepad. He handed it silently to me as he got up.

I knew he was hurting. Oh, his face didn't show it, but his walk was slow and the limp more obvious. When you hurt one of the Cow's people--any one of his people--you hurt him. Katrin had barely been with us for six months, but she was 'family.' He turned at the door, started to say something, then merely walked out. It was an odd sort of compliment. None of the 'find out if it was CI5 related or not' bit. I looked at Bodie.

He watched the old man leave with that blank expression he hides behind. I sometimes think if Cowley told him to jump off Tower Bridge in his underwear he'd do it and ask questions later. He really cares about our Controller, trusts him, worries about him--and Cowley, in his turn, has a special, well-hidden, corner for Bodie. (Which was why, when we told him about us, Bodie did the talking. I was just damn glad Cowley didn't make Bodie choose between CI5 and me.)

We were left alone now in Katrin's apartment and we turned it over thoroughly, top to bottom. It's amazing what a couple of rooms can tell you about a person. Bodie did the physical bits, checking the undersides of furniture and drawers and such, while I went through her files.

She read an assortment of books, everything from technical computer manuals to those Harlequin romance things. There were modern prints on the walls and one good Appleby sketch of Longleat. She paid her bills on time, kept a running account at the grocer's, drank Irish whiskey and ate yogurt and junk food.

GPO bills were listed carefully in her sprawling hand and over the months the trunk calls had shortened. Breaking the ties with home, it seemed.

Bodie found the paper tucked away under the phone and brought it to me to read. Our only clue, and very brief. The paper had been ripped from the notepad.

A2HAROLD.ASK RAY.

"Holding out on us, mate?" Bodie suggested.

"Yeh, sure. As soon as you go to sleep--and I can walk--I lead a secret life.."

He snorted and pulled out his R/T. "3.7 to Control. Check on calls in and out of..." he read her phone number off, "for the last twenty-four hours."

Mac was on the switches and he had it ready for us by the time we got to HQ.

"Four calls," he said, handing over the transcribed report.

The first call was to the box office of a West End theatre asking for tickets. The second--my eyebrows went up. It was my number. No answer of course as I'd been with Bodie. The third call was to Mike's hotel up north. Their conversation was brief and affectionate, confirming their date to go to the show when he got back. The fourth call was to Bodie's. Obviously she was looking for me. I noted the time...if I hadn't pushed for that last drink we'd have been home....

"Don't," Bodie said irritably.

"Don't what?"

"Blame yourself."

I started to protest then realized he knew me too well. I can't change me so I changed the subject. "We need to backtrack."

"Yeh," Bodie said. He didn't look very happy and I didn't blame him. Investigations like this, the discovery about people's private lives, was generally boring. When it was someone you knew it was boring mostly and occasionally embarrassing. I tried unsuccessfully to put the picture of Katrin's body out of my mind. "Come on--we'd better talk to the neighbors again."

---

Three days later we knew more about Katrin than we ever wanted to and nothing that even remotely pointed to her murder. She was smart (obviously), her teachers had liked her, her family liked her (and that was an interview I was very glad Cowley handled), her neighbors liked her, the grocer, the staff in the computer room... everyone liked her. Cowley got the name of the guy in all those pictures and we traced him to Chester where he worked in an office. Yes, they had grown up together, had dated and even got engaged. But he broke it off one year ago to marry someone else and was happily surrounded by wife and twins. Besides he had an unshakable alibi.

We drove back to London, having exhausted our last lead, in silence. We went to my flat and while I fixed dinner Bodie wandered around looking dark and angry. Neither of us had much appetite. Finally I pushed my plate aside and sat back. "'A2 Harold. Ask Ray.' Damn it Bodie! It's got to mean something!"

"Don't tell me, mate, I know. Look. Harold is most likely SB's computer. A2...a road? A code? None of the girls in the computer room knew it. Anyway, why ask you?"

"When does Mike get back from the funeral?"

"It was today. He'll be back tomorrow."

I fetched beers and we ignored dishes and went to the sitting room. My sofa, unlike Bodie's, is comfortable. I stretched out on it with my head in his lap and let him play with my hair while we continued the discussion. "Have you talked to Mike yet at all?"

"Just the once," Bodie's hands tightened, then relaxed. "He wasn't takin' it too well. He was serious about her."

I reached up and touched his nose. "Tomorrow you go see him."

"Palming me off again, 4.5?"

"You're much better at consoling than I am. Maybe he'll know what A2 means."

"Let Steve console 'im," Bodie muttered and drank his beer. "That's what partners are for."

"Oh?"

"And other things..." he agreed and began to play with more than my hair.

I wasn't capable of coherent thought for quite a while--but much later, when Bodie was all snuggled up against me, his breath warm and even in my neck, I began wondering again about that cryptic little message. A2HAROLD.ASKRAY. I fell asleep on the words and dreamed about computers running down motorways all night long.

---

Cowley had given Mike the week off as his case up north had wrapped before he knew about Katrin. Bodie left me at CI5 HQ to go through the files again while he went to talk to Mike. I hate files. I really do. They're dry and bare and reduce a flesh and blood person into facts and figures in a few sentences. They're dusty. They make me sneeze.

I wouldn't have traded places with Bodie for anything. I hate what he was doing even more.

Steve Parsons was in the Ops Room when I arrived with my armload of paper. "Hey mate--any coffee going?"

He gave me a cup of very black almost liquid. "What's all this then?"

"Files on Katrin."

"You get anything yet?"

"Nothing." I sat heavily and decided to attempt the coffee. "Ah--three days old, eh?"

"Yeh..." he looked around. "Where's Bodie?"

"He went to see Mike."

"Good luck."

He sounded rueful. I glanced up and was surprised to see the expression on his face. "Why? What's...."

"You know Mike. I'll-handle-it-on-my-own-Mike. He wouldn't let me near him."

He sounded almost bitter then. Trouble between partners maybe? "Well, he's upset. He'll get over it."

Steve drank his coffee and wandered away to the high window. "Katrin," he muttered. "She was trouble from the word go."

"Katrin?"

"Yes, Katrin. She was affecting his work."

"Birds do, mate."

He shrugged. "I know. He'll be back to work soon. It'll be better then."

I got up and showed him the note Katrin had left. "Does this mean anything to you?"

He read it in a glance. "No. Why?"

"We found it in her flat. She'd been trying to call me."

Steve looked again, longer this time. "No, sorry. Harold, isn't that SB's computer?"

"Yeh, I guess. She didn't seem to know anyone named Harold."

He left soon after and I didn't see him again until late afternoon when he came back into the Ops Room.

"You still here?" he asked, surprised.

I looked at him blearily. "Yeh."

"Anything?"

"Nothing. Not one damn thing."

He poured a cup of fresh coffee I'd made and added sugar. "How'd Bodie do? You know, gettin' on with Mike?"

"Okay." I stretched and several joints cracked audibly. I'd have to get Bodie to rub my back later.... "He called about an hour ago. Said Mike was finally talking it out. Maybe he'll remember something. Bodie's good at it...."

I stopped speaking because Steve wasn't listening anymore. He'd gone a little pale and was gripping his cup until I thought it would shatter in his hands.

"Steve? Hey, you all right mate?"

"What? Oh yeh, sure. Touch of...flu s'all. Hits me like that."

Under his brown hair he looked ill enough. "You'd better go home then. You look awful."

He nodded and relaxed a little. "So when's Bodie comin' in?"

"He's staying with Mike tonight. At least until after dinner." Dinner. I'd have to grab something on the way home.

Steve left pretty quickly then and after reporting to Cowley I grabbed a ride back to my neighborhood with one of the clerks who lived in the area. She let me off at the market where I bought several things I really didn't want because my mind was occupied with...something. Something was wrong and I couldn't get a handle on it.

I got home and fixed a sandwich without really noticing, then let it dry on the plate while I stared at the wall. A thousand pieces to the puzzle and 999 of them fit. It was that one slightly askew fragment that was driving me up a wall.

The Cow calls it animal instinct and says you're either born with it or you're not. In me it's a nagging sensation in the back of my mind that doesn't let me rest. Bodie says he gets an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. I don't know what Cowley gets, never dared ask, but whatever it is we all have it and mine was working in overdrive that night.

A2HAROLD.ASKRAY.

Assuming Harold was SB's computer--what was A2? Katrin was the only tech allowed to use Harold by Cowley's express order and she never went in unless it was a last resort (like with Eddie Markham) because we didn't want SB stumbling onto the fact that we were tapping them. So how did she get in? I called Sara at home and asked her.

"I don't know," she said. "None of us knew. She stumbled on the code one day and never told us how."

"Somebody has to know," I insisted.

"Cowley maybe. Look Ray, Katrin used her brain like a file and she memorized most of the codings in a weird system just for herself."

"How'd you mean?"

"I don't know how she did it. Just lots of times she'd pick up a request, stare off into space for a few seconds, then mumble something and punch it right up."

"Mumble what?" I knew I was pushing, but I couldn't help it. There wasn't anything else to go on.

"Like letters and numbers. You know--L5, W23, that kind of thing." She was beginning to sound exasperated so I eased up a bit.

"Luv, think back. Do you remember anything specific?"

There were several seconds of silence. Then, "Once last week McNab asked for something and she said 'M1'."

It meant nothing to me. I thanked her and hung up. Eight o'clock. Bodie would be calling or dropping by in a couple of hours, having seen Mike off to bed. I missed my partner's steel trap mind. Sometimes he can see things I don't pick up. It's one of the things that makes us good together.

Feeling ill-at-ease, that little nagging still there, I decided to go for a ride. Twenty minutes later I was at HQ, wandering through the darkened hallways with no set purpose. Home away from home, I was drawing energy from the familiar charged setting.

I ended up in the computer room with the bare bones staff, two girls I didn't know very well, who let me watch them work. They were cataloging the reports that had been filed that day, cross referencing all the names, things like that. Except for papers rustling and the satisfied little beeps Matilda made as they fed her, everything was quiet.

A2HAROLD.ASKRAY.

Supposing A2 was one of Katrin's private codes, maybe it concerned something she'd come across from SB's computer. Probably something really recent...so what had she been working on the day she died? The files were in my locker. I took them back to the computer room and checked.

Yes, she had personally done three reports that Saturday. All I had were the requisition sheets, but she had initialed them and added the usual codes for what she'd done. There was one for Cowley on budgets, one for Bennie on what I knew to be a drugs case and...bingo.

One for Murph. An A-1 Priority that had the little mark she had shown me and Bodie meaning Harold had been used. I asked one of the girls, the pretty brunette (does Cowley ever hire anyone who isn't pretty?) to punch it up for me. The readout was on Murph's current case with a couple of cross references. I looked at Matilda's printing and realized what was wrong. There were no little squiggles, none of Katrin's markings scrawled on this printout. I needed the original--the one she herself had given Murphy.

Back to the file room. I read what Matilda had just given me while Cathy Elliot looked up the folder. Murph was still on the case, a nasty little blackmail racket, and Harold had coughed up a couple of leads to politicians. There was an oblique reference to some similar case in 1975--evidently one of the villains had been sent up for a few years, was out now and back in business. The Special Branch agents on the case then were J. McGuire and S. Parsons. Our Steve? He'd come from SB, Cowley'll cull from anywhere....

Cathy came up with the file then and I was lucky--Murph is methodical, keeps his reports up to date and properly filed unlike most of us. Katrin's original printout was there. The squiggle meaning Harold was used was in the bottom left corner, and on the top right was a clear M3.

There were two other earlier printouts in the file and one was done by Katrin. Again in the top right corner was an M3. I began to get an inkling. "Cath, luv, pull anything from last month."

She's a treasure. No questions--she just pulled and in less than a half hour I had cracked Katrin's code. It was actually pretty simple. Every bit of work she did for one of the active agents was coded according to who asked for the report. And each agent had a letter and a number. I was D1 and Bodie D2, Murph M3, Bennie F1, and so on. Partners seemed to be listed as 1 and 2 with an identifying letter in front, singles like Murph were usually 3 and Cowley for some reason known only to Katrin, was W23. In the random files Cathy gave me A2 was not listed. A systematic search would take time....

I went back to Murph's file and looked for any other squiggles. And there it was, in blue ink, directly above S. Parsons. A2. I should have known. In her mind Mike was likely A1--therefore Steve was A2. Simple.

A2HAROLD.ASKRAY.

So she had come across Steve's name from SB. So what? My name was probably all over former Drugs Squad cases. Why ask me? I barely knew him, had never heard of J. McGuire, and certainly had no connection (that I knew of anyway) with either the 1975 case or the current one.

It took a little convincing before Cathy would give me the printout of Katrin's. It wasn't until I gave her the one Matilda had run off for me earlier in trade that I got out of there.

I wanted--needed--Bodie's help on this one. It might be nothing, not be even remotely connected with Katrin's murder, but if our last clue was going down the drain I wanted him to be there for the final burble.

It was after ten by the time I got back to my flat and Bodie wasn't there. I called his place. No answer. I hated to disturb him at Mike's. It wasn't much after ten. I decided to wait.

My stomach growled loudly and I remembered I hadn't eaten, realized I still wasn't mentally hungry. For the same bloody reason. I may have cracked Katrin's code--but I was still missing something. I ate the now tasteless sandwich to shut my stomach up and reflected it was a miracle all of Cowley's people were so healthy. The way we never had set hours, never ate regular meals (and when we do half the time we eat pure garbage--especially Bodie), and spent most of our time running about like headless chickens so we could stand still, it was a wonder we didn't all succumb to the flu like Steve.

Steve Parsons. Nondescript Steve, whose greatest asset was his ability to melt into the woodwork. Especially next to his colorful partner. They'd been together for a couple of years now and it had seemed to be working. So why didn't Mike want Steve around now when he most needed a friend? Or maybe Bodie'd just hit at the right time with the right words. It was pretty obvious Steve hadn't liked Katrin much--'she's affecting his work.' Maybe that should read 'affecting the team.'

God knew it happened. It had when I'd been stupid enough to get involved with Anne. I'd been hurt and she'd been hurt, but the one who suffered most was Bodie. Looking back it seemed every time we'd had problems as a team (once the initial kinks were straightened out) it was because of a woman.

I like women. I really do. I just happen to like Bodie better. Thank god he felt the same way. Ever since we started our personal relationship our work had only gotten better. No distractions. Nothing to come between us. No one to come between us. If it had been a one way thing--if when I reached for Bodie that first time he'd turned me down or been shocked or disgusted...well, most likely it would have destroyed the partnership, not to mention the friendship. But Bodie had taught me things about loving someone I'd never known before. Emotional things about caring and being cared for. What we had now was so good, so right. He was everything I needed, the other half of myself and I'd bloody kill anyone who came between us now....

I sat there at my table and felt that 1000th piece slide neatly into place. "Oh Christ...no...."

I was at the phone and dialing, the sudden adrenalin rush giving me the shakes. On the third ring Bodie answered and I sighed with relief. He was home then, and safe.

"Bodie, listen...."

"Hi Ray."

He sounded normal. Too normal. And on the phone he usually calls me 4.5, or Doyle. Ray was sort of special these days, reserved for moments in darkness. I felt the adrenalin pick up again. "How'd it go?" I kept my voice casual.

No use using codes. If Steve was there he'd know them all anyway.

"S'all right. Look, Ray. I'm a bit frazzled tonight. How bout tomorrow instead?"

So Steve was there--or someone was. We hadn't spent a night apart except for work since we'd begun. And earlier we'd made definite plans. "No problem," I yawned--adrenalin again--and let it be heard. "See you later."

"Good," he said and I knew he'd caught the meaning from that faint note of relief in his voice.

I hated to hang up. God knew what Steve would do in the time it took me to get there. But the dial tone in my ear indicated he'd cut the connection anyway. I was out the door and down the steps instantly and called Cowley on the R/T from my car.

There are times when I wonder why I put up with the old man. He can be a real pain (maybe we have a lot in common), but then come the times like that night and I know why. He didn't ask questions, just listened.

"It's Steve Parsons," I told him, "and he must be round the bend. He thought Katrin was coming between he and Mike and now I think he'd transferring it to Bodie."

There were two seconds of silence then he said, "Where are you now?"

"On my way to Bodie's." I took a corner on two wheels and juggled the R/T one handed.

"Backup will meet you there."

I threw the R/T aside and slowed the car to park a good block away from Bodie's flat, then ran the rest of the way. I had a key to the outside entrance--he was on the third floor and I took the stairs.

Outside his door I listened and heard the muted rumble of voices. Bodie's was soothing; the tighter the situation the calmer he gets. The other voice was high pitched, ranting almost and didn't sound like Steve. I had a moment of doubt--could I be so far wrong? I'd been wrong before, though I tend to believe too much in people, not the other way around. Then Bodie said clearly, "You're wrong, Steve. I'm Doyle's partner and he's the only partner I'll ever want."

I couldn't ask for a better entrance cue.

I unlocked the door and swung it open.

Bodie was sitting in his one decent chair, his hands tied in front of him, the rope continuing in a short length to bind his feet. He was effectively immobile and his face was bruised. Steve had his own Browning in hand and stopped in midpace as the door opened, turning to stare at me with rounded crazed eyes. Bodie was too far away from him to do any good so we lost that first second of surprise.

As the Browning swung my way I raised my hands and backed against the door until it touched the panel, but not enough to latch it. Steve was beyond noticing and it left the way open for backup.

"You shouldn't be here," he said in that same whiney/upset voice. "I didn't want you to have to know."

I looked at Bodie with a raised eyebrow and he grimaced back. Yes, he was all right--for the time being. His eyes flickered toward the coffee table and away. I glanced and felt a cold chill. A long knife, one of his prized carving set, lay there gleaming like silver evil.

There are rules to cover situations like this and number one was to keep the nutter talking.

"Didn't want me to know what, Steve?"

"About Mike and Bodie. Your partner," he sneered. "He's just like Katrin, you know. Coming between us. Breaking up the team. Only he's worse because he's breaking up two teams."

"No," I moved a little and he let me go so I lowered my hands. "Bodie's not, Steve. Really. He's my partner--he doesn't want to be teamed with Mike or anything else."

"He does!" Steve's voice cracked pathetically and he backed towards the coffee table, careful to keep the gun evenly between us, ready to go either way. "I heard them. I went to Mike's and I listened. All that talk about going shooting together...I heard them! You Doyle, you're too trusting, you have to watch out." He nodded as if he had the knowledge of the universe at his command and I suppose in those moments he really thought he did.

"I trust Bodie, yes," I told him. "He's my partner. Mine. We guard each other's back. Just like you and Mike."

He snorted. "No. Mike loved Katrin. He told me. Said they were going to get married, said he didn't have time for me...."

I doubted if Mike had said anything like that last bit, it was just Steve's twisted mind turning it about, laying on his own meaning like how he'd twisted Bodie and Mike going shooting together.

He was going on, "So Mike went up north and I thought 'I'll just tell Katrin she's hurting the team'--so I went there and she didn't understand." He looked at me owlishly. "I explained it, Doyle. Even used you and Bodie as a good example...but she wouldn't listen. So I knew she had to die."

He said it so reasonably, in the funny voice. Katrin got in his way so she died. And now Bodie...and this time it would be easier.

"Why'd you cut her?" Bodie put in quietly.

"So she wouldn't be so pretty anymore of course." He looked at me. "You'll see, 4.5. When I'm through you won't have to worry about Bodie hurting you ever. And he won't be pretty either. Then you'll understand." He reached for the long bladed knife.

"Steve...."

It came from behind me, soft and sad, and I half turned to see Mike in the doorway. His brilliant red hair shone in the light and his face was tortured and blotchy. He didn't even look at me, just walked past, ignoring the gun in his partner's hand, talking with his distinctive lilt. "Steve, let's get out of here--leave them alone--to talk...."

"No...." Whereas all our arguments hadn't touched Steve that terrible destroyed look on his partner's face broke him.

Mike gently took the gun away. Steve looked at him, then at Bodie and raised his arm to kill my partner.

Bodie moved then, throwing himself down and forward against Steve's legs with a heavy grunt. Steve cried out and staggered, falling to one side. He lay still on the carpet and I left him to Mike because it was Bodie I was concerned with.

He struggled to his knees and I used my pocket knife to good effect and helped him stand. "You all right?"

He gave me a sweet smile and a nod then his eyes slid past me. Somehow the room had filled while my attention was centered on Bodie. Murphy was there, surreptitiously sliding his gun back into the shoulder holster, and Bennie and Tuck....

I met Cowley's eyes, which for once were not icey, but filled with the compassion only he can give. He said nothing to me--after all, what was there to say?--and turned his attention to the two men still on the floor.

Mike sat leaning against the coffee table and in his arms he cradled his partner, rocking him soothingly while he cried unashamedly. There was blood everywhere and the carving knife still protruded from Steve's chest.

He must have fallen on it. I heard Bodie make a low sound behind me and his hand gripped my shoulder. I thought Steve must be dead but he opened his eyes, focusing with difficulty on Mike.

"Is it over?" he asked, sounding confused.

Mike closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "Yes, mate. It's over."

"Did we...did we get 'em?"

"Every one of 'em. It's all right. You just rest now."

We all stood, transfixed by the tragic scene, and watched.

Steve coughed and blood trickled from his mouth. "You're safe," he murmured and reached to touch his partner's face as if to reassure himself. He was too weak and his hand fell back on the carpet. "You'd better...report in."

"I will," Mike said and held him tighter. "Hang on, mate."

Steve turned his head and saw me and Bodie. "Oh good...you're all okay...."

He relaxed then and snuggled deeper in Mike's arms, giving up to the inevitable with dignity.

"Don't die," Mike said. "Steve...whose goin' to guard my back if you leave me? Mate...."

But Steve had gone. Cowley moved then and between he and Murphy they gently took Steve away from his partner, laying the body aside to attend to Mike.

Bodie slid his hand from my shoulder to cross my chest and quickly hugged me in a rare public gesture. Then he stood back and handed me a handkerchief.

I wiped the wet streaks on my cheeks and blew my nose. Beside me my partner sighed. "I'll never get the blood out," he mumbled and I understood the meaning behind the words.

Murphy took Mike out and Cowley straightened away from the body. "All right," he said and it was back-to-business-tone-of-voice. "Report."

---

Last night Bodie and I went to the annual Christmas party. Brian Macklin dressed up as St. Nick and played Father Christmas. Everyone got a gift--God knows when Cowley found the time (or the budget). Bodie got a gun manual he'd been eyeing and I got a cover for my steering wheel (I'd been griping about my hands freezing off just the week before--I swear the old man has ears everywhere).

It's hard to think it's been almost a year since Katrin and Steve died. Poor bloody Steve. The job gets us all--takes a toll. Me--I'm getting grey pretty fast and my timing's just a bit slower than it was last year. Maybe Bodie's right, maybe we should leave the squad now, while we can, and take that offer we got from his mate at that club in Hampshire. I know I don't want another year like the last one. If it hadn't been for Bodie, who is constantly reminding me I've got three years on him, to back me up I'd have been dead twenty times over.

We solved most of the assignments the old man gave us. A couple are pending. The one we've never figured out was Katrin's last message. We'll never know what it was she wanted to ask me.

Bodie says to forget it--that, if nothing else, it saved his hide because it got me thinking about Steve. But I keep wondering if it might have saved her too, if we'd of been there when she called. It might have stopped all the following events before they happened. I don't know, but it'll haunt me forever. One more ghost that'll never be exorcised.

Oh yes--Mike. He was at the Christmas party, too. He's been working with Murphy a lot these last months and they seem to make a pretty good team. Mike got a present like the rest of us. When Bodie and I left early (my partner had the craziest idea about whipped cream) we passed him sitting alone on the stairs. His gift was a bottle of Irish whiskey (how Cowley must have choked when he bought that!) and he toasted us as we went by.

"To the second best team the A Squad has ever seen," he said, and added, "Merry Christmas."

Neither of us felt like disagreeing. "Merry Christmas," we said and left him to his memories of the good times.

He'll be okay. Murphy'll see to it. Him and Cowley.

We'll be okay, too--because we'll see to that. That's what partners are for.

-- THE END --