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him. His answering machine informed us he wasn’t there but we could leave a message. Parker left his cell phone number and mine.
    “Well, what are we going to do now? There’s no lead, we don’t even know if it’s a real case, and the one guy who could give us addresses and phone numbers is unreachable.”
    “How about we call it a day?”
    Parker looked at me as if I’d grown a second head. “What’s with you? You’re the workaholic around here.”
    “Even a workaholic needs a break from time to time.”
    “Aha.”
    Such an ominous sound. Frowning, I asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Right. Forget it, I don’t want to know.”
    “In that case, I’ll tell you. You’re going to look for your lover.”
    “Keep quiet,” I hissed. “I mean it. This is none of your business so keep your mouth shut.”
    “Whoa. Chill, Woods, will ya?”
    “Oh, we’re back to a last name basis already?”
    Parker got up grumbling. “Have a good night, Jeff . However you’re going to spend it.”
    I felt bad. Almost. Then I remembered how much I hated other people snooping around in my personal life.
    After polishing up a report, I powered down the computer, stretched my back, and got my jacket. The ride home was as uneventful as ever and the air inside my apartment smelled stale. I lived on Sunset Avenue, close to Sunset Park, which was nice. I liked the neighborhood, but today the apartment didn’t hold any warmth for me.
    My mailbox contained a bill, brochures, and a catalog. I threw everything on the kitchen table and slumped down on one of the two wobbly chairs. For a while, I sat there rigid and stared into empty space. This wasn’t how I had imagined my life would be ten years ago.
    I had wanted to make a difference, had wanted to help people and society by becoming a cop. I wasn’t completely adverse to a serious relationship, though I didn’t mind the lack of it. I got my rocks off whenever I wanted. Or at least when the job offered me enough time to spend a few days in New York, partying through the clubs. Hunting for one-night stands became less and less intoxicating until I gave up on it. Mostly.
    The last few months had shown me that my life lacked in a certain area. I was tired of coming home to an empty apartment, the TV, and having only myself for company. I still had a few friends left, but most of them had entered the settling-down stage with their significant other. I was the odd man out.
    Deciding to end my heartfelt contemplations, I crumpled the brochures in my hand and threw them in the trash. I popped a frozen meal in the microwave and gloomily waited for the ping . The meal consisted of potatoes, a lot of cream, broccoli, and sliced chicken. It would have tasted way better had I prepared it myself. I was a decent cook. I just didn’t indulge in it very often. While I cleaned my plate, glass, and silverware, I vowed to myself to change this fact. At least sometimes. Making resolutions was good for the soul, right?
    I wandered from my kitchenette to my sofa in the living room where I flipped through the TV guide. Nothing caught my interest. I got up again, strolled over to my bookshelves, but nothing caught my interest there either. The newest books were almost one year old. Geez! What had I done in my free time during the last year?
    I scowled at nothing in particular, only impressed with the urgent thought that something had to give .
    A structured, small-stepped plan formed in my mind. Step one: Take a shower, dress in fresh clothes.
    When I had accomplished this step, the next one became obvious: Do the laundry . I sorted through my dirty clothes and loaded the machine. While I waited for it to finish, I zeroed in on step three. Take the garbage out, air the rooms, change the linen .
    Maybe I suffered from a nasty bug of spring-cleaning?
    I stuffed my clothes in the dryer and inspected my apartment. It would have to do, as the spring-cleaning bug had already left