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earlier.
According to her, the girl planned to stay with friends on the eastside.
    I believed her. Not necessarily about Rachel moving to eastside, but about the girl leaving.
The woman was pretty angry that the rent hadn’t been paid, and tried to get me to cough up some
money. All she got was my card and a request that she call if she heard anything about Rachel.
    As she was closing the door, I saw her crumple the card.
    If Rachel had gone to stay with friends on the eastside, it was a break for me. I’d been
assigned there at 83 rd Street, before the war, and still knew a lot of the guys on Eastside District
day shift. If the Stein girl was in the district, I’d find her eventually.
    It was late afternoon before I left Clinton Avenue, and started back downtown. Three hours
later, I was still 20 blocks from the office, the street and sidewalks were nearly empty, and it was
getting dark.
     
    “My, Charlie, you’re looking especially delicious this evening,” Sara Tindell said as I came
into the office.
    Sara looks like she’s about twenty-five, cute face, short, with shoulder-length blonde hair
and a nice body. Pretty much the way she looked almost five years earlier during the war, when some
Vee turned her, and pretty much the way she’d look five years from now. Or a hundred and five
years, for that matter.
    I run into Sara a couple of times a month, when I’m in the office late. She’s a hard worker,
has a good personality, and a sense of humor. Joshua’s lucky. Cynthia is a hard worker too, but
she’s wound pretty damn tight. It makes it hard to actually enjoy working with her.
    I think I’d enjoy working with Sara. Until I gave some thought to the bottle of O-Negative
that was probably in her lunch bag.
    “That means a lot coming from you, Sara,” I said with a laugh. “I mean, you’d know about
that kind of thing.”
    “I certainly do,” she said with the barest hint of a smile.
    “Joshua in yet?”
    She shook her head. “No, he usually doesn’t get in till around seven or so this time of year.
Fall. Days are shorter, you know?”
    “Doesn’t stop you from getting in early.”
    Sara laughed. “I’m not the boss.”
    “My expense report will be on your desk when you come in tomorrow night,” I said, heading
for the door to the office. “I’ll stick around long enough to say hi to Joshua, then head home.”
    She smiled and went back to whatever she’d been doing when I came in.
    I opened the door, flipped on the lights, and started toward my desk. I was halfway there
before I realized I wasn’t alone.
     
     
     
     

Chapter Four
     
    Two men were sitting on the couch next to the door. As I passed, one of them stood. I knew
him.
    “Charlie Welles,” Ray Holstein said with a smile. “Long time no see, buddy.” He held out
his hand.
    I shook it. “Hello, Ray. What is it, about three years?”
    I’d worked with Holstein at the 83 rd Street station, before the war. We’d
never been buddies, though I’d always gotten along okay with him. He was still the horse-faced,
beefy guy I remembered. That wasn’t a surprise. He wouldn’t be changing any time soon.
    Holstein looked down at the other guy, who was still seated. “Burt, I’d like you to meet
Charlie Welles. Charlie and me used to work together at 83 rd Street here in the city. Charlie, this
is my partner, Burt Martinez.”
    “How you doing,” I said, nodding at the other guy. Martinez had a dark complexion and
watchful black eyes. He didn’t say anything.
    “Burt’s the quiet type,” Holstein said with a laugh. “He lets me do the talking, he does the
listening.”
    “Sounds like your ideal partner,” I said. “Working in Uptown District these days, aren’t
you, Ray?”
    “Let me tell you something about Charlie Welles,” Holstein said, ignoring my question and
looking down at Martinez. “I was in Robbery-Homicide at 83 rd Street, and Charlie was a
plainclothes officer, attached to the unit. A real go-getter. If