Friday, Nov. 30

46-year old Audrey Ellis looked with a mother's anxiety at her teenaged son, Garry. The youth sat glumly in a waiting area of the 22nd precinct, hunched over, arms dangling between his knees.

If his father knew we were here he'd have a fit, Audrey thought nervously. She stole a glance down the legs of Garry's baggy cargo pants to the pair of Nikes on his feet. Brand new Nikes. Well, at least she knew how he got them. Audrey had been worried about that when they had first appeared on his feet a couple days ago.

"Mrs. Ellis?" A desk sergeant called out to the pair.

"Yes?"

"A detective Stuart will see you and your son now."

"Oh, thank you. Let's go, Garry." Audrey stood, and tapped her immobile son on the shoulder.

He was slow to rise, hoping to prolong the inevitable meeting with this cop who was going to ask a bunch of pointless questions. Garry was not especially happy to be here. He knew how some cops looked down on minorities. Treated them like dirt, the condescending bastards. He'd heard the stories of brutality; picking on them for no good reason. Maybe they'd even try to pin this whole death threat thing on him. Heck, he'd never even heard about that until his mother had made him confess about where he got the shoes. He walked with slow, sullen steps behind his mother.

Detective Allan Stuart was seated in his tiny, windowless office, and stood when Audrey and Garry entered. The teen tried to hide his shame, chiding himself for his earlier line of thinking. Detective Stuart was a very visible racial minority himself. So much for that line of defence, Garry cringed inwardly, realising he had one less reason to be un-cooperative.

"Thank you for coming in," detective Stuart said, motioning to two well-used chairs stacked in a corner. "I'm afraid they aren't very comfortable, but you're welcome to sit, anyway."

Audrey and Garry chose to sit.

"I thought a detective Monahan was in charge of this investigation," Audrey started, after trying to settle into one of chairs.

"Yes, detective Monahan has taken the lead - but I'm also working with him, covering some of the tips that have come in," Stuart explained.

"Oh, I see."

"Let's get down to it, shall we? I've been informed that your son, Garry, may have something important to tell us about this case."

"Well, yes…You see, he'd come home the other afternoon and I noticed he got these new shoes…" Audrey glanced down towards the ground once more. Detective Stuart didn't seem interested in the new foot ware.

"Which afternoon was that, Mrs. Ellis?"

"Wednesday," she answered. "I asked him to tell me where he'd got 'em, because he doesn't work, and me and his father didn't give him no money to buy 'em."

Detective Stuart looked at the teen. Serious-looking. Wearing a scowl. Stuart hated using labels, but he felt Garry looked the picture of the typical 'mad-at-the-whole-world', disgruntled youth.

"So, where did you get them, Garry, and with whose money?" Stuart asked, hoping to engage him in the conversation.

Garry looked down at his hands for a moment. Sighing, he glanced up at detective Stuart. He said, "At first, I tried to make my parents believe I borrowed 'em from a guy I play ball with, but I could tell they didn't believe me. My mom was worried I was getting involved with drugs and gangs and stuff, so eventually I had to tell her what really happened."

"Okay," detective Stuart encouraged, "go on."

"See, Wednesday I cut class…And I just went out to hang with some other guys I know, maybe sneak into a movie, or go play ball somewhere. So I'm just out walking, minding my own business for a while tryin' to make plans when this dude comes up out of nowhere and asks me if  I wanted to make a delivery for him."

Detective Stuart leaned forward, deeply interested.

"I was thinking like, 'Hell, no! I ain't gonna be no drug mule for no punk.' But then he showed me this big bouquet of flowers, really sweet-smelling. Dude asked me if I know where the WOR studios were on 41st and Broadway. I was like, 'Yeah, I know', and he said it was real important those flowers get there before noon, and that it was even more important that I keep it super-secret that I was even asked to deliver them. Flashed this C-note in my face and said, 'I can trust you, right, my man? Don't tell a soul'. I figured, this dude must be some kind of desperate Romeo, or something. So I said I'd do it."

"You took the flowers and the hundred?" Detective Stuart asked.

"Yeah. Told me to let the secretary or whatever, know they were for a Dr. Susan Chandler."

"When Garry told me that after I made him come clean about the shoes, I remembered hearing something about some threats to that Dr. Chandler on the news," Audrey cut in. "That's when I said, 'We got to tell the police about this'."

"You get a good look at the guy who asked you to make the delivery?" Detective Stuart looked at Garry carefully.

"Not really," Garry answered slowly, "He had on these dark shades and a hood over his head. He was wearing black gloves, too."

"Was he Caucasian? Black? Hispanic…?" Stuart pressed.

"Oh, this was a white dude," Garry said positively, catching on to what Stuart was trying to ascertain. "I'd say he was just over six feet, average build... And he smelled really clean. I mean, I could smell him and the flowers, but he smelled different from the flowers, like he'd been using bleach or something."

"That's good, Garry," Stuart said, "you notice anything else? Anything at all, like tattoos or scars? Did he talk funny or walk funny?"

Garry reflected for a moment, then shook his head. "Naw, man, I didn't notice anything else, really. Like I said, he was pretty covered up. Maybe he had a bit of a five o'clock shadow, but I didn't see any scars or tattoos or nothing. Dressed all in black."

Detective Stuart frowned. It would be troublesome to try to track down the hundred-dollar bill Garry received for making that delivery. That C-note would have been part of the shoe store's Wednesday night deposit and would be in some bank somewhere by now, perhaps. And even if they chose to pursue that line of investigation, how close would it bring them to the man that approached Garry?

"Which store did you purchase your shoes with that hundred, Garry? Did you keep the receipt?"

"I got the receipt somewhere," the young man replied. "I bought 'em at the Athlete's Foot on Broadway and 49th."

"Thanks a lot, Garry. You've been great. We'd like it if you kept yourself available for further questioning, okay? And if you think of anything more about this guy – anything at all – please call me." The detective handed Garry his card. "You've got to understand we think this guy is very dangerous and very serious about the threats he's been making. We don't know why he chose you to make the delivery, but if he happens to approach you again, I want you to call us immediately."

Garry nodded. "Okay, got it. Can I go now?"

"Yes; thank you both for coming in. And don't forget, Garry – call us if you remember anything else about Wednesday that could be helpful."

Detective Stuart sat down after seeing Audrey and Garry out. Foremost on his mind was the fact that Garry's description of the man was almost identical to the one Dana Brodie, the Richards' secretary, gave when the very first delivery was made. And that description wasn't released to the media. While not conclusive, it did mean that Garry was certainly not making up his encounter, and had most probably spoken with the actual person threatening Dr. Susan Chandler. Another worrisome thought occurred to him. Would this perp be upset enough to harm Garry if he knew Garry had spoken to them? He'd made the youth promise not to tell and had even bribed him for his silence. Now that Garry had broken that promise, could he be in danger? God, I hope not, Stuart thought.

                                                                                * * *

Binky Chandler needed to get out of the house. Late November meant that golf season was over, and Charles was spending more time indoors, much to her dismay. The fact that Charles' close friend, Dan Lake and his wife, Nan, had taken off for warmer weather for the winter meant he was not so eager to participate in any outside functions.

God, how things have changed since he's retired, Binky thought with disgust. Still insecure and unwilling to take steps unless someone else motivates him. How on earth he managed to ever get Bannister Foods off the ground on his own continues to amaze me. Of course, the word always was that he had Emily to thank for that…

At the Westchester Country Club, Binky was expecting to enjoy an afternoon of gossipy company with the other ladies she had come to know over the past seven years.

What she was not expecting was that she herself would be at the center of the gossip circle.

Binky arrived unescorted to the club restaurant, making a quiet entrance. The maître d' had not yet spotted her, and feeling almost ignored, Binky pushed ahead and slowly approached a table where several acquaintances were seated. None of the women saw her as they seemed to be engaged in deep conversation.

As she neared, Binky overheard an animated voice squeaking, "…And Nan Lake told me over the phone from down in Florida…Charley was practically gushing over his ex!"

Binky froze. The voice belonged to Lynn McMillan, notorious gossip. The company of women still had not seen her, and several were expressing their surprise and shock over what Lynn was relating to them.

"Yes, seriously!" Lynn continued, her eyes dancing merrily. "Her husband, Dan was here last week to have lunch with Charley, and he heard it all. Said he was really upset and sorry when he heard about that time Emily was almost suckered into handing over all her life savings…Even pledged to help her out if things got rough! Isn't that a riot? If I were Binky, I'd start looking over my shoulder! You know what they say: if he leaves her for you, he may leave you, too!"

Binky felt her cheeks turn scarlet.

"Oh, Binky, darling!" Lynn had spotted her. "We were just talking about you! Tell me, how's dear Charley doing now that he doesn't have Dan to practice his golf swing with?"

                                                                                            * * *

It had been a long week for Susan and Don, catching up on backlogged and re-scheduled appointments. While they still hadn't completely caught up, it was with a sense of accomplishment that they locked up their offices at 7 p.m. Friday evening and headed home.

            "As the popular saying goes, TGIF," Susan sighed as they pulled up to their duplex. She was grateful that today Don had chosen to drive to work himself so that they would not have to hail a cab for the return trip in the evening. Somehow, even being in the comforts of one's own car instead of a taxi driven by a stranger made the stress of the evening traffic easier to take. She was also grateful that the media appeared to be honouring their request for privacy, as their front drive and surrounding street parking was devoid of news vans and reporters camped out for the latest quote.

            "This week has been hell," Don assented. "But that call from detective Monahan about the progress they're making is very encouraging."

            "I'm glad that kid came forward about his encounter with the suspect," Susan said. "Restores my faith in today's youth."

            "I didn't know you'd lost it," Don said lightly.

            "Okay, so I haven't," she admitted. "But things have just been so lousy that to catch a break like this is great." Susan fished her front door house key out of her shoulder bag after closing the car door. Don followed her out to the entrance and nearly bumped into her when she stopped suddenly.

            "Hey - " Don started, confused.

            "Tell me I'm not seeing what I'm seeing on our doormat." In the shadows cast by a streetlight a little too far away to provide adequate illumination, Don saw the outline of what appeared to be an arrangement of flowers. Without moving another step he snapped open his cell phone and made the call to the 22nd precinct.

            After the forensics teams had completed their investigation and sweep of the area surrounding Don and Susan's home, detective Monahan brought the third card found once again buried between the stems of what they knew to be Casa Blanca Oriental hybrid lilies for Susan to read.

            "Do I really want to see what it says?" she asked dully, but looked up at the message anyway.

            It read:  Ask Dr. Susan if she's ready to die.