Thirty Days Hath September by Dinasbran

BOSTON - 1927

February to June - Reawakening

It felt the power lessen almost in disbelief. A talon tipped finger flexed, the movement minute but more than it had been able to do in many thousands of years. A mind imprisoned in its own head for so long jubilantly began to send out a call to its brethren. 'I am here, aid me.' There was no response but it was not worried, its brethren were few and spread thinly over this planet's surface. Still, one would eventually hear its call and then it would have its revenge on the upstart apes.

Time passed and the power lessened another step and this time a fist curled. Yes, revenge would be sweet on the creatures that had betrayed it. Its mind went back, going over the events that had led to its internment. At first, the apes had been like all the rest of its creatures, obedient and docile but it had noticed something in the brown eyes that suggested possibilities. So it had trained them, taught them. Soon the apes were its most useful servants, able to speak and take instructions from their master and it was pleased with them. They were happy to serve - or so it had seemed. Then the betrayer had been born and, unknown for its kind, he could mind-speak. This one it took particular interest in, teaching him far past his fellows. Still it had thought him merely a clever beast, no more, and that vanity had been its undoing. It had not seen the cunning and maliciousness behind the brown eyes; had not realised that it had not only learned of the power, but how to use it. When he had asked, in apparent awe and wonder, to hold the beautiful, glowing jewel it had been the master that had been but a babe, handing it over with no suspicion of the upstart ape's true purpose. Too late, it had seen the malevolent triumph in its servant's eyes. Too late, it realised. By being given the jewel freely, the ape could use it against his master. Too late, it screamed in rage and agony as the ape used the power to transport it deep into the rock beneath their feet, to be held neither dead nor alive until the power was broken or time stopped.

Another lessening in the power that held it outside of time. Elation was tinged with concern. There had been no answer from its brethren and soon the non-life state would be lost. Then it would need to breathe again like any mortal creature and in its rock prison there was no air to be had. 'Aid me!' the mind-speak was nearly a scream. 'Brethren, why have you forsaken me?' Then it was answered.

'Hello? Who's there?'

The mind-voice was not one of its own. It was similar to the creature that had imprisoned it, but immature. Nevertheless, the malevolence and greed for power in this mind were tangible; perhaps it could use that greed to its advantage - it would need new servants once released. First, however, it needed to be released from its living tomb and recover the power its traitorous servant had tricked it out of.

September 1st - In the beginning…

Scowling at the rain falling heavily from the rapidly darkening sky, Red Wolverton, private investigator and sucker-at-love, cursed the decision to leave the battered old Ford at the apartment. "Ain't that jus' my damned luck," she muttered in growing annoyance. Thrusting her hand deeper into the pockets of threadbare brown pants, she leaned against the glass. Staring sightlessly into the late afternoon greyness, she didn't see the passers-by as they hurried along, hats pulled down and collars up against the suddenly foul weather. Frustrated and bored to the point of violence, she began to slowly tap her head against the cold glass, the rhythmic beat gradually calming her. A sudden shiver. Fine blonde hair on sinewy forearms rose in a vain attempt to keep her warm. The storm that had gifted the city with the current torrential rain had also brought with it a distinct drop in temperature - summer, it seemed, was well and truly over. Comfort winning over habit, she moved away from the moisture streaked window. Rolling down the sleeves of the collarless shirt, she took the shapeless brown jacket currently gracing the back of a big, battered office chair and put it on over her white shirt and black vest.

A final annoyed glare back at the still falling rain, she slumped dejectedly into her worn but comfortable chair. Truth be told, it wasn't so much the getting wet that bothered her as the time it would take to get dry and warm again at the other end. Heating her dingy apartment was never easy, even when she could afford it, but currently it wasn't even an option. Usually when the weather turned cold she used the place mostly for storage, sleeping there only when, as now, she could find nowhere more preferable. The rest of the time was spent either working, at Mickey's or in one of the local illegal drinking dens.

Work?, she thought bitterly, kicking the underside of her desk in futile anger. Damn all chance of that now thanks to that vindictive little bitch. As the city's only female private investigator, she'd lost count of how many prospective clients had turned up at her door only to make a rapid retreat once they discovered that the owner of the Wolverton Investigation Agency was not the man they'd been expecting. Despite this, there'd always been enough work to keep her going - either from female clients who felt more comfortable dealing with another woman, even one as unconventional as her, or from those few open-minded men who could look past her gender and appearance and see the impressive results she achieved. Unfortunately, a certain 'misunderstanding' with one of her previous clients had led to a steep falling off in the amount of work coming to her door and money was, consequently, more than a little tight.

"When did I ever get so fuckin' stupid," she berated herself for the umpteenth time giving the desk another frustrated kick, goddamned spoilt rich kids an' their little 'experiments'. 'Don't get involved with a client' - the rule was simple and had been hammered into her stubborn skull by her mentor, Pete Garrick, the man that had also left her the office and the money to start her own agency. Now that rule had been spectacularly and irrevocably broken. From that first glance, it had been Katherine who'd made the first moves and Red had fallen for her hook, line and sinker. Even now, she still wasn't sure whether it was the dazzling blue eyes, the silky raven hair, or the gorgeous legs that went on forever. Whatever it was, it smacked her between the eyes so hard it knocked all the sense right out of her head. It had only been when the enraged fiancé had made his, as Red later realised, staged appearance in the bedroom doorway that reality had come crashing down upon her. In a state of betrayed stupefaction, the head-over-heels sucker at love patsy found out that the woman who so casually and cruelly broke her heart was engaged to the heir of one of the richest families in Boston. The bedding of Red, her suddenly ex lover coldly explained, had just been a bet, an experiment and, nothing more. Now the bet had been won and the deviant's perverted presence was no longer required. Yeah she certainly fooled me, the still bitter woman reflected, bet she's still laughin' her pretty little head off at out wolfin' the wolf.

Glancing up at the wall clock, she sighed in frustration at the realisation that there was still a good fifteen minutes until five o'clock. Although her work hours were varied and unpredictable, there was a small but stubborn part of her that rebelled against leaving before the clock's hands reached that magic hour. Still, she argued with the dogged instinct, no one was going to come see her this late in the day, especially not in this foul weather.

Principles loosing this round at least, she decided to make a start on the trip home before the rain got even worse. A guilty eye was cast around the office, cluttered as usual with files and other detritus of her work. The disreputable effect was classily finished off by the half-empty mug of coffee sitting amongst the remains of her pizza on the desk. It should really be given a once over in case of an early client the next day, but she couldn't whip up the enthusiasm. Instead, all she could think of was a warm bed and the carefully concealed Bourbon bottle that would chase off the worst of the Fall chill. Ignoring the faint pangs of conscience over the state of the room, the investigator shrugged on her overcoat and donned her beloved fedora. She was just wrapping an ancient but warm scarf around her neck, when she heard the door behind her open and a refined voice apologise. "Oh, I am sorry; I was looking for Red Wolverton?"

Great, she thought, too annoyed to notice the lack of honorific, sounds like another of Katherine's partners-in-crime come to make my life a misery. Without even turning to face the intruder, she sneered, "There ain't no Mr Wolverton, sweetheart, as well you know, and if Katherine wants to send any more of her so-called friends to gawp at me you can tell her to go…"

Before she could continue the description of exactly what her ex-girlfriend could do she was interrupted by an astounded, "My, my, what a mess! I do believe I have not seen a room in such a state of untidiness since my nephews came to visit."

Startled by the non-sequitur, Red swung round to face the visitor and stuttered angrily, "Yeah, well I wasn't expectin' any visitors, what with the weather an' all." An abrupt gesture at the window through which rain was still visibly coming down in sheets emphasised her point. Now looking at the unexpected visitor, she quickly revised her earlier assumption. This was not one of Katharine's hangers on - the face was unfamiliar and the visitor did not have the ridiculous flamboyance of dress usually found in that particular 'set'. She also appeared somewhat older than the voice had initially suggested, the investigator's practised eye putting her somewhere in her mid thirties.

Now face to face, each woman took the chance to study the other. The investigator saw a well-dressed, sophisticated looking woman a good few inches shorter than her own five foot nine with stylishly coiffured dark hair on which was perched a modish hat. A socialite if ever I saw one, Red instinctively classified her visitor as she continued the inspection. The face was striking rather than pretty - warm brown eyes, high cheekbones and a slightly too square jaw. A quick glance at the left hand as the visitor removed her gloves showed that the woman was also married, or at the very least wanted to be thought so. As the dark green coat followed the gloves, a deep burgundy, immaculately tailored skirt and jacket were revealed. Nice figure too, a roguish libido noted appreciatively, curves in all the right places.

The visitor, for her part, could see little of the taller figure in front of her - swathed as it was in faded tan overcoat, scarf and a battered brown fedora. The latter was pulled down so far that all that could be seen with any clarity were annoyed blue-green eyes. Indeed, it had only been the warm contralto voice that had confirmed that the shapeless figure was indeed that of a woman.

Obviously frustrated that her escape had been foiled, the strange figure removed the clothing just donned and threw them haphazardly at the coat stand, missing badly. With the hat removed the visitor could now see the mannishly cut red-gold hair, guessing quite correctly that it was the reason for the descriptive sobriquet. She wondered uneasily whether the scowling figure in front of her also had the temper traditionally associated with the colour. The annoyed face, still holding some of the softness of youth, had strong regular features that were neither obviously female nor particularly masculine. An inch long scar ran through the left eyebrow and a slight distortion to the otherwise straight nose spoke of a badly healed break. These imperfections unexpectedly gave the youthful face a roguishly attractive quality that was spoiled by the current ferocious scowl. If only half of the rumours were true, the visitor reflected wryly, then some women most definitely found it attractive.

Continuing her appraisal, the well-dressed woman took in the surprisingly broad shouldered, lanky figure wearing loosely fitting men's clothing. The latter added to the ambiguous, androgynous appearance by effectively hiding any femininity there may have been in the spare, strong looking body. That the clothes were as mannish as the hair was noted without any great surprise - Red Wolverton's peculiarities had been well discussed in the salons and parlours of the wealthy and influential over the last few weeks, the penchant for men's clothing being only one of them. The visitor, however, did feel a momentary pang of dismay as she finally took in the now revealed sartorial elegance. I didn't think she would be quite so… scruffy! It looks like it isn't only the office that's in need of a good sprucing up. I suppose I should count my blessings that she at least looks reasonably clean. As the investigator turned to move back to the large battered desk, the visitor felt a momentary pang of unease when a battered holster and its incumbent revolver came into view nestled snugly in the small of the younger woman's back. Don't be such a silly goose, she scolded herself, aren't all private investigators normally armed - why should she be any different?

Inspection complete, the visitor had the sudden uncomfortable feeling that this ruffian would be more comfortable on the wrong side of the law. Her research had indeed shown the investigator to have a wildly, even provocatively, unconventional attitude, stubbornness to the point of arrogance and an intense antagonism towards people in authority. However, she also obeyed a personal moral code with which the visitor approved, was honest if not always completely law-abiding and, last but not least, was extremely good at what she did.

Feigning unawareness of the scrutiny she was blatantly under, but increasingly irritated by it, Red temporarily abandoned the stranded clothing on the floor. Retaking her seat at the desk, she smirked at the visible start the unwanted visitor gave as booted feet thudded onto the desktop. "Well then, now that you're here what can I do for you, Mrs...?"

Raising startled eyes from the soles of scuffed black boots, which to her alarm had come very close to landing in the pizza remains, the visitor hurriedly answered "Lannis, Mrs. Evadne Lannis." Holding out a hand, she advanced on the younger woman. "I have heard so much about you."

Still annoyed at having her early departure prevented, and the scrutiny she'd just been under, Red ignored the proffered hand and just gruffly replied "Yeah, an' most of it not good I expect."

Mrs. Lannis looked at the still scowling and immensely rude woman in surprise, then down to her still outstretched hand. A second's confusion before it was withdrawn with such a look of bemused mortification that the investigator immediately regretted being so rude to what might be a prospective client. It somehow felt like she'd just kicked a puppy. Taking a deep breath, she stood up and cleared one of the other two chairs in the room of the paper covering them. With what she hoped was a suitably apologetic smile, she offered it to her visitor with a more friendly "I'm sorry, Mrs. Lannis, don't know where my manners are this afternoon. Please take a seat an' tell me what brought you to my office in such god awful weather."

Gingerly taking the seat offered, the older woman gave the untidy room another once over before concentrating her gaze on its equally untidy occupant. "I came to apply for the position you advertised, I presume ..." another glance at the office "… that it has not yet been filled?"

Pale brows furrowed in puzzlement. "Position? What position?"

"This position," and she passed over a piece of paper neatly cut out of an edition of the Boston Herald from some months ago.

"Ah! That position. I'm afraid I ain't able to employ a secretary at the moment, Mrs. Lannis," Mentally, she added, and why on earth would someone like you want it anyway?

"Ah yes," Mrs Lannis nodded, her face looking grim, "Katherine Du Bois. I had heard about what happened."

Ah here it comes, she thought bitterly, the usual accusations of me havin' led the poor girl astray, takin' advantage of her innocence and pervertin' it with my 'unnatural appetites'. Which was a pity as she'd just started to warm to the women in front of her; however, it looked like Mrs. Lannis was just like the rest of them after all.

She was therefore surprised when, instead of the expected condemnation, Mrs. Lannis, with a sad shake of her head, continued, "That girl is no better than she should be, and will no doubt come to a sticky end. She and that fiancé of hers surely deserve each other: a nastier pair you would have to go far to find."

"Er yeah, I… she…" Red stuttered to a halt, almost speechless at the vehemence of tone in the older woman's last statement.

"And now the heartless beast is using her influence to stop you getting any work, I could… I could just slap her for the spitefulness of it all." The tone making it obvious that, to the socialite, a slap was the ultimate of punishments.

Boy, would she be outta place in this line of work, the investigator thought in amusement as she watched the visitor who she could have sworn was physically vibrating with outrage. "Well, I must admit it sure is nice to have someone on my side for a change, but I really ain't in no state to employ anyone at the moment." She paused slightly, "an' to be honest I ain't sure that…"

"Well you don't have to employ me: at least not straight away. I am a 'woman of means' as they say - my late husband, may he rest in peace, left me more than well off in my own right."

"But what about kin? Kids?" She tried, puppy-kicking coming once more to mind even as she automatically processed the information that her visitor was a widow.

"No children thank the Lord, nasty sticky creatures. Luckily my brother-in-law has provided all the offspring deemed necessary to protect the Lannis line, so Geoff and I were left to our idyllic childlessness." The socialite paused, a sad look appearing in her eyes. "Poor Geoff, it's been nearly ten years but I do still miss him so," and she dabbed a moist eye with an immaculate white handkerchief.

"Yeah," she added sympathetically, "they say time makes things easier but it don't, not really." At the questioning glance Red was surprised to find herself adding, "Lost my ma when I was a kid, sometimes it just seems like it was yesterday." Increasingly uncomfortable with her visitor's open display of emotion and her own unusually frank response, Red tried once more to get across her point. "Surely, Mrs. Lannis, there's things that you can do that are more… well, suitable for a person of your obvious…. standing…" She stared at the well-dressed woman. "Lannis?" The name had seemed familiar, now she realised why. " As in one of the Boston Lannises? As in one of the wealthiest of the Boston Brahmin?" Pale brows rose in unfeigned astonishment - to say Mrs. Lannis was a woman of means was like saying that the mighty Mississippi was a mere trickle. "You're one of them Lannises?"

"Well, only by marriage obviously, but yes I am one of 'them' Lannises I am afraid." Giving the shocked younger woman a self-deprecating smile, she added, "Though I am fairly sure my mother-in-law wishes I wasn't."

Red leaned back in her chair, not quite sure what to do next. As she stared at the ceiling in thought, Mrs. Lannis continued to sit erect and composed on her seat with a look of gentle determination that the investigator had yet to recognise.

"Miss Wolverton?"

"Call me Red - only lawyers an' judges call me 'Miss Wolverton'." She caught the surprised eyebrow and grinned wickedly. "Hey, if you wanna rough it with me you'll have to get used to dealin' with the low-lifes in this city, an' I ain't only meanin' the cops and lawyers."

Mrs. Lannis bristled, "I am sure our fine men in blue do the best they can under trying circumstances."

"Yeah, right, 'course they do!"

Then, to the investigator's surprise, the socialite gave what must have been her own version of a wicked grin and added, "Of course, I completely agree with you about the lawyers. And please call me Evadne - every time you say Mrs. Lannis I expect my mother-in-law to walk through the door, and that is not a comforting thought."

Well, thought Red as a ghost of smile passed over her face, there's hope for her yet. Then, sitting up, she leaned forward to rest her elbows on the desk. "To be honest, Evadne, I really ain't sure you're the sort of person I was lookin' for, even if I could afford the wages."

"But I can type and take shorthand, I have a smattering of French, German and Italian, and I'm a wiz at research."

"Yeah, but can you pick a lock, hot wire a car, punch a guy out and shoot a dollar bill at a hundred paces?"

"Can you?" The would-be-secretary did not look as shocked as Red expected.

"Hell yeah!" she confirmed, giving her best 'I'm tougher than you bud' look.

"Well then, if you can it really doesn't matter if I can't, does it?" Ignoring the attempts to cut in Evadne continued, "However what do you know of polite society? Can you find your way around a library in your sleep, and have access to the best academics in the city? Do you have a friendly lawyer to ask for free legal advice, and a great-uncle who is a retired chief commissioner?" Seeing the stunned look on the investigator's face, she finished with a triumphant "I take that as a no? Well it would appear that you need me, and I need you: what a team we could make." A small smile of triumph flickered over the socialite's face as the investigator slowly shook her head in stunned disbelief at the persistence of the woman sitting opposite her before finally burying her head in her hands in exasperation.

Red stared through her fingers at the scarred and cluttered surface of her desk as she considered what to do next. What her pushy visitor had said made a lot of sense: if she'd been around a month ago then perhaps she'd have been warned about getting involved with that bitch Katherine. Moreover, she didn't want a salary: well not yet anyway. In addition, if allowed to give it a try, the socialite would soon realise how unsuited she was for the life. In the mean time, perhaps she would be able to open the door to the world of the rich and well connected that the bitch-queen-from-hell had caused to be slammed in her face. Taking a deep breath, the investigator looked up at the expectant face in front of her. "I'll give you to the end of the month as a trial; then we can see whether you wanna stay, an' whether I think you should. And no wages. 'kay?"

"That's wonderful! You won't regret it I promise you," she beamed. With a quick glance at the mess surrounding her, the new secretary added, "When do you want me to start?" The unspoken 'the sooner the better by the looks of this place' left hanging in the air.

Her suddenly nonplussed employer glanced up at the clock: it was nearly half past five now and well past the time to be setting off home with the weather as it was. "Tomorrow suit you?"

"No problem at all. Nine o'clock?"

"Nine o'clock." The investigator confirmed with a wary nod, increasingly unsure about what she'd just let herself in for.

"I'll be here, bright and early," her new, and only, employee turned and went to leave the office, turning once more to give a final bright, "Good evening," before disappearing into the gloom of the corridor outside.

A red-gold head fell forward until it hit the desk with an audible thunk. "Dear gods why me?" Red whispered plaintively, "Why me?" She was still not sure quite how she'd been railroaded into employing Mrs. Evadne Lannis, and was becoming more and more puzzled as to what the socialite's reasons were for wanting this particular job so much that she was willing to do it without pay. Unable to make head-nor-tail of it all she let out a deep sigh, retrieved her crumpled clothing from the heap on the floor, and ventured out into the growing dark.

***

Out on the street the rain was still coming down heavily and didn't show any signs of slowing. Scowling at the weather's persistent awfulness, Red wrapped the scarf more snugly around her neck and pulled the fedora down hard before starting into the greyness. She'd not gone more than a few paces when an increasingly familiar voice hailed her.

"Anywhere I can take you, Red?"

Turning, she saw Evadne Lannis's head sticking out of the rear window of a pristine Ford model A. She's gonna use a chauffeur to drive her to work? she thought in disbelief before replying out loud, "Nah, I'll be okay".

"Well if you are sure?"

"I'm sure; jus' get yourself home and remember to be here on the dot of nine."

"See you tomorrow then, boss." With a wave, the dark head ducked back into the car and it drove off into the night.

***

After watching the car lights disappear into the night, Red started on her own journey home. The lamp lights reflecting off the shining streets made the night appear unusually luminous, but the lack of traffic or pedestrians was unsettling. As she trudged through the rain, head down against the freezing wind, the back of her neck began to itch: a good indication that she was being followed. On the pretext of checking house numbers, she took a surreptitious look behind her at the empty street. There was no sign of anybody but still the itch remained. It's probably the scarf, she thought, giving the offending area a good scratch before continuing on her way.

A couple of blocks later the glowing windows of the Boston Herald building appeared through the still falling icy rain. Searching out a particular opening, she was glad to find it still showed a welcoming yellow. It looked like Joe was still working so, with a bit of luck, she should be able to scrounge a coffee and thaw out her feet whilst finding out something about her would-be employee at the same time.

The thoroughly bedraggled investigator shouldered open the heavy door to be embraced by the welcome warmth of the foyer. Letting the door swing shut behind her, she quickly shed the dripping overcoat. "Howdy, Frank, lovely weather we're havin'." The mournful greeting was aimed at a youthful looking security guard on the main desk whilst she shook the worst of the rain off her hat.

"Sure is, and looks set for the next few days Pa says," the young man replied, far too cheerfully in Red's opinion.

"Ah, the famous O'Rourke weather forecastin' system still workin' is it?" she teased, a grin starting to appear.

"Hey, don't mock it, Wolverton, pa's leg is never wrong y' know." Frank hotly defended O'Rourke's honour

"Sure, sure whatever you say, Frank." Grinning openly now, she finally got around to the reason for her visit. "Joe in? Saw his light was on."

"Yup, still here burning the midnight oil. The older his kids get, the more time he spends here. Dunno why Gina puts up with it."

"She probably likes the peace and quiet."

"True, Joe can talk the hind-leg off a donkey. So, I'll give him a ring, warn him you're on ya way up?"

"Sure, give him time to hide why don't you." With a final grin, spirits much lifted by the banter with the young security guard, she turned and made her way to the elevator in the corner of the foyer.

A short ride up to the seventh floor and soon she was standing by the door with the slightly awry nameplate 'J. Martelli.'. Just as she moved her hand to the handle, the door opened and she was enveloped in a huge bear hug "I'd recognise that irritated stomp anywhere. Red, my little wolfish trouble-magnet, it has been too long."

In vain, she tried to struggle out of the all-engulfing embrace. "Gerrof, Joe, you great softie, you know if anyone sees this, my street cred is shot."

"Yeah, yeah, my tough little private eye." Joe ruffled the rain-dampened hair before releasing his still squirming friend from the hug and ushering her into the office. "So what have you been doing with yourself, little wolf; must be months since I was graced with a visit?"

Red didn't miss the hurt under-tone to his question, but really didn't want to explain exactly what she'd been doing for most of the time; especially as it generally involved some interesting and intimate goings on with the Du Bois, may-she-roast-in-hell, bitch so instead gave a non-committal, "This and that, Joe, you know how it is." Out of habit, she gave the room a once over as she entered. As expected, very little had changed - the place was still a mess, paper strewn on all the surfaces, the only clear areas were the spaces surrounding a small statue of the virgin and child and the pictures of his family. And Evadne thought my place was bad! Joe himself seemed as changeless as his office: a great bear of a man, six foot five in his socks and built like a barn, with the Mediterranean complexion you would associate with his surname. Despite the imposing gruff exterior Joe, as with so many big men, was a complete softie at heart and he'd become one of the very few people in Boston whom the investigator considered a true friend.

"Take the weight offa your feet whilst I make a coffee. Looks like you need warmin' up."

"You got it right there, Joe. It's damn unpleasant out there tonight," she confirmed, gratefully taking the proffered seat.

"Here you go." He passed across a steaming mug that the investigator cupped in cold hands for a few moments before taking a swig, coughing in surprise as the steaming liquid hit the back of her throat with unexpected ferocity.

"Thought you needed somethin' a little extra," he replied in cautious answer to the questioning look.

"You weren't wrong there." A pause whilst a still shivering Red took another gulp, the alcohol-laden coffee starting to thaw her out. "So, a gift from the family was it?"

The reporter looked uncomfortable. "Hey you know how it is, don't ask, don't tell, that's my rule."

"But take the merchandise?" she carried on as he started to protest. "Don't worry, Joe, if this government's stupid enough to give 'em a ready made money-makin' opportunity that's their problem. I like my drink far too much to do anythin' about that particular part of their business." Another mouthful then she raised her head, concerned blue-green eyes meeting sheepish brown. "Just don't get any more involved please, I don't wanna find your obituary in the Herald 'cause some other mob's decided you're a thorn in their side. 'kay?"

He gave a rueful smile. "Trust me, Red, I ain't that suicidal. Anyways Gina would kill me first if she found I was involved."

She snorted, "Yeah, she can be one hell of a scary woman."

"Hey, that's my wife you're talking about!" The big man's apparent loyal defence was somewhat spoiled by the smile on his face.

"And don' I know it! I can't believe she ever thought there was anythin' goin' on between us, us of all people!" She shook her head, grinning at the memory of the explosive, yet strangely comical confrontation between the diminutive Gina and the hulking Joe that had brought up that particular piece of information.

"Yeah, well, your latest goin's on have certainly convinced her that I, at least, am safe from your clutches." He gave his roguish friend a disapproving look. "What on earth did you think you were doin', Red? One of the Du Bois girls for Christ's sake! I'm surprised you still have both knee caps."

That reminded her of the other reason she was there. "Talkin' of which, whaddaya know about the Lannises, Joe; in particular one Evadne Lannis?"

"You must have a death wish!" He sat down heavily at this desk and looked at her in exasperation. "That's the only explanation I can think of."

She rolled her eyes. "No, nothin' like that, believe me, I've learnt my lesson: The message that 'low down western deviants are to keep their dirty hands off the nice Boston ladies or else' has been received loud an' clear."

The reporter's eyebrows lifted in surprise at the bitterness evident in the last comment. He had assumed it had just been one of the wolf's many dalliances, but it sounded like she'd taken it more seriously than that. "So why d' you want to know about this… Evadne Lannis was it?" he asked, swiftly changing the subject.

"Well, believe it or not, I've just employed her as my secretary," she replied, with a look that indicated she was not sure whether to believe it herself.

"Your what!?" Joe burst into laughter. "You're kiddin' me right? You! You! of all people, are employing a Lannis? As your secretary!?"

The subject of his amusement sat patiently until the laughter subsided, then calmly asked "So what can you tell me 'bout her?"

"Well, the Lannis family, as even you must know, is one of the most respectable and wealthy of the Boston Brahmins."

The investigator nodded. "Go on."

"If I remember correctly, Evadne was one of the Van Deemins, another of the old families. She married Geoffrey Lannis sometime before the European war. Poor guy bought it over there like so many others." He paused as if revisiting old memories. Red knew he had been one of the many Americans who had volunteered to fight in the hellhole known as the western front. As with most veterans, he did not talk about it much, but on occasions, usually when too drunk to care, he had told his curious friend about some of his experiences. She still wondered how any of the men that had returned had returned sane.

"Well that explains the ring," she mused aloud to break the uncomfortable silence, "an' possibly the need to be doin' things. Anythin' else?"

"Well if you're willin' to stick 'round for a while I'll have a look through the records, see what I can find?"

"No problem," she settled herself deeper into the well upholstered chair, "your office is warmer than my apartment ever is."

"Yeah, well, don't get any ideas about moving in. The bosses don't like disreputable types hanging around and lowerin' the tone." Joe looked pointedly at his ruffian friend who, with a cheeky grin, laid back in the chair and propped her feet up on the desk.

"But they employ you don't they?" the now comfortable woman responded, smug grin still in place.

Muttering under his breath about smart alec private investigators, he turned and, with a parting, "Don't get into trouble while I'm gone," left the office.

"Yes, ma," came the laughing reply as Red settled down for a quick forty winks, idly scratching her still itching neck.

***

Some sixth sense woke her just before hands grabbed both ankles and pulled her on to the floor. Winded by the fall, she was glad the man took the time to gloat. "Time to get what's coming to you, pervert," he sneered giving her a moment to recover enough to see the incoming foot and brace for its impact. The kick to her ribs, though painful, was not as bad as some she'd received and she managed to roll out of the way of the next one before launching herself at the legs of her assailant, causing them both to go down in a heap.

"You little bitch," the man yelped as he hit the floor hard, but then a lucky flailing kick caught her in the temple. Momentarily stunned, she lost her grip on the man and he managed to scramble away. He'd just regained his feet when a shout came from the corridor. "What the hell you doin' to my office, Wolverton?" Interrupted by Joe's return the man gave a snarl of frustration. Giving his still dazed opponent a final parting kick, he ran out of the room and past the startled reporter.

Red was unsteadily picking herself up off the floor as the reporter hurriedly re-entered his office. "What the…? You okay, girl?" He dumped the pile of papers on the nearest surface and went to help.

"Lucky bastard kicked me in the head," the still woozy investigator bemoaned, "otherwise I woulda had the son-of-a-bitch."

Satisfied that she wasn't badly hurt, Joe rang down to the front desk, instructing Frank to stop anyone from leaving the building. Whilst he tried to prevent her attacker's escape, Red slumped back down into the chair she'd been unceremoniously pulled off. Wincing slightly, she gently probed the side of her throbbing head trying to work out what damage the kick had done.

"Here, let me take a look." Now finished with the phone, Joe smacked away the protesting hand and checked the area she'd been examining. "No cut, just a bit of a scrape: looks like it was only a glancing blow so you should be okay, little wolf," he patted her affectionately on the shoulder. "You up to seeing if we can find the guy?"

She nodded, grimacing at the sudden stab of pain the movement produced. "Yeah, let's find the son-of-a-bitch."

***

After a fruitless search, the two of them returned to the office. No one had left by the main entrance and, eventually, they'd found one of the fire doors ajar. After quizzing a mortified Frank, all they'd managed to find out was that the man was white, clean-shaven, well dressed and well spoken. He'd said he was there to see Miss Wolverton and, when Frank had offered to ring up, he'd said not to bother: that he was her brother and he wanted to surprise her as she didn't know he was in Boston. This fact prompted Frank to remember that the man had been blonde, which had been why he hadn't thought the relationship too implausible. When Red, and then Joe, finished giving him a thorough dressing down, they returned to the office.

"You sure you have no idea who the guy was?" the reporter asked again.

"Look, Joe, I told you, I was half asleep when the fight started, an' I was concentratin' more on what the bastard's feet were doin' than what he looked like." She looked at him, "Surely you got a look at his face when he ran?"

"Nope, 'fraid not I was too busy avoiding bein' mown down by his rapid exit." He thought for a moment, "Nice clothes though, bespoke work I would've said."

She nodded, "Yeah, he was wearin' nice patent leather shoes as well, not really the footwear of choice for givin' someone a good kickin'."

"That's what it was you reckon?" The big man looked sceptical.

Yeah, an' he weren't no professional - the first kick wouldn've taken the skin of a rice pudding." She saw the reporter's doubting look. "Well, okay, it might have done that, but believe me, Joe, I've had beatin's from the best and he weren't one of 'em." He nodded in rueful agreement with this last comment; having, on more than one occasion, had to keep the peace between the local hospital and its most hostile patient after such an occurrence.

"So?" he drawled, looking pointedly at his trouble-magnet friend. "We have some well dressed, well spoken guy, obviously not a professional thug, trying to give you a beating? I wonder what that could possibly be related to."

The investigator's thoughts had also been working along the same lines. Could the Du Bois' attacks have become physical rather than verbal and social? "I dunno, Joe, it could be linked, but I woulda expected it before now rather than for 'em to wait this long." She shrugged. "It ain't as if they're the only rich people I've pissed off over the years."

Joe shook his head in exasperation. "Well that's the truth. You certainly have a flair for annoyin' people with more money than you."

"That's only 'cause they don't like someone like me rakin' through their dirty little secrets. It comes with the territory." Red nodded towards the pile of papers, not wanting the lecture on looking after herself that she could feel coming her way. "What about that lot, whaddaya find out about Mrs, Evadne Lannis then?"

September 2nd - Cleaning and confrontation

Red was in a foul mood when, the next morning, she limped up the stairs to the office: sodden and chilled to the bone from the hike across the drenched city, foot aching from the frustrated kick she'd given her recalcitrant rust-bucket for failing to start, and head still pounding from last night's set-to with her mystery assailant. There was not even the comfort of an illicit bottle of Bourbon at the end of this trip.

Leaving a small stream of drips in her wake, she finally reached the third floor landing, stopping dead when she saw that the door to her office was open and all three chairs were sitting outside. What in hell's name is goin' on? I'm sure I don't owe anyone that much! Gritting her teeth, and gripped by a familiar desire to hit someone, anyone, she stomped through the open door. "What the hell are you do…in'…" the sentence trailed off unfinished as, rather than the expected sleazy faces, she instead saw Evadne Lannis's raised eyebrow peering over the top of her desk.

"Wha' the hell do you think you're doin'?" the scowling investigator demanded, still in the mood for a fight.

"What does it look like I am doing?" her new secretary replied before ducking down behind the desk once more.

"Emptyin' my office of furniture is what it looks like to me!" Red snapped back.

Evadne stood up and, after depositing dried-up pizza remains on the desk in front of her, calmly replied "Well, I thought the place needed a good cleaning, and you obviously were too 'busy' to do it, so I thought that my first task, as your new secretary, should be to get started."

Annoyed eyebrows rose at the implied criticism. "Hey, I like my office just as it is."

"Yes, that may indeed be the case, but do your prospective clients?" The socialite countered pleasantly "You may like living in a pigsty, but I am sure the majority of your clients do not feel the same."

Red opened her mouth to reply, then shut it again as she considered her new secretary's words before reluctantly agreeing "Good point. Well made." Red took another look around the room. "Well whilst you're doin' that I'll jus' pop down to the store an'..." Before she could get any further, a cloth thrown with mathematical precision wrapped itself around her face'

"Oh no you don't! I am not doing this all by myself."

"Hey, I'm the boss here an' don't you forget it!" She removed the rag and let it fall to the floor.

Apparently unruffled Evadne just raised that eyebrow again before continuing, as if nothing had been said, "Now then, you take the other end of the desk, it'll take both of us to move it." Despite herself, Red found herself being gently, but firmly, steered into helping clear the office of the months of accumulated dust and dirt.

***

Some hours later, as they both stood admiring the results of their handiwork, she had to admit it did look better for the clean; even if she was sure she'd never be able to find anything ever again.

"There, that's better, don't you agree?" Evadne asked, standing there with her hands on hips, as she surveyed the room.

"Yeah, very. Don't think my back's quite recovered from all the furniture movin' though." Having decided dusting was not her forte, Red had decided to take on all the furniture moving and was now regretting her macho instinct. She glanced out of the corner of her eye at the woman standing next to her. "Like the new hat by the way." She indicated the flowery cloth tied turban like over the fashionably bobbed dark hair. "Very chic," she smirked. Quickly dodging the wet cloth that was flicked in her direction, she retreated to safety behind her now tidy desk. "Hey that ain't no way to behave to your new boss. I could have your wages docked for that you know," she said sternly.

"If you were actually paying me any you could," agreed the socialite reasonably, "but of course you aren't." She advanced on her scruffy employer, soggy cloth in hand and smirk on face.

Taking a step back, Red held up a warning hand, "You really don't wanna do that," the accompanying patented Wolverton glare somewhat spoiled by the grin twitching the corner of her mouth.

A cough from the doorway brought both women up short. "Excuse me?" said a politely amused male voice. "Perhaps I should come back later?" They both spun around as one to face the darkly handsome, and smartly dressed, middle-aged man standing in the doorway, a faint smile playing across his lips as he regarded the scene in front of him.

Saved by the bell! Red was the first to regain her composure. "Please, come in, Mr.?"

"Franklin," the man replied, entering the room, "Benjamin Franklin." His proffered hand was grasped then firmly shaken. Seeing the quirk of an eyebrow Red gave on hearing his name, he smilingly added, "Yes I know, you would not believe what it's like having such a famous name."

Smiling in return, the investigator indicated the chair opposite her own. "Please take a seat, Mr. Franklin, an' tell me what's on your mind." She looked pointedly at Evadne, who took the hint and began making coffee at the little table by the door which contained all the basics of office life: a kettle, cups and saucers, coffee, sugar and milk.

Mr Franklin took the proffered seat, looking searchingly at the odd figure in front of him for a few seconds before speaking. "I take it this is the Wolverton Investigation Agency?"

"Sure is. Said Wolverton's sittin' before you."

"Well, Miss Wol.."

"Red," she interrupted.

Franklin paused fractionally before, with a little nod of the head, he continued, "Well… Red... I have been looking for someone to do a little job for me, and your agency's record would seem to indicate you are the ones for it."

He paused, as if waiting for some sort of response. She just gestured for the man to continue his explanation as she leaned back more comfortably in her chair; however, a warning look from her secretary, as she brought the coffee for their visitor, stopped her from putting her boots on the desk as normal.

"Well…" He now seemed nervous and lost for words,

Ah, another of those 'sensitive' personal jobs. The experienced investigator knew they were generally, easy money but there were only so many sordid affairs and anger and tear-filled marriage breakdowns you could take before it all got far too depressing - especially as the whole subject was rather too close to home at the moment. She sat and waited patiently for the man to continue.

The prospective client took a deep breath, "This may seem strange to you, Miss Wol…", he caught himself, "ah Red." With a smile, he continued. "It may seem strange, but I believe I am being stalked, although perhaps hunted is a better term."

"Well that's really a job for the police, Mr. Franklin, not a private investigator." She reluctantly started to explain, but was interrupted.

"Yes, well the problem is that I believe the thing that is stalking me is… well, is… not of this world."

Raising an eyebrow at this statement, Red glanced at Evadne, seeing a look of disbelief also pass across her face as she sat taking notes.

"Exactly" said Franklin ruefully. "You can see that if I go to the police I shall, at best, be laughed out of the station or, at worst, be institutionalized."

Shifting in her chair, a now uneasy Red wondered if she had a bona fide nutcase on her hands. Surreptitiously she confirmed that her pistol was still unsnapped in the holster in the hollow of her back. "So, Mr. Franklin, what exactly do you mean by 'not of this world', and why do you think you're being stalked by such a thing?"

Relaxing a little at not being laughed out of the room, though not realising quite how close that had came, the would-be-client began to elaborate on the 'little job'. "First I should make it plain that I do not want you to stop this thing, or anything like that. I just need you to come up with proof of its existence that I can use to persuade the police of the truth of my claim. If you agree to do this I will tell you all I know of the problem." He looked inquiringly at Red.

Red studied the man in front of her: he didn't look insane, but then they rarely did; the quality and cut of his clothes spoke of money so, if he was a loony, he was at least a rich loony, and she really needed the work. "Okay," she breathed out

"That is excellent, Red, I am sure you…"

"But!" She stopped the stream of thanks. "Only on one condition: if at any point I think it's gotten too dangerous I will drop the job. You'll pay me for the time I've spent an' we'll both go our own separate ways. Deal?"

"Deal!" Her latest client gave a relieved grin that made him look ten years younger. "I honestly don't think you will be in any danger, but I have no wish to force you into any against your better judgement." Then he began to explain what had been happening to him over the last two months.

***

After showing Mr. Franklin out the office and closing the door behind him, Evadne turned to look at her employer in utter disbelief. "Where on earth did that story come from? Is he on... drugs... do you think? And he seemed such a nice gentleman." She shook her head in dismay.

Red was less dismissive of the man's story. It had, indeed, seemed pretty unbelievable, but the way the man had told it seemed genuine enough. He obviously believed in what he had been telling them, and a lot of the inconsequential facts he had mentioned made her think that there might be something in what the man was saying.

Leaving the door, Evadne took the seat their new client had just vacated. "Surely you don't believe that balderdash, do you?" There was no response as Red continued to look thoughtfully at the door Franklin had just exited. Now less sure of herself, Evadne continued, "But it was so fantastical it can't be true?"

The thoughtful gaze shifted to her new secretary's puzzled face. "Franklin certainly believes it's true, an' whatever the real truth of the story he is definitely scared. More scared than he'd admit to, I reckon."

"But un-dead creatures made of clay?"

"I don' think they are technically un-dead."

"Don't be pedantic, Red, un-dead, un-alive, whatever! It is just the stuff of legends."

"And legends often have a grain of truth behind 'em," she snapped back. "Surely a woman that went to Bryn Mawr an' The Miskatonic University knows that?"

Evadne gave her a sharp look. "So, you've been doing some investigating on me I see. What 'dirt' did you manage to 'dig up'?"

The quotation marks around the corny old dime-a-dozen phrases were almost tangible, as was the anger in the socialite's voice. Red looked steadily back - although she instinctively liked the woman sitting in front of her she still needed to know why such an obviously wealthy individual would want to work for her, especially after what she'd found out about her background. Taking the bull by the horns, she started flatly to recite what Joe had found the evening before. "Born in eighteen ninety-three you were christened Evadne Rosemary Leona Van Deemin, the oldest daughter of Leo an' Edith Van Deemin. After an exemplary education at Bryn Mawr you were one of the first women admitted into the Miskatonic University." Red kept her eyes fixed on the older woman, seeing nothing more than mild annoyance she continued. "Unsurprisingly considered somewhat of a bluestocking, it was initially believed that you'd go onto an educational career, perhaps even at the old alma-mater. Even now much of your charitable work is linked with educational charities, includin' the provision of funding towards the education of the poorest girls in the city."

"Much to the annoyance of certain sections of society who believe they should be left to fester in poverty and ignorance," her subject interrupted vehemently.

"The marriage to Geoffrey Lannis was unexpected; in fact it'd been suggested that, despite a number of would-be suitors, you'd never marry. Some of the more uncharitable suggestin' that it was because you couldn't find a man to put up with your radical views."

"True enough, Geoff was a man-in-a-million," again there was a sad flicker in the brown eyes but Red ignored it and ploughed on.

"You've no children. Your husband was killed in nineteen-eighteen durin' the European war, leavin' you a very wealthy widow. It seems that Captain Lannis came very close to bein' put forward for a posthumous Medal-of-honour but the circumstances of the action in which he was killed couldn't be confirmed." Seeing the wetness in the sad brown eyes, she added in a warmer tone, "Sounds like he was a good an' brave man."

"He was. Oh, he was!" the widow of nearly ten years choked, feelings suddenly raw.

The investigator cringed internally at the older woman's distress, Christ what a heel I'm bein'. Moving around the desk, she awkwardly patted a hunched shoulder. "I don' mean to upset you, but I have to know why on earth you, of all people, would wanna work as an unpaid secretary for a bad-tempered bulldyke with the manners of a teamster. One who's already managed to piss off a large number of your type." Glad that Evadne seemed to have regained her composure Red returned to her chair and looked intently into reddened brown eyes. "I went over an' over it last night," she didn't add that most of her musings had been alcohol fuelled, "an' I can't see any reason for you bein' here unless as some sort of bet or joke or somethin' of the sort." Without allowing the socialite a chance to respond, she carried on to what she now realised to be the heart of the problem. With a bitter anger that surprised even her, she coldly stated, "Believe me, Evadne Lannis, when I say I will not allow myself to become some rich woman's plaything for a second time." Wincing mentally, she was nevertheless unsurprised to see the oh-too familiar protective veil of the well-bred woman come clanging down over the hither-to open face.

"I am sorry you do not believe me when I say I wish to work for you. I have no desire of finding myself a 'plaything' as you so colourfully put it, and believe me, Red Wolverton, if I was looking for one I would find someone cleaner, with better manners, and more importantly male! A good afternoon to you." Parting shot neatly delivered, the socialite gave a curt nod and swept out of the office.

"Oh nice one, little wolf," she muttered derisively to herself, "you really fucked that up well an' good. Just add one more pissed off Boston big-shot to the ever growin' list why don'cha." Once more, the sound of Evadne Lannis' departure was echoed by the thunk of a red-gold head hitting the desk.

September 3rd - Morning-afters, machinations and murder

"C'mon, get up ya lazy bugger, I need to be back at the bar in half-an-hour," came a loud and ungodly piercing female voice.

Red groaned as her head tried to implode, then pulled the blanket more tightly over her head. "Leave me 'lone. Jus' wanna die," she murmured in a cracked voice.

"I warn ya - if ya ain't movin' in the next ten seconds I'm throwin' ya out." The voice was getting irritated now.

"Go 'way," the horribly hung-over head-ache-on-legs moaned.

"Okay, ya asked for it, cowgirl," and Red found herself unceremoniously dumped on the floor in a pile of crumpled bedclothes. Blinking painfully in the all too bright morning sunshine, she peered at her tormentor before curling up in the bedclothes with a mulish, "'kay, I'll sleep here then."

"Argh!" came a frustrated cry, "fer god's sake will ya get up!"

A tired, alcohol-befuddled brain finally processed the last minute's conversation and woke up suddenly. "Wha' the?" There was only one person who could call her cowgirl and get away with it. "Janet?" She glanced at her irritatingly feminine surroundings. "What was I doin' in your bed?" She peered blearily up at the petite figure standing, arms akimbo, over her.

"Ya don't remember? Well that sure does wonders for a girl's ego I can tell ya." Janet prodded the recumbent figure with a stocking covered foot. "C'mon, get up will ya, I've hash browns and bacon cookin'." She knew full well that the promise of food was one of the few things that could guarantee getting the westerner moving in the morning.

This morning, however, it did not have the normal instantaneous effect, as the bewildered investigator was more concerned as to how she'd ended up in Janet's bed. Not that it hadn't happened before, but that had been before they'd come to the conclusion that they worked better as friends than lovers.

Scrunching her eyes against the glare and the resultant increase in the tempo of the pounding hammer in her head, she struggled up from the floor. Glad to find that she was at least still clad in her underclothes, she looked at the still fuzzy figure with slightly better focused, now worried eyes. "Did I?... errm.. well y'know… did we.. after what we decided an' all."

The other woman just grinned back; God, she's so damn cute when she blushes. After letting her stew for a suitably punitive period, she replied, "Don't worry, cowgirl, ya were far too drunk to get up to anythin' last night… even if ya'd wanted too." She threw shirt and pants at her still confused ex-lover. "C'mon get dressed, ya pants should be dry enough - reckon I managed to get the worst out."

Now fully wide-awake, Red had gone well past embarrassment and was now deep into mortification. "Shit, Jan, please say I didn't throw-up over you… did I?"

"Nope, cowgirl, luckily for both of us that had happened before I found ya. It's a good thing I care for ya though 'cause I was this far," she indicated a tiny distance with her forefinger and thumb, "from leavin' ya right there."

"Well I'm right glad you didn't," Red added wholeheartedly, then, with some trepidation, asked, "Where, exactly, was there?"

"The john at the Lily. Thought I'd best bring ya back with me to make sure ya were alright. Couldn't have ya litterin' the place - the customers mighta complained," she added with a sly grin.

Having struggled into shirt and pants, she was scanning the room for the rest of her clothes. "The rest of ya stuff is in the kitchen, c'mon through and have some breakfast." Janet paused, pointedly considering the time. "Make that lunch."

Her unexpected guest had made short work of the breakfast-lunch and was just finishing it off when the impromptu hostess finally asked what she'd been wanting to know ever since finding the blind-drunk, and only semi-conscious, westerner earlier that morning. "Look, honey, ya can tell me to go jump if ya want, but what on earth drove ya to get so drunk last night? I watched ya all night an' I've never seen ya down so much, so quickly." She didn't add quite how concerned she'd been when her inebriated friend had disappeared into the john and not come out.

Red stared into her mug of coffee. "I dunno really. Suppose it was that Du Bois business finally catchin' up with me." She considered what had caused the dam on her emotions to break so spectacularly. "Had a stupid argument with someone yesterday, an' it jus' seemed to set off all these bad feelin's, an' all I wanted to do was jus' not feel anymore." A solitary tear trickled down the side of the slightly crooked nose and dropped into the coffee.

So the wolf has finally had a taste of her own medicine, Janet thought with a touch of bitterness, I suppose it had to happen some time, and when it did it was bound to hit her hard. What surprised her nearly as much was that her almost stereotypically butch ex-lover had actually said anything, rather than doing the usual 'strong and silent' routine.

Watching the dour looking westerner continue to stare into the rapidly cooling coffee, Janet decided against any further attempts at girl talk, resolving instead to deflect her mind from brooding over the Du Bois woman. "So who was the 'someone' ya were talking to last night? Nice is she?" she teased.

A roll of blue-green eyes and the faintest of smiles, "Jeez, you an' Joe are as bad as each other."

"Soooo?" She wasn't going to let the matter rest that easily.

"Look, she was jus' this woman I've employed as a secretary. You know," the investigator reminded, "the job I advertised a while ago, before…her…" she trailed off.

"Not surprised she had an argument with ya then - ya'd need someone with the patience of a saint." Janet was determined not to let her go off in that direction again.

"Actually, I started the argument."

"Ya what? Have ya any idea how rare someone willin' to work with ya is?" she teased.

"Oh har-de-har-har," came the muttered sardonic response.

Hmm, this is not working as planned, must be somethin' more to this argument than she is letting on.

A glance up at the clock then a puzzled question, "Hey, I thought you said you had to be at the bar in half an hour; it's been well over that already?"

The small woman shrugged her shoulders. "So I lied. It got ya outa bed didn't it?" she grinned.

"Well, that an' tippin' me onto the floor."

"Yeah, well I know from bitter experience how hard it is to get ya up in the mornin'."

"Hah, well at least I ain't up before the birds're tweetin'."

"As if ya'd know what time I get up. Ya were usually snoring so loud the poor birdies probably couldn't have heard themselves anyway."

"I do not snore!" Red snarled.

"Yes ya do," smirked Janet.

"Don't."

"Do."

"So don't!"

"Ain't this fun?" quipped Janet, "Jus' like being a couple again."

Red couldn't help but smile. "But without the fun of makin' up afterwards, sweetheart," she teased.

"True," she conceded. "But that can be arranged if ya want, lover," she added seductively before theatrically sniffing the air and choking exaggeratedly, "but only after ya had a wash."

"Okay, okay. I get the point - time for the smelly old wolf to get herself home." Having gathered up coat and hat, she was about to leave when she quickly turned and caught the surprised Janet in a tight hug. "Thanks, Jan," she whispered in the smaller woman's ear, "you always were my favourite ex." and, with the gentlest of kisses, she was gone, leaving a stunned Janet standing in the middle of her apartment.

***

After leaving her friend's rooms, Red made a quick detour to her apartment to grab baseball boots, shorts and a sleeveless shirt. Stuffing them and a towel into an old duffle bag she set off down to the docks to work off some of her nervous energy beating seven-shades out of a defenceless punching bag.

The heavy rain of the night before had cleared and the day was almost perfect, cool but sunny. The investigator enjoyed the feel of the sun on her face as she walked down to the shore. Despite the lack of sleep, and the residual hangover, she felt better than she'd done for weeks - perhaps she'd finally gotten Katherine out of her system at last. It wasn't long before the grimy tenements started to change to warehouses and industrial buildings: a mixture of brick, stone and wood sitting haphazardly together. The familiar smell of the docks came to greet her. The underlying saltiness of the sea all but smothered by the alien smells of oil and coal, rotting wood and the commodities, some pleasant some foul, that were handled there. Soon she was picking her way through the old packing cases, horseshit, oil streaked puddles and other dockside detritus as she made her way along the wharfs to the old warehouse where Mickey O'Reilly had set up his gym. Her progress was punctuated by the usual variety of ironic wolf-whistles, obscenities and greetings; the first were ignored, the second greeted with enthusiastic surly replies and the third acknowledged with nods and waves. A short, but entertaining, walk later and she was squeezing through the badly fitting door of O'Reilly's Gym.

The inside of the gym was much more promising than the outside would have led a casual observer to believe. There was a central ring surrounded by various punching bags, a weights area, and the usual paraphernalia of a boxing gym. She'd been coming here for nearly five years now having persuaded the owner to allow her to use the gym in gratitude for sorting out a problem one of his boxers had gotten himself into. She'd now become Mickey's de-facto legal adviser, helping him out on a number of occasions when his 'boys' got themselves on the wrong side of the law.

As usual, there were a number of guys scattered around the place. Red greeted a few with a nod or a word then went to the office where she was allowed to change - the gym not being a place normally frequented by women. Indeed, it had been quite a struggle to get Mickey to allow her to use it in the first place, and then even more of one to prove to both him, and the other boxers, that she was to be taken seriously. Luckily, she had two natural advantages when it came to the noble art. First, she appeared to have an in-born talent, no doubt helped by the number of fights she'd gotten into over the years; secondly, she was a semi-ambidextrous south-paw; the combination of the two made her a better boxer than even she'd thought was possible. It hadn't been too long before she'd got Mickey on her side - even if a few of the die-hard chauvinists still didn't approve of having a woman around.

She pushed open the ill-fitting flimsy door finding the gym's owner seated behind his scruffy desk. "Howdy, Mickey, okay for me to train?" You always asked - even the big names that used the gym would ask for permission. The veteran boxer had to be in his sixties, but you would not believe it from the energy he put into his gym. Nor would he allow anyone else to give any less than their best. If he felt you were not giving either the respect or the effort his noble art required then he was sure to show you that he could still land a mean punch - something that Red herself could testify. A smile appeared on her face at the thought of the first time that had been happened: she'd been slacking a bit when using the punching bag and Mickey had called her over. She'd not noticed that he'd pulled a glove on his right hand until it hit her solidly in the gut. Despite the pain, that had been one of her happiest moments at the gym as it was the ultimate proof that she'd been accepted as one of his 'boys'.

Mickey now gave her an accusing glare. "Not been down for a while have ya, girl, you'll be getting soft."

"Don't worry yourself, Mickey; I've been keepin' in shape."

"So I've heard," he leered grotesquely.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance. Was there no one that hadn't heard about Katherine? She was beginning to wonder if the whole world knew. "Mickey, you dirty old man, lay off the leching will you. You know it does your poor old heart no good," she grumbled.

"Ah, ma girl, if only I was ten years younger."

"You'd still be old enough to be my Pa."

Mickey mock-clutched his chest, "Ah ya wound me, ma girl, so ya do," and grinned up at her.

She shook her head in feigned exasperation then grinned back. "Now if you would be so kind to get outta the ladies locker room while I change?"

"Sure, sure, I need to check that none of the boys are slacking anyway," and he left the room.

Listening to the noise outside the room, she heard the level of activity go up a notch as the old fighter entered his domain. Not wanting to be further accused of slacking, she'd soon donned her gear and was hard at work on a punching bag.

As she pummelled away her mind went over the case Franklin had brought to her. He'd called the creature he claimed was hunting him a golem, a creature of animated clay, and this had rung a faint bell. Red had always been interested in legends and folk tales, ever since she'd been entranced by the native Indian tales she'd been brought up with as a child, much to the dislike of her bible-bashing preacher father. As a result, she'd always been willing to listen to the elders of any community and the tales they told. In turn she was always pleasantly surprised how willing most of them were to share their stories with her. Despite any prejudices they might have it would appear that an avid listener was appreciated, irrespective of age, gender or whom they chose to sleep with.

Eventually she remembered the story the old Rabbi had told her about the golem of Prague, and how it had nearly destroyed the people it had been created to protect. However, one point the Rabbi had stressed was that in all the stories it was said that the golem could only be created by the holiest of holy men, so how such a creature might have come to be stalking Franklin was a mystery. Of course, it was far more likely that someone was using the story of the golem to cover something more mundanely criminal.

After a good hour's workout, she'd decided that her first step would be to find out more about her client. She'd see what Joe could find out for her, and take a visit to Franklin's house: partly to see him in his natural surroundings, and partly to see if anything could be gleaned as to the type of man she was dealing with and therefore who, if anyone, was likely to want to harm him.

Just as she was starting to pull off her practise gloves, Mickey came over and clapped a hand on her shoulder.

"Off already, Red? Ya barely warmed up yet."

"Stuff to do, people to see," she shrugged.

"Well, if ya can spare me a few minutes of ya precious time I've a young bantam that needs his feathers ruffled." The veteran trainer indicated a confident looking young guy of about eighteen or nineteen that she hadn't seen before. "Young Ed's a promising enough boy; but he's had it too easy so far and, as a result, has a far greater opinion of his self than's right."

Red nodded, she knew where this was going. It wasn't the first time that she'd been used to spar with the lighter weight new bloods. She wasn't always victorious, but sheer stubbornness meant she'd put up a good enough fight to wear off some of the cockiness. There was nothing quite like being bested by a woman to bring down a brash young fighter a peg or two, and it benefited her by providing the nearest thing to a real fight she'd yet to come across. "You want me to bloody his nose for him do you?" she asked with a sly grin.

He just smiled and shouted across at the young boxer. "Ed! Here's that sparring partner I was telling ya 'bout. Meet Red Wolverton, one of the best lightweights I've ever had the pleasure ta come across."

First, the young man's mouth dropped open, then a flaming blush worked up his face. "You're kidding me right, a girl! You want me to fight a damn girl!"

Mickey's face went stern. "Ya want ta stay in ma gym ya fight who I say, got it!" A few of the other boxers were stopping to watch what was becoming a familiar routine. "So, ya want ta belong ta this gym?" he asked the still fuming Ed.

"Sure, whatever, just don't blame me if she gets hurt," the youngster snarled.

Noticing that some surreptitious bets were being taken behind Mickey's back, she wondered whom the odds were on this time. With a small shake of the head at the ability of some of them to bet on anything, up to and including how long it would take paint to dry, she returned her attention to her still fuming opponent.

"Don't worry, kid, I won't mark that pretty face for you," she grinned mockingly before pulling on her gloves and slipping under the ropes and into the ring.

Once they were in place, Mickey checked their head protection and that they were both wearing mouth guards. Then the gloves were pressed and the bout began.

As soon as the signal was given Ed powered into Red, but she avoided or parried his first flurry of punches and gave back a couple of jabs that, although not making full contact, forced him back. A few more such exchanges and she knew that the kid was a brawler. The punch combinations were simple and easily read, he obviously relied on the power of those punches to win the fight for him quickly, and she had to admit they were indeed powerful - her ribs already hurt from a blow that she'd not completely managed to avoid. Fortunately, he was obviously so irate at having to fight her that he was not thinking about what he was doing, and his inability to overwhelm her in the first few exchanges was annoying him even more.

She grinned at him through her guard, and he glared back before launching a powerful hook that, had it made contact, would have laid her out flat. This, however, was the opening she'd been waiting for, bobbing under the hook and closing in she unleashed a combination of body blows. Following up with an upper cut and cross, a feral grin appeared as her opponent staggered back a step, a shocked look on his face. As his guard dropped, she followed up on the advantage and, after a feint with the expected left hand, delivered her own right hook, knocking the young man to his knees.

Mickey was quickly in and separated them. Red skipped back to await the fight's continuation, wondering what he saw in the young boxer - he wasn't as good as she'd been expecting. She was even more surprised when the fight was ended at that point. She relaxed and, as usual, went to help her opponent to his feet, but he angrily pushed away her gloves and struggled out of the ring un-aided. Spitting out her mouth guard, she now rounded angrily on the trainer. "What you playin' at, Mickey? He wasn't half as good as most of the guys you put me up against. I coulda really hurt the kid, an' you know it."

The old boxer at least had the grace to look sheepish. "Sorry, Red, but his da's been buggin' me ta take on his boy for ages, claiming he's the next white hope and not believing what I said 'bout his real ability. The kid's basically all attack and no defence. I'm sorry, but I set ya up on this one." He nodded in the direction of the office were she could see a vaguely familiar older man glaring up at them both, "I told his da ta watch the fight from over there, hopefully both father an' son now realise the true level o' the kid's boxing skills."

A horrible sinking feeling came over Red as the vague feeling of familiarity began to turn into recognition. "Mickey, please tell me he ain't Garrison's kid?"

"Don' worry, Red, Garrison's an old friend of mine. If he's goin' ta be sore he'll be sore at me."

"You sure 'bout that?" she did not like the way the teamster union boss was looking at her.

Mickey looked a little concerned himself now. "I'll speak ta him, Red, don'cha worry." He climbed through the ropes and ushered the still glaring man into the office, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Turning to leave the ring herself, she saw the faces still looking at her. "What you gawking at?" she growled, "Ain't you got any work to be doin'." Slipping through the ropes, she left the ring and slumped dejectedly onto the nearest bench. As she began to remove her gloves, one of the guys came over to help her. "Good job, Red," he whispered furtively, "that little runt had been boastin' about how good he was all morning. Glad you kicked his butt." Then, as he saw Mickey exiting his office, he quickly jumped up and went back to his own training.

She was still sitting on the bench, slowly unwrapping the strapping from her hands and once again cursing her infallible ability to piss-off all the wrong people, when she became aware of being watched. Looking up she was surprised to see Garrison looking down at her, a rueful smile on his face.

"Good fight, Wolverton."

"Er, thanks, Mr. Garrison." A pause. "Hope the kid's okay?"

"He's fine, only his pride has been damaged." Still Garrison smiled; it was beginning to make her uneasy.

"Look, I…"

He interrupted. "That devious old son-of-a-bitch told me what he did, and that you didn't know what he was up to. I believe him about that, just as I should've believed him over the boy. Still, a father always thinks his kids are the best."

Not all of them, Red thought bitterly. Her pa felt nothing but hate and disgust for her and all she represented. Shaking off the melancholy memories she smiled hopefully, "So no bad feelin's?"

"Hell no!" Garrison was grinning openly now. "And if I need some rough housing done I now know were to go," he joked before turning to usher his still annoyed looking son out of the gym.

On an impulse, she called out, "Mr. Garrison?" then went to where he had waited for her. "Have you heard of a guy called Benjamin Franklin?" Attention firmly on Garrison senior's reaction to the name, she failed to notice the wary glance his son threw in her direction.

Garrison gave her a bemused look. "'Course I have, every true patriot has."

Red cut in "No, not that Benjamin Franklin. This is one I've got as a client but I ain't heard of him before. He seems wealthy enough but…"

The union boss completed the sentence. "But you want to find out if he is on the level." He thought for a moment, then replied "Hmmm, come to think of it, the name is vaguely familiar. I think he is involved in the import business, though don't know exactly what. Has a warehouse to the north end of the dock if I remember correctly. Can't be doing too badly as it's just been enlarged."

Well, this was a start at least. She thanked Garrison then swiftly changed before heading back to her apartment and a much-needed shower.

***

Having just left the Herald's offices where she'd left a note asking the absent Joe to find out what he could on Mr. Franklin, Red was on the way to her office when the back of her neck started to itch once again. Wonder if my mystery assailant is back? Let's see if I can get a look at the son-of-a-bitch. Reaching the entrance to an alley, she swiftly side stepped into the opening. Nonchalantly leaning back against the wall, she watched the backs of the people that had been behind her as they went past. The first half dozen people went past without a glance in her direction, obviously intent on their own business. Then a well-dressed man walked quickly past the entrance and looked hurriedly around. When he saw her he started visibly, turned, and hurried on up the street until, just as he was about to turn the corner, he gave a final look back to where his watcher still lounged against the wall. She gave him an insolent little wave and he coloured before turning sharply away and disappeared from sight.

The mocking smile changed to a thoughtful frown. So that's my mystery attacker. He certainly fitted what she remembered and what the mortified Frank had been able to remember. Well dressed and blonde, he was a couple of inches taller than she was - around six foot she reckoned, but slightly built, and his face had a thin, starved look. His behaviour also seemed to confirm the investigator's initial instinct that he was no professional: he'd reacted just the way a rank amateur would, and she was still not sure how she missed him on that first night. "Musta been beginners luck," she muttered before pushing away from the wall. At least she'd now recognise her foe, even if she didn't yet have a name to go with the face. On a sudden impulse, she decided to take the opportunity to give her stalker a taste of his own medicine. Quickly, she ran down the refuse-strewn alley and vaulted over the low fence barring the end. Cutting across the yard beyond brought her back out on to the street her stalker had turned on to. As she emerged from the yard's entrance, she saw the man crossing the street, and swiftly followed.

It wasn't long before he got onto a streetcar heading towards the Back Bay. She quickly jumped onto the rear running board and hung on, much to the amusement of the young boy that was already doing exactly the same. With a conspiratorial wink, she whispered, "Fun ain't it?" The boy grinned back. Quickly gauging the likely character of her young fellow traveller, and deciding the returns should be worth the investment, she asked, "Wanna dime?".

"Sure!" The boy's face lit up at the mention of money.

"You saw the rich lookin' guy that just got on?"

"The skinny one, looks kinda like a rat?" he asked, describing the man remarkably succinctly.

"Yeah, that's the one. I give you a dime - you follow him home then let me know where he goes. Deal?"

"Deal!" the boy agreed enthusiastically. Letting go his right hand, he solemnly spat on the palm. Red did the same, and with a shake the bargain was sealed and the fee exchanged. After telling the boy where the information was to be delivered she gave a final, "Good luck," and dropped off the back of the tram as it slowed on a hill, and was quickly back in amongst the people on the sidewalk.

The un-planned side-trip had taken her someway away from her office so she stopped at a café for a quick bite to eat while considering her next step. Although rat-man was high on her personal list of things to do, she really needed to get down to sorting out Mr. Franklin's case before dealing with her private problem. Taking out her notepad, she saw that her memory had not been playing her false, and that the address Franklin had given was not too far from where she'd ended up. Failing to finish the watery coffee, she left the café: making a mental note to add it to her growing list of places not to frequent again. Getting another streetcar, as a paying fare this time, she headed out to the district in question.

***

The address given by Mr. Franklin proved to be that of a good-sized house of a classically Federal design. It was set well back from the street in a large garden that, although obviously once well kept, was now going to seed. After passing through the finely wrought iron gates she walked up the drive, noting in passing those places that might allow someone to hide. Closer to the house was a large, new, wooden building with double doors. As there was no sign that there had ever been a coach house, she surmised it had been built to hold the resident's automobile. A quick peek through a crack in the doors indeed showed such a tarpaulin covered object.

Nearing the house itself, she noticed that the ground floor windows had solid iron grills. A closer inspection confirmed her suspicion that they were new additions to the building. A walk around the house confirmed all the ground floor windows where thus protected, and that the kitchen door was also unusually solid. Returning to the front of the house, she saw the front door open and a old man emerge from it holding a shotgun which was pointed, somewhat shakily, straight at her.

"Hey, watch where you're pointin' that thing!" she raised her hands, taking a step backwards.

"What yer want? Poking around the house ya were, I saw ya, I did!" The shotgun was shaken aggressively in her direction.

"Whoa, hey calm down will you. I'm here to see Mr. Franklin. This is his house ain't it?" She was getting increasingly worried that the old man would let the gun go off by accident.

"Yeah, and what would he want with a weirdo like ya? Go on, git!"

"Okay, okay. I'm goin', I'm goin'." She'd begun to back away down the drive when suddenly Mr. Franklin's voice came from within the house

"What is it, Jenkins?"

The old man turned to talk back to the voice without quite taking his eyes, or the gun, off the intruder's slowly retreating form, "Jus' some weirdo. Caught her pokin' around the house."

There was a pause, then "Her?" Another pause and then Mr. Franklin was at the door. "Stand down, Jenkins, she's the private investigator I hired."

"That?" Red could hear the venom in the man's voice. "Ya've hired that to protect ya, what is the world coming too." With a grunt of displeasure, the old man turned and re-entered the house, leaving a somewhat apologetic looking Franklin standing in the doorway.

"Please come in, Red. I'm sorry about the reception party, but he means well." He gave a rueful smile then, with a gesture, started back into the house. "Come in, come in," and he disappeared into the gloom of the house's interior.

Shaking her head at the things she did to earn an honest dollar, Red cautiously followed her client through the doorway. Inside, the house was much as the garden - good quality going slightly to seed. It made her wonder if this really was his home or just some temporary residence. She followed Franklin down the hall and he went into a room to the left. Just about to follow him in, she heard a sudden slam and turned, hand automatically going to her revolver, to see Jenkins shooting home a formidable array of bolts around the front door. After exchanging a hostile glare with the human guard-dog, she turned and finally entered the room. A quick glance showed it to be a study of sorts; Franklin was standing at a drinks cabinet pouring out two drinks. Without turning around, he asked, "I would guess you to be a whisky drinker?"

"Yeah sure, not that you can get it now," she replied cautiously.

"Here." Franklin handed her a tumbler. "There's water on the side-table if you want."

Sniffing the amber liquid, she was pleased to find it smelled like the real stuff not the paint stripper so often passed off as whisky in most speak-easies. The hint of peat in the smell was confirmed by the first sip. "Hmm, nice," she smiled her appreciation. "Can't get holda this sorta stuff for love nor money nowadays."

Franklin smiled back. "I slip the odd one in when I can, there has to be some benefit to working in the import business." Seeing the raised eyebrow, he continued. "Nothing large enough to bring myself to the notice of the authorities or the mob but enough to keep me and a few friends happy."

So, looks like Garrison's Franklin an' mine are the same. Must go have a poke around the warehouse when I get the chance.

Indicating one of the two large leather covered chairs Franklin took the other and asked eagerly, "So, any luck tracking down my golem?"

Red took the proffered seat before replying. "Not yet, Mr. Franklin, I actually wanted to ask you some more questions 'bout the subject if that's okay?" Franklin nodded his acquiescence. "You say that whoever, whatever, is followin' you is a golem. Now, from what I know of the lore 'round such creatures, they can only be created by very holy men - usually Rabbi's. So my first question is how on earth you woulda made such an enemy of such a man that he would go to all the effort to create such a creature?"

Franklin shook his head in despair. "I don't know, I really don't know."

"So how d' you know it is a golem if you've no knowledge of where it mighta come from?"

"Because that was what the note called it."

"Note? What note?" The investigator couldn't help the frustrated edge to her voice at this hitherto unmentioned piece of information.

"This one." He opened a desk draw, pulled out a creased and dirty looking piece of paper and passed it across. "It was stuck under the door of my office down at the dock a month ago."

"Why didn't you mention this earlier?" she asked, trying to keep her rising temper under control. "If I ain't got all the facts, Mr. Franklin, I've damn-all chance of gettin' to the bottom of your problem." Pointedly ignoring Franklin's apologies, she studied the note. The paper was rough and cheap and looked as if it had been torn from another sheet - certainly one of the edges was torn and not cut. The writing was strong and firm, and she would have guessed had been written by an educated hand which was distinctly at odds with the actual content of the note.

GOLEMS GOIN TA GIT YA

Still annoyed at Franklin, she didn't bother to check before refolding the note and putting it into her pocket. He looked surprised but said nothing.

"So any thing else you've failed to tell me?" The sarcasm was evident in her voice.

Franklin was getting annoyed now. "Look, I said I was sorry about the note, recent events had driven it right out of my head."

There was a pause, as both parties took a mental deep breath, then Red continued. "See you've put in some quite impressive security measures." She nodded at the bars over the study window. "But if it really is a golem I can't see 'em bein' of any use, they're supposed to be massively strong."

"I know," he looked strained and, for the first time, really afraid, "but I needed to do something, even if they may prove to be of little use."

Seeking to reassure the obviously worried man, she explained, "Mr. Franklin, I have to say from my experience that it's much more likely that someone is usin' the story of the golem towards some much more mundane criminal end."

Still he looked doubtful.

"You no doubt came to me 'cause I've gained a certain reputation for bein' able to solve cases that appear to have a supernatural cause?" Franklin nodded and she continued, "As such I must inform you that such cases uniformly lead to much more mundane, if no less evil causes." Except for the one, she thought, but wasn't going to tell Franklin about that the way he was obviously feeling. Anyway, she was not totally convinced that what she thought had happened had actually, really, happened. The cold light of day had made it seem more like a weird dream than reality.

Her stubborn client shook his head. "But you don't understand, I have seen it! Eight foot tall with glowing eyes and steps that shake the very ground." His dark eyes were wide with remembered fear.

"Where?" Red asked quickly, wondering if there was anything else this man had forgotten to tell her.

"What?" came the confused reply.

"Where'd you see it?" she asked again, barely keeping the annoyance out of her voice at yet another previously un-revealed piece of information.

"On… on the docks near… near my warehouse," he stammered.

"An' that was the only time?" she pressed.

Franklin thought for a moment before replying. "I've heard it around and seen traces, footsteps and the like, but that was the only time I have actually seen it, in the flesh as it were." He gave a weak smile at the pun then, in a terrified voice, he added, "Once was enough believe me," and took an unsteady gulp from his glass.

Frowning into the whisky, she thought it all sounded very much as if someone was trying to scare the man into some action or the other. "Have you considered jus' leavin' the city, goin' somewhere else?"

Franklin nodded. "I have. In fact I'd had a very generous offer for the business not long before this started but," he took another sip and gave a rueful smile, "my grand-pa built the business from scratch after fleeing the pogroms." Another sip. "It would feel like I was betraying him somehow, if I allowed myself to be chased out and lose the business he and my father worked so hard to build."

Ah, that may jus' explain why whoever it is picked on the golem idea. A Jewish monster for a Jewish target. Bet Franklin weren't the name his grand-pa turned up in this big ol' country with neither. Red frowned as she considered this new information. The news of the offer to buy out the business before the stalking added weight to her conviction that this was a simple, if imaginative, variation on the tried and trusted technique of scaring someone into selling. "Any more offers?" she asked eventually.

"Yes, the same people, just this morning as it happens." A look of understanding came over his face. "You thing someone is using the golem to scare me into selling?"

"Something like that, yeah," Red agreed reluctantly, not adding that she was becoming more and more skeptical about the existence of any golem. It sounded like someone had rigged something impressive near Franklin's warehouse and had since been using more subtle means to build on the impression that their target was being hunted by such a creature. An' it seems, she thought, annoyed at the businessman's gullibility, to be workin jus' fine'. "This golem you saw, can you tell me exactly where that was?" She tried to hide the weary realisation that she needed proof of the golem's non-existence as much for her client's benefit as to provide the evidence for him to take to the police.

Franklin looked hard at the annoyingly rude and scruffy woman wondering for a moment why he had hired her. Then he remembered the recommendations, telling him that if he got past the attitude she would prove to be a highly skilled private investigator more than worth the effort. He was quiet for a long moment then nodded. "I'll draw you a map, I'm not going back there in case it's waiting for me."

***

Having been grudgingly let out of the house by a muttering and scowling Jenkins, Red started on a check of the grounds. Franklin had said that he'd heard the golem near the house and, having got a rough idea of where he'd thought the sound had come from, she was going to give the area a thorough going over.

Away from the house and drive, the undergrowth was thicker and even less well kept and, in some places, quite difficult to get through. However, as expected, she found none of the signs that would indicate the passage of the sort of creature Franklin had described. Such a large being wouldn't have been hindered by the undergrowth but it would have left a very recognisable trail even after a number of days.

Eventually, some hundred yards from the house, she did find some slight signs of intruders and a faint trail through the undergrowth that lead to the imposing brick wall surrounding the house. The wall was formidably high, and did not appear at first glance to be easily climbable; however, after a few moments investigation, she found that some of the bricks were removable and that the holes left provided excellent hand and foot holds.

Having removed the bricks, it wasn't too difficult to scale the wall and peer over the top into what appeared to be another even more overgrown garden. On the other side, there was a cleared area in the undergrowth at the base of the wall and a more definite cleared path heading in the direction of the building just visible through the trees.

After a moment's consideration she hauled herself over the top of the wall and dropped into the garden beyond. From what she remembered of the gates to this house, from passing them on to the way to Franklin's, they'd been formidably padlocked. This was obviously not a house that welcomed visitors. If it was in anyway linked to what was happening to Franklin that was going to be even more so.

Cautiously, she moved along the path. There were clear signs of human traffic with cigarette butts and the odd bit of candy wrapper littering the ground. Whoever was using this path obviously did not fear their presence being discovered: unlike on the other side of the wall where obvious care had been taken to keep evidence of their presence to a minimum.

Eventually she reached the edge of the thick undergrowth, the building she'd spied now fully in sight. It was similar in design to that of Franklin's, though much more run down. Also similar was some impressive looking security. Those first floor windows she could see had external shutters that appeared to be metallic rather than the usual wood, and there was a barred gate in addition to the sturdy looking back door. Hunkering down in a large, straggling bush a little way from the path, but with a view of both house and path, she continued her observation.

***

After about an hour, with no sign of life from the house, the investigator unfolded herself from her position on the ground. Having loosened stiff joints, she cautiously made her way along the edge of the open ground around the house, eventually reaching the small stable-block that was closest to the house itself. A quick glance showed that the stable was empty and did not appear to have been used for some while, the floor being covered with an undisturbed layer of dust and old straw. The side of the house now facing her had obviously been the service part of the building; it had few windows and those it did have were small. They were all securely shuttered: the ground floor with metal shutters, the upper floor with the normal wooden ones.

After a quick final check, she swiftly crossed the open ground to the wall of the house. Crouching down with her back to the wall near one of the shuttered windows, she listened for any sign of life. When nothing could be heard, she carefully edged up the wall until she could peer through a slight gap in the metal shutters. The room inside was very dark, the shutters cutting out most of the light, but the shapes of furniture could just about be made out. It certainly appeared that the house was, or had recently been, lived in to some extent or other.

Keeping low and close to the wall, she continued around to the kitchen door. Just about to try and pick the formidable looking lock, the sound of voices from the other side of the house alerted her to another presence on the grounds. Quickly but quietly, she retreated into the cover of the undergrowth. It wasn't long before the source of the voices became visible as two men walked around the corner of the house and up to the door. One of the men, tall and thin, walked with a cane, and this he rapped against the door in what appeared to be a specific pattern. After a short while he replied to what must have been a question from within the house; then, after a further brief pause, the door opened and the two men quickly entered. A third man, presumably the doorkeeper, took a quick glance out of the door before closing it after the two men.

Sitting back on her haunches, Red considered what she'd found. The cautious attitude of the doorkeeper, and the excessive security, was enough to convince the experienced investigator that someone was definitely up to some sort of nefarious activity in the house. However, whether it was connected to Franklin's golem was another question altogether. Becoming aware of the way the light was fading, she glanced at her pocket watch, confirming that it would indeed soon be dusk. It was high time to get out of the unfamiliar grounds while she could still see where she was going.

After skirting the house, she soon reached the main gates where, after checking there was no one around to see, she managed without much difficulty to clamber over. Walking along the sidewalk that followed the boundary wall of the apparently shut up house towards the main street and the streetcar for home, she noticed a smart looking automobile drive past. Instinctively suspicious, she turned to see it swing into the gateway behind her. A man jumped out of the front passenger seat and quickly un-padlocked the gates. As it drove onto the drive, she just managed to glimpse the license plate. Once the gate was relocked and the vehicle safely out of sight, she jotted down the number in her notebook before continuing on her way, mind mulling over what she had learned.

***

After a crowded streetcar trip, the now weary investigator finally reached her office. Having just finished checking her meagre but bill heavy mail, she heard steps outside the office. Not expecting anyone, and it being so late in the evening, she cautiously drew her revolver and placed it on her lap before turning her gaze to the door. The handle turned and the door opened slowly. Red found herself holding her breath, only to let it out explosively as she recognised her visitor. "Jeez, Jan, are you tryin' to give me a heart attack?" She glared at her saviour of the previous evening as she sauntered into the office.

Janet gave her an amused look not at all phased by the inauspicious greeting. "Someone's jumpy this evenin'. Who've ya been upsettin' this time?"

"Why do you always assume I've been upsettin' someone?" she grumbled then, seeing the smirk forming on her friend's lips, gave up on the argument. She was tired, and hungry, and had an irritatingly damp butt from spending too much time lurking in bushes. Now she just wanted a bath, and a drink, not necessarily in that order. "What d' you want?" she growled when the small woman failed to explain her unexpected presence.

"Well, is that anyway to talk to ya favourite ex?" Janet was used to the moods and wasn't put off by the growling. "I've come to take ya away from all this." She waved her arms dramatically to encompass the office then added more seriously, "Thought ya might like to talk?" Seeing the frown, and the slight shake of the head, she sighed mentally at Red's stubborn unwillingness to talk about anything personal. This morning's admissions had been almost unheard of, and she'd wondered if it had been the sign of a new, more open aspect to her friend and one-time lover, but it looked like old strong, silent and stupid was back.

"Or, if not, then at the least a drinkin' companion?" She was determined that the still moody woman would not be left alone tonight in case there was a repeat of the previous night's excesses.

The investigator tried her best forbidding glare, but her persistent opponent just continued to smile her most winning and charming smile and waited for her to give in.

"No strings attached?" Janet added the final blow to the already weakening defences.

Giving up, Red rolled her eyes then muttered, "Okay, okay, you win." Standing up, replacing the revolver in her holster as she did, she collected her hat and coat from their usual heap on the floor and shrugged them on. After opening the door, she turned and gave a florid bow. From the resultant bent over position, she looked up and mock-solemnly asked, "Where to, my lady?"

Janet had not failed to notice the revolver and wondered what had got the westerner so jumpy. With a small, secret smile she passed the still bowing figure and led the way down to the street, determined that tonight, one way or another, she would find out exactly what was going on.

***

Red threaded her slightly unsteady way to the bar through the Gilded Lily's exotic looking cliental. The Lily may not have been the most glamorous of speakeasies, or even a provider of particularly good alcohol, but it was welcoming to those that the rest of Boston society considered strange, weird or just plain criminal. Lily, for whom the place was named, was a prime example. A dockworker by trade, 'Lily' had found that, by opening this little joint with its specialist niche, 'she' was free to dress and behave as she wanted, without threat of, or actual, physical violence or arrest.

Smiling to herself, she watched Lily, resplendent in sequined dress, pouring out drinks and flirting with all. The fact that she was six foot four, and built like the dockworker she'd once been, did not stop her from looking incredibly glamorous. The additional ability to lay out anyone who caused trouble with one straight punch didn't go amiss either. Indeed, Red could personally attest to the fact that Lily had a punch that could fell a horse - she'd never been foolish enough to start another fight in Lily's, whatever the level of provocation.

Ordering yet another whisky from Marty the barman, she turned to lean against the bar as she looked over the room, seeing who she knew and who she didn't. Watching a particularly attractive blonde sashay across the room, she became aware that someone was fidgeting by her side. Turning her head, she saw a well-dressed older man, the respectable tradesman type, repeatedly glancing at her then looking away. Turning squarely to face the man, she looked at him questioningly.

Finally he spoke. "You're Wolverton?"

She gave a brief nod of acknowledgement then waited for him to say whatever it was that was bothering him while she returned to her survey of the room.

"I just wanted to warn you…" he started then trailed off.

"About what?" Red was only half listening, the blonde was definitely giving her a look that promised the chance of an interesting evening. And it wasn't as if she was totally unused to being warned off, it was just another part of the job.

"There is… a man… after you, he…" He hesitated as if he was going to add more then continued. "Be careful, Wolverton, he's been twisted and now hates you with a vengeance. You escaped him at the Herald, but I don't believe he will stop until you are dead."

Her stalker! Attention suddenly caught, she grabbed the man's arm. "What's his name? Tell me!"

"I can't… he has powerful friends…. I can't". The man slipped out of her slightly inebriated grip and was off before she could stop him. He was halfway across the room before Red could get her brain organised enough to follow, by the time she reached the door she'd lost sight of him. "Fuck!" She punched the wall in her frustration.

"You okay, Red?" Lily's mellow voice came from behind her as she leaned heavily against the doorframe.

"That guy I was talking to," the investigator gestured into the darkness of the night, "any idea who he is?"

Lily looked at her obviously agitated regular thoughtfully, "Y'know I don't gossip about my customers, Red."

"This is important, Lily, you know I wouldn't ask if it weren't." She was almost pleading, Lily obviously did know who the man was, and to be so close to a definite lead was plain frustrating.

The bar-owner shook her head. "Sorry, girl, you ain't getting anything from these lips."

"Fine, I'll find out myself," Red growled resentfully before stomping back to the bar to retrieve her whisky and returning to her table, only just avoiding spilling it enroute.

Janet had seen the exchange with the unknown man then the way Red had followed him, or more properly tried to follow him. The punch had made her wince - it looked like she would have grazed knuckles to tend later. It was also plain that the conversation with Lily had not gone the westerner's way. The scowl on Red's face as she headed back to their table showed that all Janet's efforts to loosen her up had been wiped away by whatever had just happened.

Gracelessly plonking herself down, Red knocked back the whisky in one gulp. She was furious with herself for letting the man get away and almost as angry with Lily for not telling her what she wanted to know. Her grip tightened on the glass; what had the man been going to tell her before he changed his mind, and who the fuck was he anyway?

Janet could see the anger building in her volatile friend, how she was struggling to keep it under control. Mentally girding her loins, she attempted to find out what was winding up her long-time friend. "Come on cowgirl, tell me what's eatin' ya up?" The scowl deepened. "Please?"

Red let out an explosive sigh. "Someone attacked me yesterday at the Herald."

Dark eyebrows rose in surprise. Despite her ex-lover's job she knew that an attack in such a public place was extremely unusual.

"That guy was warnin' me, tellin' me that the attacker wants to kill me."

"What?" she blurted out. "Ya not serious?"

A look confirmed that she was, indeed, serious. "He also appeared to know who the man was. Dammit!" She slammed her hand angrily on the table top. "I should never've let him slip my grasp like that."

Janet leaned over the table and laid a comforting hand over the clenched fist. As her gaze met Red's she was shocked to see in the blue-green eyes a glimpse of something she'd never seen there before. Fear was it? No, not fear - vulnerability perhaps? "Ya okay, cowgirl?" she asked quietly. The withdrawal of the hand and the breaking of the gaze answered her succinctly enough. "Stay with me tonight, honey?" she asked tentatively, not liking the thought of Red being alone in such a mood, especially after last night's excesses. And, if the small woman was to be honest, she desperately wanted to be with her. Although the westerner had seemed happy with the change in their relationship, she'd found that she missed the physicality of their lovemaking. Last night, disgustingly drunk as her ex-lover had been, she'd still craved the feel of the strong lean body against her own.

"Stay with you? As in, 'stay'," pale brows waggled up and down as she leered, "with you."

Janet laughed, relieved at the familiar mercurial mood shift. "Yes, stay with me, ya disgustin' old lech."

"What 'bout our agreement?" Red hesitated.

"Bugger the agreement." She took a larger hand in her own and pulled its owner upright. "C'mon, lover, lets go take ya mind of things shall we?"

Red grinned roguishly. "Well, sweetheart, you always could manage that an' no mistake."

She laughed again, a full-throated, lusty laugh, and they made their way to the door hand in hand, provoking the odd wolf whistle and ribald comments from some of the tables as they passed.

As they went through the door into the alleyway, Janet stopped, tugging on the taller woman's hand. Red turned and, seeing the smouldering look in the black eyes, took her in strong arms, pulling her close. She looked down into the small woman's upturned face. "Sure you want this, Jan?" she whispered into an extremely cute ear before placing a trail of light kisses down a smooth, chocolate coloured neck to her shoulder. In answer, she felt small hands work their way under her shirt and start a teasing path up her sides. Full lips pressed against the skin of her neck just beneath her ear sending a shiver of desire through her body. Suddenly she felt the small body tense and she was pushed roughly away just as the harsh crack of a pistol shot echoed around the alley. Falling to one side, she pulled out her revolver and was just able to take one shot at the now familiar figure fleeing down the alley before he disappeared from sight. Cursing under her breath, Red holstered the .45 and, with a muttered, "Too close," turned to thank Janet - only to see to her horror that the small woman was slumped in a heap against the wall.

"Christ no!" came the anguished whisper as she knelt down by the fallen figure and saw the dark stain blossoming over Janet's chest. With a muffled sob, the stunned investigator sat on the ground, trying in vain to staunch the wound. Trying to make the injured woman more comfortable, she lifted Janet to lie between her legs, head and shoulders cradled in her arms. While moving the limp form, she'd felt the sticky warmth covering her friend's back. Now, as she struggled to stem the flow of blood, she felt a heart-wrenching jolt of grief at the sudden realisation that she was going to loose this particular fight and with it the woman who, she was only now realising, meant so very, very much to her. As she looked down in despair at her friend and lover's face the black eyes flickered open, eventually focusing on the tear filled blue-green ones above her.

"Ya cryin'?" Janet whispered.

Red could say nothing and just nodded in reply.

"So, I need to get shot to see ya cry," the injured woman tried to joke, then coughed, blood appearing in the corner of her mouth. She licked her lip, recognising the iron tang. "Bad ain't it?" Still Red said nothing, but Janet could see in the glistening eyes what the lips would not speak. "S'funny," she coughed wetly once more, "always thought it'd be the other way 'round," and she smiled weakly up at the tear-stained face of the woman she loved.

"Why d' you do it?" Red choked out. "I ain't worth this," and she lowered her head so that her pale forehead rested against Janet's dark one.

The westerner felt a hand play weakly with her hair. "Ya were always worth it, Red, love," Janet whispered, then her hand fell limply to the floor leaving a weeping Red rocking back and forth as she cradled the lifeless body in her arms.

***

She heard the door behind her open, and gentle hands touching her; for a second she felt herself responding, relaxing, reaching for the comfort the friendly hands promised; then she felt others trying to lift Janet off her, and she struck out desperately, no longer hearing the sympathetic voices in her grief. On she fought, defending her ex-lover's body against the now formless shapes, until she was finally overwhelmed. Her last contact with Janet gone, the world went dark as her mind fled, finding refuge in unconsciousness.

Bruised and battered, Lily got the three others who'd helped to pry the incoherent and violently struggling investigator away from Janet's body to take the now thankfully unconscious woman to Lily's apartment, leaving her to deal with the police alone.

It was blindingly obvious to Lily, from the moment of their arrival, that the police were antagonistic about who and what they were dealing with. They'd watched unsympathetically as Red had been dragged away, and then had whisked Janet's body off to the morgue with unseemly haste and a distinct lack of respect. It was as plain as the nose on Lily's face that, to these men, there was only one thing lower than a black woman, and that was a black lesbian. The accompanying search of the area was so cursory as to be down right negligent, and it soon became obvious that the officer in charge had come to his conclusion about the murder before he had even arrived. Sure enough, he was soon explaining loudly, and with obvious disgust, about the "perverted lovers' quarrel" that had led these "abominations" to break yet another "God given" law.

It was while these foul-mouthed accusations were being promulgated that she noticed that one young policeman did not seem comfortable with his colleagues behaviour; his face showed evident distress at what was going on and, with a pleading look and a slight gesture of his head, he indicated that Lily walk off to one side. With a slight nod in return, she moved into the shadows that a corner of the alley provided and waited for the policeman to join her. She did not have to wait long.

"I'm so sorry about this, Lily," he started apologetically.

Lily frowned, looking at the man more carefully. Slowly, recognition dawned as she looked past the uniform and saw the individual behind it. As she opened her mouth to speak, she was interrupted.

"Shush, please don't say anything," the young man pleaded. "My life won't be worth living if they find out."

Lily whispered urgently back, "But you need to help her. Paul, you know Red, I've seen you playing pool with her."

"Being beaten by her would be nearer the truth, but yeah, I know Red, and I can't see her doing anything like this. Anyway the evidence is all wrong." He glanced nervously over his shoulder, but no one seemed to have noticed their furtive conversation and he quickly continued, "McKinley is so blind to his prejudices he can't see anything else, however we found this." He held out a handkerchief in which was nestled a flattened bullet. "It was near the wall where they were found, and I would bet a month's pay that this little baby is from a 9mm automatic and not the .45 revolver Red carries."

"Please do what you can." Lily gave a quick glance to the blood stained alley before adding sorrowfully. "I don't think she is going to be in any state to help herself."

"I'll do my damnedest," he promised. "I'm pretty sure McKinley is going to arrest her here-and-now, but I'll try and make sure there aren't any 'accidents' between here and the cell." Lily gave his arm the slightest of squeezes in thanks then he was gone.

It was not long before the young policeman's prediction was proved true as the clatter of horses hooves and iron clad wheels announced the arrival of a paddy-wagon in the cobblestone alleyway. Two officers, Lily was relieved to see that one of them was Paul, were then sent inside. Fortunately, there had been more than enough time for all signs of the illegal alcohol inside to be hidden away before they'd arrived but that was currently the least of Lily's worries. The wagon had barely come to a halt when they reappeared - the unknown officer had Red's unconscious body slung over his shoulder. The moment the wagon's doors opened, Paul nimbly leapt inside and was able to catch Red's upper body as it was unceremoniously dumped in. As he lowered the senseless woman to the floor, more gently than had been the obvious intention of his fellow officer, his care provoked some amused comments about wasting his efforts on a "murdering dyke". Then the door was closed and locked on Paul and his unconscious prisoner, and the driver was clicking his tongue to encourage his horses on.

Lily watched the wagon leave, followed soon after by the remaining cops. She shivered suddenly, adrenaline draining away. She now felt the near freezing temperature and quickly returned to the warmth of the now empty speakeasy, wondering as she went what else she could do to help.

September 4th - Joe to the rescue

Joe stepped out of the elevator and looked for his visitor. Frank had rung up saying that a Mr. Smith was asking to see him. He knew all about Mr. Smiths of the world, a lot of his best stories had come from their ranks and he wondered what this one had to tell him. There was only one man sitting in the small waiting area. Only slightly smaller than the reporter himself, he seemed to be trying to take up the least space possible. He strode across and, with a welcoming smile, offered his hand.

"Mr. Smith, I presume?" He just managed to avoid the verbal quotation marks around the surname.

Mr. Smith gave a tight smile then took the hand in a firm grip. "And you must be Joe Martelli, Red has often spoken of you," then a brief, genuine smile, "some of it was even complimentary."

"Sound's like Red." Joe chuckled, then, as he noticed Smith's face cloud over, asked, "So, what can I do for you?"

"Can we go somewhere private?"

The reporter nodded. "Sure, let's go up to my office." To the security guard he added "I'm just taking Mr. 'Smith up to my office, Frank, if you could sign him in for me." Then he was leading his visitor to the elevator, noticing as he did that the man moved with a strange, almost feminine, grace.

Entering his office, he indicated the spare chair while taking his own. "Please sit down, Mr Smith, and tell me what I can do for you."

Smith ignored the proffered seat. "My name really is Smith you know," he said plaintively, obviously having picked up on the other man's assumptions, "however I am usually known as Lily."

Joe's brow furrowed "Lily?" The name was so unexpected as to be momentarily confusing. After a brief pause, while he re-aligned his thoughts, he hazarded, "As in the owner of 'The Gilded Lily'?" still not certain he'd heard the name right.

"The very same," Lily acknowledged, then added urgently, "Mr. Martelli, Red is in trouble, big trouble. The cops have arrested her for murder."

***

It wasn't the first time he'd visited his trouble-magnet friend in jail, but it was the first time he'd not found out about it via an expletive laden phone call from Red herself and that in itself was worrying. What Lily had been able to tell him of the circumstances of Janet's murder had only added to his growing concern. He'd scribbled a brief note to her regular lawyer, giving him a brief summary of what he knew so far and where she was held, then had set off for the station in person.

The morose desk sergeant had instructed him to wait in the dingy, foul smelling room put aside for that purpose. It was now nearly an hour later and despite frequent return visits to the front desk he still hadn't found out anything more about what was happening, nor had there been any sign of the lawyer. He couldn't understand why she wasn't asking to see him, but knew that, without such a request, he'd no legal right to speak to her. The reporter was instead hoping the 'power of the press' might eventually get him some information. He was once more at the desk, trying to persuade the disagreeable sergeant to pull out his proverbial finger, when a young officer approached him.

"Mr. Martelli?"

"About goddamned time," he muttered, angry and concerned at the lack of progress he'd been making so far.

"If you would come with me," the officer asked calmly, and Joe was led into a small interview room where at least the smell, if not the décor, was more bearable. Closing the door, he turned to face the big man whose frustration seemed to be on the edge of boiling over into violence. "I'm sorry, Mr. Martelli, I've only just come on duty, if I'd known you were coming I would have been here earlier."

The reporter's anger drained away to be replaced by puzzlement at the man's demeanour; it was not what he'd been expecting at all, but he nodded an acknowledgement to the apology.

"My name's Paul Henson by the way, you could say I am also a friend of Red's - though perhaps someone she enjoyed beating at pool would be nearer the mark."

Irritated by the rambling introduction, Joe demanded, "Can I see Red? How is she?"

"She is not well, not well at all, I'm afraid." The young man's voice showed genuine concern.

"She's been hurt? Why isn't she in hospital?" He rose angrily from the seat he'd only just taken.

"Whoa, calm down." The officer raised calming, placatory hands. "She hasn't been hurt physically," he paused before adding uncomfortably, "well not much anyway." At the big man's accusing look, he continued hastily. "I've done my best but I am only one man. I'm afraid she has suffered a number of minor 'accidents' since getting here. A number of the men here have long memories and Red does have an unfortunate capacity for pissing people off." He snorted in rueful amusement. "Half the precinct now believes I have the hots for her, 'cause of the way I have been keeping an eye on her, and half of them keep warning me that I'm wasting my time. If only they knew…"

Joe interrupted the meanderings, wondering if he'd ever get to the point. "What's wrong with her then?"

With only the slightest of disapproving frowns at the interruption, he returned to his original topic. "Anyway, as I was saying, it's not her physical health that's the problem - they daren't do anything too damaging. It's what's going on up here," he tapped the side of his head, "that has me seriously concerned."

"Go on," growled Joe, sitting back down.

Taking the seat on the other side of the table, Paul leaned confidentially across the table. "It seems to be some sort of mental shock, but they won't get a psychiatrist to see her. That bastard McKinley claims she's bluffing to cover what she's done and no one dare challenges it." In reply to the accusatory look, he added defensively "Hey, if I get on his wrong side I won't be able to help her anymore." At the reporter's reluctant, understanding nod, he went on, "What we need is someone higher up on our side. Lily said you were a reporter so I was wondering if you knew of someone who might help?"

The reporter considered the question. He did indeed have a number of contacts on the force but the majority would almost certainly be unwilling to help. As Henson had so succinctly put it, Red did have a talent for pissing people off, usually people in authority. "I think so," he eventually replied. "Can I see her now?"

Official face back on, the young police officer looked dubious. "I'm not sure, you're not family or her lawyer and she hasn't asked to see you…"

Frustration finally boiling over, he leaned forward and grabbed the cop's jacket front. "For Christ's sake, you've said yourself she's not in any state to ask; if it hadn't been for Lily I wouldn't even have known she was here," he spat, worry for his friend robbing him of his usual easy demeanour.

The young cop's jaw clenched, but he calmly returned the angry gaze until it was dropped and his clothing released. Paul straightened his mauled uniform and started to leave. Opening the door, he looked back at the now contrite reporter. "I'll do what I can, that is all I can promise." Then he was gone, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Joe ran shaky, ink-stained fingers through dark, wavy hair, furious with himself for getting angry with the young cop who was obviously trying his best to help. Alienating the investigator's only friend at the station was not going to help one little bit. He got up abruptly and moved to stare out of the grimy window. Watching the falling rain, he wondered how Red had ended up in such a mess, and what the hell he could do to help.

***

Red sat at the table in another of the interview rooms, handcuffed, bruised and scabbed hands lying listlessly in front of her. As they entered, there was no indication that she'd even noticed their arrival, let alone realised that it was someone she knew. Joe looked at his companion, surprise evident in his eyes.

"Told you she was bad," the young cop said softly, "try speaking to her, see if you can get anything out of her."

Joe nodded then moved to the chair opposite his silent friend as Henson took station by the door. Gingerly, he sat down on a chair that barely looked strong enough for his large frame. Relieved to find his seat was apparently up to its task, he turned his attention to the silent figure, dismayed by the lack of reaction. He'd hoped, even expected, that his familiar presence would cause some sort of response but there was nothing - no recognition, no interest, nothing.

"Hiya, little wolf, gotten ya self in a fine mess I see." He tried his usual teasing banter, but it felt so false when confronted by a Red he barely recognised. Giving Henson a worried glance, he received a sympathetic look in return but nothing more - the young cop hadn't anything to suggest that he hadn't already tried himself.

Still with no response, he studied his friend more closely. There was a cut above her right eye, and the other had the first signs of what promised to be an impressive shiner - results, he concluded, of the 'accidents' she'd been having. The physical damage was not unusual, what was so unsettling was the lack of life in the blank staring eyes. Normally the blue-green mirrored the quicksilver moods, sparkling mischievously one moment, flashing with anger the next, but this unfocused dullness was something completely new. Dear Mary, mother of God! What's happened to you, little wolf? He knew from Lily how she'd been found holding her ex-lover's dead body. Anger and sadness surged through him at the thought of such a beautiful soul being taken so violently. He'd liked the bubbly, upbeat young coloured woman, had been thankful for the way he'd seen her rein in Red's more self-destructive traits. What he'd also seen, although the investigator apparently hadn't, was the depth of love in the lovely black eyes and at the time he'd wondered if the wandering wolf had finally found her mate. After a record-breaking sixteen months living together, apparently happily, he'd been surprised beyond words when he'd heard of the change in their relationship. Even now he wondered why it had happened, why Red - and he was sure it was Red - had suggested it and even more so why Janet agreed to it. Now, looking into the dull blue-green eyes, he wondered if he'd misjudged the level of his friend's reciprocation of Janet's feelings and whether she'd even been aware of it herself.

The reporter sighed, leaning back against the hard wood chair. Feeling completely out of his depth he watched the emotionless face, hoping for some sign and wondering how she might be helped when in such a catatonic state. Hanson's right, we need to get a shrink to see her, the thought caused a rueful smile to appear, damn but it'd be ironic if she ended up being helped by a doctor with the way she feels about 'em. Nevertheless, if she couldn't be persuaded to say something about what happened, then the lawyer would have little chance of breaking whatever the police put forward as evidence. A few moments of silence as he reconsidered the problem, then he tried a different approach. "Red, you need to help me here, girl. They're tryin' to fit you up with Janet's…" He stopped as the lifeless eyes suddenly moved to stare into his own and, when a slight sound made him look down, he saw the battered fists had clenched. He looked quickly at Henson, who looked as surprised as Joe felt, then turned back to the stare. "Red?" he continued, "What happened?"

"Bastard shot Jan." The voice was quiet and cracked from the lack of use, but the vehemence of the tone was unmistakable.

"Who?" Joe urged.

"My fault," she whispered, eyes dropping to the table where damaged hands were clenching and unclenching spasmodically, "my fault."

"Red?" When there was no response, Joe tentatively placed a hand under the downcast face and lifted it up to face his. Blank blue-green met concerned brown; he saw that the focus had gone from the investigator's eyes, the momentary contact lost.

Joe removed his hand and the red-gold head dropped again. He sat back in his chair, distraught at his friend's condition and his inability to get though to her for more than a fleeting moment.

"Well that's more than anyone has gotten so far, but," and the young cop looked worried now, "if she starts saying it was her fault when McKinley's around, then it is only going to get a lot worse."

"What about that slug Lily said you found? Hasn't that proved it wasn't her gun?"

"The ballistic boys say they can't be sure what gun it came from."

The tone of the words made Joe look at him questioningly. "Friends of McKinley are they?" The non-reply answered that question for him. A small smile appeared on his face, 'bout time I looked up ol' Andy, see how he's doing, the ex-doughboy mused, the smile widening before he added out loud. "Well perhaps I can help after all."

SIX DAYS LATER

September 10th - A funeral and a fight

As the reporter had hoped, the city's leading ballistic expert had been able to state categorically that the bullet that had killed Janet couldn't have come from a gun of the calibre the investigator had been using. Luckily for Red, the expert in question had been in France with Joe and was more than willing to help out an old army buddy. When this was added to the description of the earlier attack at the Herald, the evidence eventually coaxed out of the suspect herself, and some expert fast-talking from her lawyer, it hadn't been long before the investigator was released from the tender mercies of the police.

For the first days after the acquittal, she'd stayed at the reporter's house. Although now responding to what was going on around her, the grief stricken woman had sunk into a state of such despondent apathy that there was no way on earth he was going to leave her on her own. Her appearance in the kitchen on the fourth day, smartly dressed in the dark suit usually reserved for court appearances, had therefore been completely unexpected.

"Why the jail suit?" Joe asked as casually as he could, using the nickname for the much-disliked outfit in an attempt to keep his interest apparently minimal.

Pale brows drawing together into a frown, Red looked at her old friend warily as she debated whether to say anything. Coming to a decision, she gave the muttered explanation. "Jan's funeral."

"It's today?" he blurted out, unable to disguise his surprise. "How d'you know?" The reporter had not even heard a rumour of the date so how she'd come to know when it was, God alone knew.

"It's today," she confirmed flatly, but offered no further explanation. Taking a seat at the table, she began to pick half-heartedly at the breakfast his wife Gina placed in front of her.

Joe exchanged a puzzled and concerned look with his wife. He knew she was as worried as he was about the state of the younger woman's mind despite their usually adversarial relationship. With a slight tip of the head, she gestured for him to join her outside and left the kitchen. After a glance at his friend, he rose from the table, placed his dirty plate near the sink, and followed his wife outside.

"She can't go!" was Gina's immediate and upset reaction. "It'll kill her!"

Joe was less sure that the effect would necessarily be negative - knowing that sometimes a funeral helped to draw to a close the period of intense grief that followed a loved one's death. Gina's lucky in that, he thought, she's yet to go through it. Aloud he commented, "I'm not so sure. It may actually help. ya know."

Gina's dusky face showed her doubt, so he added, "And we can't really stop her if she wants to go can we?" He noticed the nod of understanding, but his wife's dark eyes still showed her fear as to what might happen.

"I'll offer to take her," he compromised, "at least that way I can keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't get into any trouble." Like finding a bridge to throw herself off, he added silently, still not sure that suicide was not an option the distraught and emotionally unstable young woman might take.

***

Sitting unhappily in his automobile, the reporter watched his solemn, straight-backed friend walk slowly towards the small, whitewashed clapboard chapel. She'd insisted in being allowed to go to the actual service alone, and he'd eventually, if reluctantly, agreed. With a sad smile, Joe couldn't help but notice how she made an even stranger sight than usual with her uncovered red-gold hair and pale complexion standing out in stark contrast to the dark hair and faces of the rest of the mourners. About the only fact he had managed to glean from his nearly mute passenger during the half hour drive was that the funeral was supposed to be family only. Stubborn even in grief, she wasn't going to let that fact stop her going and paying her last respects. As she'd bitterly, even guiltily explained, it was the one thing she could do right.

Reaching the doorway, Red stopped suddenly afraid. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she reached down deep for the courage to cross the threshold. No going back, little wolf, you owe her this much at the very least. Letting out the breath slowly, she stepped into the dimly lit space, earning unwelcoming glares from the ushers on either side of the door. When they made no overt move to throw her out she quietly took a seat in the empty back row bench. There had to be nearly forty people in the small chapel ranging from venerable old age to babes-in-arms - it appeared most if not all of Janet's extended family had come to pay their final respects. This was no great surprise to the investigator - it had been obvious that the young woman had been truly loved by her large family. However, it hadn't been long into their relationship before she'd also learned that, despite this love, they'd never been able to understand, or accept, the life she led. So when, during the final eulogy, the pastor, one of Janet's many uncles, first spotted and then recognised the out of place figure at the back of his congregation, it was inevitable that he would launch into a diatribe on the evils of an unnatural life style, and those that preyed on innocents like his late niece. The fact that these unexpected words were delivered over the heads of his congregation caused some of them to turn and look, some in puzzlement, others turning overtly hostile as they spotted the alien presence. Only one face, a masculine version of Janet's own, had given her a slight smile and a nod of acknowledgement before turning his attention once more to the fire and brimstone threats.

Eventually, unable to take anymore of the vitriol aimed in her direction, Red retreated into the surrounding graveyard and moved to stand a little distance from the open grave. A faint spattering of rain from the overcast sky seemed to match her mood as conflicting emotions roiled around inside her. Grief and anger, love and hate, but most prominent and growing stronger with every passing moment was a soul numbing feeling of guilt. Why'm I still alive when she's dead? I just ain't worth the price she paid. She was so much better than me, she deserved to live, to love, to find someone to love her back, properly, as she deserved, instead of wasting her love on a mangy old wolf like me. Melancholy thoughts swirled around her mind, eventually returning to something she'd been told so many years and so many miles ago. Pa was right, I ain't worth the air I breathe.

Movement from the chapel door put a stop to the self-destructive brooding for the moment at least. Borne on the shoulders of her father and uncles, the coffin with its accompanying mourners emerged from the whitewashed building and made its way towards the waiting hole. As the black clad crowd shuffled into position around the grave, a worried looking young man hurried up the slight slope towards the silent watcher.

"Got your note," she gruffly acknowledged Janet's twin.

"Weren't sure you'd come," Jason replied. "Not sure it was a good idea me tellin' you either. There's a lot of bad feelin' against you."

She gave a weak smile that didn't reach sad eyes, "Yeah, I noticed." Seeing the glares the young man was now getting, she nodded in their direction. "You'd best get back there, talkin' with me ain't gonna do you any favours."

With a nod, and a rueful smile, Jason returned to the disapproving bosom of his family as the interment began.

***

As the gathering began to disperse from around the now filled grave, the silent, solitary watcher felt a single tear escape her eye and roll down her cheek. Lowering her face to wipe away the rebellious wetness with the heel of her hand, she found more swiftly followed. For the first time since the shooting, she allowed the pent up silent tears to flow freely.

"How dare you come here!" The sudden hissed words were full of grief and anger.

Raising her wet face in surprise, she found herself eye to eye with the furious and tear-stained face of the dead woman's mother.

"How dare you bring your blasphemous presence here to sully my daughter's final farewell."

The investigator was vaguely aware of others gathering around her as the older woman continued her verbal onslaught.

"It is all your fault she's dead. Pervert! Murderer!"

Guilt-ridden, Red silently agreed with the upset woman - it had indeed been her fault. "I'm sorry," she choked out, the words in a barely audible whisper, "I loved Jan, I…" before she could explain any further a stinging slap jerked her head sideways.

"Don't you say her name. Don't you dare say you loved her. You don't know what love is. You sick, un-natural monstrosity!" Nearly incoherent with grief and anger, Mrs. Baker collapsed into the supporting arms of the escorting female relatives. Whispering vehemently amongst themselves and casting the occasional fierce look back towards the subject of their ire, they led the sobbing woman away.

Suddenly pushed hard, Red stumbled sideways, the small group around her beginning to vent its sorrow and anger on the only available scapegoat - a scapegoat that didn't even try to defend herself, so convinced was she that Janet's death had indeed been her fault. The stumbling fall was halted by a strong black hand, then a fist connected with her gut and she collapsed to her knees, gasping for air. Through the pain, she became aware of the increasingly violent curses and taunts, then a foot connected with her ribs and instinct curled her up against the assault she was doing nothing to prevent.

"Leave her alone," a familiar voice cut through the hostile mutterings.

"Fuck off!" With the angry response, the resigned, uncaring victim felt the hostility shift towards the intruder. Opening her eyes, she saw the large figure pushing through the half dozen men that still surrounded her. Then, inevitably, a punch was thrown, catching Joe by surprise and knocking him to his knees. Watching her friend attacked for only trying to protect her, Red felt her own grief and guilt turning into anger and with the anger came a sudden blinding hatred for those attacking her, seeing in their faces the face of the man that had killed Janet.

With a roar of grief and hate, she flung herself at the backs of the men now facing Joe, taking two down into a heap on the ground with her. As the heady mixture of adrenaline and hate coursed though her body, she sprang to her feet and delivered a textbook left cross into the nearest stunned face, noticing with detachment as the eyes rolled up and the man dropped unconsciously to the ground. "Glass jaw," she muttered under her breath even as she ducked a wild hook thrown by another of her attackers. One down, a quick count, four to go, and with a feral smile, she let the rage claim her.

***

The reporter had watched the burial from his vehicle as promised. As the service had finished he'd seen Red wipe her face, and then stand head bowed as a small group separated from the dispersing crowd and headed for her solitary figure. He'd done nothing as the older woman had screamed in the Red's unflinching face, but at the slap and, more especially, his friend's lack of response he'd opened the door and started striding swiftly in their direction. As the first blow was landed his stride became a run, and he'd been pushing his way towards the huddled figure when the unexpected punch had been thrown. He'd barely shook off the effects of the blow when two of his attackers suddenly fell forward into a heap, on top of which was the unmistakable, red-gold haired figure of his now fighting mad friend.

"And about damn time too!" Joe said to the world in general as an enormous rush of relief at the sudden participation washed over him. With a strange feeling of pride, he watched the furious young brawler pick herself up from the resultant heap of humanity and throw a vicious left into the face of the man who'd just hit him. The comment about the glass jaw almost made him laugh out loud, so like the Red of old it was. Then she was launching a ferocious and reckless attack on the men nearest her. Just then Joe noticed one of the men the investigator had knocked over struggle to his feet and turn to face him. Ducking the inexpertly aimed punch, he put in a solid blow to his attacker's gut, putting him in a winded and gasping heap on the now scuffed grass. Now without an opponent he glanced towards Red, who appeared to be trying to take on all three remaining men at the same time.

"Keep your guard up!" The shouted warning was too late as the tallest of the three attackers landed a punch to Red's face. Her head snapped back and she stumbled back a step as Joe's heart jumped into his throat. Following up on their advantage, another man tried a swinging round house but to his relief she blocked it, snapping a vicious jab back into the man's eye. With a yelp of pain, he staggered, turned and fled, clutching his injured face as she managed to dodge the punch from the third man by a whisker. Unfortunately, the distraction was enough for the taller, and obviously more competent, fighter to get in another blow, spinning the investigator round and forcing her to one knee. A kick followed, but she managed to block the incoming foot and rose to her feet once more, feral grin widening. Joe caught a glimpse of blood welling from a cut eyebrow and split lip before he grabbed the nearest man's shoulder, spinning him around and knocking him senseless before the shocked man had realised what was happening. Red, still with the manic smile plastered across her face, was exchanging blow for blow with her larger opponent. Suddenly aware he was now unnumbered, her opponent lost his concentration just long enough for the investigator to get in one final blow, putting all her strength and anger behind it. As the man fell to his knees, she followed up with her feet.

"Red, leave him! Let's get out of here."

She didn't or wouldn't hear him - that much was plain. Joe glanced around. Their fallen opponents were beginning to stir and the man who'd ran could be back with re-enforcements any moment.

He grabbed her shoulder, yanking her back. She span round, fist raised. For a shocked moment, he thought he was going to be on the receiving end of her rage before, with an almost animal like snarl, she turned back to the man on the ground.

"Red! For Christ's sake let's get the hell out of here." Still with no response and fervently hoping that she would still recognise him as friend not foe, he finally resorted to grabbing her around the waist and lifted her off the ground. Struggling and cursing but apparently aware of who was holding her, he bodily carted her out of the graveyard.

As he reached the street, the struggling burden suddenly relaxed in his grip. Setting her back on her feet, the reporter was surprised to see the eyes in the battered bleeding face looking more alive than they had since Janet's death.

"Good fight." Red gave a bloody smile then winced as the spilt lip stretched. Gingerly she felt the cuts on her face then flexed her left hand, grimacing at the pain from the bleeding knuckles. "Must be gettin' old," she chuckled ruefully. Then, suddenly serious, added, "I didn't mean to get you dragged in like that, Joe. Knew it wouldn't be nice but I never expected that."

For a moment, he almost asked why she'd not fought back initially; indeed, why she hadn't done anything until he'd been attacked but the haunted glance towards the dark patch of earth that marked Janet's last resting place and the flash of raw grief in the bruised face cut off the question even as it formed on his lips. A movement over her shoulder drew his attention to the angry crowd heading in their direction. Quickly, he bundled his friend into the vehicle and they made their hasty departure.

With Joe's increasingly crimson handkerchief pressed to her bleeding lip, Red watched the graveyard disappear out of sight. She now knew what she needed to do. Mrs. Baker had been right, Janet's death was her fault but letting herself get killed wasn't going to help. Turning forward, she looked unseeingly at the passing buildings. Can't bring her back so there's only one thing I can do to make things right. Face grim, her guilt driven self-hate refocused onto an external target as the vengeful train of thought followed to its inevitable conclusion. An' that's to kill the bastard who killed her.

September 11th - Concern, cat burglary and coincidence

When the reporter eventually dragged his aching body down the stairs the following morning, he found that the violence at the funeral appeared to have brought the investigator permanently out of her previously apathetic state. Unfortunately, she was now insisting she was well enough to be allowed to return to her own apartment.

"For Christ's sake, Martelli, I'm notta kid, I can look after myself," she stormed, striding wildly around the room.

"Red, you've been through hell, girl, why not stay with me for a while longer," he reasoned.

Stopping abruptly, she stared at him with unconcealed irritation. "Look, Joe, I'm fine, honest. You don't need to worry 'bout me throwin' myself offa bridge or anythin'."

Joe studied the scowling, battered face. It certainly appeared that she was back to normal, which he found distressing in itself - going from a state of near breakdown to normal so quickly couldn't be healthy. It appeared that, somehow, his young friend had rebuilt the walls between her emotions and the world outside. Walls that the heartbreak of the Du Bois affair had weakened, and the guilt and sorrow over Janet's death had finally brought crashing down.

Fingering the piece of paper he'd been carrying around in his pocket for the last few days, Joe wondered what to do. Shortly after the investigator had been released, a guilty looking Lily had come around to his house, apparently wanting to tell her something. Unfortunately, a grief-stricken Red had only just fallen into a drug-assisted sleep. Obviously distressed at finding the previously cocksure young woman still in such a bad state, Lily had quickly scribbled something onto the scrap of paper now in his pocket, giving it to him with the instruction to pass it on as soon as she was well enough. The problem was that he wasn't all that sure that she was well enough; however, there was always the chance that she might find out about the note anyway, and Joe didn't want to think what reaction that would provoke. Taking what he fervently hoped was the lesser of two evils he proffered the note, "Lily gave me this, to pass on you once you were well enough." Taking the paper without a word, she quickly read it. Joe's heart dropped as he saw a flat, hate-filled look come over her face as the paper was crumbled in a clenched fist. With no further word, she picked up her bag and was out the door, slamming it behind her.

"Oh Red, Red, Red," he whispered with a sad shake of his head as his heart went out to his hurting friend. Raising his eyes skyward, Joe sent up a silent prayer. Dear Lord, please stop her from finding the revenge she seeks. He had seen in the trenches what hatred could do to the soul and didn't want to lose her to its grasp as well. He fervently hoped God was listening, but was afraid that he'd just glimpsed in his young friend's eyes the first signs of the emotion he had seen destroy so many good men in France.

***

Red entered her apartment. Cold as ever, it now had a damp unlived in feel that did nothing for her already black mood. With a curse, she flung her bag hard into a corner before falling onto her still unmade bed. Lying on her back, she stared blankly at the flaking ceiling as, in her mind's eye, she saw Janet's fallen body huddled against the wall while the sound of the shot echoed endlessly in her head. Her ex-lover had died protecting her - Red had no doubt she'd been the intended victim, had no doubt that Janet must somehow have seen the man raise his gun to fire. Her reaction had saved Red but caused her own death, and this cut to the very core of the westerner's deeply buried fragile sense-of-self; had caused her mind to shut down in a desperate attempt at self-preservation. It was this inability to either prevent the attack, or help Janet afterwards, combined with the deep-seated lack of self-worth that drove the overpowering feeling of guilt and now stoked the desire for revenge.

Powerless to prevent herself, she went over the moments before the shooting yet again. She should have been alert to the possibility of attack. Had she missed something when they'd gone into the alley? Had there been the sound of someone in the darkness? Had she missed a lurking shape? Unable to give up on the feeling that she'd somehow failed Janet, Red rolled over onto her stomach and fiercely hugged a pillow that soon became damp with silent tears as she cried herself to sleep.

It was dark when she finally woke from her exhausted sleep. With an effort, she staggered to the basin and splashed her face with the ice-cold water. Red stood motionless, leaning on the basin with head bowed. She stared sightlessly at the bowl as the water trickled down her face and mingled with new tears.

Eventually remembering what she had to do, Red forced herself into action. Grabbing a towel, she roughly dried her face but then the short-lived resolution swiftly dissipated. Perched on the end of the bed, she struggled against the mind-numbing apathy that threatened to overwhelm her once more. Finally, she shook her head violently, as if to physically dislodge the paralyzing inertia, before reaching into the pocket of her pants. Withdrawing the now crumpled piece of paper the reporter had given her, she studied it again. It didn't say much - just a name and an address, which she assumed was that of the man who'd spoken to her in Lily's. The address still made her frown in puzzlement. It was in one of the Back Bay's wealthiest areas and, although the man had seemed respectable, he had not appeared that wealthy. Anyway, people from that area of the city didn't lower themselves by visiting places like Lily's even if they shared the same inclinations. Thus reminded of her one definite lead, the apathy fled before the renewed sense of purpose. Digging out a torch and a map, she made sure her revolver was loaded and that there were spare shells in her pocket then set out to find her enemy.

***

If Red had thought Franklin's house had been impressive it was nothing to the house she was now silently scouting out. The well-polished brass nameplate on the impressive stone gate-pillar, however, did not match the name on the note. So, if Lily's information was indeed correct, it would appear that Mr. Peter Smart was not the owner of this house. Reconsidering her first impression of the man, she decided that, rather than a tradesman, he could perhaps be a high-ranking servant, a butler perhaps. That would certainly explain his presence at this address.

As she made her way towards the house, skirting the edge of the impressive drive and keeping to the deeper darkness under the trees lining it, it became apparent that, although nearly two in the morning, the house's occupants had not yet gone to bed. There were definite signs of activity in the first floor rooms at the front of the house, and the automobiles parked in the drive seemed to confirm that the Van Volk's had visitors. A movement from that direction caused her to shrink further into the sheltering darkness. Watching from the shadows, she saw a man in a peaked cap get out of the nearest automobile then a brief flash of flame as he lit up before leaning against the vehicle's hood.

From her place of safety, the investigator considered her next move. Her common sense was screaming at her to get the hell out of there, but the desire for revenge was shouting even louder. Having decided to continue on, the driven woman cautiously worked her way around to the rear of the building where the activity seemed less and more rooms were dark. It appeared that most of the staff had finished for the night, even if the owners had not. Making her way to the nearest of the darkened windows, Red peered through the unshuttered opening. Knowing it was foolish, but not giving a damn, she used her knife to force the latch on the sash and slid it up enough to slip into the room. Carefully she closed the window and crouched down against the whitewashed wall to take stock of her surroundings. It appeared to be a storeroom of some sort - the walls were covered in shelves and there were various crates stacked to one side. Quietly, she moved to the door and pressed an ear to the panel, listening intently. When there was no sound from the other side, she carefully turned the handle and opened it just enough to slip through into the dark corridor. Pausing to listen, Red could now hear the sounds of voices and the occasional peal of laughter coming from the front of the house. Least someone's havin' a good time, she thought bitterly.

Now inside the house, she was at a loss as to what to do next. She'd come here without any real notion of what she was going to do when she'd got here. She was just about to allow caution claim her and retrace her steps out of the house when a previously unnoticed voice suddenly made the hair on the back of her neck rise and her heart race. Red had only heard her attacker's voice once, but she was sure she'd just heard it coming from the front of the house. Now all the guilt-ridden woman could think of was Janet dying in her arms, the feel of her life-blood on her hands. All sound seemed to cut out so that all she could hear was the rush of the blood in her ears and that voice. Indecision fleeing before suddenly flaring hate, short-lived caution flung to the wind, she drew her revolver and as stealthily as her lupine namesake moved towards the voice intent on one thing - revenge.

Reaching the main hallway of the house, she was in no mood to appreciate the impressive décor. In front of her was the large front door and to either side were a pair of only slightly smaller ones. In the darkness of the hall, edges of light could be seen coming from under two of the doors - one to the far right and one to the near left. Listening intently, she decided her target's voice was coming from the room furthest away. Red had just moved two quiet, careful steps towards the room when the door to the left opened and an elegantly clad woman backed out with the words, "It's alright, Laura, I know where it is." The woman shut the door and turned - to stop in stunned surprise as she came face to face with the dishevelled and gun-wielding intruder.

Evadne Lannis stared in shock at the figure she'd barely expected to see again, let alone under such irregular circumstances. As she began to recover from the surprise of the unexpected presence, she noticed with concern the bruised, cut face and the sunken, feverishly bright eyes - eyes that were staring at her in a way that was hauntingly familiar. Taking a cautious step towards her ex-employer, the socialite stopped abruptly as the gun was brought up to point directly at her. Quickly raising her hands, Evadne took a shocked step backwards, momentarily stunned as she took in the implications of the action. Would Red really shoot her?

The investigator now appeared to be caught by indecision - although keeping the revolver pointed firmly in Evadne's direction she kept glancing back over her shoulder at the room where the socialite knew the gentlemen were gathered. Revolver still trained on the dark-haired woman, she took an unsteady step towards the door and reached out for the door handle.

"Red, what on earth are you doing here?" The whispered question broke the oppressive silence.

"Shut the fuck up!" Red fiercely hissed back - she was so close to her goal and Evadne Lannis was not going to stop her. Fighting against a growing feeling of light-headedness, she forced herself to keep the revolver pointing in the older woman's direction as she fumbled for the handle of the door behind her.

Evadne had not failed to notice the way the gun was trembling and that the investigator appeared to be getting paler by the second. She'd seen similar symptoms before as men had gone into shock. Then her heart sank as she realised that the look in the blue-green eyes was also part of the same memories. It was the one she'd seen in men who'd lost so much they no longer cared for their own lives in the overwhelming desire to have revenge on the enemy. Men, more often no more than boys, who were soon dead as a result of that desire. How Red had changed so much in a week she couldn't comprehend. Gone was the infuriating but strangely endearing woman she'd met in the agency's office, in her place stood a pale, driven shadow of her former self.

The gun-barrel was now weaving noticeably through the air and fearing an imminent collapse, the socialite took a hesitant step towards the suddenly swaying figure. Just close enough to catch both gun and unconscious body when the feverishly bright eyes inevitably rolled up, she lowered them quietly to the floor. Quickly removing the shells and hiding them away in her evening reticule, she replaced the gun securely back in its holster. The easy part dealt with, she now considered what should been done about the much larger problem of Red herself. It wouldn't be long before someone came out of one of the rooms and found them there - she had to get her out of there and quickly.

***

The socialite sat on the back seat of the Ford as it sped though the streets, Red's head cradled in her lap. She stared at the back of James' closely cropped greying head as he expertly navigated the city streets, safe in the knowledge that he would say nothing of the night's activities. Indeed, he'd barely raised an eyebrow when summoned to help move the peculiarly dressed and unconscious woman from a house she'd obviously no right to be in and into the back of his employer's car. Evadne had then taken a hurried farewell, on the pretext of a sudden headache, before returning to the still insensible investigator and her mildly amused driver. She sometimes wondered how she'd have coped over the years without her chauffeur cum general factotum and his cheerful willingness to assist in what he still insisted on calling her 'schemes'. Indeed, it had been thanks to James that a younger Evadne had been able to drive well enough to be able to go over with Geoff and do 'her bit' as one of the many unsung heroines of the war: risking life and limb by driving the fleets of ambulances to-and-from the frontline casualty stations and the base hospitals.

Looking down at the pale and drawn face, she wondered once again what on earth had led the younger woman to be in the Van Volk's house that night so obviously hell-bent on doing someone harm. Even more puzzling was why on earth Evadne hadn't just screamed the place down instead of helping the intruder escape detection. Perhaps it was that all she'd heard, read or seen about Red Wolverton indicated that this behaviour, especially her apparently murderous intent, was so out of character; perhaps, even more so, it had been that look in her eyes. She'd been unable to help those men in France but perhaps, just perhaps, she could help this woman in Boston.

September 12th - Evadne takes charge

The morning sunshine falling across her face finally roused Red from her semi-conscious state. Blinking to clear gritty and gummed up eyes, she stared in confusion at the high, decorated ceiling. Muscles screamed as she tried to sit up then slumped back into the bed in defeat, Feels like I've been run over by a fuckin' freight train, she thought, then with a growing feeling of panic, shit, must be in a damn hospital again. Just about to attempt sitting up once more, her recently much ignored common sense pointed out that no hospital had a ceiling like the ornate one currently above her head.

Moving more carefully this time, she turned painfully over onto one side. Now looking towards the source of the light she saw a large sash window framed by heavy blue and cream brocade curtains. Below the window stood a tasteful, and no doubt expensive, dressing table and matching chair. The linen on the bed was of an equal quality and she now realised that the man's nightshirt she was wearing was also of fine linen.

Returning to lie on her back, she stared sightlessly at the ceiling as she tried to remember how she'd got here. With a growing sense of panic came the realisation that she couldn't remember anything much of the last week or so. Then, in a crushing wave of grief and guilt, the memory of Janet's death came flooding back. Instinctively, she curled up into a protective ball as if to keep the memories physically at bay.

Red was still curled up in the fetal position when Evadne checked on her some time later. The hunched shoulders were shaking with silent tears, and the socialite once again wondered how the apparently strong investigator had got herself into such a wretched state. Moving over to the side of the bed, she laid a tentative hand on the young woman's shoulder - at which touch she went still as death.

"Red?" she said quietly. "It's me. Evadne Lannis. You remember, your underpaid ex-secretary?" The attempt at humour sounded flat even to her own ears. Getting no response, she continued "I... I found you last night and brought you home. You are safe here."

"Safe? No-one's safe," The voice was so quiet that Evadne almost missed the bitter words.

Moving around to the other side of the bed, Evadne knelt down so she was at a level with the pain-filled eyes. "What's happened, Red?" she asked gently. "What were you doing at the Van Volk's last night?"

Pale brows furrowed. "Can't remember… just remember… Jan… dead." More tears began to flow and unable to meet the sympathetic gaze, Red buried her face in the pillow.

Evadne sat back on her heels not quite sure what to do next. Never the nurturing type, she had discovered a hitherto unsuspected protective side to her nature during the war. Now she was surprised to find that this enigmatic young woman was causing those feelings to resurface. The look she'd seen in Red's eyes in that dark entrance-hall still haunted her and as she watched the silently crying woman her resolve hardened. She would not let Red go the way of those young men in France. Come hell or high water, she would get the investigator through this in one piece.

Quietly slipping out of the room, Evadne went to her study and quickly wrote a hurried note, sending James off to deliver it to the newspaperman Joe Martelli. He was the only person she could remember the investigator speaking of with any warmth during their brief acquaintance - during the cleaning of the office Evadne had found a extremely dusty Madonna and Child tucked away behind some books and, finding it so apparently out of character, had asked whether she wanted to keep it. Red had somewhat shamefacedly explained that it had been a gift from Joe, "To keep her outta trouble," and that, although she hadn't the heart to throw it away, there was no way she was going to have it, "spyin' on her all the goddamn time."

The doctor that Evadne had called in had said that, other than the obvious superficial injuries and a lack of sleep and nourishment, there was nothing physically wrong. He'd added that it did, however, appear that the 'young lady', the socialite had smiled at this completely unsuitable description, was suffering from some sort of mental strain. She could only hope that Joe Martelli would be able to throw some light on what had happened in the last week to cause such a change.

***

Later that afternoon, she stood and watched her automobile disappear down the drive as James drove Mr. Martelli back to the Herald's offices. Her face was thoughtful as she re-entered the house and closed the door after her, leaning back against it with a small sigh. What Mr. Martelli had told her about the death of Red's friend and ex-lover had brought back painful memories of when she'd found out about her husband's death. The leader of her ambulance section had suggested she should return home or at least take some leave, but Evadne had insisted that she wanted to carry on with her job. She hadn't needed to go back to a home and family that did not have any concept of what she was experiencing. Instead she'd found comfort in continuing to help the many nameless soldiers she transported to safety. It had also, as she later came to realise, helped salve the feelings of guilt, irrational as they might have been, that she'd felt at not being able to help him. Now she was beginning to think that not being with Geoff when he'd been killed had been a blessing in disguise. Would she, could she, have survived if he'd died in her arms? Pushing herself away from the door, she started up the impressive staircase to begin the latest battle in a war she thought she'd done with nine years ago - the war against death and despair.

TWO DAYS LATER

September 14th - Progress and promises

Sighing wearily, she looked across the room at dull blue-green eyes that still would not meet her own. Although at least now eating properly, the younger woman was still worryingly withdrawn. Despite Evadne's best attempts, it appeared that, to all intents and purposes, Red had lost all interest in the world. Nor had she managed to find out exactly why Red had been in the Van Volk's house so apparently bent on violence. Mr Martelli had told her about the attack at the Herald's office and what he knew about what had followed - including the note with the Van Volk's address and the name she'd recognised as their butler. She'd eventually concluded that the vengeful investigator must have been convinced that Miss Baker's murderer had been in the house that night. What was frighteningly clear from the look she'd seen in those eyes was that, had it not for their fortunate meeting, the hate-driven woman would most-likely now be facing a murder charge and revenge would have claimed two more victims.

Getting up from the chair, she moved to the side of the bed. "Do you mind if I sit here?" she indicated the edge of the bed.

"If you want."

The reply was indifferent and barely audible but at least she was now talking. Evadne sat carefully on the disordered bedclothes, resisting the urge to straighten them - it was rare that Red wouldn't wake thrashing around in the grips of one nightmare or another. The socialite had soon discovered that the shooting was not the only thing to haunt the younger woman's dreams. Sometimes it appeared that her father was in someway the source.

The socialite sat there in silence for a couple of minutes, uncomfortably aware of the unnatural stillness of the bed's occupant. Eventually she summoned up the courage to broach what she knew was going to be a painful subject. Taking the bull by the horns, she turned to look at the silent woman. "Red, I know this sounds trite, but it is not your fault that Miss Baker…"

"Janet," Red interrupted, "her name is… was… Janet."

Evadne paused, the correction was unexpected but not unwelcome. "That Janet was killed," she finished.

"It shoulda been me," the investigator stated, angrily thumping herself in the chest. "Fuckin' bastard shoulda shot me!" She was shouting now, a wild look in her eyes then, completely unexpected, she threw herself down to clutch at the older woman with ferocious desperation.

The socialite was more shocked by this sudden, and apparently uncharacteristic, gesture than she'd been by the crudeness of the language. She stared down at the head pillowed on her thigh. She couldn't see Red's face as it was turned into the arm wrapped around her legs. The fierceness of the hold was almost painful, and her immediate reaction was to remove the clinging arms but, before she could move, she realised that Red was crying again - not the silent tears that she'd seen so far, but great wrenching heaving sobs. Evadne rested one hand gently on a nightshirt clad shoulder as with the other she began to gently stroke the red-gold hair, a small part of her surprised at how fine and silky it felt. Sitting there in a Boston bedroom, far away in both time and space from the mud and blood of Flanders, the socialite once more found herself trying to bring comfort to a wounded soul.

Gradually the sobbing lessened and, even as she continued to comfort the distraught woman, Evadne found herself idly wondering what the tears and… whatever… were doing to her new dress, but then the thought fled her mind as fast as it came. The devil take the dress, she thought unexpectedly. Surprised by the uncharacteristic reaction - she always was very mindful of her clothing - she realised that the feel of the younger woman's arms around her seemed somehow right. Suddenly disconcerted, she shrugged off the inappropriate thought. After all it had been years since she'd held or been held by anyone, this was just her body's starved reaction to the unexpected embrace.

Eventually the tears stopped altogether and Red released her death-grip, sat back up and roughly drew the sleeve of the nightshirt across her tear stained face. After a moment, she looked pensively, first at Evadne's lap and then at her face.

"Think I've mussed up your dress," she sniffed, giving Evadne a ruefully apologetic little smile.

The comment was so in line with what the older woman had been thinking herself that she couldn't resist smiling as well. It was also the first thing that she considered the 'old' Red would have said. "So I noticed. You are lucky that I have a 'lady that does', so you will not be obliged to rectify the damage yourself," she teased.

"Yeah… well… if you knew my laundry skills you wouldn't let me anywhere near any of your clothin' anyway," Red responded in kind. Then, without warning, her face clouded over and her eyes lost their focus.

"Red?"

The haunted eyes refocused on the socialite's face.

"Red, I am so sorry about what had happened to your… friend." For all her apparent open-mindedness, Evadne still had problems with the 'L' word. Red stared at her as if trying to gauge the sincerity of her words then, with a little shake of her head, her focus shifted once more.

"Red, you can't let this destroy you. There was nothing you could have done."

The eyes were back, and the shake of the head was more vehement this time. "No, I shoulda seen him, heard him… shoulda done something!"

Mentally, Evadne rolled her eyes at the human being's capacity for stupidity. Why did people always insist on trying to take the blame for events they had no control over. She knew from bitter experience how easy it was to blame oneself for a loved one's death however illogical it was. Her one comfort was that Red was at least now talking in coherent phrases. Well semi coherent, she silently corrected, but even that was a big improvement on the last few days.

"Red, look at me!" The socialite was momentarily surprised when the instruction was actually obeyed and rallied to continue, "It wasn't your fault. It was the fault of the man that pulled the trigger."

"Fuckin' bastard!" The retort was explosive. "I'll kill him when I get my hands on him."

Uh-oh! Evadne thought, unconsciously wincing at the repeated use of the 'F' word, not quite what I had been wanting. Aloud she tried to reason with the vengeful woman. "And get yourself a one-way trip to the electric chair? I thought you had more sense than that!"

"Only if they catch me." The response was full of angry defiance.

God save me from stubborn fools. Then she asked the question that had been troubling her ever since finding the gun toting private investigator in her friend's home. "And just who is this man you are going to kill without detection?"

"Dunno," came the frustrated admission. "I know what he looks like but I still don't know his damned name." She looked accusingly at Evadne. "But he was in that house, in that room, an' I woulda got him if…"

"…if you hadn't keeled over in a dead faint," the socialite finished, "and then been whisked away to safety before you were arrested for housebreaking at the very least."

Ignoring this last comment, Red continued in an accusatory tone. "But you must know who he is, you were at the house with him."

"I don't know all the people at these soirees, Red," Evadne replied huffily, although, truth to tell, she had known all the people in the house - by name at least. "Why don't you tell me what this man of yours looked like?"

"Average height, skinny, blonde, sorta ratty looking."

Brown eyes widened. The description fitted to a tee one man that had indeed been at the Van Volk's that evening - their son Edgar. But why on earth would he be trying to kill Red? It made no sense at all. The timing did fit though: Edgar had returned from abroad just before the investigator had first been attacked, around the time that the Katherine Du Bois scandal had been the latest cause celebre amongst the Boston elite. But Edgar? That made so little sense!

Red had seen the recognition in Evadne's eyes. "Well?" she demanded, "Who is he?"

Her thoughts interrupted, the older woman stammered, "I'm…. I'm not sure," then prevaricated, "it is not a very definite description you know."

"What do you want for Christ's sake, his inside leg measurement!" Red growled.

Well I wanted the 'old' Red back, I should be more careful about what I wish for.

Throwing back the bedclothes, Red half fell out of the bed and began a somewhat unsteady search of the room.

"What are you looking for?" Evadne asked mildly.

"My damn clothes!" she snapped back, the fiery response both encouraging and unsettling,

"Well you won't find them here." The reply was as mild as the question.

Turning to glare at her nurse-cum-jailer, she demanded, "Then where the hell are they?"

Dear God and his little tiny fishes, thought Evadne as stormy blue-green eyes bored into her own, she can be one scary woman. Then the ridiculousness of the picture the younger woman made standing there with hands on hips, dressed in her late husband's overlarge nightshirt struck Evadne, and she started to giggle.

"What's so funny?" Red glared at the sniggering woman.

"You!" she just managed to get out as the giggling became full-blown laughter. "If only you could see yourself."

The investigator frowned then looked down at herself and had to admit it was hardly the most impressive of sights. Looking back at the other woman's laughing face she couldn't help allowing a small smile to appear on her lips. The tension broken, she gave up on the clothing hunt and slumped exhausted onto the foot of the bed. Turning her head, she looked questioningly at the still chuckling Evadne. "You know who he is though doncha?"

"I think I do." As Red suddenly stood up, she grasped the nearest wrist. "Wait, Red, please." The investigator frowned at the hand restraining her then at the concerned face before slowly retaking her seat on the bed. Evadne took a deep breath before continuing, "There was a man there that fitted your description, but I can't see why he would want to kill you. He has been out of Boston for the last six months and," this was the crux, "he is… well he is like you."

Red frowned. "He's a private investigator?"

She shook her head. "No, like you - you know…that way inclined."

"So?"

An exasperated roll of brown eyes as she wondered whether Red was deliberately being dense. "Well, from what I have heard, it sounds like you are the victim of what could perhaps be termed a 'hate crime': that whoever is after you is after you because of what you are rather than who you are."

The investigator nodded her understanding. It was not the first or the last time she would provoke that sort of feeling in people.

Seeing the affirmative response, Evadne continued to press her argument. "So don't you think it odd that someone like Edgar would feel like that?"

She could almost see the cogs turning as her reluctant guest processed this information. "But I was so sure he was there," she whispered, staring blankly at the wall in front of her, then looked once more at Evadne. "Can I see him, to be sure? If I can see him I'll know: that bastard's face is burnt into my memory."

The last sentence was said with such vehemence that the socialite's immediate thought was to deny the request. She studied the still pale woman intently: the eyes still held anger and grief, but it seemed to her that the look she dreaded seeing was no longer there. If it was indeed Edgar what should she, could she do about it and, perhaps more importantly, could she trust the investigator not to go berserk on her? With a weary sigh, she decided that if she didn't arrange a meeting then Red would probably do something reckless anyway. At least this way she should have a modicum of control over the proceedings.

"Well?" Red demanded, increasingly annoyed by the intense scrutiny she was undergoing.

Evadne nodded. "I will arrange it, but you must promise to do exactly what I tell you to and no more." When Red began to protest, she overrode her to finish firmly, "You must promise, or the deal is off." Standing up suddenly, the quick-tempered Red moved to the wall by the fireplace, her hands clenched tightly into fists. Dear Lord she going to hit something, was the socialite's first concerned thought, followed swiftly by the perversely prosaic, I do hope she doesn't damage the plasterwork, it will be no end of trouble finding someone to re-do it properly.

To her relief, and the future decorating needs of the room, Red didn't unleash the expected punch. Instead, she leaned her forehead against the cool wall for a few moments then turned to lean against the still undamaged plasterwork and look back at Evadne, decision apparently made. "You think my word is worth anythin'?" The tone was bitterly self deprecating, it was evident there was still a long way to go until she was back to her version of normal, but at least the first shaky steps were being taken.

"I do," Evadne replied solemnly, though her Brahmin blood was screaming at her not to be so foolish.

This puzzled Red and her head tipped slightly to one side, a slight frown appearing as she tried to work out whether the socialite was being totally honest with her. "You do?" Totally confused now, the final question was almost blurted out. "Why?"

The older woman shrugged in an expressive gesture of bafflement. "I haven't the foggiest notion why, but apparently, against all reason it has to be said, I do."

The still puzzled investigator shook her head in bewilderment. "You are the strangest woman, Evadne Lannis."

"Now, that is the pot calling the kettle black if ever I heard it," Evadne snorted, "but it is no use trying to distract me. Do you promise to do what I say or not?"

After the smallest of pauses, Red nodded. "I promise. " Then, with an intensity that made the small hairs on the back of the socialite's neck stand on end, added, "On Janet's grave I promise."

Dear Lord, Evadne wondered, what on earth have I just got myself into?

September 15th - Papers, prejudices and plans

Evadne stared at the familiar address scrawled in a childish hand on the scrap of paper. She'd found the note in amongst the bills she'd collected from the agency's office earlier in the day. Not having been officially dismissed from her position, she'd taken it upon herself to keep the business ticking over as best she could whilst her erstwhile employer was incapacitated. She'd gone through, and arranged to pay, the various final demands, had discovered her own unopened letter of apology, and then, finally, had found the small scrap of paper she was now holding. Along with the Van Volk's address were the words 'Followed him to this place, waited a bit but didn't see him come out again. Hope I earned the dime,' and was signed, 'Chuck'.

Carefully placing the scrap of paper on the desktop, she leant back in her chair deep in thought. Was this a strange co-incidence, or was it another piece of evidence against Edgar Van Volk? And, if so, dare she bring him and Red together? Evadne's brows drew together in thought. After a few moments, she nodded to herself and, drawing out a sheet of notepaper, began to write.

***

James had just left to deliver the letters when she heard hesitant steps coming down the staircase behind her. She turned to watch the frustrated invalid making her still slightly unsteady way down the stairs. Earlier that morning Red had badgered her host-cum-nurse into returning her clothes, and it seemed that she'd finally decided it was time to get out of bed.

"Good to see you up and about," Evadne greeted her cheerfully.

"Woulda been earlier if you'd let me have my clothes back," Red grouched.

Evadne decided not to dignify that with a reply. Even if Red had got the clothes back earlier, there was no way she'd have been up to doing anything with them. Today, however, it had seemed that the investigator was well enough in both body and mind to be allowed up. Therefore, the freshly laundered and pressed clothes had been returned to their owner. The socialite nevertheless retained the boots and gun - she didn't want the still unwell woman to get any ideas about leaving the house quite yet and especially not armed.

As if reading her thoughts, Red said grumpily, "I'm getting cold feet you know." She wiggled a sock covered foot to highlight the point. "Whaddya do with my boots?"

"I can lend you some house shoes if you like, though they might be a tad on the big side." If she wanted something to wear in the house, it was going to have to be a pair of Geoff's indoor shoes or nothing.

Blue-green eyes narrowed suspiciously then she shook her head. "Never mind, I'll cope. But if I go down with pneumonia you'll know who to blame."

"Come through to the sitting room: I want to talk to you about meeting Edgar."

Red stopped her slow descent and looked intently at Evadne. "When?" she asked eagerly.

"Not until you are well enough." As the unsteady and still pale woman tried to explain, against all indications to the contrary, that she was already well enough Evadne clarified the statement. "Or should I say not until I think you are well enough." For a moment, she thought Red was going to argue the point again, but then she nodded her agreement in a way the socialite found more than a little suspicious. Oh dear, she thought, it looks like the little ruffian is indeed getting better: she is certainly getting more devious. Then she turned and led the way into the tastefully appointed sitting room.

***

Evadne sat upright in her chair as Red paced up and down in front of her. She was in no doubt that the fiery woman was now really angry with her - she'd taken the fact that the socialite had taken over her agency's day to day business with a curt nod, that she'd had paid the bills with only the briefest of arguments, but the childishly written note had been a step too far.

After reading the note, and a muttered, "Good kid," Red had looked hard at her. "So what more do you need?"

"It's all circumstantial you must realise that?" she'd tried in vain to point out.

"Hah!" The increasing angry woman had snorted derisively, "an' he's one of your friends so of course he couldn't kill anyone."

"Well hardly a…" Evadne had started to say, but was interrupted by a snarling investigator.

"An' of course he's rich an' a member of this stinking city's so called elite so no-one's gonna do anythin' 'bout it anyway. Have enough money in this damn burg and you can get away with bloody murder. Literally!"

"Well, someone in this room has a real class prejudice and it isn't me!" Evadne had stopped, eyes wide, as she'd realised that she'd just spoken her thoughts out loud.

Stormy blue-green eyes had stared at her in shock before Red turned away to start the angry pacing that she was now watching with growing alarm given the still un-well woman's already weakened state.

"I'm sorry, Red, I didn't…" she tried to repair her faux pas only to be interrupted before she could complete the apology.

"No. You're probably right. I ain't ever been particularly fond of your type." Evadne let the 'your type' pass for the moment. "But after that damned Du Bois woman… an' now that son-of-a-bitch - an' I'm damn sure that, whoever he turns out to be, he's one of you - can you really blame me if I don't like your type very much?" The bitterness in the investigator's voice was unmistakable.

"Perhaps not," the increasingly annoyed older woman replied - she'd had enough of the 'your type' comments now - "but don't forget that is was one of my 'type' that stopped you from ending up in jail for housebreaking, and has looked after you, fed you and put up with your tantrums ever since."

The investigator stopped pacing and stood looking at the fire, her back firmly towards Evadne. "Didn' ask for the help," came the barely audible response.

"That may be the case, Red Wolverton, but I gave it, and gave it freely. And although I do not expect you to be gushing gratitude I would have thought it would at least help to prove that not all of my 'type', as you so charmingly," her voice dripped sarcasm, "put it, are self serving snobs oblivious to the state of their fellow man."

"Yeah right! Don't see you livin' in some rat infested tenement." Red still kept her back to her opponent, but her voice lacked the conviction of her earlier statements.

"And what good would I be able to do there?" Evadne asked calmly. "Whereas from here I can and do help, or at least try my utmost to do so."

Moving from her position in front of the fire, the investigator sat down rather unsteadily in the big leather covered chair directly opposite the other woman, sinking her head into her hands.

They sat there in uncomfortable silence, Evadne ramrod straight, Red hunched over with head in hands, as the carriage clock on the mantelpiece ticked away seconds then minutes. Finally, the now calm younger woman broke the silence as, without lifting her head, she quietly asked, "Evadne?"

"Yes?" she replied guardedly.

"When can I have my boots back?"

The older woman sighed, realising with sudden insight that this would be as close as she'd get to an apology. "When you are well enough to need them."

"An' my revolver?" The resigned tone suggested she knew the answer to that as well.

"Same as the boots," Evadne confirmed.

Red had lowered one hand and was staring at it as it shook noticeably, occasionally clenching and unclenching her fist as if that would clear the tremble. Eventually she looked up. "You were gonna tell me about meeting… him?"

Briefly considering the wisdom of doing so with the state Red was in, she decided not doing so was probably the greater evil. Taking a deep breath, Evadne started to explain her plan.

***

It stood in a dark corner of the warehouse, screened by a barrier of crates from observing eyes and as still as the statue it could be mistaken for. That is until you saw the slight rise and fall of its chest or the opened eyes and the baleful red glare it bestowed upon its surroundings. It stood there many hours each day, conserving its slowly returning energy. It had been nearly dead by the time its rescuer had released it from its prison. The young she-ape had the sort of mind it found easy to bend to its will. A mind old beyond its years, and with a lust of power tempered by a hatred of her own kind. From her mind, he had learnt of the cruelty she loved, of the killing of those that had begat her, of the wealth she had acquired and abused. Silently and slyly, she had been causing misery through out this collection of ape-dwellings that she called Boston. This enjoyment of hurting the creature considered unfortunate. It was a weakness that could deflect her from the true path. It had no problem with destruction when required, but did not enjoy it. It was a necessity not a pleasure. Still the she-ape had proved more than useful. She had found this warehouse. She had discovered who owned the land that held the jewel. She and her companion with the white eyes had been capable servants. Still, it was going to need more that just these two and their pitiful minions to serve it. These two had wealth and anger but it could see the pettiness of their minds. In time, with its power fully restored, it would find more worthy subjects to bow to its will, to serve, to fight, to control this world for it.

It moved. Enjoying the freedom its limbs had not known for so long. Each day it could move further and longer. During the first days, it had overtaxed itself almost to exhaustion - frustration overwhelming caution. The night that it had seen the jewel's current possessor, it had almost drained itself completely. The worst was that it had not worked. The stubborn ape would not sell and it could not take the jewel by force without risking loosing its power forever.

It stretched, testing the muscles in its back and arms, feeling the strength returning. It could feel the power that would restore it to full glory calling out to its true wielder. So close, so close, yet it remained firmly out of its grasp. Walking over to a small window, it stared into the darkness toward where the jewel called. Frustration growing, it nevertheless remained still and silent. From the she-ape's mind, it had learned how the apes now infested this world, having multiplied almost beyond imagination. In its weakened state, it was vulnerable to the destructiveness they had developed. That would be one of its first tasks once its power was restored. Such devices of death would be destroyed. There would be no war in its world.

Noise now caught its attention. Far off yet but getting closer. Then it recognised the sound of its white-eyed servant. The door of the warehouse opened and it saw figures silhouetted against the slightly lighter opening.

"Okay, you can leave him with me," white-eyes instructed and the second figure nodded then left closing the door behind him. It watched passively as a struggling he-ape, bound and gagged was dragged by white-eyes to stand before it.

The gag was removed.

"What the hell are you doin'," the ape shouted in a voice tinged with fear.

Closer now, the ape's face reminded it of the rats that infested the building, sharing its lonely vigil. Thin and furtive, his eyes darted from captive to it surroundings not yet seeing the creature.

"I have friends in high places, ya know. They will come looking for you an' then you'll be sorry." He looked furtively around even as the complaints and threats continued. Then the beady dirty grey eyes meet its own.

"What the fucks that," the words were suddenly high pitched with fear as the captive ape made a frantic attempt to break the grasp that held him. "Lemme the fuck go, you bastard!"

"Stop." The creature commanded and the rat like man did so, falling limp in the restraining arms with a look of stark terror now on his face.

"My Lord," white-eyes spoke reverentially. "I found this man at the house, prying around. I thought you would want to deal with him."

"Who is he?"

"An investigator hired by Franklin."

"You said it was a she-ape that the jewel-holder had hired. You said she was no longer an obstruction."

"My Lord," it could hear the fear in its servant voice. "She is indeed no longer a problem, although we did not have the pleasure of dealing with her, but Franklin is a stubborn man, he will not sell as easily as we had hoped."

Red eyes now turned to stare down at the terrified trembling prisoner. "What do you know?"

"I…" Jake Straker stopped, licking fright dried lips, "I dunno what…" He stopped, suddenly realising what he was seeing. "Fuck me, he was right, you're the golem ain't ya?" The pitch of his voice rose earning him a shake. He hadn't bargained on this, not one little bit. When Franklin had contacted him, asking to take on the job that freak Wolverton had run out on, he had agreed happily. Show a bit of effort, he had reckoned, and this could be a nice little earner. He'd had no doubt that the tales Franklin had told were nothing but a madman's ravings. He hadn't even though the abandoned house next door was involved, he'd just been having a look around in case there was something there he could sell or use. He'd barely got within reach of the house when his head had exploded with pain. When he had come to, a bare few minutes ago, he'd found himself bound and gagged and being manhandled towards the warehouse door. He had no idea where he was or who these people were but there was one thing his animal instinct told him - he really didn't want to get on their bad side. His mind worked fast, bolstered by fear. Perhaps he could get out of this in one piece if he played his cards right. Perhaps he was working for the wrong client. "I can help you if you want." His attitude changed, servile now he grinned uneasily up at the glowing eyes. "Tell me what you want an' I'll do it," he gave an evil grin, "wan' Franklin bumped off? I can do that if ya want?"

"You would betray your master?" it asked, masking the disgust it felt - were apes simply born to betray?

"Hell, yeah," Straker relaxed, it looked like he had a way out of this after all, "if the price is right I'd sell you my grandma." He realised his mistake a millisecond before his life ended. The eyes flared a brighter red as a huge clawed fist caught the private investigator in the side of the head, tearing him out of the restraining grasp and throwing him violently against the wall.

A sharp intake of breath came from its servant but it did not notice. It stared balefully at the slumped form, the rat like face now a bloody mess first from the hammer like blow and then from the impact with the wall. It had shattered his skull with one single blow.. "So die all betrayers."

"Yes, my Lord." White-eyes responded calmly. There was no sign of horror or even regret at the way the man's life had been snuffed out. Now he had an idea. "If I may make a suggestion my Lord?" Seeing the nod the creature gave, he continued. "Perhaps Franklin needs a bigger incentive to sell. Perhaps that," he gestured at the grumped heap, "can indeed be of use to us."

The creature stared at the white-eyed ape for a moment, understanding and approving. "I approve of your suggestion, my servant. Let the jewel-holder understand what can happen to those who oppose me."

It watched as the body was dragged out of the warehouse, a crimson streak showing the path it had taken, then it returned to its corner. The flare of anger and the destruction of the rat-ape had drained it, now it needed to rest once more. Soon, it thought with longing and joy, soon I will be truly free.

THREE DAYS LATER

September 18th - Domestication and drama

Evadne woke with a mixture of dread and anticipation. Today they would find out whether Edgar Van Volk was indeed the man who'd attacked Red and killed Janet Baker. She still found it hard to believe that the young man she'd known for so long would do such a thing, although she had to admit that he'd changed during his time abroad, seeming more withdrawn and colder that she remembered him. Still it all seemed too fantastic, even with the circumstantial evidence arrayed against him and, even if it had been him, she suspected there was little that the law could or would want to do about it. It would be Red's word against Edgar's as to what had happened outside the Lily, and the investigator had admitted that she'd not seen the shooter's face even though she was positive it was the same man who'd attacked her at the Herald and she'd caught following her. Although neither Red nor Joe got a good look at him at the Herald, the security guard who'd let him up could probably identify him but even that was still circumstantial at best. Finally, as much as it pained her to admit it, the investigator's angry words about it being possible to get away with murder if you had enough money held a grain of truth. It would be hard to get the conviction of one of the Boston elite on such weak evidence and on such serious charges as murder and attempted murder. Money and prestige could easily be used to tip the scales of justice - especially when the dead victim was a coloured woman and the live one had a less than helpful reputation. If Edgar was indeed the one, she hoped that what she'd planned with her uncle and lawyer would work. If they could provoke enough of a reaction out of the young man, then they'd be able to use the power of a Brahmin name to Red's advantage for a change.

Temporarily putting aside her musings at the insistent prompting from a noisily empty stomach, she pulled on a dressing gown and padded down the stairs towards the kitchen. It was obvious from the smells wafting up the stairs that Maria was already well into preparing breakfast. The morning cooking smells had changed over the last few days as Red, now up and about, had finally met, then suborned the socialite's cook-cum-housekeeper into providing the sort of grease laden monstrosities that the rough-and-ready investigator seemed to thrive on. Although Evadne had managed to wrench back control over the contents of the later meals, it appeared that her guest and her cook had come to some sort of devilish pact over breakfast. Taking a deep breath, she had to admit that the smell of frying bacon currently drifting up the stairs smelled wonderful even if she was sure it was no good for any of them.

Reaching the door of the kitchen, she was unsurprised to see Red already inside, dressed and ready for what she obviously considered the only real meal of the day. What was new, however, was the fact that Maria appeared to have finally found a use for her audience. As the cook did battle with a huge saucepan full of assorted bits of meat, the scruffy investigator was hard at work beating eggs. no doubt for the mandatory huge pile of scrambled eggs. The scene was so domestic, and so in contrast to her concerns over the coming day, that Evadne just leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, and watched. She stood there, amusedly observing the activity, until her presence was eventually noticed by Maria.

"Ah there you are, chica. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to get up at all this morning."

Suddenly aware of being caught in such an uncompromisingly domestic situation, Red hesitated for a second before determinedly continuing her egg beating while trying to ignore the socialite's amused look. Evadne couldn't help but smile at the picture before her. It seemed that Red 'butcher than butch' Wolverton was now well and truly under Maria's small thumb. The object of her amusement glanced up from where she was still busily thrashing the eggs and scowled at the smile, which just made Evadne smile even more. The distinctly unhappy cook's assistant shook her head and muttered something unintelligible to her watcher and, from the housekeeper's tsk-tsking, it was probably profane. Red put the bowl down on the table with a thud.

"Eggs are done," she growled, throwing her host another distinctly un-amused look before slouching nonchalantly back against the dresser, hands in pockets.

"Gracias, little one."

Little one, thought Evadne in amusement. The still scowling investigator was at least six inches taller than the diminutive Latina but, soon after they had first met, the almost comically macho woman had been christened 'little one' and, to its recipient's mortification and the socialite's amusement, the name had stuck. Red had obviously caught the little smile at the epithet and glared at Evadne who just lifted a teasing eyebrow in return as she replied to her housekeeper's greeting. "It is not even nine, Maria, hardly the middle of the day."

"When you have been up since well before six it is," chided the housekeeper teasingly.

Although she smiled at the teasing, deep inside Evadne once more felt the re-occurring guilt that the older woman had to get up so early in order to feed, and get to work, all her boys and then feed and settle her crippled husband before she could come to do her work. As a result, the socialite-with-a-conscience made sure that Maria was extremely well paid for the work she did. She also allowed two weeks paid holidays, something unheard of for domestic staff and for which she was considered foolishly soft hearted. Nor did she begrudge those days when the youngest Montoya, now a strapping eighteen year old, would turn up at the door with an apologetic note from his mother explaining that her husband was having 'one of his bad days', and would it be alright for her to come in later. She could not count the number of times friends, apparently well meaning, had advised her that she wouldn't get the work out of her staff if she was too soft on them, and that they would try to take advantage of her. Although graciously accepting such advice, she ignored it all. If they couldn't see that if you treated your employees well you were more likely to get loyalty rather than abuse in return then that was their loss not hers. However, if she did find that someone was abusing her generosity, they soon found out that Evadne Lannis was no pushover and they were out of a job.

The socialite's musings were interrupted by Maria's voice asking her to get the plates out of the warming oven and set the table while she finished off the scrambled egg. Just as she was putting on the oven gloves, the back door opened and James entered the kitchen, wiping his hands on an oily cloth.

"Just in time, Jacobo, as usual. By the time you get those filthy hands of yours washed it should be on the table." James dutifully went into the scullery to do as instructed.

Happily completing her instructions, Evadne idly wondered what her in-laws and acquaintances would make of one of the Boston Lannises, still déshabillé, sitting down at a kitchen table to eat breakfast with her cook, her chauffeur and other 'undesirables' - probably the politest description any of them would come up with for the notorious Red Wolverton. An apoplexy, she decided with a smile, at the very least.

***

After finishing breakfast, they helped Maria with the dishes - Evadne volunteering, Red requiring a certain amount of persuasion but finally complying, albeit with a lot of grumbling. James made a swift escape under the pretence of still having work to do on the car. Evadne went back upstairs to dress for the day. Knowing the conservatism of some of her visitors, and the fact that the unconventional and openly lesbian woman's presence would probably have one or two of them doubting her sanity, she chose a well fitting, obviously expensive yet not overly flamboyant, day dress. The accompanying jewellery was chosen to be discreet, small diamond earrings and a classic cameo brooch being all she added to the ever-present wedding ring.

As the socialite, finally happy with the effect she made, descended the stairs into the hall she was greeted by an appreciative wolf whistle, swiftly followed by the sound of a slap and a surprised yelp. Reaching the hall, she saw Red, the obvious source of the wolf whistle, in a heated argument with Maria, who she couldn't fail to notice had a wicked twinkle in her eye.

"Now, now, you two, what's this all about?" she asked in amusement.

The scowling investigator turned to face her while pointing an accusing finger at Maria. "She slapped me on the butt, like some kid."

Maria shrugged unapologetically. "You deserved it. Wolf-whistling is not polite - especially not at a lady."

No mention of the fact that she'd been wolf whistling another woman, the socialite noted, her respect for the Latina growing yet more.

"But, but… you spanked me!" Red sputtered, obviously flustered by the older woman's actions. "I ain't been spanked like that since Ma died."

"No doubt explaining why you have such bad manners, little one," the housekeeper responded with a sly smile.

"Indeed, little one, it sounds like ya need yawer manners larnin'," Evadne drawled in her best southern-belle accent.

Under attack from two fronts and not knowing which way to glare, the unexpectedly embarrassed and confused ruffian decided retreat was the better option and stomped, in as much as she could stomp in stocking feet, back into the kitchen.

Evadne looked at her housekeeper, who was now grinning openly. "You really spanked her?" she asked in amused amazement.

"Oh yes, chica. I meant what I said about it being no way to treat a lady, and you are most definitely a lady, unlike the little one there, who has the heart of a rogue."

Tentatively, she asked, "You didn't find it strange that she would do that? Wolf-whistle another woman I mean?"

There was another expressive shrug of the small shoulders. "The Good Lord made all of us in his image so, if He made the little one and those like her, who am I to disapprove, whatever some so-called Christians might try to tell us."

Before she could react, the older woman was swept up into an unexpected impulsive hug. "Bless you Maria. What would I do without you?"

The hug was briefly returned before the housekeeper disengaged herself. "Starve and flounder about in muck and unwashed laundry no doubt," she teased, then more seriously, "but don't you worry, chica, you have me and I have you." With an affectionate parting pat to her employer's cheek, she followed her little rogue back into the kitchen.

***

Evadne didn't think she'd ever been this nervous before in her life. All her invitees were in place: Mr. Scrivens, the family lawyer, was standing to one side of the fireplace and James to the other; Uncle Charles, an ex-commissioner of police, sat comfortably in the large leather chair; sitting quietly in the window seat were Maria's two eldest sons, there to provide extra muscle if the need arose. She glanced at her uncle, seeing disapproval in his look; she knew his opinion of what he called deviants, but she also knew his dedication to the law, and to justice, and that he would therefore do what was correct, despite any personal feelings. Scrivens would be even less sympathetic to Red's problem, but he was there because he had been paid, and paid well. Maria's two sons and James had willingly agreed to assist, as had Joe Martelli, who was in the adjoining room trying to calm the increasingly jittery investigator.

They all heard the doorbell ring then Maria answering the door. For what seemed like ages, they waited, and then Edgar was being shown into the sitting room. The socialite studied the man intently as he took in the strange array of people in the room

"What is this all about, Evadne, you said it was something important?"

She could hear puzzlement in his voice; she also caught a muffled exclamation from the room next door. Edgar had also heard the noise and looked towards the door, then back to her, his puzzlement now plain on his face.

"Thank you for coming, Edgar," she replied, hoping her voice was not betraying her nerves, "I have someone staying with me that I thought you might like to meet."

This was Joe's cue to bring Red in, and all eyes turned to the door as it opened and she stepped through, closely followed by Joe who, she noticed, had a hand lightly holding an arm.

Evadne's heart sank as the looks on both faces changed the moment they saw each other. There could be no doubt from their reactions that Red had been quite correct about the identity of her assailant. Her face had gone hard and flat but other than the clenching of jaw and fists she had done nothing, even though Joe's restraining grip on her arm had visibly tightened. Edgar's reaction was more extreme: his face first went pale, and then livid with anger and loathing. He swung to face his hostess. "You have that abomination staying in this house with you? How can you stand it, unless…" and now he focussed on the object of his obvious hatred. "Bitch, have you perverted another one of us? First Katherine and now Evadne?" The socialite glanced towards the window and was glad to see that the Montoyas were moving up silently behind the furious Edgar, she was also aware of James moving protectively closer to her.

Red's lip curled into a sneer as she stared flatly at her enemy. "Believe me, Edgar," she almost spat the name, "Katherine managed that without any help from me. As for Evadne, she's my secretary an' that is all."

Evadne felt a slight pang at this cold dismissal of her part in the investigator's life, but any small concern on that part was quickly overshadowed as Edgar, with a screamed, "I'll kill you this time, bitch!" launched himself towards his hated target. So swift was the attack that he'd landed a punch before Red had a chance to release the iron control she'd been visibly struggling to keep herself under.

As she went down, the room erupted in chaos. Joe roared like the bear he resembled and bodily lifted the slight Edgar and threw him across the room, directly into the path of the oncoming Montoya brothers. They, with the chauffeur's assistance and some rather over-enthusiastic use of boots and fists, had him quickly subdued. Over the continuing clamour came Uncle Charles' commanding voice calling for calm, and soon the room was quite again, apart from Edgar's sobbing breaths and Red's groans.

Evadne turned to the reporter who, having got rid of the attacker, was now bent over his semi-conscious friend.

"Is she going to be all right?" she asked, concerned by the continued prone position.

Joe looked up and gave a reassuring smile. "Don't worry; he hit her head, thickest part of her. She'll be fine."

"I heard that, Martelli." Red complained fuzzily as he helped her to her feet.

Now the socialite looked at the lawyer who'd watched the whole scene with an unpleasant smile fixed on this face; however, at her glance he took up his part in the plan.

"Mr. Van Volk?"

At the sound of the lawyer's voice, Edgar looked up sullenly from his position on the floor; Evadne noticing, with some satisfaction, that one eye was already beginning to blacken.

Now sure he had the man's attention, the lawyer continued, "Mr. Van Volk, I have been instructed to tell you that what has happened here will go no further."

The young man seemed surprised by this and cast a sly look in Red's direction.

"But, what has happened will be written down and witnessed by those present here. Should there be any indication that you are in any way planning any further attempts on Miss Wolverton's life, that document will be forwarded on to his ex-colleagues at the Police Department by Mr. Van Deemin here, and you can be sure that the results will not be pleasant."

Evadne held her breath - would Edgar buy this? Legally they were on very ropey ground, but she hoped that he wouldn't realise it. Thankfully, the sullen and defeated look seemed to indicate he'd taken the lawyers statement at face value.

"I, and Mr. Van Deemin, will also be accompanying you back to your parents after we have finished here. We shall suggest," this, the lawyer's tone made clear, would be no suggestion, "that they expediently arrange your speedy departure from the city, preferably to some far distant part of the Van Volk business empire where your talents can be properly utilised without any fear of distraction. Now I will retire to the study to write up the documents for us all to witness," and he left the room.

Evadne's attention was now drawn to a strange noise coming from Red's direction. Glancing across, she realised that the furiously scowling woman was actually growling, and that the ever-vigilant Joe now had a firm grip on both her arms. Dear Lord, her self-control must be at it limits with that man just lying there.

"James, if you and the other two gentlemen would be so good as to move Mr. Van Volk to my car to await his return home," she quickly instructed her faithful chauffeur.

A respectful, "Yes, Ma'am," and soon Edgar had been bundled unceremoniously out of the room. Looking back at Red, she was relieved to see that, with the object of her hatred now out of sight, she seemed to have wound down a notch and had stopped the ominous growling.

Breathing a sigh of relief, but still finding it hard to comprehend what she'd just witnessed, she remarked, "Well I must say I am shocked, I still find it hard to believe it of Edgar, he was always such a nice boy. That trip abroad seems to have changed him out of all recognition."

Her uncle looked at her in surprise. "Abroad? Who told you that? He didn't go abroad, God no! His parents sent him to a sanatorium. Down south somewhere I think it was."

"A sanatorium? I hadn't realised he was ill?" she asked in surprise. "The Van Volks had told me he was spending six months in Europe." Her attention had now returned to Red, who was staring intently at the door Janet's killer had just been taken through, a little too intently for continued peace of mind.

"Not that kind of sanatorium." He sounded embarrassed and, when Evadne turned her attention back to him, she noticed him glance at Red before continuing, "It was where they treated… where they cured… deviants like him." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the red-gold head snap in their direction, but when she turned to face the expected anger was surprised to see fear and loathing instead.

"He was at one of those places?" The investigator whispered in horror. "Poor bastard, no wonder he's in such a fuckin' mess."

Before Evadne could find out exactly what she'd meant, Uncle Charles snapped his fingers. '"The Wilkinson Sanatorium, that was the name, knew I'd remember it," and he beamed at his own cleverness.

Still watching Red, Evadne missed her uncle's pleasure at remembering the name completely, instead she was surprised to see the younger woman flinch as if physically struck, and then go as pale as a sheet.

"I… I need to lie down for a while," the visibly shaken investigator whispered then hurriedly left the room.

***

Lying on her back, hands behind her head, Red stared at the ceiling without really seeing it. Her mind was back in the time, nearly ten years ago, when she herself had been at the Wilkinson Sanatorium. She'd never found out where her father had got the money, probably raided the church funds she privately thought, but he had, and so she had been forcibly sent halfway across America to be cured of her 'abominable, depraved, perversions' as he'd so charmingly put it. Unable, by that time, to beat his now physically stronger daughter he had instead resorted to having her sectioned and sent to the foul place to be 'cured'.

With the westerner, however, their clumsy and barbaric methods had only firmed her resolve to be as she felt was right and, within three weeks, she'd escaped - knocking out two warders in the process and fleeing both doctors and family. She'd not seen her father since, which as far as she was concerned was a damned good thing. Even now, she wasn't sure she'd be able to restrain herself from beating him to within an inch of his life for what the hypocritical son-of-a-bitch had done to her.

Suddenly sad, she sighed deeply, bringing her right arm around to lie over burning eyes as if to hide the moisture forming there. "I miss you though, little brother," she whispered to herself. Jed would be eighteen by now, and she probably wouldn't recognise him if they did ever meet again. Being a boy and 'normal' Jed had suffered less from her father's wrath though he had never been allowed to forget that it had been his birth that had killed their mother. It had also removed the small amount of protection her mother had been able to give Red. Nevertheless, she felt no ill will towards her little brother for this. All her hate was for her preacher father who had done nothing to help her mother even when it had become plain even to her youthful, inexperienced eyes that the birth was going dreadfully wrong. Despite pleas from them both, he'd not called for the doctor and had only reluctantly agreed to summon the local midwife; however, it had been his nine-year-old daughter who'd had to walk the two miles to fetch the help. All her father had done was to pray to a god who ignored his pious pleading and to curse his wife for daring to vex him.

And now Edgar's life had also been ruined by his parents' stupidity. It appeared that the doctors had done such a fine job of curing him that he was now a murderous homophobe, that apparently being preferable to loving people of the same sex. Examining her feelings, even as she once again examined the ceiling, Red found that she no longer hated Janet's killer; she would never forgive him, but now she felt more pity than anything else. Instead, her feelings of hate were now firmly directed at the so-called doctors that had damaged him. When the westerner had escaped that hellish place all those years ago, she'd been in no position to do anything and had never wanted to see its walls again. Now she could do something, and privately she swore an oath that she would, let her be damned if she did not. Decision made and exhausted by the physical and emotional strain of the confrontation with Janet's murderer, she fell into a deep and unexpectedly untroubled sleep.

***

It wasn't until late in the evening that she awoke, finding a heaped plate of sandwiches and a large glass of milk sitting on the dressing table. With a mental thanks to Maria, she wolfed down the food before starting on the plan she'd half formed earlier.

Red crept down the stairs and into the morning room. The house was as quiet, and nearly as dark, as the grave, but she knew the place well enough now to be able to get around with just the aid of a flashlight. Kneeling down in front of the sewing machine cabinet, she carefully opened it and removed the boots and revolver from where they sat on top of the iron trestle. She'd been impressed with how sneaky Evadne's chosen hiding place had been, but the socialite hadn't reckoned with the investigator's stubborn streak. It had taken days of methodical searching to eventually track them down. Slipping the holster onto her belt, she picked up the boots and padded her way softly back through the hall and into the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen she put on the boots and quietly opened the back door. Slipping outside, she silently closed the door behind her before moving, wraithlike, towards the garage. Once there, she unlocked the doors with the key taken from beside the back door and slipped inside, wedging open the big double doors before opening the driver-side door of Evadne's Ford 'A'. Mentally cursing both James and Evadne for their annoying habit of keeping their ignition key with them, Red rummaged under the steering column, reappearing a few seconds later grasping a bundle of wires. Studying the wires intently in the light of the torch, she finally picked out the two she wanted before touching them carefully together to bring the engine coughing to life.

A final regretful glance up at the still quiet house as she realised that Evadne would probably never forgive her for what she was doing. At best, she'd be kicked out of her cushy billet, much more likely would be being arrested on the spot when she returned. But what had to be done, had to be done. Reaching the end of the drive, she gunned the engine out of sheer relief at being out of the house and the joy of being in control of such a fine machine; then, turning onto the street, drove off into the night heading south.

Continued...