There is nothing more unaesthetic than a policeman.
-Arthur Conan Doyle
              
 

          
Detective Cruz looked up from the dead man sprawled on the asphalt and saw another dead man walking towards her.

"I'll be damned," she muttered, and then, "Edison Palmer! You're under arrest!'

The uniformed cops looked as startled as Palmer, but recovered quickly. Several hands reached for guns and sparkers.

Palmer's hands were at his sides. He turned them out to show they were empty. He raised an eyebrow and put on his best shit-eating grin.

"Hello, Marisol," he called. "No hug?"

"Don't start with me, asshole," Cruz spat, striding towards the man.

They stared each other down for a minute. Cruz was a short woman, nearly petite when Palmer had known her. Now she was squat. Her dark hair was still very short, and her dark face was still intimidating when she scowled.

Palmer looked much the same as he had last time they'd seen each other, a tall guy wearing a smirk on a face halfway between handsome and goofy. He was thinner now, and tired looking. His clothes were well worn.

"So," he said. "Are you really going to arrest me?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"What the hell would you arrest me for?"

"You should have been questioned in half a dozen cases," Cruz growled. "There's no statute of limitations on murder.'

Palmer still had the self-control she remembered. His face barely registered shock or anger. But he leaned in and said slowly, "Fuck. You. You know I didn't kill George Melville. And I know that case is closed.

"Your perp is watching from that building," he added, to both their surprise.

Cruz's expression went neutral. "How would you know that? Are you an accomplice?"

"I just know. You remember how the psychic trip works, right? Sometimes I just know things.'

Cruz stared at him for a moment. The scowl came back. "Once again," she said, "you're distracting me from a crime scene. You sit tight or I will arrest you." She looked around and speared one of the uniforms with a glare. "Keep an eye on him, Bobby.'

The cop grunted something affirmative, and Cruz stomped back to the dead body.

A crowd of lookie-loos had gathered and the cops were busy keeping them back from the crime scene. Officer Bobby was especially distracted as a midnight mary pointed her massive rack towards him.

Palmer took a step back. Then another, and another, and another. Bobby didn't notice. Palmer spun on his heel, walked slowly to the most shadowy part of the parking lot, and slipped around a chain link fence. A narrow alley ran between the fence and a self-storage building. He walked down the alleyway carefully, praying no cop would spot him.

Halfway down an offshoot of the chain line fence branched to the right, marking the beginning of the. construction site. A bit further down he found a gap in the fence just big enough to squeeze through. He dusted himself off and looked up at the improbable development project.

Hudson City's declining economy hadn't quite scared away the optimists who thought any crappy neighborhood could be the next Tribeca. The city was dotted with half-completed constructions like this one. His eyes slid down the skeletal upper floors to the half-completed lower floors with interior walls. Someone was on the third floor watching the crime scene with a great deal of self-satisfaction. Palmer could feel it.

The perp would have to be on the south side of the building, so Palmer headed for the north side. He picked up a chunk of brick on the way, in case the element of surprise wasn't enough, and silently cursed the night doctor that had made off with his illegal sparker.

Finding a staircase was easy enough, but navigating the building got difficult after that. The floor plan was complex and the deeper he got into the building the less light there was. He was searching his pockets for matches when the feeling of being watched came over him. He froze and listened carefully. He even held his breath for thirty seconds. Not a sound disturbed the air.

"Looks like I get three tonight," a voice whispered.

Palmer bit his lip to keep from gasping. He screwed his eyes shut, hoping they would adjust to the darkness faster.

"I can see you," the voice rasped. It was a man's voice. "But you can't see me. This is going to be fun."

Palmer opened his eyes and looked around desperately. There was a less-dark patch ahead of him. He felt irregular little vibrations moving through the floor, like there were other people in the building.

"Cops following me," Ed said. "Coming up the stairs now." It was half guess and half bluff. He stared at the less-dark blob on the floor. He was pretty sure it was the floor.

"Have to kill you quickly then," the voice whispered.

Palmer yelped as he realized the less-dark patch was far-off light shining from under a door. Panic took over and he bolted for the door. Something grabbed at him and he swung a fist wildly. He hit the door with a loud thud. Voices were coming from the other direction.

He scrabbled for the doorknob, wrenched it open, and ran. This part of the building was a little less dark, and Palmer only hit a few walls in his pell mell dash. He came around a corner, saw a spot of light, and headed for it. Instinct pulled him up short when he felt cool night air on his face. He was standing in front of an open window. The speck of light was a faint reflection in a window across the way.

Palmer's stomach was fluttering from the adrenaline spike, and the realization he'd almost run out a third story window.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered.

"Give him my regards," the raspy voice said.

And the unseen man pushed Palmer out the window.