“You’re a very attractive young woman,” Becker said.
She swatted his shoulder lightly, remonstrating with him for such a bold remark.
“You know that,” Becker said, tilting his head. “You probably hear it all the time.”
“You,” she said, pushing his shoulder with one finger this time. She left the finger there,
“It’s only natural that if a pretty woman and a healthy man get together…” He let it trail off, grinning at her. There was nothing lewd about the grin, she decided. He just liked to tease. She liked it, too.
Helen smiled back at him, then demurely looked away. She wondered if he could feel her finger on his shoulder.
“And Dyce was young and virile. Only natural.”
“You mustn’t judge every man by yourself,” she said.
“Oooo-oooh,” said Becker. “Something a little unnatural? Tell me.”
“I can’t tell you that. What are you thinking of?” But she wanted to tell him very much. She had wanted to tell someone ever since it happened, but she could hardly bare her soul to the people at work. She would never hear the last of it.
“Did he dress up?” Becker asked. He was chuckling, enjoying the idea. He wasn’t censorious at all; he could understand, even savor the oddness. It was kind of fun if you had some distance on it.
“Worse than that,” she said.
“Whips and chains? Boots?”
“You’ll never guess.”
“I’ll bet I can. I’ve heard of everything.”
“You haven’t heard of this one,” said Helen. “I don’t think this has ever been done before.”
“In the bathroom. In a tree. Hanging from the rafters.”
“From the rafters?”
“It’s been done,” he said. “You’d be surprised.”
“I’d certainly be surprised by that.”
“He bent over the sink and had you throw oranges at him.”
Helen laughed and put her hand on his thigh for a moment before removing it.
“People don’t do that,” she said.
“I swear to you. I’ll bet Roger didn’t come up with anything new. Fun, maybe, but not new.”
“I don’t know about fun,” she said.
“Well, fun for him, anyway.”
“Fun is not a word I’d use for Roger,” she said. “He didn’t seem to enjoy it so much as-oh, I can’t tell you.”
“Not fun exactly. I’ll bet it was more of a serious thing with him.”
“How did you know that?”
She leaned forward again as if amazed at his brilliance and touched his thigh once more. Helen did not know what was making her so bold, except that if he left now she didn’t think she would ever see him again.
“I didn’t know Roger, but from what I’ve heard, I’d have to guess it wasn’t as if he really liked sex for its own sake. More like it was a kind of ritual. Something like that.”
This time she really was amazed. It was as if he could see right into her mind. Could he see into her heart as well?
“That’s true,” she said. “I never thought of it quite that way, but that’s true, it was like a ritual. Or a ceremony.”
“I’ll bet he wore something special,” Becker said.
“Talcum powder,” she said, surprised at herself.
“Talcum powder?”
“And I mean that’s all.”
With a giggle she got to her feet and waggled her fingers in front of him. Becker took her hand and she led him to the bathroom.
“Come on, I’ll show you,” she said, clasping his palm tightly. When she described Dyce’s appearance, nude and covered in white powder, she clung to Becker’s hand the whole time, squeezing for emphasis and finally, when speaking of her fear and astonishment, putting both of their still-clasped hands on her chest.
“I just didn’t know what to do,” she said, collapsing her head helplessly against him, leaning there for a second, then turning her head up to his, like a cat waiting to be stroked. She was pressing the back of his hand firmly into her breast.
“What should I have done?” she asked.
“Sometimes you just have to go along with things,” Becker said.
“I knew you would understand.”
“Did he do it again, or just that once?”
“It was the only way he really could do it,” she said. “Is it wicked of me to tell you that?”
Becker looked into her eyes and brushed his free hand against her cheek. For a moment he thought she was going to swoon.
“You should tell me everything you need to,” said Becker.
“I thought there was something wrong with me. Wasn’t I attractive enough by myself? Do you think there’s anything wrong with me?”
She moved his hand up and down so that it rubbed against her nipple, which was hard under the blouse. This was not the recommended investigation technique, he thought, suppressing a laugh.
She had her head tilted back, her mouth partly open, her eyes half closed. Becker wondered if she had learned her methods from 1940's movies.
“If there’s anything wrong with you, I haven’t found it yet,” he said.
“There’s one other thing I could tell you, but you’ll hate me if I do.”
“Nothing you could say would make me do that,” said Becker.
“Oh, I shouldn’t.”
Becker tipped her chin up with his finger and looked in her eyes. I’ve seen the same movies, he thought.
“Yes, you should,” he said.
“When I saw him standing here, all covered in white like a ghost he was-you know.”
“What?”
“You know.” She rolled her eyes to avoid contact with his, acutely embarrassed-or her feigned version of embarrassment, Becker thought.
“I don’t know. You have to tell me, Helen. What was he?”
She closed her eyes. “He was as hard as I’ve ever seen a man,” she said. Becker felt her hand slipping between his legs. “Until now,” she added.
Becker carefully bent his knees and lifted her into his arms, hoping his back wouldn’t go out on him and then realizing it would be a good way out of this, if it did.
She sighed as he carried her to her bedroom and gasped with false surprise as he eased her down on the bed. But then he pulled away from her and stood.
“I can’t,” he said.
She stopped brushing a profusion of pillows off the bed and looked at him in confusion.
“I’m on a case. You know what that means.” He bit his lip in a display of sorrowful regret, then sighed. “Much as I’d like to.”
Helen thought of saying that it wouldn’t take long, but feared he might misinterpret the remark. She could see he was already upset and it would be cruel of her to make it any more difficult for him.
“Oh. A case. Of course.”
“Regulations,” he said.
He clenched his fists and shuddered in frustration, then shrugged, his face a study in sorrow and resignation.
Helen could not help but admire his dedication. “You wouldn’t want me if it meant betraying my duty,” he said.
“I understand,” she said.
Becker kissed her forehead and eased toward the door.
“Will I see you again?” she asked.
“Call me,” Becker said. “Anytime. Anytime.” He grinned at her. “I think we need to investigate this matter further.”
“Oh, Agent…?”
“Hatcher,” he said. “Agent Neal Hatcher. Just call.”
Helen knew the agent would be back. She had sensed his longing and the urgency with which he had wanted her. It had been very hard for him to leave, and in a way she respected his sense of integrity. Yes, she did, she admired him for it… but she knew he would have to come back, and when she heard his tentative knock on the door she could not resist smiling triumphantly. He had had just time enough to walk to his car, think about the heaven that was waiting for him with her, and return. There were some powers that transcended duty, and she had sensed correctly that Agent Hatcher was more susceptible to them than most men, despite his protestations of obligation.