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  “When Lorraine disappeared, did you two still have friends in the area?”

  “Not so much for me. When she vanished, I’d been out of school for a while. I knew maybe a couple of teachers. No one close.”

  “What about Lorraine?”

  “She had some connection up there. The day she left to go up north, she told me she was visiting some friends. And that was the only thing she told me.”

  “No names?”

  “No, and I didn’t ask. As showy as she was, Lorraine could be very private. I didn’t want to intrude into her personal space.”

  “By asking her who she was visiting?”

  “If she had wanted me to know, she would have told me.” Karen winced. “You’ve got to remember that I was pregnant. It was a rough first trimester. I was happy to be alone and I thought that Lorraine just needed some time to herself.”

  “How was her mood?” Decker asked.

  “Like, did I detect something wrong?” Her eyes moistened. “Nothing that I saw. I certainly didn’t expect her to vanish.”

  “Of course not,” Decker said. “And you have no idea who her old friends were?”

  “I knew she was still in contact with a few of her old professors via e-mail. She contacted them once she started working in finance.”

  “So she might have been visiting them?”

  “Possibly.” Karen blinked a couple of times. “After she disappeared, I combed through her e-mails to see if I could figure out where she went and who she was seeing. I know Joanne hired a private detective. I’m sure the PI talked to dozens of people. I know I did. You don’t know how panicked I was. I was alone, I was pregnant, and I was very, very confused.”

  She looked at the tabletop as she spoke.

  “When she didn’t come back Sunday night and I couldn’t contact her by phone, I started calling people that we knew in common. No one even knew she was going up to the colleges.”

  Tears started falling down her face.

  “At the time, I thought she might have lied to me. That she was having second thoughts about the baby. That she was having second thoughts about me. That she found someone else. I was half mad at her as well as half panicked. When I called her work on Monday and she hadn’t shown up, I was beside myself.”

  “What did you do when you couldn’t locate her?”

  “I frankly don’t remember too much because I was in such a state. I did call the Greenbury Police. They wouldn’t take a report right away. Since no one remembered seeing Lorraine, they claimed it was doubtful that she made it up north. They were claiming that she probably disappeared in the city. After a while, I began to believe that she really did cut bait and run.”

  “Did you contact Pettigrew’s parents?”

  Karen sighed. “No. Lorraine didn’t want her parents to know about the pregnancy. She wanted to wait until after the baby was born.”

  “Whose idea was the pregnancy?” McAdams asked.

  “It was hers. That’s why I couldn’t figure out why she disappeared. She wanted a baby way more than I did. But I loved Lorraine, and she wanted to be a mom of her own biological child. So we decided to do it before we finished off our sex reassignment surgeries. I’d already had top surgery, so I knew I couldn’t nurse, but that was fine with Lorraine. She wanted to be the primary caretaker.”

  There was a long pause.

  “I never transitioned completely. After I had the baby, it didn’t seem important. Gender is fluid, and I am who I am. I don’t need gonads to tie me down.”

  Decker nodded. “Karen, you said you called people when Lorraine didn’t come home.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you still have any record of who you called?”

  “Of course. I made a list. I have a whole file on her.”

  McAdams asked, “Who’s in the file?”

  “People I called. As much as I could, I tried to get hold of her phone records or her e-mail because without a body, she still could be alive. I just couldn’t believe that Lorraine would take off on me. I kept thinking there had to be a reason. I didn’t want to think bad of her.”

  “We’ll subpoena the records. In the meantime, could I take a look at the file?”

  “Sure. It’s at home.” Karen put her head down. “You might also want to talk to Joanne Pettigrew . . . like that never crossed your mind. I suppose you already talked to her.”

  “Yesterday,” McAdams said. “Before we got tentative confirmation of the remains. We’re going to her house after we’ve finished talking to you.”

  “Joanne still doesn’t know about Aesop.”

  “We know. Jordeen mentioned that you never told her about her grandson.”

  Karen sighed.

  “At first, I didn’t tell Joanne because I felt I was sort of honoring Lorraine’s last wishes. And I was dealing with so much. I really didn’t want to have a pity party with Joanne. I know that sounds callous, but there was only so much grief I could take.” A long silence. “You can tell her.”

  “It might be better coming from you,” Decker said.

  “I was afraid you’d say that.” A sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll man up and call her.”

  “Wait a few minutes until we call and tell her that the remains have been identified.”

  “When are you going to do that?”

  “Right now.” Decker stood up. “I’ll be back in a moment. You can talk to Detective McAdams.”

  “About what?” Karen asked. But Decker had left the café. “Strange one, your boss.”

  McAdams thought: Pot . . . kettle. “How did you and Lorraine fall in love?”

  “When I came back from top surgery, Lawrence—he was still a he back then—he told me he admired my commitment to who I was. We started talking about sex reassignment, what it would mean to us, to our families and friends. We had long, long talks about it. When we met again in New York City, he told me that I had inspired him to take the plunge and undergo sex reassignment surgery. We talked some more and we fell in love. We made love. You know, just because you identify as the other gender doesn’t mean that your biological gonads don’t function. He was dressed as a woman and I was the man with my top surgery, but we were still technically boy and girl. What a world, huh?”

  McAdams nodded, but remained silent.

  “We were both going to get surgery that summer. But then Lorraine got it in her head to have a baby. What could I do?”

  Decker came back. “I told Joanne that we’d be there in an hour.” Silence. To Karen: “This might be as good a time as any to make contact with her.”

  Karen looked at her watch. “I’ve got class in ten minutes.” When Decker didn’t answer, she said, “I suppose I should get it over with. I named my son Aesop because those were Lorraine’s favorite stories. Believe it or not, she loved morality pieces. They provided absolutes in our ambiguous world. Are we done here?”

  “Yes,” Decker said. “When can I get your Pettigrew file?”

  “Come to my place around eight. By then the kids are asleep and if we need to talk at greater length, I can concentrate on you instead of the children.” She looked at her watch again and stood up. “I gotta get this call over with. I’ll see you tonight.”

  After she left, Decker said, “What did you two talk about?”

  “How they fell in love and wanted to marry: she as a boy and he as a girl. I know that none of this is relevant, but even she admitted it was a strange world.”

  “It is a strange world. But as a detective I don’t care about those things. All I care about is who put Pettigrew in the ground.”

  It had been an emotional day with tears coming in all directions. There was one positive upshot. As he and McAdams were talking to Joanne, Karen and Jordeen dropped by with Aesop and Birgitta. That’s when the waterworks became unstoppable. It was a good time to make an exit and leave the newly formed family in peace.

  After dealing with Joanne, they went back to Manhattan. Decker went to the local Staple
s and made two copies of Karen’s files, which she had brought to Joanne’s. By the time he was done, it was close to six in the evening. He walked back to the Park Avenue apartment. The door was open when he knocked.

  McAdams was stretched out on a rose-colored silk brocade sofa in his pajamas. He had his nose in a book. “Wassup?”

  “Good book?”

  “A course book.” He put it down. “One year down, two to go.” He shrugged. “What’s our next step?”

  “I’m going to Brooklyn for dinner.”

  “Have fun.”

  “You’re not coming?”

  “I didn’t know I was invited.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, you’re invited. I’d like to make it to Brooklyn within the hour so you might want to change.”

  “Funny ha-ha. Where are we going for dinner?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “How should I dress, Old Man?”

  “In street clothes would be a start. Rina made supper so we’re eating in. Dress lightly. Sammy and Rachel have very poor AC.”

  “So why don’t we go out?”

  “They couldn’t find a babysitter.”

  “So why not just take the kid?”

  “I don’t make the decisions, Tyler, I just follow orders. When you’ve been married as long as I have, you just show up and smile. Rina invited you. Do you want to come or not?”

  “Yes, I’ll come. Jeez.”

  “By the way . . .” Decker plopped down a box onto the floor. “Your copy of the files. We can go over them tonight after dinner.”

  “Where? Here?”

  “I’d like to stay here for one more day. There are people on the list who live in New York. Might as well question them while I’m here. And I have to return all the original files to Breck and to Karen now that we have copies.”

  “What about the Staten Island police? Do you think we should talk to them since Joanne filed a report with them?”

  “We should give them a courtesy call and help them clear their missing persons file. But since Pettigrew was murdered in Greenbury, they don’t have anything to do with the case.”

  McAdams stood up and hefted the box. “We’ve got a lot of reading to do.”

  “And it’s only going to grow once we get the e-mails and the phone records. Get dressed already.”

  “Patience, man. I know you’re starved, but I’m not the cause of your low blood sugar.”

  “I know you’re not the problem. But, at present, you’re the only scapegoat I have. Put some clothes on and let’s get out of here.”

  Tyler had retired an hour ago, but at two in the morning, Decker was wide awake. By three, he finally crawled under soft down covers. It had been a good night. Gathering all the files and cross-referencing proved to be beneficial. He had put almost all the names listed into four categories: Pettigrew’s relatives, his closest friends, his work people, and his old friends from his Greenbury days, this last category being the smallest but the most important because Pettigrew was murdered there. As for the others, he had narrowed the New York City field down to four people he still wanted to interview:

  Harold Cantrell: Pettigrew’s boss for two years at a place called the McGregor Fund.

  Marta Kerr, aged thirty: described by PI James Breck and Karen Osterfeld as a close friend of Pettigrew. He had even stayed with her for a couple of months. Her address was in Chelsea and there was an associated phone number.

  Darwin Davis, aged twenty-five: a friend of Pettigrew from his Morse McKinley days. They reconnected once Davis graduated and moved to the city.

  Dr. Elwood Marshall (aged, well, who really cares?): Pettigrew’s surgeon and doctor, who specialized in sex reassignment surgery. He had been working with Pettigrew since he was twenty up until his disappearance five years ago.

  Decker would make the calls first thing in the morning. He was thinking about how he’d arrange his day when he drifted off and lost himself in a world he wouldn’t remember in the morning.

  Chapter 10

  The medical practice was in the East Village, near Washington Square and in a maisonette that fronted a six-story residential brick building. Dr. Elwood Marshall specialized in cosmetic and reconstruction surgery, and judging by the amount of people in the waiting room, he did well. All the couches and chairs were taken, and there was a small line at the reception window. Decker waited his turn and it took almost eight minutes before he faced a heavily made-up receptionist wearing a brunette wig of long waves. A pretty woman in that extreme way, except the voice told another story. It was beyond throaty: it was deep as in a well-developed Adam’s apple. The name tag said Eloise.

  “Can I help you?”

  Decker discreetly took out his official ID. “We have an appointment with Dr. Elwood.”

  “We?”

  Decker looked around until he spotted McAdams leafing through the magazine entitled Gay Today. If he could have beaned the kid from across the room, he would have done it. He looked back at Eloise, the receptionist. “My detective seems to have found some interesting reading material.”

  “People have all sorts of interesting facets to their personality.” Her smile was a smirk. “I’ll tell the doctor you’re here. It may take a few minutes. We’re swamped today.”

  Decker thanked her and the glass partition slid closed in front of him. He walked over to McAdams and elbowed him hard. He whispered, “Learning something?”

  “There are some real hot-looking dudes in this magazine.” He put it down on the table. “If I were gay, I wouldn’t stand a chance. Lucky for me that women just aren’t that picky.”

  Decker stifled a laugh. “Try to concentrate on the investigation, Tyler. It’s what you’re being paid to do.”

  “You mean that paltry sum that’s handed to me twice a month?”

  “You were the one who turned down those cushy, well-paid internships.” Decker heard someone call his name. “That’s us. C’mon, Harvard. Let’s go find some answers.”

  They were escorted into an office that looked out on a small back garden. The sun had ducked behind clouds, leaving the foliage to grow in gray, sooty light. The air-conditioning was running full blast. The nurse was tall with long thin hands. He said, “The doctor will be with you as soon as he can. Have a seat.”

  There were two wooden chairs and one plush leather desk chair separated by a large, rosewood desk holding one pile of paperwork, a bamboo file organizer, a cup of pens, a stapler, and a large phone that had many blinking lines. The walls were covered with diplomas and certifications. Ten minutes after the detectives were seated, a white-coated man in his mid to late fifties flew in like a rogue gust of wind. He was medium in stature with a paunch that lay over a Gucci belt. He had a long face with wiry, silver hair and eyes somewhere between tawny and brown. He sat down at his desk chair and extended his hand to both detectives. “How can I help?”

  “As I told your receptionist over the phone, it has to do with a case we’re working on involving one of your former patients.”

  “And I suppose you know that even if we’re dealing with former patients, there is confidentiality. Who are we talking about? My receptionist didn’t say.”

  Decker said, “We found some remains up north in Greenbury near the Five Colleges of Upstate. We have a tentative match to Lawrence Pettigrew. Lorraine Pettigrew.”

  Marshall sat back in his chair, a pained look on his face. “That’s awful.” He regarded Decker. “Because the police are involved . . . was it murder?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “The developments are recent, but the murder was not. He has been dead for quite some time. Anything you can tell me about him would be helpful.”

  “Like what?”

  “Did he confide in you on personal matters, for instance?”

  “They all confide in me on personal matters. When people come to me, they are very confused and very emotional. I’m just as much therapist as I am surgeon.”

&n
bsp; “What about Pettigrew?”

  “He was no exception.”

  “Anything specific that you can tell me?”

  Marshall picked up the phone. “Donnie, can you get me Lawrence/Lorraine Pettigrew’s file, please?” After he hung up the receiver, he said, “It’s been a while. From what I recall, he was very gung-ho on having surgery. When I first see them, they usually are. I always go slowly. Any change, be it a nose job or breast implants, takes getting used to. Let alone something as drastic as sex reassignment surgery. I start with the face. We did some skin sanding, some hair removal. He did well with those procedures, so we took the next step.”

  “Which was?”

  “Hormonal therapy.” A moment later, Donnie came in with the file and then left. Marshall began to skim through it.

  “Yes, I put him on a low dose of the appropriate hormones needed to override the androgens. That’s when the problems started. He didn’t like how it made him feel. He said . . . this is what I wrote down . . . it made him feel on edge and moody.”

  “PMS,” McAdams said.

  “Yes, it does mimic some symptoms in some people. But with time, most transgender people adjust to it. Lawrence not only disliked how it made him feel, he also didn’t like the changes in his body.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He liked losing his body hair, but he didn’t like having actual breasts although he had been dressing with prosthetics for two years. He loved the way he looked in women’s clothing. But he didn’t like looking at his naked body.” Marshall looked at the chart. “He said he didn’t feel beautiful as a man or a women, just some kind of weird chimera. Now, adjustment can take months. But he didn’t seem to want to adjust. So we began to talk about alternatives.”

  “Which are?”

  “His problem was not that unusual. There are many men who feel as he did. They consider themselves women in men’s bodies. They are attracted to men. But they don’t want to do the last, fateful step because they can’t adjust to their bodies as women.”

  “Okay,” Decker said. “I talked to a few of Pettigrew’s friends. Karen Osterfeld and her current partner, Jordeen Crayton. I believe that Pettigrew intended to marry Karen Osterfeld, who was Karl Osterfeld back then.”