"Dispatch to Laban." He'd thought too soon.

Orlando turned over the engine before grabbing the CB. "Go ahead dispatch."

The tin voice continued, "Laban, we have a report of a one eighty-seven at 119 Fayette Street."

Laban sighed. No rest for the weary. "I can be there in ten minutes, dispatch. Laban out."

"Ten-four."

Orlando flipped a switch to activate his siren and shot out into traffic when he found a space. If he took I-83, he should be there fairly quickly. Mentally, he laid out a map of the downtown area in his mind. Fayette Street. What companies were there? Or was it some altercation outside. He'd find out soon enough.

Just nine minutes later, Orlando pulled up to chaos outside the Baltimore Charities International building. He knew the place from the various country flags they flew just above the doorway. A bit flamboyant for his taste. He stepped out of his vehicle and flashed his badge to a uniformed officer before ducking into the building. So, what were these yuppie types up to today?

The lobby was in no better condition than the front walk. Several officers were fruitlessly trying to calm hysterical employees--male and female. A few people were milling about the area, leaning against the wall and examining their watches intermittently. The harassed guard was fielding questions and answering phones as he battled his own fearful trembling. Probably never encountered a murder before, Orlando thought. He had mercy on the guy and stepped forward to take charge.

"People," he bellowed, "I'm Detective Laban and I'm now in charge. If you'll cooperate, then we'll get through this procedure quickly and you can be on your way."

"What do we have to do?" someone called out. He didn't bother answering.

"Officers, please escort these people to a conference room or something. I assume there is one big enough nearby? Good." He strolled purposefully to the desk. "You are?" he spoke to the guard.

"A-Andre, sir." The guard still trembled.

Orlando attempted a smile to calm the guy, but feared it looked more like a sneer. The guard shrank further in his chair. That kung fu movie was sounding better by the second. "Ok, Andre. I need the sign-in book, if you have one and all video tapes for every exit in the building. I assume you have access to these items?"

"Y-Yes. It'll take a moment. The tapes are not recorded here but in the Facilities Director's office in the basement. I have to go get them."

"Good. That will give me time to look at the body."

At the mention of the word "body" Andre paled and fell back into his chair. Orlando wondered briefly if the idiot was about to throw up, but didn't have time to dwell on it. "Officer, the scene please."

"Yes, sir. This way."

Orlando was escorted to the seventh floor and across the hall from the elevators to the Marketing department. A short aisle just inside led to his crime scene. Here too were people milling about. Were they all working tonight? It was looking like he'd have a pretty lengthy suspect list and a very late night.

"Officers!" he barked. "Escort these people to the first floor conference room for questioning. Nobody leaves until I say so!"

Orlando stepped resolutely to the doorway of the small office where the murder took place. The body of a woman sat slumped over the desk. A pool of blood stained the monthly calendar, the papers and other paraphernalia on the desktop. There was a small pool of blood at the side of the desk.

He scanned the present personnel to identify someone who'd update him. A small wiry man in a freshly ironed shirt and tie stepped forward. "Detective? I'm John Joseph, senior officer here. I can brief you, if you'd like."

Orlando nodded. The guy'd read his mind.

He retrieved a small notebook from his breast pocket. "Ok. The victim is Lisa Jennings, one of the managers in this department. Her throat was slit."

"Murder weapon?"

John shook his head, "Sorry, we haven't been able to find it so far. Her throat's pretty messed up though, like the weapon wasn't very sharp. Probably a lot of rage, or someone pretty strong."

Orlando cut him off, "Let's not speculate. The coroner's office will give us more info. Who discovered the body? I may want to speak with that person first."

John squinted at his notes, "It looks like ... um ... Keena John ... Jones. Keena Jones."

"Is she with the others? Somebody get me Keena Jones up here on the double." He called into the hall. "No wait, where can I do my questioning?"

John spoke up. "As to that, Detective, I noticed as I was checking the area, a file room toward the back of this floor. It looked like the perfect place."

"Thanks." Orlando strode quickly from the room. John Joseph seemed like another ambitious cop looking to make detective. He couldn't deal with that tonight.

On his way to find the file room, another officer stopped him to inform him that there was no Keena Jones in the building. He cursed. "Who let her get out?" he demanded.

"No one sir. I mean no Keena Jones works here or has ever been here."

Orlando growled and pivoted on his heels to confront Joseph. Taking poor notes was no way to get promoted and he'd let him know in no uncertain terms. He took a step back to the crime scene, when he heard a small frightened voice behind him.

"Sir, I think you're looking for me. I'm Keisha Jones."

Orlando froze. He didn't need to hear her name to recognize her. It was the sweet voice of the woman who'd haunted his dreams for ten years. He knew her well enough. Unbidden, a vision of her floated in his mind's eye, a vision he'd been tormented with time and time again. He remembered well the large brown eyes, the long black hair, emphasizing her part Cherokee heritage, the full kissable lips and her shy personality.

Slowly he turned to face her and was satisfied to hear her gasp. She remembered him. "Hello, Keisha."

"Hello, Or."

A pain twisted his gut. The last time he'd heard that nickname was probably the night she'd told him she was choosing his college roommate over him, that she was pregnant with that idiot's baby. He glanced down at her hands, twisting in front of her. So, he never married her. Or was she divorced?

Still, she looked good. She was pale and her brown eyes were wide with fear. Fear of what? He'd find out soon enough. He was glad to see she still wore her hair long, parted down the center. Her smooth brown skin was still so fresh. She didn't look a day older than she had back then. He did a quick calculation. She must be twenty-nine now, her birthday just past in February.

Mentally, he shook himself. He had a murder to investigate. "Are you the one who called in the murder, Keisha?"

"Yes." Her voice cracked and he scrutinized her again.

Orlando took her arm, "Ok, we'll talk in the file room."