but lay as motionless as one of the forgotten.
   Aside from the fact that his chest no longer rose and fell with breathing..one might easily think that he
   had just passed out here after a long night of partying...
 
   except for mini droplets of crimson staining the cement around him.

   The frost hung in the air as Jennifer and Greg Tarrington walked briskly, partly because of the biting
   cold, partly to escape the hopeless bodies that littered the street. Jennifer ached everytime she gazed
   upon a body in the trash, trying to keep warm, nevermind that he was considered part of the trash to
   most New Yorkers. Against her husband's wishes, she often snuck a dollar here and 5 spot there to
   those who braved the cold to panhandle. Sometimes she would indiscriminately drop some change
   near a sleeping or unconscious body. Tonight, a particular body caught her attention. Catching sight
   of a tattered body, she gasped when she saw the tux.
   "Honey, this is so sad. Look. He must have drank too much and passed out here. Let's take him to
   the police station."
   "Jenny, this is not our business." Sighing, he gave this speech to her so often he could say it in his
   sleep. "They are here because they can't help themselves." He wiped his eyes wearily. He wanted
   desperately to escape this scene and settle back into their cozy, yet spacious apartment.
   "If they can't help themselves, then it is our duty to-" They have had this arguement before. Many,
   many times before.
   "Look, dear..." Gritting his teeth, the word dear came out more harshly than he planned. "... we have
   to get out of here."
   "Let me just leave the poor man a doll-" A scream interrupted her. After pulling her hand back from
   the pile as she slipped him a few dollars, it was dripping with blood.
    By 8:30, nineteen minutes after Jennifer's first scream, the alley was crowded with members of the
   NYPD. CSU personnel and uniformed cops searched between the buildings. Other uniforms
   canvassed the block. Two detectives oversaw the proceedings and questioned the 'residents.'

   The older detective wore a hat and a pale trenchcoat which did not hide his corpulent build. He was
   puffing a cigar. His lean partner had a mane of dark hair and was wearing a leather jacket.

   The younger man said, "Gunshot wound in the radiator cap and nobody saw or heard nothing. Has to
   be a dump. So how do we proceed, Sherlock?"
 

   The older detective, his eyes bleary and disposition soured from having been called away from
   dinner, grumbled. "Gee, I don't know. What does the Junior Detective Handbook have to say?"

   The uniformed policeman who first arrived at the scene, a doe-eyed brunette with a thick build,
   approached the two with some trepidation. The younger plainclothesman, Mike Logan, reassured
   him with a friendly wink. "Relax, guy, he's always like this until he gets his coffee."

   Detective Lennie Briscoe rolled his eyes, thinking back to the lovely red-headed dinner companion
   he left behind. Had he not bothered to answer his phone, he would certainly be getting more than
   coffee right now.

   The cop held up a thin black billfold. "Walter Grizzard, forty-two, organ donor," he said, opening the
   wallet to reveal a driver's license. "He's a long way from home, too."

   Logan noted the Florida identification card with the Miami Beach address and wrinkled his
   eyebrows. "This ain't gonna do well for tourism when this gets out."
    Logan rubbed his eyes, wearily. It had been a long day. He had looked forward to relaxing with
   some beers and vegitating in front of the television. The sharp ring of the telephone had ended his
   plans and he longed to ignore it. With a grunt and a shove from his well worn barcalounger, he met
   his partner at the corner of 22nd and D.

   Sizing up the body, Logan reflected briefly upon his days when first made detective and he was
   excited to solve cases. He prided himself on the accuracy of his gut instinct. Bending over the body
   just beginning its early stages of rigor mortis, Logan sighed. What the hell's the use? It's the same old,
   day in and day out. Logan visualized the many forms and beaurocratic red tape that would
   accompany the investigation. Was it worth it? Logan began to feel unsure.
 

   Mike Logan slipped his fingers into ghostly pale latex gloves and knelt over the corpse. He grimaced
   when he saw the massive devastation that had been mercifully concealed beneath the man's Versace
   tux jacket.

   "Almost dressed for his own funeral, don't you think?" he muttered to his partner. Lennie winced at
   the comment almost as much as the scene.

   "Cut to shreds. This wasn't a quick and dirty mugging; this guy pissed someone off." Briscoe's
   eyebrows furrowed as he looked over the rest of the body. "Hey, Mike. Would you go out to trip
   the light fantastic without YOUR shoes?"

   "What?"

   Lennie was right. The vic had no shoes on and from the grime gathered on his feet, it seemed like
   he'd been walking around like that for quite a while before he died.
 

   "Well now isn't that just great." Logan stood up, snapped the gloves off and tossed them.
   "What the problem now Mike?"
   "No shoes, filthy feet. The guy wasn't done around here. That means he could have come from clear
   across Manhatten."
   "Think of it this way Mike, it'll keep us busy for a little longer that's all." Mike gave a Lenny a
   squirrely look.
   "Well come on Mike at least if we work at some case, we're not unemployed." Lenny knew that his
   partner had been a little fed up with job lately and thought he would through a little humor into a grisly
   night.
   "Like I need all of this right now." Muttered Logan.
   "So Lenny, where do you want to start."
 

   By 3 AM the police had learned of the dead man's identity through fingerprint records. He was a
   retired Navy captain named Paul Schallert, and he lived with his family on East 87th, just three
   blocks from Gracie Mansion, but 35 blocks south of where he was found.
 

   Logan moaned softly as he closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index
   finger. It was barely dawn and headache that had started out as a dull throb was now in explosive
   proportions.

   Briscoe sat a cup of coffee on the desk in front of his younger partner. When he looked up, he held
   out his hand. "Here...you look like you could use these."

   Giving him a weak grin, Mike accepted the aspirin, swallowing them with his coffee. He watched
   Lennie walk around the desk, waiting for him to sit before speaking.

   "You know this is gonna be a freakin' media riot once it leaks out."

   Lennie nodded. "Tell me about it." He shrugged, sipping on his coffee. "It could be worse."

   Mike lifted a curious eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "I'm afraid to ask how?"

   Before Briscoe could answer, Cragen walked it with his usual frustrated expression on his face.
   Dropping a folder down on Logan's desk, the captain slid his hands into his pants pockets and shot
   side glances at both of his detectives. "This is how..."
 

   "we have started to handle our cases?" Both Lenny and Mike could see that something had their
   Captain in a knot.
   "What seems to be the problem?" Mike inquired.
   "Problem, your asking me what seems to be the problem. Well let me tell you, I've already had calls
   from downtown, the Mayor's office and the DA's office also called. Everyone wants answers and
   they want them yesterday."
   "Well Don, we have only just started. We have the guy ID'd." Don raised his voice.
   "It's not enough. Now I want this to take top priority, so you had better clear your desk. I want
   somthing by the end of business, Understand!"
   Both the Detectives nodded their heads as Don walked back to his office. They knew he was angry
   by the sound the door made when he slammed it shut.
    "Well," Mike said, turning back to Lenny with lifted brows. "Let's start with the wife."

   "Yeah," Lennie sighed, a satiric grin crossing his weathered face. "It's always the wife."
   **

   Ellen Shallert twisted her hands in her lap. "Why would someone want to kill Paul?" she asked, her
   voice trembling and raspy with tears.

   "That's what we want to find out," Mike said gently, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "Were
   you aware of any problems your husband had lately? Arguments? Anything like that?"

   "No," Ellen said, twisting her diamond-encrusted wedding rings around her finger. "Nothing at all.
   Everyone liked Paul. Everyone."
 

   Nothing in the wife's demeanor as they inteviewed her indicated that she was involved. Ellen
   appeared distaught at the recent events.

   "I've been married to Paul for 40 years, detectives", she said. "We raised 4 sons together. We
   always tried to make this a happy home."

   Lennie nodded and proceeded to ask another question. "Mrs. Schallert, do you know where your
   husband went that night? We noticed he was exceptionally well-dressed." Lennie didn't mention that
   he had no shoes on when his body was found.

   Mrs. Schallert nodded and walked to a nearby credenza. She pulled out an envelope of what looked
   like a dinner invitation.

   "We were invited to a banquet at The Plaza. We were going to cancel since I sprained my ankle the
   night before the dinner, but I convinced him to go." Ellen's lip trembled as she recalled her last
   conversation with her husband.

   "You see it was Lonnie's charity that was having the Annual Banquet. Paul is....was a major
   benefactor and the guest of honor. I told him he couldn't miss it."

   Briscoe recognized the name but wanted to be sure. "Lonnie?", he gently probed.

   "Louise Parker, Congressman Stephen Parker's wife. Stephen and Paul were Navy friends.", she
   explained. "Oh God.", she suddenly muttered, putting her hand on her lips.

   "Does Stephen know Paul's gone?"
 

   Outside the Schallert house Mike gave Lenny a inquisitive look as they walked toward the crown vic.
   "A congressman's dinner. I guess we know where to start, don't we?" Mike said with sarcasm.
   Lenny gave a little chuckle knowing full well what Mike's views were on politician's.
   "Yeah, Mike, as if we don't know just how honest and law bideing our politician are, eh." Mike
   looked back over at his partner and chuckled in return.
   About 40 minutes later the crown vic pulled up in front of the home of Congressman Stephen Parker.

   "It's my turn to do the talking," Lenny said in a teasing tone, as they started to get out of the car. He
   hoped Mike would take the hint without a big fuss.

   Mike stared across the roof of the car at him for a good long moment. He wanted to argue, but he
   just didn't care enough. "Okay, sure. No problem."

   The two detectives could hear music, but no one answered the door.

   Frowning, Lenny banged on the door with his fist.
   "This is the police. Open up."

   Mike shook his head. "Lenny. Lenny." He tried the door handle. When it opened, the dectives pulled
   their guns and went inside.

   The front room had been torn apart--things scattered all over the hardwood floors.

   "Is anyone here?" Lenny called. "Hello?"

   They found the bodies in the dining-room.
 

   There was nothing the police could do to keep the press from discovering the horrific event.

   A crowd had started to gather outside the home as neighbors and passersby stop and watch the
   police with morbid curiousity.

   No one could believe that such a gruesome crime of this magnitude could happen in the most urbane
   part of Manhattan.

   No one could believe what they saw that afternoon. The coroner was slowly bringing the bodies out
   of the house and loading them into their vehicle.

   One by one they carried them out. 10 adult body bags and 5 tiny ones.

   15 Dead. Brutally murdered in a Congressman's home.

   Briscoe and Logan struggled to comprehend how this could happen as they piece together the story
   the evidence told in the dead congressman's bloodied dining room.
 

   CSU personnel found bullets of three different calibres. More than 100 rounds had been discharged.

   A man yelled, "Detectives!" His voice came from the highest floor. Briscoe and Logan rushed
   upstairs.

   They found Ernst Nieuwburg--one of the youngest CSU members--pointing at the ceiling. He said, "I
   heard a baby up there!"
 

   The cops found a panel in the ceiling and Lennie told Nieumann to "shrink those spare tires" and
   bring a ladder.

   Mike entered the attic first and heard soft baby whimpers from behind a stack of cartons. He said,
   "Don't worry, we're the police. Come on out."

   The cries became louder, but the source didn't move. Mike waited for Lennie and the others to enter.

   With flashlight in hand, he carefully moved around the stack. He saw a young girl, maybe ten or
   eleven, holding a baby who was about six months old.
 

   "Unbelievable!" came the dry comment from DA Adam Schiff. He had read all the articles and
   watched every news reel about the massacre. He knew Congressman Parker and his family. Their
   families spent holidays together. They lead very low-key lives considering they were a political clan.
   "Where are the police on this?"

   "So far they are still working on the crime scene.", Jamie Ross answered." Detectives Briscoe and
   Logan from the 27th precinct are leading the investigation. They were working on another homicide
   victim who attended Mrs. Parker's charity banquet. They were following up on a lead when they
   discovered the bodies. They have several officers making inquiries in the neighborhood. Meanwhile
   they have a 10 year old and a 6 month old survivor."

   "Jesus" The tired, old DA closed his eyes in horror.

   "Adam, Paul Schallert death was the other case Briscoe and Logan were working on." EADA
   McCoy said. "This could be politically motivated." he warned.

   Adam, Paul and Steven were more than political acquaintances. They were political allies.
 

   Adam remembered the first time he'd met Paul Schallert and Steven Parker. It was when he had just
   become the campaign manager for Dwight Corcoran, who was running for the Govenor's seat. Both
   Paul and Steven had taken to this political upstart, and were willing to back him with all the political
   and financial resources he would need.
    Lt. Van Buren and her lead detectives have been in a closed meeting for the better part of the
   morning. Given the circumstances of the crime, all other cases both Briscoe and Logan had been
   handling has been reassigned and a task force consisting of 4 other detectives and 2 FBI liason
   investigators was formed.
   Both Logan and Briscoe were not infavor of having the feds involved, but they were overruled. The
   decision came from above them and above their Borough Commander.
   "How soon can we talk to the kid?" Logan asked Van Buren. "She is the only one that could tell us
   on how this thing went down."
   "The remaining family members says she is in no condition to talk. I did manage to convince the
   family to let Dr. Olivett see her and recommend some type of help. Once she sees the little girl, we'll
   know the answer to your question."
   "Meanwhile we got to babysit these feds. Who the hell called them anyway?" came the irritated
   question from Lennie.
 

   "I did!" barked Borough Detective Commander James Deitz, who had just entered. "And you *will*
   give them your full cooperation."

   Logan said, "This is a NYC..."

   "That was a terrorist act! The FBI has to investigate without any hindrance. Is that clear, Detective!"

   "Yessir," said Logan. *Prick!*
    Every headline declared the murders at Congressmen Parker's house a terroist act.

   David Brown,living in a shoebox hotel room,in what felt like the last place on earth of the city, sat on
   his rumpled sheets and read every detail. Every now and then he would burst into laughter.

   A soldier's mission to carry out a simple plan of vengeance. His plan was working. They would never
   figure out the connection. And without witnesses, he would be able to go back to his normal
   life--once the lovely Mrs. Paul Schallert was dealt with. A mission could not be left unfinished.
 

   Logan stood in front of the mirrored window quietly watching Dr. Elizabeth Olivet take to the young
   girl. She was still in the preliminary stages of trying to build a confidence between herself and the girl,
   hoping that if she can eventually begin to get some information for her as to what may have happened
   that night.

   Every now and then, he'd look out the corner of his eye to stare at the FBI agent that was assigned
   as liason to help in the investigation. She stood on the other side of the dimly lit room, arms folded
   across her chest, listening intently as to what was being said in the other room.

   He took a deep breath wishing that Briscoe hadn't ran off with the woman's partner in search for
   some coffee. Turning back, he returned his attention to the young girl's description of what was
   happening prior to the murders.

   "We was having so much fun..."
 
*End of message 101*