A Study In Murder

?“Mark,” I whispered. “Put the pipe in your jacket pocket!”

?He gave me a surprised look, then did so.

?Once we were out on the street, I was off like a shot, headed west, with Mark running to keep up.

?I pulled out my cell phone and texted as Mark huffed and puffed behind me. This was one way to work off excess physical desire.

?I finished and looked over at Mark and immediately slowed my step. “Are you all right? You’re flushed.”

?“It’s nothing,” he muttered and avoided my eyes. Had our kiss pushed him past the self-control ledge as well?

?It took about twenty minutes, but we walked over to Tenth Avenue and 58th street and went in the front entrance of Saint Luke’s-Roosevelt Hospital Center.

?The lobby was several stories high and all glass. Several security officers eyed us as a twenty-something girl approached me.

?“Hey, Sylvia,” I greeted my friend.

?“Hey, Sheryl. You two have to sign in,” she explained.

?She escorted us to a massive front desk where a woman in a very official uniform looked over our identification and took our photos with a web camera. She quickly gave us a pair of paper name badges, and we followed Sylvia to a bank of elevators.

?“Sorry to call in so many favors in one day,” I began, as we got into the elevator and went down.

?“That’s fine,” Sylvia told us. “You picked a light day, especially for a Saturday. I think I can handle everything. Besides, your test is almost done.”

?“Test?” Mark wondered.

?I gave him a smile. “Yes, remember that sample in the jelly jar? I brought it to Sylvia this morning.”

?Mark looked at me seriously. “Do you ever sleep?”

?I wanted to say, “No, I met this guy, and he has me so turned-on that I can only grab two or three hours before I have a wet dream and start thinking about him again.” But I resisted the urge. What I did say was, “I had to be at the hotel when Detective Elvis returned my keys, didn’t I? Plus, I had to meet with the bail bondsman—”

?“So the answer is no,” Mark said.

?God, sometimes he’s dense. Was he experiencing any of the feelings I was going through?

?The door opened and we stepped into a well-lit hallway. Since the lobby was street-level, we were underground. Sylvia took us through a labyrinth of hallways to a good-sized lab. It was filled with machines that I couldn’t name if I had to, let alone discern what they did.

?We walked through the lab and Sylvia looked at a machine with a digital readout. Satisfied, she turned and gave Mark a quick once-over. “Not bad.”

?Mark frowned and looked questioningly at me.

?I turned beet-red, yet again. I realized I may have told Sylvia far more about how I felt than I should have. “This is Mark, Sylvia. He’s the one I asked you to test.”

?“I figured,” Sylvia divulged. “You said it was urgent. What else do you need?”

?“Gloves, a tray, tweezers, forceps, a magnifying glass, maybe a Spectrometer.”

?“I’ll set you up over here,” Sylvia expounded, and led us to a workstation with two chairs. “I’ll get what you need, but I’ll run the Spectrometer if you need it.”

?“That’s fine, thanks,” I told Sylvia. When she walked away, I looked at Mark and mentioned, “That's impressive.”

?“What?”

?“You passed the Sylvia test.”

?Mark looked even more confused. “She said I was ‘not bad.’ That’s a passing grade?”