The Squad Room

by John Cutter

  “At some point I’d asked him, Chief, don’t you need to go home? and he just smiled at me and said, Frankie, I’ve got Louise, the best woman in the world, and she’ll have dinner on for me at 0300 if that’s when I get there. Man, he really loved her.”

  “He was no one to fuck with, either,” Sergeant Simmons added. “He was a tough man, nerves of steel. He used to buy dope from anyone and everyone in the street. He was such a white boy, freckles all over his face—they called him Pinky, you remember that? He was a great undercover.”

  “And a serious Irishman,” McNamara threw in. “I never saw the man miss a St. Paddy’s Day parade. He held on a long time with that cancer, too—you know what happened to his kids, Cap?”

  “They’re all doing pretty good,” Morrison said. “I actually just spoke with Louise; she says they’re well.”

  “You guys keep in touch?”

  “Oh, regularly. You know I promised Francis I would, when he went into hospice care; I would’ve done it anyway, though. She’s a good friend, a real sweet woman. Pretty much Francis in another body. You can really trust her.”

  “Nothing like our new chief, huh, boss?” Rivera said with a smile.

  Morrison laughed. “Yeah, nothing like him.” He finished off the Jameson. “You know, just between you all and me, Francis and I had a lot of talks about that. He really hated Arndt—had no respect for him.”

  “That makes more than a few of us,” Rivera said, and the table laughed in agreement.

  McNamara raised his glass again. “Well, let’s drink to getting this collar while he’s on vacation,” he said.

  Everyone laughed and raised their glasses, but Morrison demurred. “We shouldn’t get to talking about collars just yet,” he said, “but here’s to a successful outcome soon, anyway.”

  They toasted again. Detective Jeffrey O’Dell, a tall, tough-framed Vietnam vet who’d joined the force just today, returned the talk to the case.

  “I know we have a partial plate from the street cameras but it doesn’t appear to be a New York plate,” he said. “Based on what I was told, it might be Connecticut; but there are several other states whose plates look like that. I’ve got a book of plates back in my office; if I can’t figure it out from that, I’ll go to Arty Annouer over in Auto Crime—best motor vehicle guy in the history of the department. I’d bet he knows more about cars than the rest of us put together. He can probably lock us in on a make and model too, if you’ll let me show him the video.”

  Morrison nodded his approval as O’Dell went on.

  “And I know I’m new to the group, but I just wanted to say thanks to you, Captain Morrison, for bringing me on this case. I’ll give you a hundred and ten percent until this thing is solved.”

  “We’re glad to have you,” Morrison answered, “especially now that we’ve got three on the books. We’re going to need all the help we can get on this one.” He turned to Tina. “Koreski, any thoughts?”

  “Well, one question, Cap: our first two victims had husbands who were travelling at the time of their murders. Could there be a possible airport or airline connection here?”

  “The third one’s single, though,” Kasak said. “There was no connection to air travel there; really the only thing they’ve all got in common is that they were home alone.”

  Morrison nodded. “Simmons?”

  “I’m taking a hard look at all the databases, and working with the FBI to see if we can connect this MO to anything elsewhere,” he said. “Based on what we’ve seen, it seems reasonable to suspect that these guys are carrying a rape kit of some kind. We’ve found traces of similar materials at all three scenes, and though they’re pretty common household items—rope, tape, lube, et cetera—the materials are identical, suggesting that they’re carrying them around with them.”

  “And the MO?” Morrison pressed him. “Do we have anything yet on that?”

  “Well, I did find one through Quantico. They had this guy in Florida twenty years ago, they called him the Palm Beach rapist. He had a whole tool belt with all this shit: knives, pliers, the works. He was a nipple man, though.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Still working on that, Cap.”

  “All right. What else are we still missing, people?”

  “Commonalities between victims,” McNamara said. “We’ve still got a few avenues left to check. I’ve got Tina here and Lou working on that.”

  Morrison noticed that Tina averted her eyes at the mention of Galipoli’s name. Fortunately, the hotheaded detective had had some prior commitment tonight, saving Morrison the necessity of figuring out how not to invite him. He wanted to know what Tina was thinking, but sensed that now wasn’t the time.

  “Well,” he said, changing the subject, “I heard from the PC’s office, through Arndt, that the case came up at comp stat this morning, and not in a good way. Now that there’s three, I’m sure my ass will be going downtown tomorrow to talk to the PC directly.” He looked at his watch—2130. Time to meet Claudia. He stood up. “Listen, they’ve got my card here, so everybody stick around for coffee and so forth—I’ve got something to take care of tonight, so I’ll have to see you all in the morning,” he said. “Let’s all dig deep on this new information, okay? We’re going to get these guys.”

  14

  Morrison made great time from the restaurant, and had soon arrived at the hotel. He paused to collect himself before heading into the bar; but all that went out the window when he saw her.

  Claudia was sitting at a corner table, legs crossed, in a tight-fitting black cocktail dress. She looked incredible—sexy, classy, and comfortably familiar all at once. As he crossed the room toward her she looked up, and a beautiful smile lit up her face.

  He grinned ear-to-ear in return, feeling helpless and silly at the sight of her. He couldn’t believe the warmth that came over him, just from seeing her sitting there. He slid into the seat beside her—across the table wasn’t going to work for him tonight. They leaned in, and unselfconsciously exchanged a kiss that would have made a teenager blush.

  “Hello, darling,” she said, her voice uneven with passion, when they sat back, their arms still around one another. “Have you missed me?”

  “Claudia,” he said, and faltered. “Claudia, I have to tell you: no woman has ever gotten so much on my mind, or made me feel so wanted—so satisfied—so—”

  “Horny?” she laughed. “I certainly hope I make you feel that, or this is totally unfair.”

  “God, definitely,” he laughed back. “You drive me completely fucking wild. But when I see you, or hear your voice, it just—it washes away all the worries.” He paused to look her deeply in the eyes. “So yes, I guess you could say I’ve missed you.”

  “I know,” she said quietly, her smile deepening. “You do the same for me.”

  They talked a while over the details of their day. Morrison was again amazed at the easy familiarity between them; as different as their jobs were, they each seemed to understand the other perfectly, and see immediately through all the nonsense that kept other people at a distance from them. Claudia’s psychological mind was as capable of engaging with the twists and turns of Morrison’s work, as he was of working through the details of hers. At one point, remarking on this, she smiled.

  “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so grounded in reality,” she said. “It’s a rare quality, believe me! Don’t take it the wrong way, but I’ve already got a nickname for you.”

  Morrison laughed in surprise. “I won’t be! What is it?”

  “You’re my Bullshit Remover. It’s so refreshing, how cut-and-dried things can be with you. You laugh, but it’s a very new thing for me. There’s always so much more doubt about things like this! But from that first moment with you, it’s just been—different. I feel you with me all the time.”

  “I know what you mean,” he said. “I feel the same. I know I’ve said it to you before, but I’d pretty much given up on ever feeling like this aga
in. I know we’re moving fast, but it doesn’t seem wrong to me at all.” He smiled at her again. “I guess it doesn’t hurt that the sex is so good, huh?”

  “Not at all,” she laughed. “I’ve never felt so free with myself.”

  “Me neither. You bring the animal out of me, and I love it. I’ve enjoyed sex in the past, but usually once it was done, the drive and desire were gone too—even the need for closeness wasn’t there anymore. I feel like I can’t get enough of you; the sex just feels like one way of getting that closeness.”

  She squeezed his hand, signaling for the check. “I know it’s been a long day for you, but I think I need to get some of that closeness before anything else happens,” she said. “Forgive me, but I’ve been looking forward to this for days.”

  It was all they could do not to rip each other’s clothes off on the elevator ride up.

  Once inside Claudia’s room they embraced savagely. The thirst for each other’s flesh overwhelmed them. Their clothes flew off haphazardly, scattering over the indifferent hotel furniture.

  Morrison no longer needed a script from Claudia. Something in him had risen to her demands as though to an invitation, and he knew that what he wanted was what she wanted too. He pressed her hard against the bathroom door, kissing her neck from behind as his arms encircled her. When her hands came together over his, he gripped her wrists together in one hand, raising them above her head while his other began its search over the rest of her body. Her response was immediate and eager; already her tension was near its breaking point. His fingers went everywhere, testing the limits of her pleasure until she moaned for release, arching her back against his hardness behind her.

  But he was in no hurry. When he felt she was at the edge he pulled back, still holding her hands in his, and pulled her over to the bed, holding her there while he reached for his jacket pocket. She smiled as he pulled out a handful of silk ties.

  “Someone’s a quick learner,” she breathed.

  “Guess I’ve been waiting for the chance,” he said.

  He pushed her back and tied her hands together, looping the tie over the post at the top of the bed. Spreading her legs, he tied one ankle to each corner. When he’d finished he stood back and looked at her, her long, beautiful body stretched across the bed like an offering. She looked up at him hungrily. Now he was in complete command of her, and she loved it.

  He began to lay soft kisses along her forehead, working his way all the way down her body to her feet. He wanted to kiss every inch of her; and from her reaction, she hadn’t had too many men take their time with her this way. She was already crazy with desire, straining against the ties in all directions.

  “Please,” she said again and again, her body finishing the request. But again he backed off.

  Picking up his jacket again, he retrieved a bottle of massage oil from the inside pocket. He poured some out onto her feet and legs and slowly massaged her, the rhythmic motion of his hands forcing her into calm submission. He worked up to her breasts and arms, always coming tantalizingly close to where she was readiest for him, but moving on when she twisted against him.

  By the time he returned to her inner thighs she was moaning, begging him to enter her. This time he gave in to the temptation a little, sliding his fingers deep into her as he continued to tease her. She was breathing heavy now, overcome with ecstasy and anticipation. It was enough; and with increasing intensity he pulled her to her climax, kissing her hard and allowing her panting excitement to carry him with it to the edge.

  He unlooped her hands from the bedpost and pulled her down the bed toward him. She arched her hips up and shuddered as he drove deep inside her, catching the wave of her orgasm. She put her hands around his neck to draw him closer, deeper, and he felt the suddenness of his need as it caught up to hers, moving them faster together until they came in unison, beyond all sense swearing love for each other as they collapsed into the sheets.

  The alarm woke them earlier than either of them would have wanted, but Morrison had another long day ahead of him.

  They kissed, laughing together at their situation. They’d awoken in the same position they’d fallen asleep in, in each other’s arms with one of Claudia’s feet still tied to the bedpost. Morrison moved down the bed to untie it, awkwardly venturing on an apology. Claudia put her finger to his lips.

  “No sorries between us, my love,” she smiled.

  He smiled back, caressing her face. She looked up at him, and again he was overwhelmed by the sight of her.

  “Claudia,” he said, “I don’t think I can exaggerate how you make me feel. You are my meaning, my joy. You balance things for me. I can feel you steering me to happiness and lust and ecstasy and contentment that I’ve never felt before.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “Thank you, for all you are—and for being there waiting for me that first night. It was a miracle for me, it really was.”

  She looked back at him profoundly. “Bill, I watched you from the moment you walked in that night,” she said. “It wasn’t normal for me, and I can’t explain it, but watching you told me so much about who you were. I saw how you treated the people you were with, and the people who stopped by your table to talk to you; you were obviously someone of importance to all of them, but you never acted differently towards any of them. You treated everyone equally, and made them all feel at ease. I wanted that ease, too—I could see the way people fall in love with you.”

  He laughed. “Well, not everyone,” he said.

  “You’re wrong,” she insisted. “They all do. Some are probably afraid of it, because you could easily usurp them, but deep down they’re enamored with you: with your ability to communicate with people, your open manner and receptiveness. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and trying to find a way to articulate it; I think love is ultimately the best word for it. It may seem like a strong word for it—”

  “No,” he said quickly, then faltered, unsure what to say next. “No, I see what you mean.”

  “Well, it’s how I feel, too,” she went on. “The way you talk to me, make love to me, it’s all so fluid and unbroken, so natural, like one soul flowing through all these interactions each day. I always know what I’m getting with you—you’re always you. It sounds ridiculous, but believe me, it’s absolutely priceless. You make me want to be myself too, and make me feel totally confident that I’m going to be accepted for who I am. I love you for that, Bill.”

  The words had come out completely naturally; and before he knew it, Morrison was echoing them.

  “I love you too, Claudia,” he said. “It may be crazy for us to be saying it so quickly, and with everything else going on, but it really feels right to me.”

  She nodded her agreement, and for a while they lay silently together, basking in the excitement of the bond between them. Morrison stilled his nerves, forcing himself to enjoy the moment a little longer. He knew the peanut gallery was going to be all over the office today, what with the new developments with the case; he’d have to be there early to be on top of things beforehand.

  But all that could wait just a few minutes more.

  15

  Staying over at Claudia’s hotel meant a short ride to the precinct this morning; Morrison had that to be thankful for. The day, he was sure, would not prove so merciful. Though they’d parted in hopes of seeing one another again that evening, he was almost certain the day’s events wouldn’t allow it. He knew he was lucky to have had one night of relief; two was unheard of in times like these.

  He switched between News Radio 88 and 1010 WINS to hear what the media was saying about their third murder, and for the first time he heard the phrase “possible serial murderer loose in New York City.” Well, that does it, he thought. The news radio stations tended to be pretty mundane, as they had to get everything out in a very short period of time; the more sensationalistic, ratings-seeking TV news stations would hardly be so terse.

  He walked into the office to find Medveded and Rivera talking over coffee. Rivera looke
d up at him anxiously.

  “Cap, have you seen any of the news?” he asked. “Yeah, I heard it on the radio,” Morrison answered. “Bet they’re having a field day with it, huh?”

  “Sons of bitches,” Medveded said bitterly. “They don’t give a crap about how hard this is on us, or anything about the victims’ families—they just want to scare the shit out of people. Nothing like a good tragedy to rope in the viewers! Go ahead, spill all the beans to make a story—why not call up the murderers and give them our home addresses while they’re at it?”

  “Well, nothing we can do about it now,” Morrison said. “The genie’s out of the bottle. Still, they don’t have everything we have, so we need to stay focused. Frankie, make sure we stay on top of the video guys, and press the guys on the lawman search to get that car ID’d. Once we get the car, we will have a pretty good shot at our guys, I bet.”

  “I’m all over it, boss. We should have the car down before this afternoon.”

  The information came in much faster than Rivera had predicted. It was hardly 0900 hours when Detective O’Dell walked into Morrison’s office.

  “Boss, I think we got the car,” he said.

  Morrison sat up in his chair. “Yeah? Go on.”

  “Well, I spoke to my guy in Auto Crime, Arty Annouer, and we got about fifteen hits on the lawman search. He walked me through what we had, and narrowed it down to one vehicle: it’s a black 2009 BMW 650i, Connecticut plates.”

  “Nice, high-end,” Morrison said.

  “Yeah, that does narrow it down. It looks like this kid has money—or at least he comes from a family that does.”

  “’Kid’?”

  “Yeah. Registered owner of the car is Adam Rutherford, male, white, twenty-one years old. Lives in Greenwich, Connecticut—looks like with Mommy and Daddy. Only child, from what we can see so far. We found his Facebook account; I’ve got Tina out there right now, using a phony profile to try to friend him. We want to take a look at his photos, and anything else he might have posted.”