"I swear to God! They see my name, and I'm done for. Will I never work again? I can't just sit around and collect dust like a damned-"
"No aspirations for early retirement?" Dawn cheeked.
She giggled when Mallory glared. "Oh, don't be like that. Give it some time."
Time. It stretched out before them like a strange, unknown variable. How long would this period of their lives take? How much longer could they stand it? Cruel in its refusal to give answers, time was currently an enemy.
Mallory just wanted it to be over – if Steven would just turned himself in, and admit to his crimes, then she and Dawn could move on with their future. Of course, he would never do that.
Dawn had never given much thought to her father's duplicity and nature growing up. He ordered their lives around what was proper, no matter the cost of money or expenditure of personnel. Should his way of using people as expendable investments have clued her in? Perhaps if everyone had just payed closer attention, Mallory thought. Maybe they would have seen him for the snake he was.
Looking back on it, she realized thinking like that was foolish. Dawn described his parenting as cool, and detached. Cruel.
He'd only ever cared when her actions brought "rumor to his door," or "shame to his family." His punishment had been served cold.
But Dawn couldn't have ever suspected. Every teenage girl thought their father the devil, didn't they?
Mallory didn't have much experience with that, thanks to Steven Rose.
"Dawn," Mallory whispered, sounding worried. "You've run the water for five minutes."
"S-Sorry," Dawn mumbled, reaching forward to shut off the tap.
"Give me this," Mallory said under her breath, tugging the carafe from Dawn's grasp. Once it had been relinquished, she turned and poured the overflowing container of water into the coffee maker.
"Go and watch some telly," she motioned towards the living room with a jerk of her chin, and smiled indulgently. "Your head is in the clouds today."
Dawn huffed. "Yours is, too. You just stared off into la la land for like, ever. Besides, you hate the telly."
Mallory turned towards the living room. "I like to rot my brain every so often," she disagreed. "Yours doesn't seem to be in residence, so no harm done."
"Don't be mean!" Dawn chided, snickering all the while. She poked a finger lightly into Mallory's upper arm.
The shrill ring from Mallory's iPhone jolted both out of their repartee, and the caller ID flashed E. Sørensen.
It was followed immediately by pounding at the front door, and Detective Constable Stella Stewart's shouting.
"Miss Moore, Miss Rose! Let me in, now!" she called out.
_____________________________________
"I despise the telly," Mallory groaned, pressing a cold washcloth to her eyes.
She was cocooned beneath her favorite throw on the couch, and Dawn nearly wondered aloud how the woman could stand the summer heat beneath it before remembering the comfort the stupid blanket had brought Mallory only a few months ago. It had been hot that day too – the day of Oliver's break in.
Stella Stewart sat on the loveseat with Dawn, fidgeting nervously with her police issued mobile, and looking back and forth from the device to the television. "I'm so sorry, ladies. It broke before we could contain it – such a huge commotion was made at the airport. Before we knew it..."
When a prim gentleman news anchor began speaking, Stella's voice trailed off.
"This is the BBC, and a special news report," he announced, and Mallory snidely copied his posh accent from within her cable-knit cave.
"Shh-t!" Dawn hissed, focusing back on the news report. Her father's face was shown in profile, grinning like he always did. Next to it was a grainy shot of him exiting Edinburgh Airport in handcuffs, laughing as the constables and Scotland Yard agents around him glared.
The anchor looked at what Dawn assumed was the teleprompter off screen, and began to read.
"We have it on good authority that the arrest of millionaire gem broker Steven Rose is in direct connection to the story that we reported just a few short weeks ago, viewers: the development in the fifteen year old cold case murders of philanthropist James LaFey, Mia Christopoulos, and popular socialites and gem brokers Paul Christopoulos and Evelyn Moore."
Once he had broken that piece of information, the television changed from showing the news anchor to a video of Dawn's father being taken into HM Prison Holme House's holding building in Stockton-on-Tees. A crowd of photographers and news agencies swarmed around the darkly suited agents that led Steven Rose along from the car and into the building, shouting questions and cameras flashing.
"Described as a flight risk, Mr. Rose was remanded by Scotland Yard and transported directly back to Holme House during the night. We learned today that he is to be charged not only with the murders, but with other related crimes that have yet to be released by the Crown. Mr. Rose stated his innocence to news reporters..."
Dawn gulped her now-cold coffee down and stared at the screen. The report switched to a video showing her father answering the many questions lobbed at him by reporters.
It was difficult for him to respond in anything but a shout in the din of police yelling for the reporters to stay back, but he seemed almost mournful as he did so.
"Of course I didn't do this! James and Mia were my dear friends – and their poor daughter who suffered so deeply at the hands of the vile criminal who did this is being manipulated by police to think I am culpable."
The swarming reporters asked Steven if he kept in contact with the woman in question, buying into his false sympathy and wanting a personal aspect to the story. Looking straight at the cameras, he made a direct plea.
"Mallory Moore and I fell out of contact for a number of years, but recently made her acquaintance again. It was so heartwarming when we did..." he recalled, almost whimsically. "Why would I have done this to her – to her family? She cares for my daughter deeply, and was her teacher. Mallory, you know me..."
The television snapped off then, Dawn's hand slamming the remote down onto the table.
"How long have they had that steaming load of bullshit on?" Mallory asked coldly, removing the washcloth, and emerging from the blanket. Her movements were controlled – too controlled. She was trying to hold it together, and it was obvious.
"For two hours or so... They're repeating the news report every thirty minutes. The unit and Crown have been asked for statements, but we're holding firm until the prosecution can come up with a proper news conference approved by legal," Stella responded with care. "He's named you, specifically. That alone is extremely worrisome to us. You'd only ever been referred to as your old name by the gossip rags."
Mallory's mobile phone rang again from the kitchen table, and she stalked towards it. Her feet slapped heavily against the wood floors, and her shoulders were stiff. Once she saw who it was, she hit ignore and looked purposefully towards Dawn. "If Elisabeth calls again, would you – "
"I'll handle it," Dawn answered quickly, grabbing her coffee cup and walking into the kitchen as well. "She's probably just worried."
"We're all disturbed by what's going on," Detective Stewart assured from her seat. "John is stationed with a few other squad cars just up the drive to keep the lurking vultures at bay. They will descend soon enough," she muttered in distaste for the entire situation.
The cottage's landline rang then, startling all three women. In all the months that Dawn had lived here, she had only heard it ring a handful of times, and looked at it in confusion. Those who knew Mallory best always called her mobile.
Stella and Mallory met each others eyes, sharing an uncomfortable acknowledgment of what they knew was occurring.
Reaching towards the ringing phone, Mallory scowled. Her hand took it smoothly off of the cradle and pressed 'Answer' before bringing the handset up to her ear. "Hello?" she greeted, her tone devoid of emotion.
Dawn watched as Mallory listened to whomever was on the o
ther end, a streaming burble of indecipherable words emitting from the phone. She shifted from one foot to the other, and began to wring her hands as her love's own stance became more rigid as the seconds wore on.
By the time half a minute had gone by, Mallory appeared to be carved from stone, and she was furious.
Finally, the voice carrying on stopped, the tone ending in what sounded like a question. "No comment," Mallory answered smoothly, in stark contrast to the picture of rage that she was embodying.
She ended the call then, not bothering to wait for a reply. Rather than replacing the handset onto the wall mount, she threw it into the bin beside the kitchen island. Taking a step towards the wall, she grasped the frame of the phone cradle between both hands, and yanked it from the plaster with one swift tug.
Unable to control herself, Dawn gasped. Her heart began to race as Mallory proceeded to pull the landline straight out from jack, the plastic casing on the connector snapping.
Mallory's shoulders had jerked slightly at her gasp, but she didn't stop. Once she had thrown the rest of the tangled mess of wire and phone base into the bin with a growl, she stomped her way up the stairs.
"Oh, Miss Moore..." Stella whispered in a hush, reaching towards the retreating figure. The detective didn't move, but looked towards Dawn when there was no answer but the slam of the bedroom door upstairs.
Taking a deep breath, Dawn wiped the edges of her eyes where tears had begun to gather. The day had started out with such promise, and it had gone to hell in a handbasket so fast. Her father's words echoed in her mind – the vile lies he spewed forth so easily. She wanted to cry.
Instead, she turned towards Detective Stewart and held her chin high. "Tea or coffee, Stella?"
_____________________________________
Stella was right.
Mere hours after Mallory had laid back down, DS John Reid and a few local constables struggled to keep the crowd of news vans and photographers from coming any closer to the cottage than the property line.
The constant racket of their shouts and questions was impossible to avoid, which resulted in the heat and tension inside the cottage rising steadily.
Unable to open any doors or windows, Dawn located the thermostat that controlled a very old and clunky central air unit. The air that blew through the registers was stale, and while she knew that the filter needed to be hosed down outside, the ability to do even that had been taken away.
Detective Stewart had braved the mass of humanity outside to get dinner from town, claiming that Dawn ordering out wasn't safe, or wise. She had just arrived back, carrying bags of Chinese food.
Staring at the three huge paper bags filled to the brim, Dawn sputtered a laugh. "Are you planning on feeding the reporters, too?"
Stella shook her head with a smile. "No, sweet heart," she chuckled. "This is enough for a few days – which is about the time those assholes outside will last if we stay cooped up like hens. They'll bore themselves out, eventually. Just ignore what they say in the meantime, okay?"
Dawn dug through the bags to set the food aside, working with Stella in companionable silence. Once done, she searched the takeout containers for what she needed. "Did you get anything vegetarian?"
"Vegetarian?" Stella drawled, scrunching up her nose in disgust. "Uh, I guess the vegetable lo mein would be a safe bet?"
Nodding her approval, Dawn grabbed the proffered container from the detective's hand, and took a fork from the drainboard. "I'll just...take this upstairs," she motioned with the fork towards the ceiling.
A softness came to Stella's eyes as she regarded Dawn. "You are a kind and gentle soul," she bumped a shoulder gently against hers. "Your own father was arrested this morning, and yet you take care of her first."
Surprised by the praise, Dawn shrugged and gave the older woman a timid smile. "Mallory... um," she sighed, "Mallory protected me from my father. The least I can do is the same, right? I mean, I couldn't before, so..."
Stella's appraising stare at her rambling made Dawn feel uncomfortably shy, and she clamped her mouth shut.
"Is that all?" the detective teased. "You care for her because of some strange sense of duty?"
She had been there when Mallory danced with Dawn Rose at the dilapidated mansion in Sevenoaks, and hadn't been blind to the fact that the two shared a room at the hotel. Being a police officer meant she was trained to nose out every facet of evidence, so Stella was a curious sort.
Dawn didn't see anything very special about her relationship with Mallory, though – except for all the weird ways in which their lives intersected. Otherwise, she carried on as she supposed all good girlfriends did. When Mallory exploded, Dawn absorbed the shock like a barrier, but didn't let her get away with it. When Dawn was stubborn, Mallory was amused, but didn't let her be too foolish.
With a shrug, she snuck up the stairs, and out of sight. The vegetable lo mein had gone with her, and the beef and broccoli carton was missing from the counter top as well.
"Cagey little miss!" Stella tsked.
_____________________________________
By day five of their self-imposed house arrest, Dawn was nearly crawling out of her skin.
Even though the Crown prosecution team had issued a press statement at the Middlesbrough city police station, it had done little to draw the peculiar conglomeration of citizens, reporters, photographers, and police that lined the causeway just past the gravel drive.
Dr. Sheehan stopped in yesterday to check on them, giving them the warm regards sent from several colleagues and nuns from the school. She had been interview them for the upcoming case.
The psychologist had stood a respectable distance from the open bedroom door when she delivered the well wishes to Mallory, staring off into the distance rather than at the sheet and blanket clad woman who refused to be moved from her bed.
She looked then to Dawn, all while reminding Mallory to eat, rest, and stay calm.
Mallory had offered a weak whisper of thanks, before rolling over to curl into a ball.
For her part, Dawn nodded her understanding as the benevolent doctor showed herself back downstairs, and out to her unmarked car.
It had been their first night without Stella there since the arrest, and the cottage seemed oddly empty without her cheery disposition. Mallory poked at her food, before shoving it away.
Not bothering to argue, Dawn laid herself into the space around her lover, cold with the large amount of space behind her, unused to not being held. It felt all wrong, and she tossed and turned the entire night.
Now awake and thoroughly caffeinated, she buzzed around the cottage to clean things already spotless while keeping an ear on the television's reports. The latest gossip was that she was staying here under duress, as if Mallory could hold the daughter of Steven Rose hostage. The talking heads argued over this, welcoming lawyers and barristers to comment on the legality of it, all the while blathering on about the inappropriateness.
They seemed to view Dawn as some kind of bargaining chip, and supposed that she would be summoned by both sides to testify.
Dear God, she hoped not.
The hall clock chimed ten times, and she blew a piece of hair out of her face. Placing the broom she had been using to dust the imaginary cobwebs from the ceilings against the wall, Dawn wandered into the kitchen.
Once she brewed a cup of tea, she tiptoed upstairs, and walked into the bedroom.
Sliding the cup and saucer quietly onto the bedside table, she tried to ignore the two new pill bottles that were atop it.
"Mal," she spoke softly, sitting down to slide her hand over the pile of blankets, and up to the rat's nest of tangled brown hair. "It's ten o'clock in the morning."
A single green eye opened and peeked out from above the pillows. From beneath the sheets, Mallory replied. "Amare..."
"D'you want to get up and shower?" Dawn asked, working a knot out of her love's hair. At least, that's what she had been trying to do when she suddenly found herself snatc
hed beneath the blankets.
It was dark, but Mallory's frown could be heard. "I'd much rather stay here with you," she coaxed.
Dawn wiggled out of her grasp, and rolled to the floor with a grunt. "You can't lay in bed all day again."
She had landed on a leather composition book, and winced as she removed it from beneath her knee. "Here's your journal."
Mallory's pale hand shot forth to snatch it from her. Placing the book aside, she gave an apologetic half-smile and placed the teacup on top.
The action was all Dawn needed to get the message: don't touch. She felt a stab of irrational jealousy for the inanimate object, and stood up.
Peccatum in Carne: Sins of the Flesh (The Three Sins of Mallory Moore Book 1) Page 27