by S. E. Lund
We checked in at the front desk and were greeted by a young female detective in business casual, her Detective shield hanging on a lanyard around her neck. Her dark eyes appraised me, giving me the once over.
Detective Susan Mahood.
“Detective McDonald will be with you in a moment,” she said, her voice pleasant while she led us to a conference room. “In the meantime, can I get you a coffee or water?”
“No thanks,” Lara said.
I shook my head. “We’ll be fine.”
Lara and I took seats on one side of the table and waited. Across from us was a two-way mirror the size of a picture window in a house.
I unbuttoned my jacket. Neither of us spoke, waiting for the detectives to arrive. After fifteen minutes passed, I sighed and turned to look at Lara.
“Shall I go ask about the delay?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“No, it’s okay.” I shifted in my chair, tense.
Finally, the door opened and in walked Detective McDonald, accompanied by Detective Mahood. McDonald had a file in his hand and a paper bag in the other. His jacket was off and his tie loosened. He appeared to have been busy and rushed in.
“Sorry to be late,” he said and sat across from us. Mahood took a seat beside him. “Another case, another interview ran overtime.”
“No problem,” I said, although I felt a bit upset at the wait.
He opened his file and flipped through it. “I have a few questions to go over, if you don’t mind.”
“Ask away,” I said and folded my hands on the tabletop.
“Is there anyone besides your wife who can corroborate your whereabouts on the night of June twenty-sixth?”
I frowned and tried to recall that date.
“Let me refresh your memory,” McDonald said. “That was a Friday, before the attack.”
“Let me check my phone,” I said and removed my cell. I scrolled through my calendar. “I had a meeting with the manager of special projects at the Foundation that afternoon. We played racquetball and then had a drink. I went right home. Parked my car in the parking garage. Went into our building. Didn’t go out again until the next morning – probably to get our paper and some fresh bagels from the bagel shop a block down the street. That’s our usual Saturday morning routine.”
“If you could give us the address of your parking garage, I’d appreciate it.”
“Is there some reason that date is important?” I asked, curious about it.
“I’m unable to reveal that information, but it’s related to the disappearance of Derek Richardson.”
I shrugged. “Other than spending the afternoon with Dave Mills, I was with Kate the rest of the day and night.”
Lara leaned forward, her brow furrowed. “Can I ask whether you plan on clearing my client of any suspicion in the case?”
“We’re almost ready to make an arrest in the case, but have a few more details to check before we move forward."
It was then Detective Mahood sat forward. " I would like to ask Dr. Morgan if he recognizes this,” she said and reached into the paper bag at her elbow. She withdrew an object and placed a small paperweight on the desk between us.
It was a paperweight from my office at NYU. A gift from my father when I was in college, the paperweight featured a tiny African landscape with a baobab tree inside. The inscription on the base read KENYA.
"That's my paperweight, if that's what you mean," I said. I reached out to pick it up but Mahood took it back.
"And when was the last time you saw this?" she asked, placing it beside her on the table.
"Where did you get that?" I asked. "It's from my office at the hospital where I was doing my fellowship."
"Do you remember the last time you saw it?" she pressed.
I shrugged. "I can't say. It was on top of my inbox, but I haven't used that office for months because I'm on a leave of absence from my fellowship because of the attack...."
"It was found at the cabin where Derek Richardson was murdered."
"What?" I said and glanced from McDonald to Mahood and back. “Are the cases connected?” I asked, wondering about Derek’s fate.
“You were friends,” Mahood said, as a statement of fact rather than a question.
“Yes,” I said. “Acquaintances. We ran in the same circles. I already told you that I contacted him when I found out Lisa was in the NYU neurosurgery program.”
“You were concerned about it and felt he could provide you with some information about Dr. Monroe?”
I nodded. “I wondered what she’d been doing since the last time I saw her, which was more than a couple of years before.”
“Why were you interested?”
I sighed. “She was pushing things between us. I wanted to get a sense of her mental state from Derek. They'd been involved for quite some time. If anyone knew her, it was him.”
“What did he say?” she asked, her face impassive.
I shifted in my chair. “He said they had broken up not long after our last meeting. She was no longer happy; he was no longer happy. She had another involvement soon after.”
"Do you know the name of this involvement?"
I shook my head. "No, but from what I understand, he was her submissive partner."
"He liked to be submissive?" Mahood said, her face not changing expression. Beside her, McDonald tried but failed to hold back a smile, turning away slightly to hide his grin.
"Yes, Detective," I said, unwilling to pretend I was embarrassed. "Some men like to be submissive in a relationship."
"But not you," she said, turning back to me, a barely-suppressed smile on her lips. She was unable to hide the contempt she felt in the sound of her voice, which was lightly mocking. "You were the one who liked to be dominant. You want – you demanded that things go your way."
"In my relationships within the community, yes," I said. "They were all safe, sane and consensual. Every single partner I had consented to our relationship. I take pride in that."
Lara laid a hand on my arm as if to warn me not to get too emotional. I tried to relax and sat back in my chair, breathing in deeply.
"Dr. Morgan, we’re very close to making an arrest in the murder of Derek Richardson," McDonald said and closed the file. "You can imagine we're curious how your paperweight came to be at a crime scene."
"Lisa Monroe must have taken it from my office at NYU and placed it there," I said and glanced at Mahood. "She had the opportunity. Then, I remembered the time I found her in my office after I had left for a brief moment to speak with a colleague down the hall and hadn't locked my door.
"Why would she leave it there?"
I shrugged. "Maybe because she wanted to implicate me?"
Mahood looked back down at her file and flipped a page. "We have a few suspects, based on previous relationships with Dr. Monroe. When we arrest someone, you’ll be the first to know.”
“So I take it that means Dr. Morgan isn’t a suspect?” Lara said, her voice insistent.
“I didn’t say that," Mahood replied and glanced up at us. "I didn’t say he was a suspect either. You know well enough that we must explore every avenue in murder cases like Mr. Richardson’s. Very often, the intimate partners are our first persons of interest. Friends, spouses or lovers.”
Lara shook her head in disgust and met my eyes. I could see fire in them. She wanted to argue more with Detective Mahood, but she gritted her teeth and exhaled instead.
“Are we finished?” Lara said acidly.
“Yes,” Detective McDonald said, his voice pleasant. “Feel free to leave.”
“Stay in town, Dr. Morgan,” Mahood said, her voice dripping with warning. “Now is not the time to be going on business trips or anything.”
“I have no plans to leave,” I said, trying hard to keep the acid out of my voice, but I mostly failed. “I’m waiting to hear who you finally arrest. Derek was a friend, even if we didn’t speak much for the past couple of years. We were both busy with our lives.”
“Understood,” McDonald said and stood. “Thank you for coming down.”
He flashed me a brief smile that said nothing. I stood as well and buttoned my jacket, then offered my arm to Lara, who stood beside me, glowering at Mahood. They were playing good cop-bad cop, and Mahood seemed to like to play the bad cop.
I knew it was a tactic used to get cooperation with suspects, but it still grated.
Once we were outside, Lara practically exploded. “I could strangle that Mahood. She was so damn rude.”
“She’s playing a role,” I said and let out a long breath I’d been holding without knowing it. “You know, the old good cop-bad cop routine.”
“I know that more than anyone,” she said and sat in the passenger seat after I opened the door for her. “It still gets me.”
“Me, too,” I said and went around to the driver’s side. I slipped into my seat and closed the door, heaving a sigh of relief now that the interview was over. “Let’s go get that drink.”
“Absofuckinglutely,” Lara said. It was uncharacteristic of her to swear so I could tell she was angry.
We drove in silence for a moment, and then she turned to me.
“I’m sorry all this is happening to you. There’s no way you should still be a person of interest in Kate’s case. That paperweight means nothing, although I admit that it does look suspicious. You were never at Derek’s cabin, so your DNA won’t be there at all – unless that bitch Lisa gathered hair from your chair and took it out there to plant. There’s absolutely no evidence you were involved in any way with Derek’s murder. You shouldn’t be hauled down to the precinct office to be interviewed like this. It’s only because of your BDSM history. Cops don’t understand.”
“I know,” I said and squeezed her arm. “I had to be prepared for something like this when I became involved. We all do.”
“Still, they should do their damn jobs and clear you.”
“They will,” I said, trying to sound more positive than I felt. McDonald had to know I was innocent, and that I was not involved with Derek’s death. They had to know. They couldn’t tell me yet who they were going to arrest and so kept us all in suspense. “It’ll all work out fine. You wait and see. This time next week, we’ll hear back from McDonald that they arrested someone in the Richardson case and that I’m cleared of any suspicion in Kate’s attack.”
“You’re right. I’m frustrated that the wheels of justice don’t move more quickly.”
We drove to a little pub we both liked off Madison Avenue, and went into the darkened interior. An old Irish Pub, with dark wood paneling and burnished brass fixtures, it was a throwback to something you might see during the heyday of the Irish Mafia.
We sat at the bar side by side and when the bartender came over, white bar cloth in hand, Lara ordered for us.
“Two Irish whiskeys, best you have, neat.”
“Will Powers John’s Lane do?” the bartender asked.
“Hit us,” Lara said and removed her jacket, slinging it over the back of her stool. “Then give me another.”
The bartender poured us two shots, and we downed them together. I enjoyed the warmth as the whiskey burned down my throat. So, Lisa had tried to frame me for Derek's murder?
I had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
Chapter 20 - Kate
Drake had more than a little hangover the next day. When I got up with the sunlight, he grimaced and turned over onto his stomach, pulling the pillow over his head.
“Oh, God,” he groaned. “That’s way too bright at this time of the morning.”
I laughed softly and pulled the drapes closed more tightly. I usually liked waking up to the light, but given Drake’s condition when he came home close to nine the previous night, I decided to close them in pity.
“I’ll bring you some more aspirin.”
“Bring me another brain,” he said, his voice muffled under the pillow. “Preferably one that no longer drinks Irish whiskey.”
“No way,” I said and rubbed his back with affection. “I like the current brain. It needs to unwind now and then – especially when it thinks it’s a murder suspect. And drink vodka instead of Irish whiskey.”
He reached out and groped around the bed, looking for me. I took his hand and he squeezed.
“I love you,” he murmured.
“I love you, too,” I replied and squeezed back. Then, I pulled my hand away and got up, leaving the bedroom so I could get him some aspirin and water. I padded down the hallway and peeked into Sophie’s bedroom, where she was sleeping soundly. I decided to go inside and check on her and when I got to her bedside, I felt her forehead and got a shock. She felt hot to touch.
I bent down and pressed my lips against her forehead and sure enough, she felt distinctly hot.
Since she was sleeping well enough, I left the bedroom and went downstairs to the medicine cabinet. In addition to the aspirin and glass of water, I took the ear thermometer with me and returned to the second floor.
I went into the bedroom and put the aspirin and water on the bedside table.
“Sophie feels hot,” I announced, and felt a surge of unease go through me now that I said it out loud. “I’m going to take her temperature.”
Drake pulled the pillow away, a frown on his forehead.
“What?” he said and sat up. “She’s got a fever?”
“I haven’t checked yet, but I’m going to,” I said and held up the thermometer.
“Give that to me,” he said and downed his aspirin and water. “I’ll do it.”
“You’re the doctor,” I said and forced a smile.
Drake slipped out of bed and pulled on some boxer briefs, before taking the thermometer out of my hand. I followed him to Sophie’s bedroom.
I didn’t like the idea that Sophie was hot. It was cool in her room – not cold but not too warm either. We hadn’t had any visitors to give her any kind of virus – except for Karen but she had been fine.
Once inside, Drake bent down and kissed her forehead the way I had.
“She does feel warm,” he said in a soft voice. Then he tilted her head to the side and placed the tip of the ear thermometer into Sophie’s tiny ear. He activated the thermometer and it flashed briefly into her ear. Sophie stirred but didn’t wake up. She merely sucked more intently on her pacifier for a moment.
Drake examined the thermometer.
“She has a fever. It’s pretty mild, but it’s up a degree.”
He looked at me in the dimness of the room. “It’s probably a simple virus. She’ll be fine,” he said, but his voice wavered a tiny bit. Of course, my mind went to the worst thing that it could be – influenza or one of the childhood illnesses. She’d been vaccinated, her first shots, but that only gave her partial protection.
Drake put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me out of the room. “Whatever it is, we should let her sleep. Come out and bring the baby monitor to the living room so we can listen in.”
I nodded and went to the bedroom, retrieving the monitor so we could listen to her while she slept, in case she woke up or was having difficulty breathing.
Drake went right to the shower, so I went downstairs to the kitchen and made some decaf coffee and started to cook some bacon for our breakfast. My father always told me that you need something hearty after a night drinking to fight the hangover, so I thought a good British breakfast would help Drake recover. I sliced tomatoes, popped in some toast, heated up a small can of baked beans, and then cut up some leftover baked potatoes in butter. It would be a feast.
Drake came downstairs in his sweats, his chest still bare, toweling his hair.
“That smells fantastic,” he said and bent over to kiss my cheek. He went to the baby monitor on the island and upped the sound, then turned to me, forcing a smile. “I checked on her again and she’s sleeping quietly. No need to worry.”
“But you turned the sound up anyway, right?” I said, and exhaled, trying not to get too nervous.
“All babies get sick eventually,” he said and sat at the island. He draped the towel over his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it with his fingers. He looked delicious, sitting there half dressed, his hair wet, his cheeks a bit rosy from the heat of the shower.
If I hadn’t been busy cooking, and if he didn’t have a hangover, I’d have wanted to go back to bed with him, see what developed, but not that morning. Instead, I admired him, my eyes lingering over his well-developed chest and abs, and the tiny trail of dark hair than led from his navel beneath his sweats. God, he was gorgeous…
“What’s on the agenda for today?” I asked, flipping the bacon over and moving the potatoes around in the frying pan.
“I’m going to spend the entire day with my two favorite people,” he said and drank some of the orange juice I’d squeezed. “The three of us, all day. No corporation, no foundation, no surgery. Just us.”
I sighed and turned to face him. “I’m sorry that your board members felt the need to kick you off the boards. I think it’s highly unfair.”
“It’s all about perception. I don’t want their reputations to be harmed by association. The most important part of the corporation and foundation is what they do, not my part in them.”
“That’s awfully big of you, but you enjoyed your work with them. It meant something to you. Now, what will you do?”
He shook his head and reached out, took my hand. “I have you. I have Sophie. We have our place here. That’s all I need. The rest is window dressing.”
I nodded and turned back to the stove, flipping the bacon again and stirring the beans. I cracked two eggs and watched them bubble in the pan beside the bacon.
“You never told me how it went last night," I said and watched him from the stove. "You kind of stumbled into bed after you and Lara had a late dinner. What did the police want to talk about?"
Drake made a face. "Sorry about missing dinner with you, but it was a difficult meeting. Lara took me out for a drink and it turned into five and she fed me so I wouldn't absorb all that alcohol."