LifeoftheParty

by Trudy Doyle

  “Where we going?”

  “Wherever good ol’ Debbie is now.” Doug nodded to Jack. “We’ll keep you posted.”

  Gina gripped his arm once they were out in the hall. “You want to tell me the meaning of all that back there?”

  He slipped from her grasp. “No meaning besides the obvious, doll. Just doing the job I was hired for.”

  “Jesus, Doug—where’s that coming from?”

  He laughed slightly, holding the door opened as she walked outside. “You’re fucking incredible, you know that?”

  She stopped halfway to the car. “You mind explaining yourself?”

  “Everything for the job. Never deviate from the plan.”

  “What the hell are you talking about.”

  “You,” he said, leaning in. “You’re in it twenty-four/seven, aren’t you? Always on, always ready. Every fucking thing you do. Everything for the job.” He looked around. “Just like now. Start a scene on the sidewalk, because then there’ll be no scene. Doug would never do that. Full transparency.”

  “You are insane.”

  He pulled a flask from his pocket. “You got it, doll.”

  Her eyes flared. “Put that away.”

  He turned, taking a swig. “Forget it. With me, everything’s out in the open.” Another swig.

  Gina opened the car door and slid inside. “You think I’m using you, don’t you?”

  “Sweetheart, that’s impossible,” he said, starting the car. “You’re too good a piece of ass.”

  “You bastard,” she breathed, turning crimson.

  “Shut up,” he said, the tires squealing as he backed into the street.

  * * * * *

  NEW JERSEY STATE POLICE CYBERCRIMES UNIT

  REGIONAL OFFICE—MOORESTOWN

  11:11 A.M.

  Debbie Lamberton, medium height and muscular as a gymnast, clicked on the PowerPoint slide and walked up to the whiteboard. “Let me show you a few things I’ve figured out,” she said, jabbing a pencil into the tight knot of blonde hair at her nape.

  Doug leaned forward in his chair. He hadn’t said a word to Gina since they’d left Jack’s office, and outside of which street to turn down, neither had she. He glanced over to her, those long legs crossed at the knee as she perched on the edge of her chair. Maybe it was a good thing, all things considered. The thoughts racing through his brain were none too charitable.

  He looked to Debbie. “You figure things from just what they’ve written?”

  “Well, sure,” she answered, picking up a laser pointer. “But more in the way they’ve written it.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Let me explain.”

  “Email presents a whole new spectrum of identification, basically because it’s not like handwriting, where you can analyze the style, or a typewriter you can trace. But there are subtle clues to character you can pick up, as telling as the whorls and curves of handwriting. Take this first email Jack received.”

  There’s still a Death Penalty in NJ for SOME people.

  “Notice the words ‘death penalty’?”

  “They’re capitalized,” said Gina.

  “Right. Now bear that in mind when you’re considering these.” Debbie sent more images to the whiteboard.

  Sometimes People get in the way.

  Sometimes the Bullet misses the target and people get hurt.

  Sometimes the Worst things happen even with your friends all around you.

  “We look for several things, and one of them is consistency. Seems like this perp likes to capitalize what he wants to emphasize, what he figures is the most important thing in the sentence. Death penalty, people, bullet, worst.”

  “The point he’s trying to get across,” said Doug.

  “Exactly. And he does it in every email. He also likes to stick to a theme, as in the repetition of the word sometimes, a two-syllable word that also gives us a little hint about the writer’s origins.”

  She circled the word each time it appeared. “Even in these days of global communication, we still have regional speech patterns, even in a state as small as New Jersey. Somewhere above Trenton, smack in the middle of the state, there’s an invisible line that separates North Jersey from South Jersey, from the regional accents influenced by New York or Philadelphia. See this?” She circled the S on each of the sometimes. “Adding an S to words like sometimes and besides and towards is typical South Jersey. Any other place, those words are singular.”

  Gina leaned closer. “Huh. I never noticed that.”

  Debbie smiled. “That’s because you’re from South Jersey.”

  “Riverboro born and raised.”

  “So you’re also partial to getting some ice cream, or some exercise or some sleep.”

  Gina yawned. “Especially some sleep.”

  Doug cleared his throat.

  Gina tossed him a glare before turning back to Debbie. “So the guy’s from South Jersey. What else can you tell?”

  “Well, look at this.” Debbie clicked to another slide.

  Such a shame I’ll have to break those lovely legs, slit that pretty little throat, put a bullet into that filthy brain.

  When Gina visibly shivered, Doug suppressed the urge to pull her into his arms. “The first time he gets personal,” he said.

  Debbie looked to Gina, her mouth crooking sympathetically. “Yes, the scum. But it also confirms for me he’s most likely an educated man, or certainly someone who takes writing seriously.”

  “Scum with the heart of a poet,” said Doug. “How do you figure that?”

  “Look at this here.” She circled the laser pointer around the comma after legs. “He knows to put a comma after the first and second of a series of phrases, and not simply the first phrase, without the connector and between the second and third phrases.”

  “Excuse me?” said Gina.

  “In other words,” Doug said, “he knows his way around English grammar and punctuation.”

  “Exactly,” Debbie said. “Like you alluded to before, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a poet, or is in a field where he has to write very precisely. Here’s more proof.” She clicked to the next screen.

  You looked beautiful tonight, but your Big Stud’s a waste of time.

  You’re still as good as dead.

  Gina shifted in her chair. She looks beautiful in the daytime too, Doug thought. He watched as she shoved a hand through her hair, her jaw tightening. How long would he be able to stay angry with her?

  “Again we see the pattern of capitalization,” Debbie continued. “But that’s not what’s telling. Email, except when it’s used as business communication, tends to be informally written, not as informal as texting but still rather loose. In a lot of instances, it’s rushed out, so it’s not uncommon to see usage errors or misspellings.”

  “As in who uses the spell checker when they email,” said Doug.

  “I do,” Gina said quickly.

  “Because you’re a lawyer,” said Debbie. “And the need for precision is ingrained. But look at the use of the word you.” She aimed the laser pointer again. “How many people mix up the words your and you’re in everyday writing? Or would use as between still and good? I think it could be assumed that when the perp wrote this he was agitated or even angry, but still all the rules of grammar and usage are adhered to, all the words spelled correctly, all the punctuation in place.” She turned off the laser pointer. “This is a very meticulous, educated man.”

  “Are you sure it is a man?” asked Doug.

  “Sure, and I’ll tell you why. A woman wouldn’t praise another woman’s physical attributes and then tack on violence to tear them down. It’s the same thinking that goes into rape. It’s not for the sex, it’s for control. But men are more physically oriented. A woman would use a more abstract route. She’d play with the person’s head, maybe even internalize it, saying something like if you do this I will kill myself then it’ll all be your fault. Women are great for getting at men by inflicting a feeling of helplessnes
s in them, especially effective because men’s natural instinct is to fix things.”

  “So in essence,” Doug said, boring his gaze into Gina’s, “women are more devious.”

  Debbie laughed. “Oh without question.”

  Gina gripped the arms of her chair, her steely composure returning. “So what have we got here?”

  “In summation, counselor?” Debbie perched on the edge of her desk. “I’d say you’re dealing with an educated South Jersey man who works in some field of communication.”

  “And who probably has a beef with DNA technology.”

  Debbie crooked her head at Gina, momentarily mystified. “Oh because of that one email, you think?”

  “Right,” said Gina. “Remember? DNA equals do not arrest or something.”

  Debbie looked askance for a second, scratching her neck. “Hmm…right. But you know, Gina? I really don’t think that’s the most telling point.”

  “But how could you not? The way me and Jack figure it, it’s the whole reason he’s after me. For the lobbying I did for the DNA Clearance Act. We’re thinking it’s some random nut who blames the Act for springing someone he still thinks is guilty.”

  Debbie winced. “If that’s true then, Gina, it may be worse than I thought. I don’t know how to put this to you, but from the looks of what we have here…” She leaned forward, squeezing Gina’s hand. “Sweetie, I think he knows you.”

  * * * * *

  “Pull over,” Gina said, her hand on the door.

  Doug had just turned onto Route 38. “What? Why?”

  “I said pull over!” she cried, yanking on the handle.

  “Okay. Jesus,” he said, turning the car into Strawbridge Lake Park. Before they came to a stop she had jumped out, trotting up the dirt path to the lake. Doug shut the car off and went after her.

  He found her on a bench facing the water, her head in her hands. He said nothing as he sat at the opposite end, his hands in his pockets. The trees on the other side of the lake were lit with fall colors, the sunny day reflecting the reds, oranges and golds in the mirror-still water. If it had been a normal day in a somewhat normal world, Doug would have remarked on the swans paddling toward them, the leaves falling slowly around them, the trout that just leapt from the water. But he kept quiet. Because his girl was hurting and he didn’t know how to fix it.

  His girl.

  “Come here,” he said, pulling her to him.

  “Oh Doug,” she said, snaking her arms under his jacket, burying her face into his tie. “Please don’t hate me, please don’t. I couldn’t stand it if you did.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “I don’t hate you.” I love you.

  He blinked. He loved her. He always had. It had never gone away. Not for one second.

  “I don’t hate you,” he repeated, pulling her closer. “And I won’t let anyone hurt you.” That much was certain. He’d take a bullet again before he’d ever let it happen.

  She snuffled, squeezing him. “Well, that’s good.” She tugged at his holster. “Because I really don’t know how to shoot one of these things. I tried once and I damn near killed myself.”

  “If there’s any shooting to be done, promise you’ll leave it to me.”

  “Of course. That’s a promise I don’t even have to make.”

  He tipped her chin toward him. “That’s one.”

  Gina held his gaze for a moment then pulled away. She leaned forward, folding her arms atop her knees, her gaze fixed on the lake.

  “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

  He said nothing.

  She turned, meeting his gaze over her shoulder. “As you may have expected.” Then she stood, walking to a tree a few feet away. She braced herself against it, her back to Doug.

  “I’ve never told you much about myself, have I? Even from before.” She reached to pluck a leaf from overhead. “Maybe because we had so little real time together, with me always off on a plane to the next party strategy session, the next rally, the hottest candidate. And then when I would see you…” Her shoulders rose, slumped. “My God, Doug, when I’d get back and you’d kiss me…” She shivered, tossing the leaf in the air. “It was all I could do to breathe, let alone form a coherent thought. You damn near worked me to a nub, inside and out.”

  He was glad her back was turned. Because he wasn’t sure how she’d take him smiling. It was true, back in those heady first days. He’d never met a woman like her before, never one so voluptuous, so adventurous, so intelligent, so brave. From the first moment he saw her he had to have her, watching her strut around that courtroom as though she owned it, seeing her eyes flash when she called an objection, marveling at her canniness in cross-examination, silently cheering her on even as he testified for the prosecution. Truth be told, she’d mesmerized him, like a shiny penny on a string. She was flash and purpose all rolled into one, an intoxicating mixture of brains and steel and body, and once he’d had her he couldn’t get enough, his desire increasing exponentially every time he sank himself into her.

  “I think I know the feeling,” he said.

  She turned, coming back to the bench. “Then you know what I mean,” she said, sitting just far enough away so their bodies didn’t touch, even though he could still feel her heat. “But I want you to know me now, Doug. I think you should. I think it would help you understand me.” She looked away. “That is, if you want to.”

  He reached and squeezed her hand. “Of course I do.”

  “Good. Because I really want you to know.” She closed her hand over his, taking a deep breath before she started. “My parents divorced when I was really young, as they were really young themselves. Not even twenty, I think. Neither of them wanted me, so my grandmother kept me until I was nine. But then she remarried, and her new husband wanted to move to Florida to this place that didn’t allow kids, so my Aunt Erika on my dad’s side took me. She was single, a court reporter, and real strict. She didn’t want me to be alone in the house after school, so she would have me walk to the courthouse and sit in the back of whatever courtroom she had a trial in. At first I was mad because I couldn’t play or watch TV like the other kids, but then I got to listening and the more I did, the more fascinated I got.

  “After a while, I got to know all the prosecutors and a lot of the defense attorneys, the rules of court procedure, the judges, the dockets. The sheriff’s deputies were all my friends. I was the pet of the courthouse and loved every minute of it, and by the time I was twelve I knew I wanted to be a lawyer. And with Riverboro being the county seat, there were always politicians around, so when I graduated high school, I was sailing into college on party scholarships, my freshman summer spent as a congressional page in Washington, courtesy of the third district.”

  “So that’s how it went,” Doug said. “And I had to prostitute myself with the Army before I could get the money to go to college.”

  “You were in the Army?”

  “Stateside, Germany then Kuwait. An MP.”

  She threw out her hands. “See? We never knew this about each other.” She looked back to the lake. “But I expect there’s a lot we don’t know.”

  His hand went to her hair, smoothing it over her shoulder. “I’m an open book. All you have to do is ask.”

  “Oh Doug, I’m not trying to hide things from you, I’m really not. But no matter how much I try, I can’t stop competing with myself, as crazy as that sounds. Sometimes I think I’m more competitive than a man could ever be. And I can’t stop. I just have to keep going and going until it’s just perfect, because if I make it perfect then maybe I’ll be too. And then maybe when I am, I’ll be able to stay in one place.”

  “And with one person.”

  She looked at him. “Yes. And then no one will ever leave me again.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Maybe that could even be me.”

  She sighed. “Oh Doug.”

  He pulled her to him. “Would you like that? No—don’t answer. I don’t want to know.
” He tilted her head back. “Not now.”

  He kissed her like he had never kissed her before. It was a kiss born of sympathy and friendship and the truest kind of love, and a weird kind of kinship he had no way to explain. And it was mutual, it seemed, as she kissed him the same way back, her lips lightly brushing over his before she broke it.

  “I don’t want to be scared, but I can’t help it,” she whispered.

  He leaned his forehead against hers. “You don’t have to be. I’m here and I’ll take care of you.”

  “No matter what happens? No matter what you find out?”

  She was testing him. And still hiding something, he was certain. But he didn’t care. He had to have her and he would. For keeps. No matter what.

  “Yes,” he said, more roughly than he intended. “No matter what.”

  She closed her eyes. “Good.”

  When she said that, everything chaste flew out the window. He pressed her back to the bench, his lips seizing hers, his tongue lunging to meet her own. She groaned and he felt himself hardening.

  “Doug…Doug…” she moaned, her arms flying about his neck, her hips rising to grind against his. He slipped his hand into her jacket and found her breast, squeezing until she jolted against him. Then her eyes flew open.

  “Good God, Doug,” she whispered, frantic. “We’re outside in a public park!”

  “I know.” He looked around. But he didn’t see anyone. Except a man walking a dog way up near the road and… “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

  “Doug, we’re outside. In a public park.” She smiled, slow and saucy.

  There was no missing her meaning. He hardened even more. “Come on,” he said, pulling her to her feet.

  He looked around. There was a utility shed about twenty feet away, a clump of bushes behind it. When he turned to Gina she nodded. This was what he loved about her. They headed for it.

  It was an old shed of cedar shingles, but she didn’t seem to care. She leaned against it and planted her three-inch heels into the mulchy ground, looking to Doug with anticipation. He didn’t intend to disappoint. He fell to his haunches then rucked her skirt up her thighs, sliding her panties down until she stepped out of them. He stuffed them into his pocket, then turned back to her pussy as she grabbed his shoulders for support.