by Maria Siopis
“Okay, David. Send them up. Thank you.”
“Great,” escaped her mouth as soon as the phone was returned to its cradle. She tilted her head, looking down at herself. She was not happy with her casual appearance. She had not been expecting anyone important. Oh, she is important now? she questioned herself while slapping her forehead with her palm.
“She is a cynical detective,” she mumbled. Yet, she still felt the tremors of a small-scale earthquake as she remembered the detective’s perfect mounds.
Appearing in complete control, she opened the door and welcomed her guests in a casual manner. Sophie was wearing her morning apparel. She either didn’t give a shit, as her t-shirt proclaimed, or she was busy. Fiona guided Sophie to the living room while Gregory, familiar with his surroundings, made his way toward the refrigerator and grabbed a beer.
“Hey, Sophie. Would you care for one?” Gregory asked as though they’d been friends forever.
“I’ll pass this time. I’m too tired for alcohol.”
“So, what’s up?” Fiona looked at them both for a second and then gazed at Sophie longer.
“Well,” Sophie paused for a split second before she confidently continued, “I talked to my chief and it seems your involvement is unavoidable at this time. I only stopped by because Gregory insisted we have a do-over.”
“I am cool with that.” Her utterance oozed with self-assurance. Her inner self, on the other hand, shuddered at the idea. What the fuck was wrong with her? She had only just met this woman today.
Sophie sat down on the red sofa and eased her back onto the pillows. She appeared tired. Fiona let her gaze dwell on Sophie’s face for a few seconds. She had long, silky eyelashes that held a coat or two of mascara, a light pink lipstick showcased her full lips, and her soft, brown eyes were deep like an abyss. Fiona was lost already. Sophie was gorgeous.
“I’ll order food, and then, maybe we can brainstorm for a while?” Fiona had to take control of her senses, and besides, she knew her partner wouldn’t be able to produce any ideas if he was not fed. She dialed the restaurant around the corner from her building hoping for a fast delivery.
Gregory finished his beer and retrieved another as he made his way to the living room. He listed details they had uncovered so far to Fiona, and he explained where he had been all day, pausing only when he sipped his beer. The food arrived twenty-five minutes later and between bites they conversed about possibilities, motives, and facts. Fiona was agonizing with an idea that seemed probable.
“I think we have a serial killer on our hands,” she finally proclaimed. “Of course, it’s only a gut feeling I have based on the crime scene. I would love to be wrong on this one. Yet, the neatness, the presentation, and the incision are indicative of something bigger. The perpetrator is struggling to present perfection, and we’re going to have hard time catching him or her.” She looked at her plate and took a bite of her grilled chicken.
“I think you are rushing to conclusions.” Sophie looked at her, perplexed. “First, let’s eliminate everyone that was in contact with Kelly.”
Kelly? Fiona felt that victims shouldn’t be identified by their names. She was used to referring to them as numbers ... the first victim, the second victim, and so on. She felt that was the only way to remain emotionally untouched and unbiased. Any feelings of connection could lead to costly mistakes. Perhaps, Sophie was not as hard-ass as Fiona had previously thought, and that was something she could use as leverage in the future.
“The ex-husband has a pretty solid alibi,” Gregory intervened. “We did thorough leg work, so you can remove the ex-husband from your list. There is a boyfriend as well. He was working the night shift and there is no possibility of him being involved. The murders took place between nine and twelve when he was at work; his boss and co-workers have verified this.”
“We need the Medical Examiner’s toxicology report to even attempt to make some type of connection.” Fiona would follow her own modus operandi and visit the lab to get the information as soon as the machines had had time to produce the results. She developed relationships with lab personnel when she realized that networking was the only way of obtaining data, taking advantage of that phenomenon of human nature to connect. Networking flashed in her mind like a neon sign.
“The toxicology report could take weeks. You should know that,” Sophie brusquely pointed out.
“Of course, I know that, particularly when trying to detect amphetamines in the victim’s body. I also know that tests are repeated several times. Also, it is difficult to separate the drugs from the blood tissue. I spent many hours in labs waiting for results.” She was not sure why she had revealed so much. There was something about Sophie that ticked her off. She wouldn’t divulge any more, especially about her special relationship with the Medical Examiner, who provided her with reports after she unzipped her pants and offered her pleasure. Her gaze traveled to her partner, trying to ignore Sophie’s latest comment.
God, Fiona thought, she is being impossible, cantankerous, and bitchy. She dreamily thought about the Medical Examiner. She was going to the lab tomorrow to see her and find out what unimaginable acts the killer had concocted for his victims. There were no signs struggle to indicate the victims were conscious of what was done to them. She frowned while recalling the young girl found in the second bedroom. She was so little, her hair brighter than her mother’s. Her fire red highlights framed her ashen face, and her body was so specifically arranged to look like a sacrifice. Sacrifice? No, that’s not it. Where the hell was she going with these thoughts?
“I think we should call it a night. I’m exhausted, and Sophie doesn’t look any better. I will drive you home,” Gregory gazed at Sophie expecting her to follow him. “Let’s meet tomorrow in Queens.”
“I have something to do in the morning. I’ll be glad to meet you around twelve, if that’s okay?” Fiona would avoid any explanations of her whereabouts.
She knew Gregory wouldn’t question her here, though his brown eyes were screaming for some type of clarification. Fiona was a good investigator and an intelligent woman. Gregory enjoyed working with her, and they were a good fit. Fiona knew for a fact Gregory wouldn’t ask about her plans because he trusted her. In the beginning, it was rough for him to follow her leadership, and it took time to accept his role as a collaborator. Gregory’s young age had to do a lot with his eagerness to tackle tasks and bring offenders to justice. The controlled mannerisms that Fiona applied were foreign to Gregory. She hoped that one day he would learn to curb his zeal a bit when close to breaking a case, which would avoid the costly mistakes he had made in the past. Teaching was her forte, and she would guide him.
When Fiona closed the door behind them, she felt all her uncertainties hit her with great force. The sinking feeling of the current murders was ravaging her inner stability, urgency was building, and she knew that wasn’t a good sign. The murderer was going to strike again ... soon. A malicious and sinful force had been unleashed, and Fiona sat on the sofa contemplating her next move.
Chapter Five
May 22, 2017
Fiona picked up the receiver and indecisively dialed the number she had memorized, wishing for a real person to pick up rather than voice mail. She was trying to fight the fatigue that was building up but realized that attempt would be unsuccessful. She’d had a horrible night’s sleep, and the murders of the two victims in Queens were bothering her as if she were personally connected to them. The phone continued to ring as she inspected the paperwork on her desk and concluded there was nothing important. She refocused her attention outside her office, looking through the glass windows. There was no turmoil to distract her, just the usual rambunctious activities, the loud human interactions, and a minor, civilized disagreement between police officers.
“Agent Miller. How can I help you?” the female voice on the other end of the phone asked.
“Jennifer, its Fiona. How are you?” She waited for an answer, perhaps still surprised that Jennif
er had picked up the phone.
“I’m well, considering the load of work they’re dumping on me, and I have a feeling more is on the way.”
“I won’t dump work on you. I’m begging for your assistance. You know I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t important. Dinner at eight? My place? I will make your visit worthwhile ...” she was sincere.
As soon as they agreed to the meeting and said their goodbyes, Fiona touched her temples with the tips of her fingers as if a headache was imminent, rubbing them steadily until she felt the tension leaving her body. She thought about Jennifer and how much she missed being with her. The sex was extraordinary. Of course, the liaison didn’t last. Jennifer was involved in the law enforcement business, derailing their relationship for good. They still met occasionally when she returned to her base in 26 Federal Plaza where she maintained an office. Fiona was surprised that Jennifer hadn’t called to let her know she was in New York. She had always called in the past. Fiona tried to fool herself with false assurances that she was indifferent and the thing between them was long over. She also ignored the small voice inside her head that had an entirely different opinion. She dismissed the internal argument, grabbing her jacket and leaving her office. She was determined to stop at the lab and still make her appointment at the Queens’ precinct on time.
Her lab visit was pleasurable, and the attractive M.E., Samantha, made it impossible to keep things strictly professional. Samantha closed the blinds and locked her office door before she pushed Fiona onto the sofa and landed on top of her. Fiona welcomed the attention. It felt good to be touched. Her body was responding. She closed her eyes and tried to erase everything from her mind as she rolled over and placed Samantha under her. Fiona’s lips touched the smoothness of Samantha’s soft skin. If her thoughts of Jennifer and Sophie hadn’t been invading her mind, she would have been burning with desire. The lust she felt building inside her quickly subsided, and Fiona collapsed on her lover.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered in Samantha’s ear. “I have so much on my mind. I’ll make it up to you.”
Samantha smiled and inhaled deeply, “It was nice to see you anyway.” She kissed her again. They talked about the murder victim and the hypothesis that was forming based on what little information they had. Her favorite M.E. promised to call her as soon as she had some concrete results. They parted like every other time, yet there was something awkward developing between them. Was that Fiona’s imagination, or was it real? In any event, she had to go. There was no time to spare if she wanted to make her noon appointment.
She checked the time and made a last-minute decision to get lattes for her partner, Sophie, and Phil from the coffee shop across from the police station. She balanced the paper cup tray filled with coffees as she passed through the door of the precinct, thinking how dark these places were. The officer at the window, who had access to the buzzer, was assisting someone that was requesting a police report of some accident. Fiona retrieved her badge, and holding her credentials above the stranger, who was crouching in the window to get on a level with the officer, she headed towards the iron gate. The buzzer erupted and Fiona entered. Her surprised gaze turned back to the guard who had buzzed her in when she realized that only police officers occupied the entire floor.
“Sophie Andrews?”
“Upstairs.” The officer pointed toward the stairway.
Gregory and Sophie were conversing when Fiona arrived. She placed the paper cup tray with the coffees on Sophie’s desk, trying unsuccessfully not to spill the liquid. Sophie’s desk was covered with paperwork, manila file folders, and other non-essential office supplies.
“What’s up? You both look deadly serious.” She sat down and waited for either one to say something.
“We’re frustrated. We talked to a lot of people in the vicinity of the crime, but no one, and I mean no one, saw anything,” Sophie articulated her words as if she was announcing the grand opening of a play.
“We are going to have to try harder. I’m sure there is someone out there who knows more than he or she is willing to reveal. Where is Phil?” Fiona wasn’t interested in his whereabouts, just curious.
“He is meeting with the victim’s parents and trying to extract any useful information,” Gregory replied, seeming to be in a harmony with his new environment. Fiona wondered if it was Sophie who put him at ease?
“At least I have some news from the lab. They have determined the victims were drugged before the incisions. Of course, the substance used could be anything. We will have to wait a while for the results. The M.E. told me the instrument used to make the precise cut was a surgeon’s scalpel, and the victims bled to death.”
“The bastard!” escaped Sophie’s lips. “I bet he stayed to see that Kelly and little Emily died before he left the scene. Do we know if they were sexually assaulted?”
“No sexual abuse was observed. The perpetrator was interested in one thing only ... their deaths. The forensic scene investigation uncovered next to nothing. There were no unusual fingerprints on any surfaces or on the victims. My theory that the perpetrator could be a woman still stands. Gregory, find out where these instruments are sold, and find out if it is possible to steal them from a hospital.”
“Do you always bark your commands?” Sophie’s eyebrows raised.
“Time is of the essence. Politeness will not produce the criminal behind these attacks. Besides, you didn’t thank me for your coffee, so we are even.”
Fiona had only interacted with Detective Sophie Andrews for the last two days, and she had already concluded that she was a hindrance in the investigation. There was no sign of co-operation. Fiona wasn’t fond of her, although she found her a good-looking woman; she had checked her out more than once. She looked at Sophie, expecting an answer. Sophie appeared to be attempting to thank her for the coffee, at least her lips moved a little. Then, she returned her gaze to a file she had been holding before Fiona appeared. It came to her in an apocalyptic rush that Sophie disliked her even more now than when they had first met. She couldn’t even vocalize a simple thank you. She was bothered by this. She wanted Sophie to accept her, so they could work together to resolve this case and save any future intended victims. In a split second, Fiona decided she had to work things out with the impossible woman in front of her for the sake of the investigation. She would force Sophie to co-operate with her.
“CSI will have a full report by the end of the day, minus the toxicology report. Sophie and I should knock on a few more doors and then grab a bite to eat while you,” she turned to Gregory, “uncover the source or sources of these sharp instruments that only surgeons use.”
Fiona looked at Sophie as she articulated her name, and it seemed like all the blood circulating in Sophie’s body rushed to her face. Fiona never imagined that her company could be perceived as such a terrible thing. In fact, most of the women she had previously met in her life had welcomed her. She had never detected antipathy before. Why was this different with Sophie?
“Detective Sapiro,” was the only thing she was able to say.
After relieving her of the file she was holding, Fiona grabbed Sophie’s hand, pulled her out of her chair, and almost crushed her to her chest.
“After you.” Fiona spun her around and pushed her in front of her.
Fiona had her back view now, and it was spectacular. Sophie was wearing a tight pair of jeans, which she was confident were made by some famous designer, biker boots, and a boyfriend shirt with the left half shoved in her pants. Her long and coiled hair bounced with her every movement. Sophie was undoubtedly pissed off; frustration oozed from her body. Fiona was uncertain how long Sophie would fight against this forced union, but for now, she was hers.
At six fifteen, Fiona parked her car in the garage across from her building. She was satisfied with the time spent in the Queens’ precinct and with Sophie, who explicitly rejected her by chastising her attempts to build a working relationship. All her suggestions about the investigation were rebutt
ed without solid explanations. She appeared displeased to be with Fiona and took every opportunity to make it known. Fiona wondered how long it would take to break down Sophie’s defenses. She hoped it happened soon, for the sake of the investigation, she falsely assured herself. She removed her keys, erasing all thoughts of Sophie as she leaned into the back seat to retrieve the fresh produce she had purchased to make dinner for Jennifer. She would treat her visitor to a good meal including salad, a main course, fruit, and dessert, before any conversation about business took place. She had to hurry if she wished to have dinner ready before Jennifer arrived, and she crossed the street, ignoring the red traffic light. Although no cars appeared to be in her proximity, she checked carefully before crossing. Suddenly, the sounds of rubber kissing asphalt vibrated in her ears.
“Asshole!” the driver shouted, and Fiona realized the car was closer than she thought.
She waved as a gesture of apology and continued at a faster pace. She reached her complex, talked to David, her doorman, for a few seconds out of politeness, and took the elevator, relieved that she had more than an hour and a half to prepare dinner.
Pasta was the easiest dish to prepare, and Fiona had learned the process early by observing her mother, who preferred simplicity. Her mother loathed the culinary art and perhaps that influenced her decision to exclusively cook an easy meal for Sunday dinner. Unlike her mother, Fiona found the process of preparing food pleasurable, and when she had time, which was rarely, she explored possibilities by creating fancy dishes for the pure enjoyment of it. She momentarily gazed at the wall clock displayed above the sink while placing a pot filled with water on the stove. She then turned, positioning herself in front of the island where the bagged salad ingredients lay. She tossed all the veggies in a drainer and washed them with cold water. She smiled, feeling like a chef when the last component of her creation was tossed in the bowl.