Suspect Passions

by V. K. Powell

  Jesse approached the booth cautiously and placed two lattes on the table between them. She looked from one to the other. “Are you two all right here?”

  Syd patted her hand. “Yeah, we’re fine. Thanks, Jess.”

  Priscilla waited until Jesse was out of hearing range before she answered. “I love my husband very much. I’m not a lesbian. And I don’t want out of my marriage.”

  “Then what’s going on? You’re in here almost every night picking up women and having sex in the restroom. That’s not the behavior of a happy woman. What are you running from?”

  “I could ask you the same question, my serial paramour.”

  “It’s not the same thing at all.” As the words rolled off her tongue, the bad taste they left startled her. Priscilla’s eyebrows arched toward her hairline in an equal expression of disbelief. “Well, it’s not. I’m not married to a wonderful man who loves me.”

  “But you are running.”

  Priscilla’s statement gnawed at her. She hadn’t been herself since the shooting. And she’d been distracting herself with women to avoid dealing with the difference, but she didn’t consider that “running.” She’d simply needed to divert her thoughts for a while and enjoy something like the rush she’d come to expect from her job. But Syd had to admit that Priscilla could be right. Maybe she was running from the reality of her situation, from her feelings, from dealing with the uncertainty and dissatisfaction of her life. She swallowed a choking sensation in her throat.

  “You’re probably right.” Syd hardly recognized her own voice as it squeaked from her. “I killed a man who was robbing a store. I guess I haven’t been dealing with it. Sex was my avoidance mechanism and my adrenaline substitute for the job. It’s easier to engage physically and tell yourself you’re alive than to hurt emotionally and know it.”

  Priscilla reached across the tabletop and took Syd’s hands in hers. “Oh, baby, I know exactly what you mean. In Iraq everything I did was planned and executed by someone else. After I got back home, I had to be in charge of my life. When I saw you in here the first time, I knew you were a kindred spirit. Something in you called to me. I knew I had what you needed and vice versa. And I was right. It worked for both of us, didn’t it?”

  Embarrassed as she was by her behavior, Syd couldn’t pretend she’d been reluctant or blame alcohol for the decisions she’d made. “Yes, it did. But it can never happen again. We both need to get our lives back on track.”

  Priscilla nodded. “I know. For me, having sex with women here is about taking control and the adrenaline high of the conquest. For you, I guess it’s about giving up control and denying that heavy responsibility you carry every day. We both have to learn to handle things without our crutch.”

  Syd thought about the primal way they’d connected. Their bodies appeared to know exactly what their souls needed and joined to provide that comfort. The sad part was neither of them thought beyond those intense moments. They’d made choices that could harm others they cared about.

  “I love Gil. I really do,” Priscilla said. “I guess I have sex with women because in some twisted way I believed it wouldn’t hurt him as much if he found out.”

  Syd recalled the look on Gil’s face that night when he saw Priscilla with the blonde. “It hurts just as badly. Betrayal is betrayal. The good thing is that he loves you. He just wants to know if you still love him.”

  “Are you planning to tell him about us?”

  The possibility of causing Gil more pain was totally unacceptable to Syd. On the other hand, she had contributed to his marriage troubles and it was time to pay for her actions. “We’ve become friends and it feels dishonest not to tell him.”

  “Even if it would destroy our marriage and your friendship? He likes you, Syd. And I know he respects you as an officer and a person.”

  Guilt swept over Syd like a cold chill. Maybe this was why she ran from anything emotional. The decisions and their ramifications were always much more difficult and potentially devastating when feelings were involved.

  “It might be better coming from you. He needs to know what you’ve been doing and why. Be honest and let him know that you still love him.” Syd hoped her decision and advice were the right ones. “I’ll leave it to you to decide what you want to say about us.”

  “Gil is a wonderful man and I know he loves me. He’ll be able to distinguish between intent and misguided behavior. I have to believe that.”

  Priscilla finished her coffee and rose to leave. “Take care of yourself, Syd. And who knows, maybe someday the three of us can be friends without you feeling like you’re trapped in the middle.”

  “Thanks. I hope so.”

  She watched Priscilla walk away, her gait the determined stride of a soldier on a mission. She seemed so confident, Syd wondered if she was being completely realistic expecting Gil to understand. Her faith in him was astounding. Syd wondered how it must feel to know you are so loved. She’d never imagined that anyone could love her unconditionally, in spite of her irresponsible behavior and need for excitement. She sought her thrills on the job and in the bedroom. She’d always assumed she would have to hide those needs from a partner, if she had one, and Syd didn’t want to live a dishonest life. Now she’d inadvertently hurt someone she cared about by being selfish and reckless. Maybe she needed to reevaluate. Maybe it was time to manage her life without her crutches.

  She’d been following her errant impulses like a man with a permanent hard-on. But change always proved challenging. It was so easy to fall back on tried-and-true methods of survival. A not-so-old saying came to mind: If you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you’ve always gotten. Syd thought about continuing on her way, making the same choices and dodging bullets like she had with Gil and Priscilla. Did she want to spend her life moving from one high to the next, hoping she could avoid mistakes that would blow up in her face? What was the point?

  The kiss she and Regan shared came to mind. It was hot in a way that shocked and surprised Syd. She’d guessed at the passion Regan tried to hide behind constant control and professionalism, but never imagined it could be so intense. Regan had taken charge of her body and orchestrated responses that were immediate and profound. Sex was sex, but something different about their brief interlude had excited and frightened her.

  It was more than physical, much more. They’d connected on an emotional level that Syd hadn’t experienced before. Regan had bared her soul, something that required tremendous trust. Syd seldom received such a precious gift and avoided giving it. Regan’s willingness to be vulnerable and open, even after such a betrayal by her lover, had allowed Syd to connect with feelings that she had denied and suppressed for too long.

  Perhaps it was possible to have a life that was both physically and emotionally satisfying. Perhaps it would be just as thrilling as her brief, casual encounters. Maybe she wouldn’t need substitutes if she built something real. Just maybe.

  Chapter Eleven

  Syd stood outside Regan’s office wondering how she would feel seeing her for the first time since their kiss. No woman had ever gotten her so excited, been equally turned on, and then walked away. That required a great deal of control. She didn’t understand how to contain that level of desire. She’d never tried to do it before, never felt it necessary. Knowing that Regan had such physical fortitude made Syd want to dissolve that restraint into a puddle of quivering need.

  But the urge to overcome this particular woman’s resistance was not just about meeting a sexual challenge or evening the score after a blow to her ego. Her desire transcended physical attraction. It seemed almost emotionally magnanimous. If she helped free Regan from the repression of her physical desires, Regan would be grateful and much happier.

  And then what? That’s where Syd’s rescue fantasy ended. She stared at Regan’s office door, her hand poised to knock until she heard what sounded like swearing from inside.

  “Go ahead and knock. She’s expecting you,” the assistant urg
ed from her workstation a few feet away.

  She did as she was told and Regan invited her in. “You wanted me to come by?”

  Regan jumped from her desk chair as if it were spring-loaded and swiped awkwardly at the front of her trousers.

  “I’m sorry. Did I interrupt something? Your assistant said I should knock.”

  “No, no. Just a phone call.” A flush crept up Regan’s neck and colored her cheeks. Blushing seemed so out of context for this self-assured, take-charge woman that Syd was intrigued. “I need to go over a few things with you before trial. Please, have a seat.” Regan motioned to a couple of worn leather chairs beside the windows. As they sat, facing the city skyline, the afternoon sun bathed Regan’s profile in streaks of light that shimmered with floating particles. Caught up in the halo effect, Syd forgot to say something meaningless to open the conversation and cover any awkwardness from their last encounter. More than anything, she wanted to hold Regan and bask in her warmth. She wished they could just stay right here until the sun surrendered the city to the possibilities of night.

  After an extended silence Regan asked, “Is something wrong? You look a million miles away.”

  Surprised by her own lapse into sentimentality, Syd replied, “I was just wondering why I’m here. What do we need to discuss?” She prayed that it wasn’t the kiss. Having that incredible moment reduced to a series of rationalizations and apologies would be dishonest and insulting. Perfection should remain simply that. Regan had walked away from her immediately after it; wasn’t that comment enough?

  “I don’t want you to be surprised in court tomorrow morning.” Regan paused, seeming to weigh her words carefully before stating, “I made a motion for a bench trial, which, as you know, means no jury. It will be better for us in the event that Dean Bell tries to bring up your personal life during the hearing. I don’t think the judge will allow it, but he might be able to worm something in.”

  “Okay, that’s good news, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then why do you look so worried?”

  “I’m usually better at hiding my feelings.” Regan seemed to be talking to herself more than Syd. “I better bone up before trial.” She stared out the window for a few seconds and the frown left her face. Once again she was the serene professional Syd had observed the day of their first interview. “When we go into the courthouse, you might come across some people you haven’t been around in a while and wouldn’t necessarily expect to see now.”

  A sense of dread told Syd she didn’t need to ask her next question, but she wanted to hear Regan’s response. “What people?”

  “Women you’ve had sex with over the past year.” Regan couldn’t look her in the eye. Perhaps she had some idea how offensive this whole thing felt. “I realize it’s a little unorthodox. After all, these women filed complaints against you. But when I explained your situation, some of them agreed to testify on your behalf. However, there are others who are not so eager to assist, as you can appreciate.”

  “But doesn’t their very presence give credence to Bell’s argument that I’m a wayward, woman-devouring lesbian? Why couldn’t you just get depositions?”

  “There wasn’t time to depose everyone. And the judge made it clear that character assassination won’t be allowed. We may not even need the girls, since we’re stipulating to the facts of the case. I’m hoping our arguments will be enough to secure a decision.”

  Syd was skeptical. “I don’t get it. I used them for sex and dumped them without another thought. Why would any of them agree to come to court?”

  Regan cupped Syd’s hand. “Every one of these women had sex with you because she wanted to. And some of them wanted to help. Do you know why?”

  Syd shook her head. She didn’t want to remember her callous behavior, and she certainly didn’t want Regan to witness it. The thought of having her ex-lovers lined up like Herefords at a slaughterhouse made her ashamed. They shouldn’t have to be dragged into her problem.

  “They all agreed to be here even without a subpoena,” Regan said, “because you were kind, attentive, and respectful. That speaks well of you.”

  Syd started to respond when Regan’s office door burst open and Dean Bell swaggered in. Regan gave Syd’s hand one final, reassuring squeeze and withdrew, but not without Bell noticing.

  “Excuse me, ladies. I seem to be interrupting.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Regan responded in a bored drawl. She stood and Syd followed suit. “Have you come to concede?”

  “You wish. I thought I’d come meet your officer and try to talk some sense. You’ve still got time to settle.”

  “Not likely. Dean Bell, this is Officer Sydney Cabot. Syd, Mr. Bell is counsel for the plaintiff.”

  Syd shook the proffered hand and cringed at the clammy feel of his skin against hers. The man’s expensive brown suit made him look like a mole, in spite of his attempts at fashion with a beige shirt and multistriped tie. His bulging eyes swept her up and down and she wanted to hurl.

  Regan must have sensed her discomfort because she placed a hand on her shoulder and steered her clear of Bell’s grasp. “I won’t detain you, Officer Cabot. Thank you for coming in.” As she guided Syd toward the door, she said softly, “Get a good night’s sleep. We’re going to win this.”

  *

  “I’m a little surprised you chose to wear your uniform,” Regan said as they made the short trip across the courtyard to the judicial building. It felt like the dead-man’s walk to Syd.

  “Why wouldn’t I? I’m being sued for an act committed during the performance of my duty. Wearing anything else would be disrespectful to the uniform and, quite frankly, would seem as if I’m trying to distance myself from the job, which I’m not.”

  Syd heard a snort from the squatty man a few feet to one side. Regan had positioned herself between Syd and Dean Bell, but he kept modifying his pace and jockeying back and forth to stare unabashedly at her.

  “Did you say something?” Syd challenged him.

  Before he could reply, Regan said, “You look very competent.”

  Syd ignored another salacious glance from Dean Bell. Right now she had more important things to worry about than some pervert eye-groping her. Her stomach seized into a bundle of knots as they entered the courtroom. She’d been in every courtroom in this building, and the federal equivalent, hundreds of times in her career, but never as the defendant. This judge’s bench seemed more imposing, the defendant’s table more ominous, and the bailiffs she normally spoke to and joked with seemed more detached. It was as if some cruel master had reached into her life and jerked it inside out, making her the subject of a menacing legal system.

  The room felt cold and unwelcoming with its institutional gray walls. Only a few people were scattered in the rows of wooden pews. Syd recognized members of the city attorney’s staff, an assistant district attorney, a couple of Internal Affairs supervisors, and members of Lee Nartey’s family. They stared at her like she was a leper.

  The bailiff called the court to order as a kind-looking white-haired woman strode to the bench in the black regalia of her position. Syd recognized the judge and immediately felt more relaxed. Judge Chamberlinck had a reputation for fairness, integrity, and swift justice, and that’s exactly what Syd wanted. The sooner she was out of this situation and could move on with her life, the better.

  Judge Chamberlinck motioned for everyone to be seated, then looked at Regan and Bell with what Syd interpreted as a cautionary glare and began. “Counsel is reminded of my earlier warning regarding protocol in this proceeding. I assume you are both willing to stipulate to the events of the case and move directly to arguing aggravating and mitigating factors. Is that correct?”

  Regan and Bell answered in the affirmative.

  “Mr. Bell, you may begin.”

  Bell stood, pulled at his tie, and walked to the small podium in front of the judge. “Your Honor, on the night in question Mr. Lee Nartey, the deceased, was going home
from the mall on foot, minding his own business, when he was accosted in a darkened corner of the parking lot. According to his dying declaration, all he saw was someone pointing a gun at him. By North Carolina law we are permitted to defend ourselves against the use of deadly force. Mr. Nartey tried to do so with a weapon that he had purchased for his personal protection. There was no evidence on Mr. Nartey at the time of his shooting to indicate that he had committed a crime, and no reason for the officer to confront him. His death was caused solely by the unwarranted actions of Officer Cabot. These facts are uncontested.”

  Syd wanted to yell her objection to the blatant distortion of events. Regan had been taking notes furiously while Bell spoke, but she must have sensed Syd’s growing anxiety. Glancing at her, she mouthed, “It’s okay.” That simple reassurance, along with Regan’s confident smile, settled Syd’s jangled nerves.

  “And as for the officer involved, and element two of the claim,” Bell spouted, “the plaintiff contends that Officer Cabot was negligent and should be held strictly liable for the death of Lee Nartey. On this evening, she had just returned to work from a three-day weekend of—”

  Regan jumped up so quickly that she startled Syd. But before she could speak Judge Chamberlinck waved her off. “Mr. Bell, I hope you’re not headed where I think you’re headed with this. I’ve made myself clear about straying into this questionable area.”

  “Yes, Judge, but I will be addressing the issue of impairment and culpability, not the matter we discussed earlier.”

  She gave him a stern look and said, “See that you stay on point.”

  “As I was saying, Your Honor, Officer Cabot had been off for three days and we have witnesses who’ve given sworn statements that she was drinking for a large part of that time in a club called the Cop Out. She was even seen there just before going on duty the night in question.”

  Syd rolled closer to Regan and gripped her arm. “Are you going to let him get away with this crap? Do something. He’s making it look like I’m an alcoholic incapable of doing my job.”