Taylor Made

by Alex Westmore

  Christian’s eyebrows knitted together. “Before?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t have any data that would indicate that, no. Of course, that’s not saying it isn’t possible. But that would mean—”

  Before Christian could finish, three uniformed officers stepped from an adjoining room marked “Biological.”

  “If it isn’t the infamous Delta Stevens,” one officer quipped. “Got any more fatal obsessions knocking on your door?”

  Har har. Snicker.

  The three officers laughed and poked each other in the ribs. “You gotta admit, Stevens, you really win the prize on this one.”

  “Uh, come on, fellas,” Christian said meekly.

  “Stevens, have you thought about maybe changing that men’s cologne you wear? We hear it drives women wild.”

  “Or is that your goal?”

  “Fuck off, York,” Delta said, stepping up to the shorter man. “Before I do something you might regret.”

  One of the officers came to York’s side. “Maybe it’s a dyke thing, eh? An ex-lover or a lesbo scorned.”

  “Don’t push it, Baker.”

  York backed up a step as Delta leveled her gaze at Baker. “Don’t push her, Bake. You ever hear what she did to those other cops that pissed her off?”

  The third cop, a rookie, nodded, but said nothing.

  “Where’s your dago bodyguard now, Stevens? Heard he roughed Miller up defending your ‘honor.’ Is there honor among dykes?”

  Delta stepped right up to Baker. “God gave men dicks, Baker, so they wouldn’t be complete assholes. Unfortunately, you’re both.”

  The other cops started to laugh, but then stopped.

  “You’re a homophobic asshole who’s not worth two seconds of my time, so if you don’t mind—”

  “But I do mind, Stevens. I mind very much. It’s bad enough we gotta let you people into the military, into our schools, and even into our churches, but—”

  “Shut your mouth, Baker,” Delta warned.

  “Or what?”

  “Come on, Bake,” York pleaded, touching his arm. “You made your point.”

  Baker pulled away and stood eye to eye with Delta. “No. Come on, hotshot. You think that just because you’re a dyke, you can take out a man? I’m so fucking tired of hearing about all this gay rights shit I could—”

  Before she could stop herself, Delta brought her left knee into his groin, doubling him over. Then, she grabbed him by the neck and slammed his head against a wall.

  “Listen up, you sorry sack of shit. The next time your tiny mind closes and your big mouth opens, I’m going to be there to slam it shut. So, if you don’t want this dyke to humiliate your manly pride in front of your buddies like I’m doing right now, you’ll keep your prehistoric ramblings to yourself. You understand me?”

  Baker could do nothing except grunt and hold his crotch.

  Releasing his throat, Delta pushed him away from her and into the arms of York and the rookie, who didn’t know quite what to do.

  “I don’t recommend messing with me today, guys. As you can see, I’m not in the mood.”

  Both men held their hands up as if being arrested. “Don’t worry. No problem.”

  “Then get him out of my sight.” Delta watched the two men half-carry, half-drag Baker out of the area. She hated losing her cool like that, but she wasn’t about to stand there and let some redneck walk all over her. Returning her attention to Christian, Delta grinned at his slack-jawed appearance. “Don’t worry, Christian, he’ll live.”

  Christian gulped. “Yeah, once they remove his gonads from his throat. You’re just like everyone says you are.”

  “Oh? Who are ‘they,’ and what are ‘they’ saying?”

  “Uh...nothing bad, really. Just that you live up to your reputation. I sure hope I never get on your bad side.”

  “Not to worry, Christian. You’re one of the truly good guys in my book.”

  Christian blushed. “Thanks.”

  “So, anyway—”

  “Sorry, Delta, but there’s simply no way of knowing if the alarms are set off after the burglaries have occurred.”

  “Okay, what about point of entry?”

  Christian led Delta over to a six-foot-long lab table. Various items were tagged and laying face up. “The POE is consistent with each burglary. We have the piece of glass she cut out, pictures of all window frames, and assorted tread-marks, but other than that, the evidence is pretty slim. She’s a clean one.”

  “Clean?”

  Christian nodded. “No prints, not one strand of hair, not one eye- witness other than yourself. There were no other identifying marks other than the shoe imprint, and all that did was give us her size and weight. If you’re looking for hard evidence, I’m afraid we’re lacking where this one is concerned. She’s good.”

  Delta nodded thoughtfully. “Can you give me some soft evidence?”

  Christian cringed and Delta knew why. It was his job to find and evaluate concrete clues. Anything beyond the tangible facts were out of his realm and nonproductive. Techies stayed away from the abstract, the obscure, and speculative. Unless they could smell it, touch it, or see it, it didn’t exist for them. “Such as?”

  “Why is she only taking one item?”

  “One that we know of.” Christian grinned the grin of an evidence techie.

  “Fine then. So let’s assume she’s getting away with only one item. What does that tell you?”

  Rubbing his chin, Christian pulled a pencil from his pocket and drew a circle. “My best guess?”

  Delta nodded.

  “She knew what she was after prior to going in. She isn’t merely selective, she’s precise. She’s passed up way too many valuable items, some of which were more valuable than what she took.”

  “Interesting.”

  “All three items stolen were bought at Van Cleef & Arpels.”

  “Excellent. We can check employees.” Delta pulled her notebook out and wrote this down.

  “Not really. Van Cleef & Arpels does extensive background checks on all of its employees, so that angle could yield us zip.”

  “Any other similarities?”

  “None. Not even in her taste of jewelry. She’s stolen different color jewels, different styles, different cuts, and different gems. If there’s a pattern, I can’t tell you what it is. She leaves virtually no concrete clues, yet enough abstract ones to spin my brains into muck.”

  “What about NCIC? Anything there?” The National Crime Information Center was like a magic wand to those who knew how to thoroughly utilize the system. Christian did, although he wasn’t nearly as proficient with the ins and outs as Connie.

  Christian removed his glasses and cleaned them. “We don’t believe she’s ever been caught or done time. No one in the system matches her speculative height, weight, or MO. There was one—”

  “Who?”

  Christian put his glasses back on. “She died two years ago.”

  “What about the Harley? Any leads?”

  “Interestingly enough, not one dealer in California has reported one stolen.”

  “You’re assuming it was.”

  “Clearly, we were wrong. It appears she may have either borrowed it, owns it, or stole it outside of California.”

  “Harley doesn’t make that many bikes in a year—”

  “Delta, you didn’t get the make, the year, the color, anything. The bike could have been bought in the seventies for all we know. Still, we’ll run a check on Harleys bought in the last ten years by women. Again, that’s assuming it was bought by a woman.”

  “In other words, it’s a big, fat zero.”

  Christian shrugged. “So far, yes.”

  “Is there anything to go on at this point?”

  “You might want to visit Van Cleef & Arpels yourself and just eyeball the employees.”

  “I take it you’re leaning toward the thief having some kind of connection to Van Cleef & Arpels?”
<
br />   Christian shrugged again. “It’s the best lead we have so far.”

  “Maybe I’ll do that.”

  “If you do, be forewarned; the manager at Van Cleef & Arpels is quite a package. He made it clear that he would not tolerate anyone ‘pointing the wicked finger of guilt’ at his staff.”

  Delta smiled. The intimation was that the manager was a flamer. “Did he really say that?”

  “It’s what I heard.”

  “Thanks.” Reaching for the door, Delta turned and smiled. “Thanks for your time, Christian. As always, you’ve been invaluable.”

  Blushing, Christian held the door open for her. “And as always, you’ve given the department something new to talk about.”

  Winking at Christian, Delta stepped outside. Maybe the redneck jerks were right...maybe she should change her cologne. Grinning, Delta headed back to Connie’s.

  “So Con, how’s your end?” Walking into the family room, Delta dumped an armload of books and newspapers on the floor.

  Connie answered in a singular grunt. Then, after a moment, elaborated. “I’m stumped. Wainwright’s people are almost too clean. They’re too true to be good.”

  Delta started to correct Connie’s quote misuse, then realized she’d probably intended it to come out that way. “Give me a sampling.”

  “Try this: a coordinator for the AIDS project, the VP of the March of Dimes, the president of the local Elk’s lodge, and a contingency of people who might show up someday on the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. No parolees, no ex-cons, nothing dirty. Nada.”

  Delta blew out a breath. “Almost too neat and tidy for my taste.”

  “I procured a list of everyone in Alex’s organization as well.”

  Delta went to the kitchen, retrieved a Diet Pepsi, and popped the top. “You think it was an inside job, don’t you?”

  “I think,” Connie said slowly, “that Wainwright doesn’t command such an awesome following by being stupid. And that following would hightail it out of there if a scandal this big were ever in the open. He has his hands in many pots.” Opening a manila folder, Connie pulled out a thick stack of computer paper. “I had every name on the list run through NCIC. Oh, while I was at it, I also had your thief run through.”

  Delta sipped her soda. “Been done. She’s clean. Whoever she is, she’s never been busted.”

  “I’ve taken a different angle, but I’ll let you know more when I get the results. Since you continue defending her—”

  “I don’t defend her.”

  “One report from NCIC and you’re ready to assume she’s never been busted? That’s hardly the Delta I know and love.”

  Delta shrugged and stared at the bubbles in the can. “You’ve got it all wrong, Con. I just don’t care for assumptions. If we’re going to go after her, I want facts.”

  “Then facts you shall have..” Connie changed the subject, “I have a schedule of Alex’s proposed events and speeches. Because of public access to her agenda, I think it would be wise for her to make some unannounced stops along the way. You know, throw a few curves, shake up a few things. Since we don’t know if the suspect intends to make another attack, she needs to be semi-unpredictable. Think you can convince her to do that for a while?”

  Delta nodded. “If she wants to live.”

  “Good. The key now is for her not to trust anyone within her organization. Everyone is suspect until we get a lead. So far, all we have is a high-powered weapon that would have blown an eight-inch hole out the back of her.”

  “I wonder why he only shot three times.”

  “My guess is the sound attracted attention. The bullets were scattered as if someone had jostled his arm.”

  “That’s interesting. You’d expect they’d be close together.”

  “Well, she was moving; she was coming from the courthouse heading south downstairs. He fired before she came to the end of the stairs, where she met with the media.”

  “So, if he would have waited, what, two, three more seconds—”

  “He would have had a shot at a nonmoving target.”

  “But he didn’t wait.”

  “Nope.”

  Delta looked down at a black and white photo of the courthouse steps. “I wonder why not.”

  Before Connie could answer, the doorbell rang. Connie opened the door to a boy, about nine years old, stood with a rolled up newspaper in his hand.

  “Good morning, Eric. Since when did you start door-to-door delivery?”

  Eric smiled and his freckles seemed to jump around his face. “Your friend said it was your birthday, and she gave me this to give to you.”

  Suddenly, Delta was at Connie’s side. “What did she look like?” Eric looked up at the sky, as if the answer was written in the clouds.

  “She was short. Almost my size. Had long blonde hair down to about here. She was...pretty.” Eric held the paper out to Connie in one hand and a small, gray velvet box in the other. “Happy birthday, Miss Rivera.”

  Taking the box, Connie forced a smile. “Thank you, Eric.”

  “Have a nice day. I love it when it’s my birthday.” Leaning over, Eric picked up his bike and rode away.

  Closing the door, Connie held the box out to Delta, “Gee...I wonder who this is from.”

  Taking the box, Delta walked back into the den. “She must have followed me here.”

  “But she’s not dangerous, is she?” Connie folded her arms across her chest. “I’ve already had some asshole abduct my lover, Del. I am not ever going to go through that again.”

  “I hear you.”

  Connie stepped up to her and looked hard into Delta’s face. “Do you? Because so help me, if this little twerp harasses me in any way, I’ll take her down with or without your help. Capisce?”

  Delta nodded. In all the years they’d known each other, Connie had only gotten angry with Delta once. This posture now made it once and a half. “Maybe I’ve underestimated her.”

  “Maybe. And that, my friend, is how good people get hurt.” Connie unfolded her arms and moved next to Delta. “You gonna open it? I can already tell you what’s in it.”

  Opening the box, Delta revealed a gold necklace with the initials DS in gold. In between the two letters sat a large emerald. “Oh, shit,” uttered Delta, staring down into the box. “I think we’ve got trouble.”

  Taking the box from her, Connie snapped it shut. “You think? Jesus, it’s about time. I was getting tired of thinking for two of us.”

  Delta looked up and blushed. “I’m sorry, Con. I guess...I don’t know.”

  Reopening the box, Connie removed the necklace. The emerald threw green light like a prism throws rainbows. “It’s actually quite stunning. I’m surprised she went this far out on a limb.”

  “You mean by coming here?”

  Connie shook her head. “No. By having this made, she’s left us a huge clue. If we find out where it was made, we may be able to track her down.”

  “You think she’s careless enough to leave her real address at a jewelry store?”

  Connie grinned slightly. “Careless isn’t the adjective I would use. Fearless is more like it.”

  “She can be a thorn in my side professionally, but personally—”

  “That’s just it, Delta. This is personal. Don’t you get it? She’s enamored with you. She went to a lot of trouble to have that ring converted into a necklace for you. She’s in love.”

  Delta jumped up and paced over to the window. “Give me a break, here. In love? With me? Right.”

  Connie continued. “The thefts are incidental. It’s you she’s really after.”

  “Well, I don’t give a shit if she steals the Hope diamond for me, I’m not going to stand around while some thief trails me and interferes with my personal life. Enamored or not, she’s crossed the line.”

  Connie put her arm on Delta’s shoulder and pulled her back to the computer. “Just hear me out for a minute, okay? First, she follows you to the bar, makes physical contact, a
nd then leaves the diamond. What does that tell you?”

  “That she wanted me to know she was the thief.”

  “What else?”

  “That she Snuffy-Smithed me.”

  Connie’s eyebrows raised. “Snuffy-Smithed?”

  Delta chuckled. “My grandfather used to say that whenever he was dealing with dishonest people.”

  “And you make remarks about my heritage?”

  Delta shrugged. “We’re Okies, what can I say?”

  Connie held her hands up to surrender. “Say no more, please. So, she wanted you to know that she—”

  “Snuffy-Smithed me.”

  “Whatever. What else?”

  Delta thought for a moment. “Her line about me being the most fun she’d had in a long time.”

  Connie’s face broke into a grin. “Right. Consider yourself her entertainment. Can you imagine the adrenaline rush she must have gotten out of standing next to you, indeed, hanging on you? She’s an adrenaline junkie.”

  Delta cocked her head. “A what?”

  “An adrenaline junkie. Her motive is excitement, the thrill, the danger of being caught. Like skydivers and bungee jumpers, she’s into this because it pumps her up. Part of the game for her is riding the edge. At this moment, she’s probably riding the crest of adrenaline. It’s like a drug to her.”

  Delta shook her head. “An adrenaline junkie, eh?”

  Connie nodded. “I read a report about them a couple of weeks ago.”

  Delta’s left eyebrow rose. “Oh? Any reason in particular?”

  Connie rose and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Yeah, because a person I love happens to be one.”

  Delta opened her mouth, but the words could not travel out of her brain. So, someone else was worried about the chances Delta had been taking recently.

  Bringing her coffee back to where they’d been seated at the computer, Connie rubbed Delta’s thigh. “Don’t look so hurt. Gina and I were watching a movie a while back about these guys who were surfers, skydivers, and rock climbers, you name it. If there was danger and risk involved, they did it.” Connie took a sip of her coffee before reaching for Delta’s hand. “Gina made a comment that you were a lot like them. That you loved the risk, the thrill of possible death. I was appalled when she said it, but then she pulled out one of her psychology abstracts, and, sure enough, it described you to a tee. There’s a name for people who like the razor’s edge.”