Authors: Ginger Simpson
“What are you staring at?”
Tony nudged her, while pulling on his gloves.
“Just thinking. If the guys didn’t find any prints or clues to the murderer, we’re going to have to rely on asking lots of questions and delving into the victim’s background. Who had a grudge against her? Who hated her enough to kill her? Who did
she trust
enough to let inside?”
Michelle bent and examined the linens but still glove free, allowed only her gaze to wander the crumpled sheets and blanket. Visually, nary a stray hair or stain gave any promise of gathering the perp’s DNA. Of course, if there had been anything worth checking, the CSI guys would have found it.
She straightened, tamping back the longing to make the bed—wanting to hide the obvious and make the world right again—to deny what really happened. She may have failed to prevent Cara’s murder, but standing there, looking at the very spot where the dead woman heaved her last breath, Michelle vowed to find the person responsible and make them pay.
“Hey, Meesh.” Tony appeared from the bathroom, tugging off his blue plastic gloves. “I can’t find anything. There’s only the usual stuff in the medicine chest. Evidently, she took pride in her appearance. I found tons of hair care products, skin creams and make-up, but nothing out of the ordinary not even a prescription drug.”
Shell wandered the room not bothering the gaping bureau drawers the police already rifled through or daring venture into the closets they’d searched. The small desk beneath the window displayed a dusty outline of where a laptop had been, and the drawer handles and edges around the oaken surface still bore the powder left from fingerprinting. Atop a stack of papers lay a recently dated paycheck. Drawn on a corporate name she didn’t recognize, the only thing she made out from the scribbled signature was someone’s first and last initial: “C”. Obviously not a robbery or the perp didn’t want to risk his/her identity for such a small amount of money.
She continued scanning the room. The windowsills and doors had also been dusted. Her trained eyes sought anything that might have been missed or a small detail perhaps overlooked.
She paused in front of the flat-screened television, noting the built-in DVD player. As she turned to say something to her partner, he bumped against her, jarring her off balance.
“Christ, Tony. Pay attention,” she snapped. “And quit following me. If I wanted a puppy, I’d buy one.”
“Sorry, Meesh.” He slunk backwards. “I’ll search the other side of the room.”
“Good idea, Sherlock.”
She immediately regretted her snappy tone, but the frustration at working with someone with such amazing sex appeal niggled at her. Instead of dwelling on his good looks and cursing the department for assigning him to her, she nitpicked him, hoping to sway her attraction.
Pulling a glove on one hand, she turned her attention back to the DVD and hit the eject button. An unmarked disc slid out. Once in a while, even the best missed something. “Hey, Tone, I got something here.”
She dangled the disc in the air until he held an evidence bag beneath it. After sealing the item inside, she withdrew a black felt-tip pen from her pocket and marked the collection date, time, and location. She printed, Austin, in bold across the top then slipped the plastic bag into her satchel-like shoulder bag.
She took one last look around. “C’mon Tonto, the Lone Ranger’s ready to ride.”
“Huh?” Tony flashed a confused look that almost made her laugh.
“I meant, there’s nothing left to do here, so let’s blow this joint.”
As he joined her at the door, she slapped him on the shoulder. “I guess you Italian kids never watched old westerns.”
* * *
Tony strode into the squad room, his dark hair damp and drooping onto his forehead from the unbearable humidity the weather forecast predicted. He plopped into his chair, shoved a stray curl from his perspiring brow and pulled out his notepad. Leaning on his elbows, he gazed across the desks. “Okay, I did whatcha asked and added the building super to the suspect list. Seems the worst offense he’s committed is being ugly.”
Michelle’s gaze strayed to the bulging biceps straining against the confines of Tony’s white sleeves. She’d always been attracted to dark, handsome men, and no denying Tony was definitely eye-candy. Realizing she stared, she leaned back in her seat and tried to refocus. “So, did you get any
useful
leads?
“The tenants I talked to all said Bernie doesn’t come around much other than at the first of the month to collect the rent or when something needs repaired. No one remembers him being overly friendly with anyone, our victim included. He‘s a loner type who might be obnoxious but I don‘t think he’s a killer”
“Yeah, well no one thought Ted Bundy was a murderer either, but he killed more than thirty-five women in six states.”
“Bundy…wasn’t he that law student who managed to escape from prison twice before they offed him?”
“One and the same. See, you can never make assumptions in our line of work.”
“But, doesn’t the law say people are innocent until proven guilty?”
“Exactly, but we have to treat everyone as a suspect until we prove otherwise.”
“Okay, okay, you made your point. I’ll do some more digging on Bernie. Oh, by the way, he did tell me our vic worked as a dancer at some dive called, Kitty Katz.”
Michelle stood, arched, and massaged the small of her back. “Let’s call it a day and start tomorrow with a fresh perspective. We’ve already put in over eight hours, and the Lieutenant will have a cow if we claim any more overtime. I’m going home, and I suggest you do the same.”
“Wanna grab a cuppa joe first?”
She wanted to respond with an immediate ‘yes’ but spending her entire workday with him was enough to test her willpower. Instead, she shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m beat. Rain check?”
“Sure.” His shoulders sagged with apparent disappointment. “I guess I’ll just head home and catch some zzzzs. See you tomorrow.”
Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, he sauntered out the open double doors.
Michelle’s tongue darted across her lips. She’d been without a man in her bed for so long, the way his slacks hugged his firm buttocks and draped down his muscular thighs made her tingle in places she’d forgotten. As soon as she wrote her number one ranking novel, resigned from the force and was no longer restrained by the non-fraternization rule, Tony had better watch out. Until then, writing and work didn’t leave time for dating let alone the opportunity to develop a relationship. Still, she missed having someone in her life.
With Tony gone, she pulled her gaze from the door and gathered
her thoughts. She had a crime to solve and a ton of paperwork to do. Her mouth gaped into a yawn. Tomorrow haunted her already. She opened her bottom drawer, shouldered her purse and gave the detective at the next desk a parting nod.
Michelle opened the front door to the sound of her home phone ringing. She tossed her purse on the sofa and picked up the wireless handset. “Hello.”
“Hey, Shell, it’s Naomi. I almost hung up, figured you weren‘t home.”
“I just walked in. What’s up?”
“Nothing special, just thought you might like to get together for a bit. I’ll bring the wine.”
“Sounds good. Give me about an hour to shower and change.”
“You got it. See you soon.”
Shell smiled as she placed the phone back in its charger. Despite being as different as night and day she and Nay, as she called her, had been best friends since their sophomore year in high school. Michelle, cocoa-colored hair, slender, and brown-eyed stood a good head taller than her light brunette gal pal. Naomi had curves, but her stocky build always led to her complaints about watching what she ate. Where Nay was laid back and patient, Michelle moved like a speeding bullet and had a short fuse. She’d learned to control her temper on the job, despite the stupidity of most people, and she had bite marks on her tongue to prove it. A night with a friend was just what she needed…especially since she’d turned down Tony’s invitation.
In the bedroom, she grabbed a pair of jeans, her well-worn Philadelphia Eagle tee and some clean underwear before heading for the adjoining bathroom. While she waited for the shower to warm, her mind strayed to the ashen face of Cara Austin. Again, Michelle puzzled over why she was cursed with seeing someone killed while hints of the perpetrator evaded her. Why were her visions so sporadic? First the gunshot murder and now this second grisly scene of the Austin murder
. Though she’d ignored all the earlier and questionable minor instances of shoplifting and burglary, no way could she disregard a life lost. Still, with no clues to pursue, speaking up would only affirm she was as crazy as the visions made her feel. If ever anyone needed an on-off switch, she did.
Showered and awaiting her friend, she took two wine glasses from the cabinet. The idea of a good white Zinfandel and relaxing with someone who knew all her secrets made her smile. Naomi had no other family.
She’d been an only child when her parent died in a car accident years ago. Nay was more like a sister than a friend, and only God and Nay knew the number of times Michelle kept her mouth shut until reporting calls came in and then not act surprised when dispatch assigned calls for the very crimes she’d witnessed in her mind. If she couldn’t use her friend as a sounding board, Michelle would probably be in a nut house. With that thought, tension stiffened her shoulders, and she tightened her grip on the crystal stems.
A knock on the door kept the delicate glass from crumbling. Michelle took a relaxing breath and crossed the room. The stress disappeared when she saw Naomi.
“I don’t know if I’m happier to see you or the wine in that bag you’re carrying.”
“Well, I’m not sure whether to be insulted or not.”
Nay laughed. “Tough day, eh?”
“You have no idea.” Michelle took the sack, removed two bottles of wine and tossed the brown paper in the trash before fishing in the drawer for the corkscrew. She paused before opening the first bottle. “Get comfortable, I have lots to tell you.”
Naomi slipped off her tennis shoes, sat, and drew her legs up around her. “More visions?”
Michelle balanced two rim-filled glasses taking care not to spill as she sat. She handed one goblet to Nay and took a large sip from her own. The fruity alcohol tingled down her throat. She crossed one long leg over the other, wiggling her bare toes. “Bad this time. I almost tipped my hand when I recognized the dead woman as the same one I saw being murdered.”
Nay’s eyes widened. “Murdered? Not again!”
“Yep…and I hope this is the last instance where I actually witness someone struggling to live. Of course, I’ve put up with dozens of other useless cinemas playing in my head, but nothing like this in a long time. The first was killed by gunshot. This one wasn’t.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember when that case was solved. The butler didn’t do it.” She giggled.
Michelle cast a sobering stare at her friend. “Not funny. I’m still struggling with guilt from practically using the scene in my novel, especially when I thought I’d created the idea. I had no idea I foretold the future.”
She uncrossed her legs, leaned forward, placed her glass on the coffee table, and then splayed her fingers through her hair. “I’m telling you, this whole vision crap is bizarre. Why the hell is this happening to me?”
Her friend shook her head. “I don’t know, Shell. I’ve read about seers and people who claim they can tell the future, but I’ve never heard of anyone who sees only scenes through someone else’s eyes.”
She hugged her knees and her gaze intensified. “That’s how it is with you, isn’t it? Like watching exactly what the…the…what do you call that person?”
“In this case,
murderer
. And yes, that’s exactly what happens. I never see the ‘perpetrator’s’ face or much more than the immediate surroundings, but I instantly recognize the crime scenes when I’m sent there to investigate.”
“So, how was this last one killed?”
Nay rubbed her hands together like a child eager for the end of a fairy tale.
“You know of course, I’m not supposed to be discussing the crime with you.”
“But you can trust me. You already told the whole world when you wrote a novel about the first one, for Christ’s sake.”
“No, I didn’t…not exactly anyhow. Fiction writers use creative license all the time to alter the facts a bit, and that’s what I did. I didn’t reveal the entire truth about how the woman died because I didn‘t know then. I had no idea what I wrote would really happen.”
She leaned back and took a drink from her glass, savoring the flavor. “Oh, I love this stuff. I think I could easily become an alcoholic if these visions continue.”
Naomi plopped her feet on the floor and placed on
e hand on her hip. “Don’t change the subject. Explain this creative license thing…and what embellishments?”
Face toward the ceiling, Michelle lolled her head from side-to-side, lessening the day’s tension. “No one wants to read about shoplifters or petty thieves. I added a little spice to the gun-toting heroine by making her cases a little more exciting. You know…armed robbery, hostages…things like that?”
She turned an intent stare to Naomi. “Besides, I had no way of knowing all the details when I wrote back then. I only mentioned a woman was shot, the killer in my book
wasn’t
her husband.”