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May 21, 2017
The New York Special Force (NYSF) was a newly conceived unit where Fiona Sapiro had been working the past two months as head of the department. The shortcomings in security amid the horizontal immensity of Manhattan required a special force to tackle the murderous intentions of dangerous individuals. The unit overlooked tactical procedures and bypassed the usual territorial perimeters that other police precincts were protecting. The NYSF was excused for behavior that would be criticized as cruel, unusual, and a violation by others; there were almost no limitations on them. Fiona wasn’t keen on the idea of having an entity with so much autonomy, and she convinced the mayor to mandate it back to the tactical procedures of the past while still liberally allowing the crossing of jurisdictions. She wasn’t keen on the idea of leaving Manhattan to hunt for criminals either. Yet, on more than one occasion, she travelled outside the boundaries of the city that she so passionately loved. Strangely, Fiona didn’t see the spatial restrictions of Manhattan—the island was approximately thirteen miles long and about two miles wide—but she saw the immensity of the skyscrapers.
The limitation of the land wasn’t an obstacle for the early occupants of the island either. They had simply conquered the skies to gain space. The skyscrapers began to pop up in the early years of the nineteenth century. The Chrysler Building and the Empire State Building were completed in the 1930s. The Chrysler Building was a seventy-seven-story-tall structure, while the Empire State Building topped it by twenty-five floors. Fiona appreciated the conformity, enormity, and vastness of the latter, and she visited the skyscraper at least once a year now, more out of habit than for pleasure. When she was young, she loved to be on the observatory deck looking down on the toy-like buildings, cars, and humans. Sometimes, she fantasized that she could reach down and pick them up and place them on the other end of the island if she wanted. She took out-of-town family and friends there as well, showcasing the building like it was her own. Now, Fiona had lost the pleasure she experienced when she first visited the vast structure. Perhaps, being a New York police detective marred her perspective on life.
Fiona was a good detective and had served enough years to claim retirement, but she knew that boredom would set in and indignantly pushed the idea out of her head. She was waiting until they kicked her out. Now, she was assigned to head a unit that required intelligence and guts ... and luckily, she had both. She was well-versed in her profession and held two masters’ degrees: one in Criminal Justice and one in Forensic Psychology. The first, she applied when she encountered a case where victims and offenders survived the crime, and the second, when she needed to ascertain the causes of the crimes. She had earned both degrees in two and a half years, and she excelled despite feeling the pressure of her work.
She finished all post-graduate requirements while holding a full-time job as a police officer. Her father was a firefighter, who had hoped his daughter would follow his path, and her mother was an English teacher. At first, Fiona followed what seemed to her to be the right progression. She became a history teacher in defiance of her father’s steering her toward the fire department. Next, she taught history for two years in a public school in Manhattan, but soon, the fire of instilling knowledge in her students burned out. She left without ever looking back, knowing she had made the right decision. When she announced her desire to join New York’s finest to her parents, they both accepted it as if they had given up on her. Fiona knew that the fire and the police departments were at odds at times. Who was she kidding? They were at odds most of the time. She had expected her father to put up a fight and was surprised by her father’s lack of an argument. She never questioned him, and she forgot all about it once she entered the academy. She graduated the academy with distinction, was assigned to a precinct in Brooklyn, and enrolled in college, focusing on psychopathology and criminality. She felt she had obtained a type of balance in her life for the first time. She had taken control of her own destiny at last, without the external influence of her parents.
Now, in her early forties, after solving five cold cases and catching a serial killer and numerous offenders, she settled into her loneliness in her high-rise apartment on Ninth Avenue. She felt deep inside that she was happy. The truth was, she was extremely pleased with one aspect of her life: her apartment. Although it was small, it was high enough for her to enjoy the spectacular view of the city and the sky. Fiona lived on the fortieth floor of a residential tower in the west part of Manhattan facing the Hudson River. In the morning hours before the sun drenched her apartment, she had her coffee in the little nook off the kitchen while gazing at the view. She particularly liked to watch the stormy sky as the dark grey clouds rolled in and the thunder bolts of electricity traveled deep into the horizon.
The nook contained a round table with two chairs that served as her elaborate dining room. She was content with it and besides, no one was invited to her apartment for dinner except a few female companions and her mother when she was up to traveling to the city.
Surprisingly, the rest of the apartment exhibited elements of class and exuded femininity with its candles, artwork, and furnishings that only a woman would choose. Of course, her mother provided the décor, and Fiona subserviently accepted her involvement. Fiona couldn’t be bothered decorating her newly-acquired apartment while criminals roamed the streets of the city. She gave her mother total access to her space and advised her to use her artistic flare. Her mother was retired, and her father had passed on years ago. She was the only daughter, so Fiona felt it was her duty to keep her mother busy. Decorating Fiona’s apartment had occupied her mother for quite a while. Fiona originally set up a timetable to personally fill her mother’s daily schedule. She tried in the beginning, and now, Fiona traveled to Queens just once a week. Her mother never complained or put any expectations on her, though she expressed her enjoyment of the time spent with her only daughter. Fiona often felt guilt creeping up on her for not checking with her mother more often, but she dismissed it, trusting that her mother’s new companion, Mr. Peters, was keeping her busy nowadays.
The red sectional sofa that her mother chose for her space contradicted the style Fiona normally preferred. Now, she had gotten used to it and she even liked it. The tedious and tiresome off-white color on the walls was not important when there were hints of color from everywhere else. It was a well-balanced room, minus the rustic coffee table. The rough surface, the two dark locks, and the rectangular shape of the table suited her well when she was reviewing a case. She kept copies of cold cases in the bottom drawer, retrieving them on her days off, when she usually leafed through them in an attempt to uncover hidden clues or some point she had missed.
Fiona was usually too observant to have missed details or evidence that led to the resolution of a case, but at times, she felt inadequate and insufficient when she dealt with cold cases. There was one cold case that had crossed her desk twenty years ago and still remained unsolved. Today, on her day off as always, she would open that file. She turned on the coffee machine and ambled toward the living room, opening the bottom drawer of the coffee table and retrieving the file. She placed it on the table and returned to the kitchen, patiently waiting for a cup of freshly-made coffee while gazing outside. The sky was blue and welcoming, and she had become lost in its immensity when she heard bubbling sounds erupting and turned her attention to the cup underneath the machine’s spout. It was generously filled, and the smell of the java filled the room. She removed it and walked back to the living room to begin the task of finding a miniscule detail that would assist her in uncovering an important clue. Maybe she was a fool to believe it, yet, hope never left her. She approached her cases with a renewed curiosity about the human nature that could undermine what was pure and decent. She maintained the microscopic hope that good would outweigh the bad; however, she often found herself more disappointed than rewarded by people. Unfortunately, she discovered that pure evil had existed long before the formation of humanity. It had to, otherwise she could not explain the infliction of pain that one human caused another, and she knew it was often more than pain and went far deeper.
She picked up the case file and looked at it, knowing there was minimal material to guide her. The little evidence that had survived over time wasn’t enough to provide clues. The few color pictures cruelly displaying the crime committed had led her to a dead end more than once. The victim remained a Jane Doe; no missing person report was ever filed that resembled her. Fiona had checked the police and the FBI’s National Crime Information Center database numerous times, and the offender seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Fiona made it her personal business to contact the Doe Network and have them include this unidentified victim in their electronic catalog. Her unidentified body was discovered in Central Park in the morning hours of May 21st precisely twenty years ago. Fiona was a rookie then and had been inexperienced and terrified when she saw the crime scene.
The pictures landed on the couch as she stretched her long legs. She picked them up and looked at them like it was the first time, intensely gazing at the images while sipping her coffee. She then withdrew her concentration from the pictures and looked at the transcript on her lap where something caught her eye. She let the pictures fall from her grip, picking up the transcript to study the single line and trembling with the discovery. She knew she had something tenable to restart her investigation, something more than the indecipherable pictures could have given her. How was it possible she had missed it previously? Was it a valuable lead? Her heart began pounding in her chest.
At that same moment, her home phone began ringing. She wanted to ignore it. She tried to ignore it. Finally, she placed the file next to her on the couch, removed her legs from the table, and got up.
She glared at the number and recognized its source. “You know it’s my day off.”
“I know, I know,” her partner, Gregory retorted. “We have a situation, and it’s different from anything else I’ve experienced. You have to see it for yourself.”
“Gregory, calm down. I’ve been around for a long time ....”
“Fiona. Trust me. This is different.”
“Okay, okay. Give me the address.”
Fiona gave up out of curiosity. She doubted the crime scene was more disturbing than any other she had encountered in her career. Gregory was just too new and inexperienced. She ran her hands through her hair and realized she needed a haircut. Of course, her rogue looks were not important right now. She sighed with frustration and let gravity guide her hands to her sides while moving toward the living room to close the file she had opened only minutes ago. She put the photos and the documents back in the manila folder and then pulled out the last drawer where her cold cases were resting in the protection of the darkness.
She got ready in a fraction of her normal time. She had to hurry. These were special circumstances, and they would not wait for her to arrive before removing the body. She mulled over the idea of calling her partner and telling him that she was unable to come ... but only for a second. The thought disappeared as fast as it crossed her mind, and she grabbed the keys of her sporty BMW and made her way out. It was a beautiful day, and as soon as she stepped outside, she was bathed in sunlight. She squinted her eyes to limit the blinding brightness entering her retina. She checked the street on both sides for traffic and crossed the intersection to the parking garage across from her building. Fiona had complained about the limited parking space in the city, and after much consideration, she resolved it by renting the monthly space. She avoided taking advantage of the special privileges she earned as a detective. She rarely used her badge to park illegally since she preferred to follow the rules. She put the clutch in reverse, turning her wheel left until she was clear to make her way toward the garage’s exit. She glanced at the clock and was amazed that she had gotten ready in less than thirty minutes. She congratulated herself on accomplishing the nearly impossible; the difficulty of her getting ready that fast was not lost on her. Fiona preferred a slower pace in life. Ironically, she lived in an environment where a fast tempo was the only way. She pressed down hard on the gas pedal and her car sprang to life. She sped down the avenues, crossing Seventh, Sixth, Fifth, Park, Madison, Lexington, and finally, turning left on Third. Miraculously, considering it was the morning rush hour, the traffic was minimal, and she thanked her lucky stars.
She arrived at the murder scene before ten and parked her car parallel to the curb and next to a cruiser. She got out and looked at the two-story building. The green awning hanging above the entrance door didn’t appear as though it belonged there. Police officers blocked off the sidewalk with tape on both sides to hold back the human traffic that was expanding and overflowing with curiosity seekers. She fought her way to the front of the iron gate and flashed her badge to the female police officer, who stepped to the side to make room for her to pass. Fiona felt she was given greater scrutiny than was necessary. The police officer’s gaze followed her, she was sure of it. She had been getting inquisitive stares from both sexes for so long she almost expected it, and sometimes, she welcomed it. She climbed the stairs and lowered her head when she passed through the screen door. She realized the body was somewhere on the first floor since all the activity was concentrated there. She kept her badge out, holding it on her palm and showing it when she encountered a police officer.
“Fiona. Back here,” she heard her partner’s voice rising above the human commotion.
When she reached the bedroom, she made a quick assessment, storing the information in her brain. There were two additional detectives in the room. One was a female wearing fitted jeans, a t-shirt proclaiming in large font who gives a shit, and a baseball hat. Her frame was small and not taller than the norm. Fiona was observant and didn’t miss the fact that the woman was extremely pretty. The male detective was medium height with broad shoulders, and he appeared to be working out regularly. Gregory, her partner, made the introductions. Sophie and Phil were a pair of detectives from the nearby Queens’ precinct, and they were both absorbed by the curious crime.
“So, what have we got here?” Fiona ventured.
Sophie looked up at her, adjusting her cajoling voice and offering her rejection. “Detective Sapiro.” She let the bubbling air escape her lungs. “You don’t belong here.”
“Please, call me Fiona,” she insisted with a smile that revealed her full mouth and intensified her dimples. Most of her girlfriends told her the indentations on each side of her face were sexy, and she used her smile for just that reason. Besides, she didn’t want to intimidate the female detective, she just wanted to softly coerce her into accepting help and allowing her to be part of the investigation. She wouldn’t pull rank and remind Sophie she was the head of NYSF unless it became necessary.
“Detective Sapiro,” she continued, completely undermining Fiona’s suggestion, “are you aware that you have crossed jurisdictions? I understand from your partner that you’re exempt from such restrictions, but until my captain tells me otherwise, I prefer to conduct my own investigation without your interference.”
To her surprise, Fiona realized that charming the detective wouldn’t work. She was used to having her way with women, not that she really cared about the detective in that way. This detective appeared to be an unapproachable individual, who didn’t care about her looks, though she had to admit the detective was attractive. She was either downplaying her looks for some odd reason, or she was entirely unaware of her attractiveness. Fiona changed her mind in minutes. She wanted to find out more about the woman who was now observing the dead body. She was curious and readied herself to employ a different method.
“Detective, I’m not in any way trying to interfere with your investigation. I’m here to assist and perhaps provide a tiny bit of help. I’m sorry you feel that strongly about my involvement ... our involvement,” she paused and looked at her partner. “I assure you we have permission to cross jurisdictions.” She wanted to be a bitch and tell her off. Did Sophie know who she was? Fiona could make things happen. Her brain already formed its own commands, disobeying her initial intentions of not disclosing her position.
“Let’s start from the beginning. I’m Detective Fiona Sapiro.” She extended her hand, resolving to use the old cliché of introductions.
“Fine, Detective, you can stay,” she replied without considering the extended hand, and the tone of her voice revealed her annoyance. She looked down at the victim again, pondering the perpetrator’s need for perfection and ignoring Fiona’s presence.
“The incision is precise and perfect, and the crime scene is spotless of any excess blood; all the blood is concentrated on the mattress. He took his time to create this,” Sophie uttered, looking at the victim as if she might never again encounter anything similar in her career.
“It could be a she,” Fiona offered. It was not impossible to encounter a neat crime scene where the offender was a man, but it was different on so many levels. Usually, a male perpetrator splashed the blood, forming amorphous patterns. Its metallic odor carried into the killer’s disturbed mind like waves plundering the edges of the earth, flowing in and out. The scene she was now inspecting was neat and precise, clean of any blood.
“Of course, the killer could be female,” Sophie agreed.
Fiona mentally smiled. At first, she had considered Sophie an impossible collaborator. Could she possibly work harmoniously with her after all? She shifted her concentration from Sophie to the victim, who was perhaps in her early thirties with brownish-red, curly hair, its thick waves now lifeless though perfectly arranged around her face.
“Disturbing,” she mumbled, more as a statement reflecting on the perfection of the scene and not the actual murder.
“Disturbing, Detective?” Sophie’s brows arched. She didn’t attempt to hide her disappointment; her voice was fused with sarcasm and the hardness of it escaped her lips.
Fiona didn’t make any attempts to explain what she had meant; she would not waste her time. She began to consciously dislike Sophie, her previous thoughts of harmonious existence quickly dissolving. Perhaps this was the reason she refused to seriously date anyone involved with the police department. She knew from personal experience these women were hard-asses—opinionated and cynical—exactly like her.
“If you want to see disturbing, Detective, go to the next room,” she continued, her voice lacking any empathy.
Fiona was done talking to her and she questioningly turned her gaze to her partner, who was observing the victim. He finally looked up and realized Fiona was ready to move on.
“Come with me.” Gregory appeared a bit annoyed leaving the scene, his face registering as much. Fiona let Gregory guide her to the second bedroom while Sophie whispered something behind her back. She was certain the comment wasn’t anything sweet or chivalrous.