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Fiona returned to the city feeling much less energetic than she’d felt in the morning; she was emotionally drained. She unlocked her apartment door, exhaling with relief that no one else lived with her. She was thrilled with the stillness and quietness of her immediate environment. She processed in her head the current time, the possibility of Gregory stopping by, and her willingness to jot down the details of the homicide. She decided since it was only six o’clock and Gregory would likely stop by, indeed, she should write down the details of the morning’s murder scene. But first, more comfortable apparel was required.
When she returned to the living room, she was the personification of comfy with her roomy, athletic bottoms and a tiny t-shirt that exposed the mass of muscles on her upper body. She worked out daily, and it was readily evident. Her mother made comments about her physique when they met, pleading with her to stop her vigorous training because her body was already as hard as nails. Fiona didn’t give a fuck what most people said or thought about her, but her mother’s comments impacted her every time. The only way she could cope was to let her mother’s words go over her head while she continued her daily visits to the gym.
She grabbed a white legal pad (she hated the yellow pads) and a blue pen from her desk to note down facts and connections and make surmises about motives. Her gut feeling told her this case would become larger than life and death, and the perpetrator had plans to strike again. No one would have gone to such trouble to create the crime scene otherwise. Or was she jumping to conclusions? She needed more information. She glared at the clock above the TV set as if time was her enemy. The noiseless timer, a piece of art really, impressively dominated the north wall of her dwelling. She elected to leave the rest of the wall bare, feeling the clock was enough. It resembled a film reel where the core was holding the round clock rather than motion picture film. The clock coordinated with the rest of the room where portraits of past actors and actresses were featured on the remaining walls. Of course, her mother was involved with the mood created in the space, and she was grateful for her assistance.
Fiona’s phone rang at the most appropriate time. Her mind was drifting to irrelevant ideas instead of writing down her observations and her plan of action on the murder case. Mother or Gregory, she mechanically thought.
“Mrs. Sapiro, you have guests. Mr. Gregory Richards and Mrs. Sophie Andrews are here to see you,” her doorman announced in an almost ceremonial voice.
“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.