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May 22, 2017
Fiona picked up the receiver and indecisively dialed the number she had memorized, wishing for a real person to pick up rather than voice mail. She was trying to fight the fatigue that was building up but realized that attempt would be unsuccessful. She’d had a horrible night’s sleep, and the murders of the two victims in Queens were bothering her as if she were personally connected to them. The phone continued to ring as she inspected the paperwork on her desk and concluded there was nothing important. She refocused her attention outside her office, looking through the glass windows. There was no turmoil to distract her, just the usual rambunctious activities, the loud human interactions, and a minor, civilized disagreement between police officers.
“Agent Miller. How can I help you?” the female voice on the other end of the phone asked.
“Jennifer, its Fiona. How are you?” She waited for an answer, perhaps still surprised that Jennifer had picked up the phone.
“I’m well, considering the load of work they’re dumping on me, and I have a feeling more is on the way.”
“I won’t dump work on you. I’m begging for your assistance. You know I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t important. Dinner at eight? My place? I will make your visit worthwhile ...” she was sincere.
As soon as they agreed to the meeting and said their goodbyes, Fiona touched her temples with the tips of her fingers as if a headache was imminent, rubbing them steadily until she felt the tension leaving her body. She thought about Jennifer and how much she missed being with her. The sex was extraordinary. Of course, the liaison didn’t last. Jennifer was involved in the law enforcement business, derailing their relationship for good. They still met occasionally when she returned to her base in 26 Federal Plaza where she maintained an office. Fiona was surprised that Jennifer hadn’t called to let her know she was in New York. She had always called in the past. Fiona tried to fool herself with false assurances that she was indifferent and the thing between them was long over. She also ignored the small voice inside her head that had an entirely different opinion. She dismissed the internal argument, grabbing her jacket and leaving her office. She was determined to stop at the lab and still make her appointment at the Queens’ precinct on time.
Her lab visit was pleasurable, and the attractive M.E., Samantha, made it impossible to keep things strictly professional. Samantha closed the blinds and locked her office door before she pushed Fiona onto the sofa and landed on top of her. Fiona welcomed the attention. It felt good to be touched. Her body was responding. She closed her eyes and tried to erase everything from her mind as she rolled over and placed Samantha under her. Fiona’s lips touched the smoothness of Samantha’s soft skin. If her thoughts of Jennifer and Sophie hadn’t been invading her mind, she would have been burning with desire. The lust she felt building inside her quickly subsided, and Fiona collapsed on her lover.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered in Samantha’s ear. “I have so much on my mind. I’ll make it up to you.”
Samantha smiled and inhaled deeply, “It was nice to see you anyway.” She kissed her again. They talked about the murder victim and the hypothesis that was forming based on what little information they had. Her favorite M.E. promised to call her as soon as she had some concrete results. They parted like every other time, yet there was something awkward developing between them. Was that Fiona’s imagination, or was it real? In any event, she had to go. There was no time to spare if she wanted to make her noon appointment.
She checked the time and made a last-minute decision to get lattes for her partner, Sophie, and Phil from the coffee shop across from the police station. She balanced the paper cup tray filled with coffees as she passed through the door of the precinct, thinking how dark these places were. The officer at the window, who had access to the buzzer, was assisting someone that was requesting a police report of some accident. Fiona retrieved her badge, and holding her credentials above the stranger, who was crouching in the window to get on a level with the officer, she headed towards the iron gate. The buzzer erupted and Fiona entered. Her surprised gaze turned back to the guard who had buzzed her in when she realized that only police officers occupied the entire floor.
“Sophie Andrews?”
“Upstairs.” The officer pointed toward the stairway.
Gregory and Sophie were conversing when Fiona arrived. She placed the paper cup tray with the coffees on Sophie’s desk, trying unsuccessfully not to spill the liquid. Sophie’s desk was covered with paperwork, manila file folders, and other non-essential office supplies.
“What’s up? You both look deadly serious.” She sat down and waited for either one to say something.
“We’re frustrated. We talked to a lot of people in the vicinity of the crime, but no one, and I mean no one, saw anything,” Sophie articulated her words as if she was announcing the grand opening of a play.
“We are going to have to try harder. I’m sure there is someone out there who knows more than he or she is willing to reveal. Where is Phil?” Fiona wasn’t interested in his whereabouts, just curious.
“He is meeting with the victim’s parents and trying to extract any useful information,” Gregory replied, seeming to be in a harmony with his new environment. Fiona wondered if it was Sophie who put him at ease?
“At least I have some news from the lab. They have determined the victims were drugged before the incisions. Of course, the substance used could be anything. We will have to wait a while for the results. The M.E. told me the instrument used to make the precise cut was a surgeon’s scalpel, and the victims bled to death.”
“The bastard!” escaped Sophie’s lips. “I bet he stayed to see that Kelly and little Emily died before he left the scene. Do we know if they were sexually assaulted?”
“No sexual abuse was observed. The perpetrator was interested in one thing only ... their deaths. The forensic scene investigation uncovered next to nothing. There were no unusual fingerprints on any surfaces or on the victims. My theory that the perpetrator could be a woman still stands. Gregory, find out where these instruments are sold, and find out if it is possible to steal them from a hospital.”
“Do you always bark your commands?” Sophie’s eyebrows raised.
“Time is of the essence. Politeness will not produce the criminal behind these attacks. Besides, you didn’t thank me for your coffee, so we are even.”
Fiona had only interacted with Detective Sophie Andrews for the last two days, and she had already concluded that she was a hindrance in the investigation. There was no sign of co-operation. Fiona wasn’t fond of her, although she found her a good-looking woman; she had checked her out more than once. She looked at Sophie, expecting an answer. Sophie appeared to be attempting to thank her for the coffee, at least her lips moved a little. Then, she returned her gaze to a file she had been holding before Fiona appeared. It came to her in an apocalyptic rush that Sophie disliked her even more now than when they had first met. She couldn’t even vocalize a simple thank you. She was bothered by this. She wanted Sophie to accept her, so they could work together to resolve this case and save any future intended victims. In a split second, Fiona decided she had to work things out with the impossible woman in front of her for the sake of the investigation. She would force Sophie to co-operate with her.
“CSI will have a full report by the end of the day, minus the toxicology report. Sophie and I should knock on a few more doors and then grab a bite to eat while you,” she turned to Gregory, “uncover the source or sources of these sharp instruments that only surgeons use.”
Fiona looked at Sophie as she articulated her name, and it seemed like all the blood circulating in Sophie’s body rushed to her face. Fiona never imagined that her company could be perceived as such a terrible thing. In fact, most of the women she had previously met in her life had welcomed her. She had never detected antipathy before. Why was this different with Sophie?
“Detective Sapiro,” was the only thing she was able to say.
After relieving her of the file she was holding, Fiona grabbed Sophie’s hand, pulled her out of her chair, and almost crushed her to her chest.
“After you.” Fiona spun her around and pushed her in front of her.
Fiona had her back view now, and it was spectacular. Sophie was wearing a tight pair of jeans, which she was confident were made by some famous designer, biker boots, and a boyfriend shirt with the left half shoved in her pants. Her long and coiled hair bounced with her every movement. Sophie was undoubtedly pissed off; frustration oozed from her body. Fiona was uncertain how long Sophie would fight against this forced union, but for now, she was hers.
At six fifteen, Fiona parked her car in the garage across from her building. She was satisfied with the time spent in the Queens’ precinct and with Sophie, who explicitly rejected her by chastising her attempts to build a working relationship. All her suggestions about the investigation were rebutted without solid explanations. She appeared displeased to be with Fiona and took every opportunity to make it known. Fiona wondered how long it would take to break down Sophie’s defenses. She hoped it happened soon, for the sake of the investigation, she falsely assured herself. She removed her keys, erasing all thoughts of Sophie as she leaned into the back seat to retrieve the fresh produce she had purchased to make dinner for Jennifer. She would treat her visitor to a good meal including salad, a main course, fruit, and dessert, before any conversation about business took place. She had to hurry if she wished to have dinner ready before Jennifer arrived, and she crossed the street, ignoring the red traffic light. Although no cars appeared to be in her proximity, she checked carefully before crossing. Suddenly, the sounds of rubber kissing asphalt vibrated in her ears.
“Asshole!” the driver shouted, and Fiona realized the car was closer than she thought.
She waved as a gesture of apology and continued at a faster pace. She reached her complex, talked to David, her doorman, for a few seconds out of politeness, and took the elevator, relieved that she had more than an hour and a half to prepare dinner.
Pasta was the easiest dish to prepare, and Fiona had learned the process early by observing her mother, who preferred simplicity. Her mother loathed the culinary art and perhaps that influenced her decision to exclusively cook an easy meal for Sunday dinner. Unlike her mother, Fiona found the process of preparing food pleasurable, and when she had time, which was rarely, she explored possibilities by creating fancy dishes for the pure enjoyment of it. She momentarily gazed at the wall clock displayed above the sink while placing a pot filled with water on the stove. She then turned, positioning herself in front of the island where the bagged salad ingredients lay. She tossed all the veggies in a drainer and washed them with cold water. She smiled, feeling like a chef when the last component of her creation was tossed in the bowl.
Just as she finished placing everything on the table, the phone rang, signaling the arrival of her guest. The placemats, plates, ringed napkins, candles, wine, and glasses were in place on the table. She was impressed with the results. She hadn’t done dinner in her dwelling for a long while, and she was grateful for the visit she’d forced Jennifer to accept. Besides, the apartment’s view was spectacular. The tiny dining room or nook area offered panoramic views of the city that never slept. The traffic, in collaboration with humanity, generated the sounds of living that she could hear even from her apartment. The river glittered when an occasional boat slithered by, the artificial lights reflected in the waters that warned of imminent danger. The New York skyscrapers constructed close to the edge of the river were a spectacular sight, like Van Gogh’s original painting, Starry Night Over the Rhone. New Jersey shimmered from across the harbor, and the silhouettes of the buildings cast their shadows on the river. The lights provided a colorful reflection as straight lines of light went deep into the river, disturbing the life hidden below.
She unlocked her door and came face to face with an even more attractive sight than the one she had witnessed a few seconds ago. She liked this view far better. She curved her upper body, reached Jennifer’s cheek, and innocently stroked her skin with her lips. All of Fiona’s senses were awakened, and she inhaled Jennifer’s scent as the images of their past interactions poured into her mind. She felt braver and moved lower from Jennifer’s lips. She was willing, Fiona felt it. She closed the door and pulled her near, and while she was cocking her head, Jennifer locked lips with hers. Jennifer was resisting and playing the game she knew too well; her lips accepted the attention, but she wasn’t willing to go all the way ... at least not yet. Fiona drew back, a bit disappointed. She knew when to stop and when it was inappropriate to solicit more. She stared at Jennifer’s face, her eyelashes silky and thick, her eyes velvety and smooth. She loved her features. Jennifer leaned against her, listening to the rhythm of her heart as it crushed against her chest. God, Fiona thought, I want her. Fiona instinctively found her mouth again, knowing how wrong her actions were. Did she care at that moment? Jennifer parted her lips in submission. Fiona had Scarlett O’Hara in her arms and her yearning took over. They both seemed to want to prolong the moment. She fancied Jennifer’s naked body against hers right by the doorway. She had to erase the image and try to harness her desperately burning desires. She let her hands travel along Jennifer’s face, still exploring her mouth and savoring her sweetness and her mint bubblegum breath. Leaving her lips suddenly became impossible. She felt the heaviness in all her extremities as her needs amplified. She guided Jennifer to her bedroom, softly setting her in motion and whispering her innermost thoughts. The bedroom door was almost flush with the wall, her bed in plain view, and the cover was stretched to perfection, eliminating any creases in the material. As soon as they reached their destination, she rotated Jennifer’s body and kissed her deeply. She wanted her to feel her longing and craving for her. She unquestionably missed the way Jennifer made her feel—that out of control sensation that cruised through her whole body—and which no one else had been able to reproduce thus far. How long could she possibly sustain a relationship based on sexual encounters? Fiona wondered, but she erased that thought too.
Her urgency picked up and she needed to reach a decision: did she rip the material that covered Jennifer’s body or gently unzip her pants? She decided on a softer approach. She unzipped her pants, which fell to the floor, then placed her hands on her middle section and pulled her closer, once again delving into her mouth. Not yet, not yet, not yet, crossed Fiona’s mind. She had to make Jennifer implore her for release. Her hand caressed Jennifer’s stomach and moved lower when she quivered. Fiona’s fingers were touching her, sensing the moisture that was building in Jennifer’s center, and she daringly plummeted her finger inside, feeling her warmth and tenderness.
“Oh, please,” Jennifer whispered. Fiona ignored her request, continuing to press against her softness, pushing her finger farther inside while nibbling the curve of her neck.
“Now. Please.” Fiona unhurriedly obeyed.
She undid Jennifer’s shirt one button at a time, starting from the top and kissing her skin as it was revealed, going lower and lower until she reached the last button and finally, her naked body was in full view to marvel. Fiona placed her gently on her bed, savoring the moment and wanting to taste her. She gave in to that desire, circling her nipple with her tongue, teasing her, then moving lower, covering her erotic part with her mouth as her teeth delicately pressured it just enough to build up Jennifer’s own urgency for release. Fiona stopped. She used her finger, working slowly, deliberately pushing and methodically pulling, producing slick moisture that copiously lubricated her fingers. Jennifer grabbed her wrist to stop the sweet torture and Fiona knew what she wanted. She climbed onto Jennifer’s body. She captured both of Jennifer’s hands, placing them above her and securing them to the headboard with her shirt. Fiona freely advanced towards her demanding partner. She tasted delicious. Jennifer’s moans of fulfillment permeated the room. Fiona and Jennifer were both oblivious to the troubles of the world; nothing existed except the two of them. They were two figures on a bed savoring each other in a sweet, torturous way until there was nothing more than silence ... fulfilling and grand. Fiona’s excitement was still intolerable though. She wanted more. She was seeking her own release.
She turned her gaze toward the window for a second and saw the dimmed daylight and the slow-moving darkness that would soon veil the city. She turned to the woman on her bed and her desire was flaring again. She needed to feel Jennifer against her own body. Fiona climbed on top of her, feeling her lover’s wetness. She hurried her movement, pulling, exhaling, and then vibrantly thrusting against Jennifer, who drove her nails into Fiona’s back. Their bodies clenched together one last time, their orgasm coming as the echo of their enjoyment pulsated in their ears, and then, both erupted within a nanosecond. A persistent silence filled the space again and they savored the stillness of time. It felt like eternity.
“How does cold pasta sound to you?” Fiona finally inquired, smiling as she broke the quietness while looking at Jennifer’s velvety eyes.
“Right now, anything sounds good. I worked up an appetite.”
Fiona kissed her forehead and pulled her out of bed. She gave her a clean shirt from her closet and grabbed herself a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. The candles on the table flickered like they were going out for good, and she replaced them with new ones. They would have a romantic dinner as she intended. Was she trying too hard to impress her or trying to reclaim her? She felt possessed by something unearthly or was it simply sexual desire? She warmed up the pasta and the sauce as she put the final touches on the salad. She would not serve her main course cold. She set the dinner on the table. It had been delayed by at least an hour, yet, satisfying their sexual desires was worth it.
“So, how can I assist you?”
“In a nutshell, I believe that a serial killer is in the making. Well, what I mean is, there were two murders in Queens: a mother and her daughter.” No, she was not going to use their names like Sophie did. “I have a gut feeling that the perpetrator will strike again.”
“Yes, I heard about the case ...” Jennifer contemplated for a second. “I’m also aware there is no request by New York City seeking the FBI’s involvement. Anyway, what makes you think that more attacks are imminent?”
“The scene was so carefully orchestrated, like he or she enjoyed it.”
“Well, I doubt you would be able to stop the next assault anyway, since we do not know much. What about the victims? Why do you think they were targeted?”
“I have no clue. I won’t know if there is a commonality until we have more victims.” Fiona bit her lower lip.
“I think you lured me here for entirely different reasons.” Jennifer smiled in a sad way. Did she feel guilty about the sexual interaction that took place between them?
“Maybe so, maybe so,” Fiona agreed, while her mind was working intently to figure Jennifer out. Was there someone else? Did she let her down sexually? She had certainly appeared involved in their lovemaking. Why the hell did she care? They had both agreed to stop seeing each other.
They finished dinner, cleaned up the table, and returned to the bedroom. She wanted to find out if Jennifer was truly into her by exploring her body again and making her forget all about the external occurrences. Death and the killer would have to wait a bit longer.