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May 23, 2017
The phone rang at least four times before Fiona picked up. She was in a deep sleep, her body totally relaxed. She felt her annoyance surfacing.
“Gregory, what do you want? Do you know what time it is?” she murmured with displeasure while looking at the gorgeous woman next to her. She didn’t want to disturb her.
“I do know. I’m coming to pick you up in about twenty minutes. Have some coffee ready.” He didn’t offer any other explanation, so Fiona knew something was terribly wrong.
She shifted her body toward the person that occupied her bed and softly brushed her lips on her hair. She got up, knowing perfectly well that she had to take a quick shower. The smell of sex, although delicious, had penetrated the pores of her body.
The phone rang again at four twenty-five as she was exiting the bathroom with her sleek hair still dripping and appearing darker than usual while the towel around her body made her look like an earthly goddess. She picked the phone up on the first ring to avoid waking Jennifer. She stretched her neck, gazing at the bedroom door to make sure no movement was detected. The night doorman announced her visitor and his voice dissolved as soon as the receiver was put back into the base. Fiona looked toward the kitchen from the living room and through the half wall that separated the space to see if the coffee was done, and then walked to the bedroom as silently as possible. She chose a pair of khakis and a shirt in the dark before she closed the bedroom door behind her. No more noises were made that could disturb Jennifer, who was still sound asleep. Perhaps she was exhausted, Fiona thought, and she unintentionally smiled while she unlocked the door to receive her partner.
“Is coffee ready?” Gregory interrupted her thoughts.
“Yes, almost.”
Sophie stood behind him in casual clothes like the first time Fiona had met her. Today though, she was wearing a black, long-sleeved top stretched across her breasts, which emphasized them more and made Fiona stare for a few seconds. The ripped jeans and baseball hat made Sophie appear more attractive than ever. Fiona lost herself in Sophie’s deep gaze and felt an unexplained calmness engulf her body. She looked down, ashamed of the emotions that threatened to materialize. She had to speak with her night doorman, who had failed to tell her that Mrs. Andrews was also visiting.
“Sophie,” she exclaimed, “I was not expecting you.” She panicked thinking that everything could get complicated if ....
“Hey, what’s going on?” Jennifer’s groggy voice joined in. “Gregory, how are you?” She approached, hugged him, and kissed his cheek.
Jennifer was wearing the shirt that Fiona had given her the night before, which covered very little. Her long legs were exposed, and her hair was messy, yet she looked sexier than at any other time. Fiona introduced her to Sophie as a polite host would do and directed them to the kitchen. As they settled around the island on the high stools, Gregory pointed out that a quick cup of coffee was the only time they could spare as another victim had surfaced in Queens.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Jennifer offered.
“No, you go back to sleep. It should not take more than a couple hours. I’ll come back for breakfast.”
“Okay, but look for commonalities,” her voice was sweet and alluring, and she looked at Fiona like she belonged to her. Jennifer kissed her in front of their visitors. Was she jealous? Fiona deemed that impossible. Sophie wasn’t her competitor. Jennifer left the unfinished cup of coffee in the sink and walked away while more than one set of eyes followed her movements. Sophie remained silent after the pleasantries of their introduction. Was she put off by the unexpected female, who was now progressing towards Fiona’s bedroom? No. Impossible. Sophie hated her from the first time she met her. She wouldn’t be jealous of Jennifer. Although, she hoped that envy entered Sophie’s inner self, pushing away the preconceived feelings she had for Fiona. Why did she care that much? What was it? Fiona had to stay clear of both women.
“Is it the same MO?” Fiona asked, forgetting for now what had crossed her mind. All the torturous thoughts had to be stopped before they became something more.
“That’s what was conveyed to me. I think a close investigation is necessary. We should go.” Sophie was serious. She was always serious. Yet, it appeared as if she were bothered by something. Her voice was uneven, and she avoided eye contact.
When they arrived at the scene, Phil was there talking to the victim’s son, who had discovered the body. Phil had his interrogation façade on. He made the introductions to the new arrivals and continued talking to the victim’s son, ignoring the anguish that was evident. Sophie took his hand and pulled him away. Fiona and Gregory followed.
“He’s distressed. Let him calm down a bit. Perhaps we should go in?” she suggested, looking at the house.
“No. We can’t go in. CSI is still working the scene.” Phil finally extended his hand to Fiona and Gregory for a friendly handshake. He hugged Sophie in an even friendlier way, and Fiona noted the scene as if it were important.
Fiona let her gaze wander and then moved toward the female officer at the gate of the two-story building. The neighborhood looked like the one she had visited the day before, and she spent a few minutes observing the minute details. It was a two-family home adjacent to another two-family home, which possessed the same architectural characteristics: bricks, awning, and seven steps leading to the front door. The buildings had been constructed on farmland in the beginning of the century. The modernization set in fast and furious as the human factor took control of the environment. The major changes appeared within a few years of habitation. Fiona wasn’t sure why she recalled this unimportant detail about the neighborhood. Perhaps, she appreciated modern life more than anyone she knew, but with modern life, she thought, humanity seemed to become more vicious, uncontrolled, and deadly. She looked at the female officer at the gate again, the same one that guarded the gate during yesterday’s murders, and as she prepared to talk to her a pull on her arm derailed her. She gazed at the officer, smiled, and shrugged, promising there would be a next time. Sophie, who was holding her arm, saw the interaction. Was she bothered by it?
“Come on. Phil informed me that the MO is the same based on the son’s account. He noticed the incision from her belly button to her throat. And on a side note, she is a redhead. How is that for a commonality? Now, you can inform your agent girlfriend.” Sophie’s voice was laced with something Fiona hadn’t detected before. She could not dismiss the tone in her voice that made her think she was ... jealous? That was impossible.
“She is not my girlfriend,” she uttered as if she had to explain the special circumstances. Fiona’s emotions were confusing as forces were pulling her in different directions like ocean currents. She dropped the subject for now. Deep inside though, a warm feeling was beginning to form, and she did not know what to make of it.
“Do we know the time of death?” She had to change the topic. The crime committed was more important that the emotions Fiona was experiencing.
“Approximately two days ago. Same day as the other two murders. Exact time of death will be difficult to establish, and we may not know which murder was first unless we find the killer. The victim’s name is Helen. She is of medium height, age forty-three, and her only son returned from a U.S. base in Germany to find his mother slaughtered. No forced entry was evident, and the house appeared to be in order like the other scene. A serial killer is definitely on the loose,” she agreed with Fiona.
CSI took an extra hour after their arrival to finish. Sophie, after a quick inspection, went outside to brainstorm with Phil and Gregory while Fiona remained inside. The written reports were taken, and the photos and video were completed. The team of capable, forensic scientists were swabbing the place in search of anything that didn’t belong. Fiona admired CSI’s work, and although she was extremely observant, little details always escaped her view, like the fingerprints that were impossible to detect with the naked eye.
“Fiona, please don’t touch anything,” a familiar voice greeted her.
“I promise. How is it going, Sam?”
“All is well. We probably have another hour or so to go. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’ll wait.”
Sam was an experienced crime scene investigator, and Fiona enjoyed observing his activities. There were two other forensic investigators on the scene and each one was absorbed in their duties. The CSI photographer/videographer was packing up his equipment as all possible angles of the crime had been recorded in a fraction of the time it used to take years ago. The digital video cameras possessed capabilities beyond comprehension: the memory expansion was immense, the clarity was sharp, and the development was done instantly by swapping the memory card to a computer, which could even be accomplished wirelessly. Fiona was standing outside the victim’s bedroom, hesitant to move forward. The photographer was kneeling by the door tending to his equipment with a tenderness reserved for precious stones as he covered the lenses and placed the camera in a fitted hard case slowly and carefully.
“I’m personally responsible for the electronic devices used at a crime scene,” he explained as if he had read her thoughts. “If something breaks because of my negligence, I have to pay for a replacement.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep, governmental cuts changed our structure, placing personal responsibility on those handling the equipment,” he commented as he secured the strap on his shoulder and left the room.
The obstacle was removed, and the doorway was cleared. Fiona stared at the room, still indecisive of what to do next, feeling like she was bolted down and unable to cross the threshold. Perhaps, she was afraid that she would impede the CSI team. She looked at the victim, noting the MO was identical to yesterday’s scene and confirming the son’s account. Fiona wasn’t doubting the son. She had only hoped someone else was responsible. This new victim confirmed that a serial killer was active, precise, cautious, and dangerous. The body had begun showing signs of slight decomposition. The coloring was off, and a slight odor permeated the room. If the temperatures were higher the decay of the body would be complete and make it intolerable to stay in the room for a prolonged period. A female investigator was leaning over the motionless body, swiping samples of dried blood. She moistened a cotton swab with distilled water and gently pressed it into the biggest stain of blood in the middle section of the body. After the blood was absorbed, the cotton swab was placed in its protective plastic tube to avoid contamination and was dropped in an evidence bag. She repeated these actions more than a few times, collecting DNA samples from different sections of the body and the mattress. Fiona saw that the collection of evidence was done using a precise, scientific method and was extremely time-consuming. Probably that was the determining factor in her choosing the police department over forensic science although she knew how to apply these techniques. She remembered that at some point in life she was fascinated with taphonomy as well—the branch of paleontology that deals with the processes of fossilization—but that was long before she became a teacher and long before she ended up in the law enforcement business. It was the messiness of the subject and the time consumed to study the decaying organisms that changed her mind. Ironically, here she was seeing the remains of a human and the decay was evident on the flesh. Of course, she had seen worse. This was a walk in the park. She crossed the doorway, confident that the killer had left a clue in plain view for her to pick up.
“The incision wasn’t done post-mortem. I believe the victim was alive. There is too much blood absorbed in the mattress.” Sam’s gaze finally met Fiona’s. “I’m sure the M.E. will concur.”
“Exactly like the other victims.”
“Yep, precisely like the other victims. I’m done here. It’s all yours.” Sam packed up his own equipment and left the scene.