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The 103rd precinct had the charm of the 1920s. It was a two-story, brick building that used to have two bay windows on the first floor, but they were replaced as soon as the building became New York City’s property. Now, heavy steel bars showcased the front of the rectangular windows, destroying the charm that the rest of the structure evoked. The building was passed on to the city by a widow, who lost her husband to a homicide. In her will she detailed her gratitude to the police department for finding the killer. Her kids protested her will but to no avail; the building remained in the custody of the New York Police Department.
Fiona crossed the entrance, and the guarding officer buzzed her in. Her face was known. She walked toward the stairway and ascended to the second floor where all the detectives congregated. Sophie was in her office sitting across from Phil, who Fiona had secretly begun to dislike a little. It was ironic, in a majestic way. When Fiona met both detectives on the first crime scene in Queens, Phil’s quiet demeanor captured her attention and she even liked him. Now, his friendliness towards Sophie was annoying her. Was she being overprotective or jealous?
“Hi, everyone,” she stated as though she had not been with Sophie the night before and had not tasted every inch of her body that morning.
She sat down next to Phil and analyzed his characteristics. He reminded her of someone. She wracked her brain as if it was important, almost as if someone’s life depended upon it. Stasis, she declared in her mind. Other issues were more important than Phil’s resemblance to another person.
“Did we get any leads after the media coverage?” Fiona hoped for something tenable.
“We received a phone call from a man who lives across the street from Kelly ... our first victim,” she corrected herself. “I’m going with Phil. Do you want to come along?” Sophie’s soft voice made the harsh precinct appear warm and more pleasant.
“No, I’m going to try and figure out why the FDA link disappeared from Horton’s list as fast as it appeared.” Both Phil and Sophie looked at her, puzzled. “Either someone is fucking with the files, or it was a glitch in the system. I would have believed that some anomaly caused the connection–” she stopped suddenly. Clarity was approaching substance now. “Okay, if it was a glitch, we wouldn’t have found the other two victims. The Horton’s list provided a connection between our fourth murdered victim and twelve individuals, and amongst them we discovered the two other murder victims. That translates to one thing, the surviving ten have a commonality, which I intending to discover. I’ll interview each one until I determine the common thread.” She eagerly pushed herself up as a new pathway appeared before her.
She glared at Sophie, wanting to approach and kiss her. “I’ll call you if anything comes up,” she mumbled and looked elsewhere to hush the desire.
The wind was picking up, and the debris that was nestled in corners and angles was lifted, circulating it in the air in a hurried way. When the airstream died down, the wasteful fragments identified new resting spots and lay there until a new gust disturbed them again. Fiona found dry leaves and a plastic supermarket bag caught on her windshield and cleared them before she entered her vehicle. She started the engine, waiting for it to warm up before she left the parking lot. It seemed to her that Queens was becoming her second home, and her directional bearings had sharpened to the point that she ceased using her GPS. She was impressed with herself when she took just a few swift turns to find the highway going eastbound on Grand Central towards the address of the first name on her list.
She rang the bell once with anticipation, hoping for a breakthrough. She was determined to get the killer. She turned around, looking at the front yard as a single bird landed seeking food. Its orangey beak was searching for anything to sustain life. The winter was taking a toll on the creatures that were exposed to nature’s conditions. She felt just like the black bird with the orangey beak, who was searching desperately for food. When she heard the click of the door unlocking, she spun around to face the first person on her list.
“Ma’am, you shouldn’t open your door without inquiring who it is.”
“Detective, this is a safe neighborhood.” Didn’t they just have this same conversation only a couple of days ago?
“Could you give me a few minutes of your time? I need your help with a case I’m working on.”
“Sure, please come in.”
The hallway was narrow. There was a table along the wall, and she almost collided with it as she was looking at the art hanging on the wall. They entered the dining room, and the old woman pulled out a chair suggesting Fiona sit down. There were uncovered boxes with Christmas decorations spilling out, and Fiona felt compelled to excuse her intrusion. She knew that soon her mother’s phone call would come to remind her of her responsibility for bringing the Christmas decorations up from the basement to her living room.
“I’m sorry for disturbing you again. It seems that you are preparing for holiday decorating.”
“It’s fine, Detective. Now, how I can possibly help you?”
“Right to the point then. I’m investigating a group of people, who are involved in a placebo or a trial for a possible new medication. Your name appeared on a list, and I was wondering if you’re indeed part of a trial?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. It’s not a medication though. It’s a device that is inserted into your brain and corrects any chemical imbalances. I was diagnosed with a bipolar disorder, and I tried, unsuccessfully, to commit suicide a few times. I’m grateful to my doctor for suggesting this course of action.”
“Is Andrew Kaufman your doctor?”
“No, Dr. Taylor is my doctor, but Dr. Kaufman performed the operation.”
Her heart quickened. The device was moving to the forefront of her investigation. Dr. Kaufman and Dr. Taylor held the answers.
“Am I in some type of danger?” She became alarmed, and it was Fiona’s fault.
“No, you are not.” Fiona took the woman’s hand in hers, perhaps holding it for more than a second to reassure her. “You are not in any kind of danger. Thank you.” Noah’s ark was full of blonds and redheads, she thought as she got up to make her way out.
“And please, in the future, don’t open your door before you ask who it is.”
“Okay, Detective. I won’t,” she finally agreed.
Fiona descended the stairs, looking for the bird with the orangey beak. She hoped the creature would survive the winter. She wasn’t even sure why she was thinking about it. What had triggered her concern? Perhaps, because it was defenseless against the power of nature and a violent, wintery blast was coming soon? Like the victims she encountered in her career, they were defenseless to the violent discharge of humans’ distorted natures. She should have asked the woman more questions, but she had become overly excited to follow the lead from sources that were directly involved. She would visit Dr. Kaufman first.