Disclaimer: Please be forewarned that this story contains explicit and graphic sex between two consenting adult females. If you are under the age of 18 or live in a place where this type of story is illegal then please stop reading now.
Inside the penthouse suite, Jamie looked around, trying to imagine her father in this room. There were no personal touches, no hint of what kind of man he had become. Her eyes found the dark red stain where the body had rested. She felt nothing, except relief that she could walk around the suite and study everything with cool detachment. He was just another victim, after all. She did not acknowledge feeling relieved that he was dead. How often have I wished it so? She heard Alex behind her and avoided meeting her eyes. "What do we know?" she asked calmly.
Taking her cue from the brusque tone, Alex took the notepad from her back pocket and flipped through a few pages. "There is no sign of forced entry. There is a wound on his forehead that indicates he might have fallen or been pushed, causing him to hit his head. While he was lying on the floor, he was shot in the back of the head. That’s about it so far." She studied Jamie. "Jamie, are you…"
"Where is the body now?" Jamie cut in, avoiding the obvious concern.
"Morgue."
Jamie nodded and stepped closer to the stain, her eyes following the trajectory that the body might have taken on its way down. She felt Alex watching her. She lifted her head and finally met her eyes. "We’ll talk later, okay? Let’s just get this done."
Alex closed her notepad and nodded. "Fine. Let’s go find out what Jim’s got."
CHAPTER THREE
One of the detectives burst into Alex’s office. "We got something."
Alex stood up and called out to Jamie who was in the office next door.
"We found a witness who claims they saw a woman enter the judge’s room around the estimated time of death."
"Where did you find the witness?"
"He had already checked out, but we caught up with him at the airport, just in the nick of time. He had a room on the same floor and was on his way to check out when he ran into the woman near the elevator. He can’t be positive that she entered the victim’s room, but that’s just a technicality. We can work on establishing that."
"Let’s go."
***
The witness was a nondescript man, still wearing what he liked to call his making an impression tourist attire, of polyester pants, white socks, dark shoes and an eye popping plaid sport jacket. "Will I have to testify in court? I mean, if you catch this lady and it turns out she killed that man, would I have to point her out at the trial?" There was a hopeful note in his voice.
"That’s a possibility," Alex answered.
He nodded, satisfied. "Okay, I’ll do it. It’s my civic duty."
"Indeed. Thank you, Mr. Watson."
Jamie carried her lukewarm coffee to the window, and stared out at a day that was too sunny to match her mood. She had to shake it off. I’m mooning over a stranger. That’s pathetic. Jamie wandered over toward the chair where the artist and the witness sat. A book of sketches lay open on his lap, picturing what seemed to be an endless variety of eye shapes. Jamie glanced down at the rendering taken shape under the artist’s competent hands. So far she was working on getting the shape of the possible suspect’s face correct.
"Maybe a bit thinner through here," Mr. Watson indicated.
The artist nodded and made the corrections. "How about her hair? Was it long or short?"
He thought for a moment. "About here." He indicated the top of his shoulder.
"Bangs?"
"On her forehead, you mean? No."
"Straight or curly?"
He looked momentarily lost. "Straight, I guess. Wavy is how I would describe it."
She drew some more, and the only sound heard was the scratch of her pencil against paper. "She was wearing it down, then?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Look through this magazine. See if there is a picture in there that resembles her hairstyle." He turned the pages of the fashion magazine.
Seeing that the sketch artist had things well in hand, Alex pulled Jamie aside. "Why didn’t you ever tell me about the judge being your father?" There was puzzled hurt behind the question. They had been friends since grade school and not once had that information been shared. Alex felt betrayed by the omission, unsure for the first time about how close they really were.
Having expected the questions, Jamie sighed. She had run away from her paternity for years, and now knew she couldn’t avoid it any longer. "It’s something that we as a family tried to forget." She sipped but did not taste her coffee. "He was a bastard, and took off when I was eight. The marriage ended; and his existence was erased from our family’s memories the day he walked out." Or was kicked out, she amended, leaving the thought unvoiced.
Alex studied her friend, hesitating. She sensed pain and…something else. But Jamie’s face remained blank.
Jamie looked at her. "I’m sorry I never shared that with you, but my mother had asked us not to discuss it; and after a while, it was almost like he had never existed for us."
It was as logical a reason as any, but Alex was not totally satisfied. Years of being a detective, told her there was more to the story than a bitter divorce, but this was neither the place nor time to discuss it.
"Okay." She turned and went back to the artist.
Troubled, Jamie sighed. She knew Alex was hurt, and that they would be talking about this again. Years of closeness would make a confrontation inevitable. Half listening to the sketch artist and Mr. Watson, her ears caught the man’s words to her.
"It was gold."
"You mean blonde."
"No, not blonde and not brunette - right in the middle. Almost like caramel. Pure gold."
"Pure gold." Her fingers stroked the golden head. "Your hair is pure gold. Her mouth inched closer, feeling rather than hearing the catch in her breathing. "You like this?"
"Yes."
"I want to..."
"I want you to…God, now!"
Jamie gasped as the arousal slammed into her, and for a moment she thought she had cried out loud. Her attention turned to the artist. She swallowed a sip of coffee that had suddenly turned bitter in her mouth. She inched toward the chair with the reluctance of an acrophobic approaching the rim of the Grand Canyon.
"How’s that?" the artist asked, showing her work.
"Hey, that’s pretty good. Except she had, you know, strands around her face."
Jamie moved closer.
"Like this?"
"Yes"
"Good. That just leaves the mouth." Setting aside the magazine, the artist flipped the sketchbook open to another section. "Do you remember anything distinctive about her mouth?
He looked momentarily embarrassed. "Her mouth looked kinda like this one." He pointed to one. "Except her lower lip was fuller. Really kissable like." He flushed and Alex hid a smile. Jamie couldn’t work up the courage to look down at the handiwork.
"Anything resembling this?"
"Well, I’ll be damned. That’s her."
Hearing the soft exclamation, Alex peered down at the image.
"It’s not exact, but it’s pretty damn close," Mr. Watson reported.
"Were you close enough to see the color of her eyes?" Alex asked.
"No, ’fraid not."
They were green. Deep green, Jamie thought, sickened.
"How tall was she?"
He looked at Alex. "Taller than you, but not as tall as her." He pointed to Jamie.
"I’m 5’8 and Jamie’s 5’10", so that makes her about 5’9."
"Weight?"
"Not much."
"Do you remember what she was wearing?"
His smile was sheepish. "Shorts or a skirt. I’m sure because I noticed her legs."
Her long legs wrapped around her waist and her mouth was urgent. "Hurry."
The artist stood up and started packing up her books and sketchpads. "Well, I’m done. If you need anything else, call me."
Alex thanked her and walked her to the door. She returned to the older man who sat thrilled about how all of this would play out at the lodge. His part in it would be embellished, of course. Alex helped him up and with a hand on his elbow nudged him along to the door.
"We will call you if we need anything more from you, Mr. Watson. Thank you so much for your help." He turned in the doorway.
"She doesn’t look like a killer, does she? So pretty and all."
"Which doesn’t mean squat when you’re talking guilt or innocence. Pretty women can kill just as well as ugly ones," Alex responded, ushering him out with a smile.
Alex turned back in and caught the look on Jamie’s face. "What’s with you?"
I must look as nauseous as I feel. "Nothing."
"Well, we’ve got our suspect; let’s go find her. Of course, it would help if we knew her name, but we can’t have everything," Alex added with a faint smile.
Shane. Her name is Shane, Jamie thought.
CHAPTER FOUR
It simply can’t be. This has to be a dream. A bad one. Shortly she would wake up - startled and alarmed and breathing heavily, her sheets damp with sweat. After orienting herself to familiar surroundings, she would realize with relief that the nightmare wasn’t real. But it is. I’m not dreaming it; I’m living it. Impossible as it seemed, the sketch artist had drawn Shane, who had shared her bed mere hours after she was seen at the scene of a murder. Coincidence? Highly unlikely. She must have some connection with the Chief Justice. Jamie wasn’t sure she wanted to know what that connection was. In fact, she was dead certain she didn’t want to know. She dragged a hand down her face then, propping her elbows on her desk, stared into space and tried to arrange her chaotic thoughts into some semblance of order.
First - without a doubt, unbelievable as it was, the artist had drawn the face of the woman with whom she had spent Thursday night - a face she would not likely forget, the face that had immediately attracted her as its owner stood framed in the entrance of Darcy’s bar. She had spent hours admiring, studying, caressing it. She had come to know that heartbreaking face intimately. The charcoal sketch was a two-dimensional black and white drawing. Given those limitations, it couldn’t possibly capture the inimical essence of the woman behind the face. But it had been such a close approximation that there was no doubt that she had been the one seen near the murder victim’s room shortly before fate placed her in the path of a homicide detective, who also happened to be the victim’s daughter.
"Strange but true" - a hackneyed adage that was nonetheless apt. Gullibility was forgivable; obstruction of justice wasn’t. Why hadn’t she admitted to Alex that she recognized the woman in the sketch? She could have laughed and said something like, ‘You’ll never believe who I spent the night with last night.’ She hadn’t. Because she could be completely innocent.
Truth be told, Jamie had never considered identifying Shane. From the heart-stopping moment she’d looked at the drawing and known with absolute certainty who the subject was, she knew with equal certainty, that she wasn’t going to reveal her name…or their acquaintanceship. The memory - sweet and sharp - of where she had last seen that face, the expression on that face as they made love had left her with few options. She was concealing Shane’s identity for now. And with her silence, she had willfully breached every rule of ethics the department had.
The withholding of information was a deliberate violation of the law she was sworn to uphold; and she had intentionally impeded a homicide investigation by not coming forward with what she knew. She couldn’t even imagine what the consequences might be. A part of her, an irrational part, wanted to find Shane and force her to admit to something, anything. Another part, equally irrational, wanted to beg Shane to run away with her. Jamie’s teeth clenched and a muscle jumped in her jaw as she thought about seeing the toffee-haired woman again.
***
Overwhelmed with guilt, Shane nervously paced her living room floor. I should have said goodbye. I should have wakened Jamie, and told her I was leaving; but she looked so peaceful, I didn’t have the heart to wake her. Shaking her head ruefully, Shane admitted to herself that cowardice was another just as compelling reason she had let Jamie sleep. She had been scared about waking her, about what would be said or asked. Though they had carefully stayed away from discussing anything beyond the moment they were caught up in, she instinctively knew that Jamie had hoped to wake up to her, with her. The possessive arm thrown over her waist, as she slept spoke volumes about unconscious want. And the truth was that Shane had wanted to stay, had wanted to wake her, to share a coffee with her. To make love to her again. Instead, she had sneaked out in the darkness without even leaving a note. She could almost picture Jamie waking up alone, her hand automatically reaching out for her. Without being told, Shane somehow knew that Jamie was not one for one-night stands, and her disappearance would hurt her. She would be angry. She would feel used. But what else could I have done?
She pushed a trembling hand through her tousled hair. The previous day had started badly and gone askew from there. She didn’t regret spending the night with Jamie. Couldn’t. It had been too much like a dream. Even now her body tingled at the remembered feel of her. It had been the most unbelievably erotic experience she had ever had, and yet even that didn’t quite explain the yearning she felt - like an ache under her skin. Their connection had been immediate. They had both recognized it right from the start. Regardless, Shane had run away from it. Mostly because of what had happened earlier in the afternoon.
That earlier confrontation had been ugly. The feelings of rage and impotence flooded her once again as she remembered, and panic soon followed. Where are they? Where are the pictures? If only she hadn’t panicked the second time around and fled without more than a cursory search, she might have been lucky enough to find them before they fell into the wrong hands. Finding them would have meant that she could escape from the nightmare, a waking nightmare that had consumed her life for years. She lived her life in fear, waiting for the axe to fall. The ringing of her doorbell interrupted her pacing. With a quick frown, she crossed to open the door.
A uniformed policeman stood to the right side of a tall, dark-haired woman with unusual blue eyes. Shane’s heart plummeted, knowing what had brought them to her home. Her life was about to be pitched into chaos. To conceal her anxiety, she smiled pleasantly. "Can I help you?"
"Shane Scott?"
"Yes?"
"I’m Detective Alex Ryan, a homicide detective with Boston P.D. I’d like to talk to you about the murder of the Chief Justice, the honorable Tomas Reynolds."
"Judge Reynolds? I don’t…"
"You were seen outside of his suite on the afternoon he was murdered, so please don’t waste my time by pretending that you don’t know what I’m talking about."
She and Alex stared at one another, taking each other’s measure. It was Shane who relented. She stood aside. "Come in."
"Actually, I was hoping you would come with us."
Shane swallowed, although her mouth was dry. "I’d like to call my lawyer."
"That isn’t necessary. This isn’t an arrest." Shane looked pointedly at the stoic policeman flanking the detective, and Alex smiled. "Volunteering to be questioned without an attorney present, would go a long way toward convincing me that you’re innocent of any wrongdoing."
"I don’t believe that for an instant, Detective Ryan." Shane scored a point and Alex acknowledged it with a faint nod.
CHAPTER FIVE
One of the newer uniforms broke into Jamie’s office, panting for breath. "That sketched suspect? She’s been identified as Judge Shane Scott. A judge! Can you believe that? It’s like in the movies. She’s being brought in for questioning by Detective Ryan as we speak."
Jamie’s palms broke into a cold sweat. "Did she arrest her?"
"Came in voluntarily. Nash from the DA’s office saw the sketch and recognized her as the judge that presided over one of her last trials. What a coincidence."
Indeed! Life is just full of them, Jamie thought sourly. The ramifications of the news reverberated as quickly as echoes, assailing Jamie. Alex’s interrogation techniques could wring a confession from a saint. Jamie had no way of knowing how Shane might respond to them. Would she be hostile or cooperative? Would she, did she have something to confess? When she saw Jamie, would she reveal that they knew each other? To be on the safe side, Jamie wanted to postpone the inevitable face-to-face meeting for as long as possible. She was unsure of her reaction at seeing the woman who had been haunting her thoughts day and night. She waited for several minutes until she thought she had her nerves under control, then slowly made her way to the meeting room where she knew the questioning was to take place. With a deep breath, she pushed the door open. Alex was already there, sitting at a table with a tape recorder in front of her. Also present was Stacey Nash from the DA’s office. Her inclusion was primarily political. Except for rare occasions, her office didn’t become directly involved until the detectives felt they had enough evidence to press formal charges. The importance of the victim, and now the suspect, had her in attendance - more to calm jittery nerves in the Mayor’s office than to lend a hand. Jamie swallowed her resentment at the woman’s presence as she nodded in her direction. Shane was sitting at the table, her back to the door.
Alex looked at her as she entered. "There you are. Miss Scott, this is Detective Jamie Saunders."
Jamie braced herself as Shane turned and looked at her. Jamie recognized the shock in the green eyes as they looked at her, then quickly away. Their eyes engaged for only a second or two, but the non-verbal exchange couldn’t have been more meaningful had they spoken. Jamie wanted to ask, ‘What have you done to me?’ And mean it in more ways than one. She had been thunderstruck that Thursday night. She had thought, no hoped, that seeing Shane again, under bright fluorescent lighting and in a far less romantic setting, would have less of an impact. Just the opposite. She felt like she had been punched in the mid section. Yet Shane’s face remained composed and betrayed no recognition. "How do you do, Detective?"
"Ma’am." Hearing Shane’s voice was as stirring as if she had touched her. She could almost feel warm breath against her ear again. Jamie deliberately crossed the room to stand on the other side, trying to put distance between Shane and her feelings.
Shane fought against the sudden panic tightening her chest. The shock at seeing Jamie again was as unexpected as it was unsettling. Especially now, especially under these circumstances. I spent the night with a detective. She fought to keep her hands from trembling. It can’t get worse, can it?
Alex smiled pleasantly at her. "Thank you for coming on such short notice, your Honor." Shane acknowledged her comment with a faint nod. "Can you tell us where you were last Thursday night at approximately ten p.m.?"
Jamie tensed. She was fucking my brains out, she thought as she waited to be outed.
"I was out having a drink."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"Did anyone see you?"
Shane shrugged. "I have no idea. I would imagine. Obviously, whoever served me."
"Which bar?"
There was the briefest hesitation. One would have had to be looking for it as Jamie was. "I don’t remember."
"You don’t remember?"
Shane pushed a lock of hair that had fallen over one eye. "Look, Detective, I had a bitch of day. I started walking downtown and stopped at a little bar to have a drink and relax for a few hours. If I walked around, I could probably find it again. But to be honest, I really didn’t pay much attention to the name of the place."
"Where downtown?"
"Around. I started on Main Street and went from there."
"How long did you walk?"
"I don’t know - maybe half an hour, an hour. I really don’t know."
"Convenient."
The word was a whisper from Stacey, but Shane heard her and her face tightened. She tried to ignore the comment. She was aware of Jamie in the room, her senses tuned to her presence against the wall. She forced herself not to turn around. She didn’t want to look at her, didn’t want to read the anger and suspicion in her eyes. Worse, she didn’t want to remember how she’d felt in the cop’s arms. She forced her mind away from thinking about her, about their night together. Instinctively, she knew Jamie was trying just as hard not to think of that night. The awareness was battering at her in waves.
As Alex studied her, Shane had a disquieting thought. She senses it. She doesn’t know what yet; but she senses it.
Alex raised an eyebrow, then her eyes shifted ever so slightly to her partner - who was a study in bored nonchalance: leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring into the distance. Only the tightness of her jaw gave her away. Alex knew her too well not to notice. Jamie’s eyes met Alex’s and for a moment, the briefest of moments, something turbulent and wild flashed in the gray eyes. It was quick, then the eyes went blank. Puzzled, Alex’s attention turned back to Shane.
"How would you account for being at the Colonnade at the same time as you say you were at a bar?"
"I don’t."
"We have a witness who claims to have seen you there."
"Really interesting, because I wasn’t…"
"Can anyone substantiate your alibi?"
Involuntarily Shane’s eyes found Jamie. The look was quick, just a glance; yet Alex noticed it. Her eyes narrowed then she turned her attention back to Shane.
"No. Like I said, I was having a drink. Hundreds of people could have seen me that night or none at all. It is such an everyday occurrence. Why would they remember me?"
Jamie frowned at that. Why indeed?
Alex started to ask another question.
"Listen, Detective; I think that if this interview is going to proceed, I should probably get a lawyer."
"Do you think you need one?"
"Do you?" Shane challenged. "Are you prepared to do anything here today?"
"I am just asking questions, trying to be thorough," Alex answered calmly.
It did not fool Shane. "I have been as cooperative as I can be, but I am due in court in half an hour. Unless you are prepared to file charges, I need to leave."
Alex shrugged. "Not at this time." There was a slight emphasis on "this" that was not lost on anyone in the room. "You’re free to go." Thoughtfully, Alex watched her depart, then turned to Jamie. "You were quiet."
Jamie shrugged. "You seemed to have everything under control."
"That never stopped you before."
Jamie’s jaw tightened. Alex was right, but this case was different. She had slept with the primary suspect. "You’re reaching, Alex."
"What?"
"With her. You’re reaching. We’ve got nothing, except a witness who says he might have seen her. Pretty flimsy."
"We’ve started with a lot less before." Unperturbed Alex turned her attention to Stacey. "What did you think?"
"Pretty cool customer."
Except in bed, Jamie thought, jaw tightening. Except when she is about to come. She swore silently at her thoughts and turned her attention back to Stacey. "Well, that’s helpful," Jamie cut in sarcastically.
Stacey sent her an irritated look. "I mean, most innocent people will talk too much, embellish every point to prove their innocence. Be nervous. Show fear. Not the judge. It was as if she was coached on what to say."
Alex nodded. "She was pretty calm."
"Maybe it comes from being a judge," Jamie interjected. "She has sat in front of how many criminal cases? She knows the drill. She wouldn’t be surprised by any line of questioning."
Alex studied her. "Point taken. Still, there’s something there."
Jamie frowned. She wanted to punch something. She pushed off the wall and started toward the door.
"Jamie, wait a moment?" Alex crossed to her. "Are you okay? I know this must be hard." She hesitated, trying to figure out how best to handle her partner’s relationship with the deceased.
Jamie knew why she was asking, but she didn’t acknowledge the underlying question. "I’m fine. I just need to stretch my legs." Jamie left without another word.
Alex looked after her, puzzled. Something is wrong with her, and I’m going to find out what it is.
This story is a work of fiction and is not intended to represent any particular individual, alive or dead. This work may not be printed or distributed for profit without the express written permission of the author. Copyright registered with the Library of Congress.