Amanda's Blue Marine

AMANDA’S

BLUE

MARINE

DOREEN OWENS MALEK

January 2012

Published by

Gypsy Autumn Publications

PO Box 383

Yardley, PA 19067

www.doreenowensmalek.com

The Author asserts the moral right to be

identified as author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be

reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an

means, electronic or mechanical, including

photocopy, recording, scanning or any information

storage retrieval system, without explicit permission

in writing from the author or Publisher.

Copyright © 2011 Doreen Owens Malek

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1439280274

ISBN-13: 9781439280270

1

Amanda Redfield walked up the wide cement staircase of Police Headquarters. She mingled with the stream of cops and lawyers and visitors passing up and down the several levels leading to the glass doors at the top. The blue wave of uniformed personnel broke around her as she ascended to the entrance. She went inside and showed identification to the guard stationed at the turnstile, then opened her briefcase to display its contents. The guard smiled and waved her on to the office wing where she had her appointment. She strode forward purposefully and then halted by the sign for the rest rooms.

A little freshening up might be in order for this event. She went into the institutional bathroom with its tile floor and gray metal stalls, pausing before a fly spotted mirror to examine her reflection as she set her purse and briefcase on the edge of a white porcelain sink.

Her image looked harried, and she made an effort to smile and look confident. The attempt failed; she merely looked like a worried woman with red hair and a rictus smile. She sighed. This was going to be worse than she’d thought. In a few minutes she would be meeting with Lieutenant Theodore Manning of the Philadelphia Police Department, old friend of her family and her father’s charity circuit buddy, and she knew she was not equal to the occasion.

Someone was stalking her and she was scared. Under ordinary circumstances the sight of the shining auburn hair cascading to her shoulders, her creamy skin and gold flecked green eyes would have been reassuring. Today was different. No amount of physical attractiveness was going to pump up her confidence or dispel the cold dread which increased every time she recalled that some stranger was sending her threatening notes. She had no idea who it was and had dealt with many questionable characters in her more than three years as an assistant district attorney. She had helped to put quite a few of them behind bars.

Her correspondent could be any one of them, or it could be someone she had never met.

Mandy ran a brush through her hair and refreshed her light toffee lipstick. She straightened her suit jacket and checked her hose for runs. Satisfied that she couldn’t delay the meeting any longer or be late, she shouldered her purse and picked up her briefcase, which contained the material for her next destination, her job. Then she marched out into the lobby again and down the long corridor to see Manning.

A uniformed policewoman was sitting at a desk in the small anteroom outside the lieutenant’s office. She nodded and told Mandy to go inside as soon as she saw her.

Amanda pushed the door open and crossed the carpeted floor to take the hand Manning extended as he rose from his chair. She smiled into the brown eyes of the cop she’d known since she was a child.

“Well look at you, little Mandy, all grown up and lawyer like,” Manning said teasingly, kissing her cheek. He was a slim, efficient man in his early fifties with graying sandy hair and pronounced crow’s feet resulting from the pressure of his job. He guided her to the chair which had been placed for her across from his desk.

“Hi, Lieutenant,” Mandy said.

“So do I call you Mandy still, or are you Amanda now?” he asked genially.

“Either works for me.” She was a little hesitant about presuming on her father’s connection with Manning to get this special treatment. Most potential crime victims did not rate personal interviews.

"Still as pretty as ever, I see," Manning said, smiling. "How long has it been?"

"About three years, I guess," Amanda replied. "I remember you gave a speech at my law school graduation."

He nodded. “It didn’t surprise me that you went into law. You talked like a magpie at a year and a half, I never saw anything like it. Singing songs, reciting poetry, repeating TV commercials, and you no bigger than a minute.”

“I think I was just a showoff.”

“No, no. Smart as a whip.” He sat back in his chair and surveyed her. "I've seen your father about this, of course," Manning said.

“I’m heading up the research division in Sam Rhinegold’s department, so I don’t have to go into court much. It’s my job to organize and direct the supporting material for the lawyers who actually prosecute the cases.”

“I see. So you work behind the scenes?”

“Yes. That’s why I don’t understand why this letter writer has selected me to receive these notes. A first or second chair, someone who confronts defendants directly, would be a much more likely target, don’t you think?”

Manning sighed. "Who knows what motivates these crazies? Maybe he just saw you once and his fantasies took off from there. You can’t expect logic from a nut job who would do something like this. Whatever the case, it certainly seems like one of our more solid citizens has decided to become your pen pal." He shook his head. "These creeps develop grudges and fixations when they’re prosecuted, it's one of the hazards of the job."

"It hasn't happened to me before this situation," Amanda said.

"I believe this is why your father wanted you to go into real estate law," Manning observed pointedly. "You don't meet too many criminals doing closings and zoning regulations."

Manning said, "We've had a last minute glitch in my plans to deal with your problem. I had assigned one of our more veteran officers to handle this case but he broke his leg in three places over the weekend dirt biking with his son. He's going to be out for some months and then in physical therapy."

Amanda sighed inwardly, wondering what this hasty substitution meant for her life.

Manning tented his fingers thoughtfully. "So I've given to your case to the veteran’s partner, one of our brightest young officers, a newly minted detective. He was out of town on the job and I've called him back to meet with you today."

Mandy nodded.

"He's very smart, very capable, an ex Marine with extensive combat experience in Iraq. I have no hesitation about putting your safety in his hands."

Mandy nodded again. What was she supposed to say?

"He's just being updated on your file now. I've called him to say that you're on your way. Oh, here's Pat."

A young woman in civilian clothes had tapped and then entered the office. She said, "I'm here to take Miss Redfield down to Detective Kelly's office."

Mandy looked at the lieutenant, still a little nervous about the VIP treatment.

Manning rose quickly, donning his jacket, clearly ready to move on to his next task.

"I have a meeting, Amanda, so Mrs. Harris is going to escort you downstairs. You let me know immediately if you have a problem, but I'm sure Detective Kelly will be on top of everything."

Mandy nodded back at him, recognizing that she had been handed off as neatly as a baton in a relay race. Pat Harris, a curvy blonde in her thirties, smiled at Mandy professionally as she led her down a staircase and through a door. They went down another staircase into the bowels of the police station, a building which had been erected during the postwar boom of the early nineteen fifties and had survived many renovations since. The walls at this level were bare cement painted an institutional pale green color. The ceiling was hung with pipes of all sizes and descriptions, the result of many years of trying to keep the subterranean temperatures bearable. The doors to the tiny, cubbyhole offices she passed had been replaced but they were already showing signs of wear. Boilers and air conditioning units labored in a climate control center a few feet down the hall. The overhead lighting was feeble, florescent and constantly flickering.

Mandy looked around warily, feeling like a Morlock in some futuristic underground cavern.

Pat glanced at Mandy again and said, "Don't let the Middle Earth surroundings fool you. This is the detective division. The best people on the force work here."

Mandy met Pat's gaze, wondering why the Metro Police had their detectives buried in the basement. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Pat knocked on a wooden door which bore a handwritten sign taped to the frosted glass upper panel. "Detective B. Kelly" was scrawled on it in black with a felt tipped pen.

Newly minted was right.

"Miss Redfield is here," Pat called.

A minute or so passed and Pat glanced at Mandy nervously, then pulled out her cell phone. Obviously she didn't want to barge into Kelly's office or knock persistently like a landlord demanding rent.

The door was finally opened by a policeman who was still pulling on his jacket. Mandy had an impression of height and dark hair before he said, "Thanks, Pat. I'll take it from here."

Pat waved and vanished, leaving Mandy standing in the doorway of Kelly's tiny office. It was a moment before Mandy realized that the cop was staring at her in puzzlement, his light eyes narrowing.

Mandy gazed back at him, wondering why he was looking so bewildered.

Detective Kelly was about thirty, a couple of inches over six feet and athletically slim, dressed in casual dark pants with a long sleeved oxford cloth shirt and a striped tie. His gold shield hung from a thick chain around his neck. His shirt was greenish blue, the same shade as his eyes, but that was deceptive since their color seemed to change with the light as he moved toward her. His hair was anthracite black and wavy, a little long for the police force, as if he had forgotten to have it cut recently. The effect was to make him look trendy and young. His features were regular and just a little lush, with a long, straight nose and full lips, the bottom one cushioning the top. He smiled slightly as he came toward her and she got a glimpse of very white, slightly uneven teeth.

He held out his hand and said, "Miss Redfield. Come in and sit down."

Mandy shook his hand, which was warm and dry, slightly rough. Then she followed him inside the tiny office, which was decorated, not with photos or memorabilia, but with notices and flyers and posters taped to the walls in all the available space. A 4 by 6 window let in scant light from the outside, where the shoes of pedestrians could be seen passing the window like the endless loop of a footwear advertisement. The office contained Kelly's desk and another desk sitting cattycorner to it. Both desks bore nameplates. Kelly’s desk was piled high with paperwork. The other desk, which evidently belonged to a Detective Donatelli, was less crowded. Two chairs, a laptop computer, and huge stacks of manila folders completed the décor. Mandy stepped around several boxes on the floor to finally sit in the one of the chairs.