Flutter (8 page)

He had 14 foot high ceilings and a simple ceiling fan. Larry’s bedroom was equally as neat and organized as the rest of his apartment. His closet was carefully arranged. The shoes were neatly stacked on racks. His dress shirts were folded and color coordinated. His slacks and jeans were hung on hangers. All of his clothes fit into the closet. He didn’t have very many. His bedroom had a queen sized bed covered in a fitted sheet with two white pillows and the blankets neatly folded at the foot of the bed. He had a 42 inch Toshiba flat screen TV on a stand, a cable box and no other furniture. Needless to say, Larry was very particular about his apartment. He didn’t have much furniture, so that way he could keep track of what he had. He hated clutter in his living space and refused to allow anyone to enter his apartment while wearing shoes. No eating was allowed out of the kitchen.

Larry tapped away on his computer seemingly preoccupied with crunching numbers for the pub. In secret, Larry had a hidden agenda. He sat in his apartment on the couch with his bifocal glasses drinking a glass of milk, rum and ice. His eyes were glued to the screen. He typed into the Google search engine “ABIGAIL PAIGE,” searching for missing persons’ reports to see if Abigail’s name or photo had surfaced.
Nothing!
He tried another search “MISSING WOMAN UTICA, NEW YORK.” Nothing came up. He sipped his drink and grunted. He tried again, “RUNAWAY ABIGAIL PAIGE UTICA, NEW YORK.”
Nothing! That slippery bitch.

Larry had become obsessed with getting to the bottom of Abigail’s mysterious appearance and didn’t trust her situation one bit. She had been around for a while and Larry didn’t understand why her memories hadn’t returned by now.
She’s lying!

 He grew to think she was tolerable, but didn’t feel she was worthy of his complete loyalty and adoration, especially since she was curt and often sported an attitude he cared not to entertain. He made a concerted effort to be sure he didn’t get too attached or too emotionally involved. He couldn’t understand why Frankie, who was so street smart, could be so weak for this girl.
She could ruin everything.
He didn’t even bother questioning why Roger allowed himself to get attached.
Horny bastard!

 The soft blue glow of the computer screen illuminated his chubby semi wrinkly face. He kept thinking of search combinations he hadn’t tried. “MISSING PERSON’S REPORT UTICA, NY.”
Again, nothing.
He was silently enraged. He clenched his fist and took a sip of his drink. He was determined and focused. The time slipped away. Hours passed and Larry wouldn’t give up on finding a lead or a clue.

“Maybe I should hire a private investigator.” But he had a feeling that wherever she was coming from, she had covered her tracks well. He thought that maybe she was lying about her memory loss. It made sense. Maybe she didn’t want to be found and was intentionally hiding in the pub, away from everything she knew. Even if she was telling the truth, his research would prove that as well. He couldn’t really figure her out, but he insisted that understanding the mysteries of Abigail Paige was going to be his number one priority. He was determined to prove to Frankie that she was not good for business or for him. She had changed Frankie into a person he didn’t understand anymore. Larry didn’t like it.

The sky was a bluish black as the sun set its course to rise for the day. Abigail counted the cracks in the ceiling until the six o’clock morning news came on. She turned on the TV and waited for the weather report. It was 73 degrees. She decided to go for a short run to buy herself time. She put on her sneakers and sweats, grabbed her keys and headed out the door.

The Police station buzzed with detectives, officers and criminals. Many of the detectives had recently arrived for the day and were just punching in. Detective Sydney Brown pulled up to the precinct, ready for the impending argument of Boston baseball versus New York baseball. Detective Brown was a 38 year old New York–born homicide detective for the Boston Police Homicide Unit. He was six feet tall with a medium build, short brown hair and a short beard. 

He had worked for the department for the past eight years as a detective after serving as an officer for the previous five years. He had started in the Narcotics Unit but quickly found out that homicide was his niche. He pulled his 2009 black Toyota Camry into a parking space, locked the door and walked to the front door.

“Here it comes,” he thought to himself.

“How about those Yankees?” the man at the front desk yelled out. His name was Barkley Duckworth, a soon to be retired officer who decided to spend his last six months on the force behind the front desk.

“Good morning, Duck,” he said full of annoyance. It was best to avoid the question. He rolled his eyes and walked to the second floor and into the staff lounge. It was empty for a change. Brown was relieved. He filled a mug with Folgers decaf. One of the rookies was usually on assignment to keep coffee hot and ready. After filling his cup and adding sugar, he headed back to his desk, hoping to avoid an argument about last night’s baseball game. Though he did everything in his power to quietly return to his desk, Detective Chris Duffy noticed Brown’s effort to slip by.

“Oh Brownie. Where are you going?” Duffy teased.

“Stuff it Duffy, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Just hand over the spoils, Brownie. This is the debt you pay for being a Yankee fan.” 

“It’s not about winning the battle…” Brown insists. 

The crowd of cops and detectives chime in, “It’s about winning the war.” They laugh.

“No! It’s about winning the game! Shut up with that crap. Pay up you sore loser!” Duffy gloated. Brown handed over two fifty dollar bills. Duffy held the money up to the light, “I gotta check the authenticity of these bills. Can’t trust a New Yorker these days.”

“Shut up or next time you’re getting your money in pennies and scratch offs. Enjoy your insignificant victory. They don’t happen very often, Duffy. So we know you have to soak it in when you can.” The crowd laughed as Brown bitterly walked away.
FUCKING BASTARDS!
Detective Brown sipped his coffee as walked back to his desk. Piles of papers were added to his desk since he had left yesterday evening. As he shuffled through some of the papers, he was interrupted by Meghan Finch.

Meghan Finch was ready to work. “Good morning Detective Brown.”

“Good morning, Detective Finch.” He barely made eye contact as he shuffled through some papers on his desk. “I can’t believe this.” He was upset about the amount of paperwork left for him to review.

“I know you haven’t had much time at your desk, but we have to go. A call just came in from Tammy. There’s a new case that’s come in and Downy wants us over there now.”

“Hope it’s a good one. Debrief me on the way.” Detective Brown and Detective Finch head out quickly.

Meghan Finch was a new detective that had been assigned to shadow Sydney Brown for three months per order of her precinct. She was 5’4”, strong and red–headed with a few freckles on her nose and cheeks. Meghan had been a police officer at the precinct for about four years before she began their homicide detective training program. Finch was known to be pretty tough. She did, however, have to take a month off after being punched in the face at a Beanie Man concert. Her nose was broken, and when she passed out from the blow, her face hit the pavement and her cheek bone was fractured. This happened her second year on the force. The assailant was a drunken UMass student named Darcy Small who had just lost his mother that morning. His friends took him out to clear his mind, and things didn’t go very well. Meghan sympathized with the kid and convinced the judge to lighten the sentence if he promised to attend counseling for three months and volunteer at the Every Woman’s Center on campus. They sent biweekly reports of his progress and hour logs to Finch’s lawyer. 

Finch had about a week left under Brown’s supervision. Things were going pretty well and she was ready to embark on her full–time career in the homicide unit. Brown trusted Meghan enough to let her take the lead on the last investigation, which she led successfully. In the last investigation, Finch ruffled a few feathers when she investigated a robbery that led to the arrest of Sean Pearson, the youngest son of Jackson Pearson, a real estate tycoon who was in the process of negotiating the purchase of a highly sought after site by the Boston Harbor. The case against his son was solid. There were four witnesses, 30 minutes of footage, matching serial numbers, and a snitch. The case got even more interesting when Finch was offered $500,000 to “lose evidence.” She refused. 

Meghan was engaged to a young man, Anthony Fowler, who was a debt consolidation specialist at Eastern Bay State Credit Counseling Corporation. Anthony and Meghan met at a Starbucks as she was walking the beat with Officer Hanson Granby. Anthony wasn’t shy about asking her for her phone number after she had given him a quarter to cover the rest of his tab. His bill was $3.17. He found the three dollar bills with ease but fumbled around to come up with the last 17 cents. Finch reached in her pocket and pulled out the quarter.

“I got it,” Finch said. She dropped the quarter in his hand and smiled.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Don’t mention it. It’s not a problem.”

“It’s nice when a woman doesn’t mind paying the bill,” he said as he smirked.

She smiled and said, “Not when it’s a cheap date.” 

“So then let’s make a real date. I’ll even pay this time.”

She hesitated at first but finally agreed.

For their first date, Meghan agreed to meet Anthony at the Locke–Ober, a seafood restaurant in downtown Boston rather than having him pick her up. At this point in the dating game she didn’t feel comfortable with him knowing where she lived. Anthony was mesmerized when she showed up in a spring yellow sleeveless dress, gathered at the waist, with nude colored three inch heels. She had on a pearl necklace, a pearl bracelet with matching earrings. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Anthony met her at the door. He was wearing a light blue button shirt, khaki colored slacks and loafers. He fit the description of tall, dark and handsome. He greeted her with an orchid flower and kissed her on the cheek. He loved the soft scent of her perfume. She smelled clean, sweet and fresh. Anthony had liked her in the uniform but was love struck after seeing her in that dress.

He whispered in her ear, “You look amazing.” 

She replied, “Thank you.” He had put a smile on her face.

He gently touched her on her waist and guided her into the lobby.

Anthony made reservations for 7:30 pm. Once they were seated, Meghan ordered a classic Caesar Salad and the Honey Glazed Salmon with a baked potato and pea shoots. Anthony ordered the house salad with broiled scrod, mashed potatoes and broccoli. They agreed to share a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

Anthony fell in with her love after their first date. He had made up his mind that she was going to be the one he would marry. Meghan was cautious about giving in to her feelings, but after their vacation to Costa Rica, she was hooked. Six months later they were engaged, and he moved into Meghan’s house. Meghan and Anthony’s relationship progressed and they set the date for their wedding for Mother’s Day weekend of the following year. Several weeks after the engagement, Anthony was heading home from a long day of work and taking his mother on errands. He was five blocks away from the house when three joyriding teenagers ran a traffic light going 70 miles per hour. They hit Anthony’s car in the driver’s side door. His car flipped over three times before it came to a halt on its roof. 

Meghan was made aware of the accident about 30 minutes after it happened. She drove to the site of the accident and went into hysterics. Detective Tammy was on the scene. She and Finch were decent friends at that time. Tammy took Finch to the hospital to wait with Anthony’s family. Anthony sat in a coma for two days before he stopped breathing. Finch still wore her engagement ring.

From her first day in homicide training, Meghan Finch had impressed Sydney Brown with her competency, accurately detailed descriptions and organizational skills which surpassed his own. She thought outside of the box on each case and helped bring cases quickly to a tight close. She developed a virtual checklist of “things to look for and do” an evidence log which listed: ITEM IMAGE, NAME, LOCATION, DIMENSIONS, and DESCRIPTION columns. She uploaded the spreadsheet to a cloud drive and showed Brown how to edit and immediately upload the file so there would be immediate access at the precinct while they were still on the scene. She collected information on her phone and immediately uploaded the content to be analyzed later. The chief could also review the files as they were in the process of being created. Her method of on–site data collection was adopted by 10 other districts within the month. During her training, they covered six homicides, either leading the investigations or tagging along with other investigative teams.

 About a month earlier, Detective Finch and Detective Brown’s relationship elevated and became intimate. Sydney started the flirtatious interactions with playful text messages before and after the shift. He figured testing the water with subtle flirts would give Finch a route to easily ignore him or reciprocate if that’s what she wanted to do. Finch initially hesitated to flirt back because she didn’t want anything to seem afoul or have things seem like she was losing focus of why they were working together. Her attraction was growing stronger but despite her lingering feelings for Anthony, she couldn’t resist.
What would it hurt?
Eventually, the flirtations turned to light touches on the neck, ear or hand. He would find reasons to move her hair off her shoulder or take a quick sniff of her perfume whenever he reached past her.

One evening, Finch showed up to Sydney’s house looking for an ear. It was somewhere close to 12 am and she was having trouble sleeping. She drove around the city for an hour before she sent him a text. “YOU UP, BROWNIE?” She was partially shy about being forward with him.
What if he has a woman over?