Scorned (3 page)

              “Yes, I think he’s earned it, especially after putting up with you for all of these years. He was instrumental in helping you work the Campus Killer case and has picked up the slack in your absence.”

             
What absence
, I thought.
I’ve been benched for months.
“What about me,” I finally asked. “When am I getting pulled from desk duty?”

              The Lieutenant quickly moved away from his desk and scrambled back to his chair. It was as if he thought I would attack him if he gave me the wrong answer. Although the thought did cross my mind.

              “I’ve spoken with Dr. Barron, and we’ve agreed that it is in your best interest.” The Lieutenant was drawing it as long as he could. He loved to watch me squirm. “To reinstate you and permit you to return to active duty effective immediately.”

              Whew, what a relief. For a minute, I thought he was going to tell me I was on permanent desk duty or worse; that the department decided to terminate me.

              A smile crept over my face. It was the first time I smiled since my vacation. “Thank you sir; you won’t regret this.”

              “Somehow I bet I will,” he grumbled.

              I bounced out of his office, nearly skipping as I returned to my desk. Rodney stood next to it. His six foot three frame towered over me with a satisfied grin.

              “Looks like someone’s in a better mood.”

              “I’m back in the field starting today.” By the look on Rodney’s face, I figured he already knew. I clapped him on the shoulder. “And I guess congrats are in order for you as well Detective.”

              He beamed with delight. “I think a celebratory drink is in order; your treat.” Drinks on me? How did I get stuck with that one?

              “Sounds like a plan partner. But you’ll have to settle for coffee.”

************************************************************

              I sat with Rodney at the Starbucks on the corner of Main Street. My Caramel Macchiato Latte warmed my hands; not like they needed it. The temperature had already reached the mid-seventies and it was only eleven in the morning.

              “How does it feel to get out from behind that desk,” Rodney asked.

              “How do you think it feels?” My sarcastic tone took Rodney by surprise. I paused and started laughing. “It feels fan-friggin-tastic.” Words couldn’t describe how it felt to be back out in the field. It was the first bit of normalcy I had since the days leading up to Nick DeFalco’s death. I had my dream job back. Now I just needed to help my sister get back on her feet.

              Rodney, who happened to notice everything going on around him, noticed the happiness fading from my face. He nudged my arm gently. “Everything okay?”

              “Of course; why wouldn’t I be okay? The Lieutenant just cleared me for field work.”

              The look in my eyes told a different story. “Ali, this is me you’re talking to. I know when something’s bothering you.” He nudged my arm again. “Come on; out with it.”

              I sighed heavily as I took another long sip of my latte. “I’m fine. It’s Amanda that I’m worried about.”

              Rodney took my hand. “Is she still having a rough time dealing with everything?” A rough time was putting her issues mildly.

              “She’s been drinking excessively for a while. I try to stop her, but she sneaks around when I’m not there or when I’m asleep. Then I find her passed out as if she was a rock star that partied after a concert.”

              “Has she spoken to anyone?”

              I shook my head. “She refuses to talk about any of it. She stays in bed all day and barely moves. Hell, we’re lucky she actually goes to work when she’s supposed to.”

              “Damn, that girl needs an intervention or something.”

An intervention was something that only worked if the person gave a damn about their life or about the people that are there on their behalf. Amanda didn’t have anyone left that made her care about her life anymore. And part of me wondered if she blamed me for Shawn’s death. Matthew and I discussed it one night. He told me I was being too hard on myself and that Amanda loved me. But if I had pushed harder to change the Lieutenant’s mind about making the Rachel Walker and Nicole Sherman cases homicide, or if I worked harder to catch the killer, then maybe just maybe Shawn would still be alive.

I tried to think of ways I could force Amanda to go to rehab or to at least get help for her drinking problem. She needed to find a way to deal with Shawn’s death. I tried to focus on it, but kept noticing a few customers gawking at me. A crowd was gathering, but none of them were waiting on line to place an order or to pick up their drinks.

One of them, a young female college student with long brown hair, was finally brave enough to step forward. “Are you Detective Ryan?” I nodded my head with a hint of suspicion. “The same Detective Ryan that took down that DeFalco guy?”

Shit, I didn’t like where this was going. “Uh huh.”

              The girl’s face brightened up as she turned towards the crowd. “It’s her; it’s really her.” She let out a high pitched squeal as did the other girls in the group. I thought I was about to go deaf from listening to them.

              “What the fuck,” Rodney whispered.

              “Beats the hell outta me.”

              The girls rushed towards our table. Rodney and I wanted to whip out our glocks just to keep the crowd at bay. The girls weren’t violent, at least not to us.

              “Thank you so much,” they cried out. “Thank you for stopping him.”

              Did they realize what they were thanking me for? The girls were thanking me for killing another human being. Grant it, DeFalco did terrorize the campus.

              “Can we buy you a coffee or something to drink,” one girl asked. It was an odd request and even weirder to have groupies doting over me.

              “Can you tell us how you figured out it was him,” another one chimed in. The red flags soared through the air. Maybe they weren’t college students, maybe this group of girls were reporters trying to get a story.

              “Sorry, I’m unable to make comments about the investigation.” If they were reporters, they’d know that I could speak freely on the matter because it was no longer an ongoing investigation.

              One of the girls looked as if they were about to protest the matter. Thankfully a call came in over the radio. Rodney listened to it and returned to the table a minute later. “Ali, come on,” Rodney said as he grabbed my arm and yanked me away from the crowd of admiring women. Once we were outside, he rushed me to the car. “We got a DB that washed up near the Mid-Hudson Bridge. The Lieutenant wants us to check it out.”

              Fuck, first day back on the job and I was already getting thrown into a possible homicide investigation.

              We arrived at the crime scene a half hour later. The area had been roped off with yellow crime scene tape. A crowd of reporters were already setting up shop trying to get a view of the victim.

              “I guess the circus is in town,” Rodney laughed.

              Humor was not something we needed to display in front of the vultures. They were ready to pick us apart, especially once they saw me on the scene. We snuck around and ducked under the tape, momentarily escaping the mob of reporters. The victim was a male, roughly five eight and was definitely good looking. Even though his clothes were sopping wet, the victim was wearing a black Joseph Abboud suit. The jacket was missing and the matching shoes had scuff marks all along the front.

              An older Asian man hovered over the victim taking pictures of the prone body. “Hey Fred,” I shouted as Rodney and I approached. “What do we got?”

              Fred handed his camera off to his assistant and placed his thick black glasses back on his face. “Our victim washed ashore earlier this morning. According to the time stamp and the current, I suspect he had fallen from the bridge approximately around one or two this morning.”

              The victim’s clothes were soggy and torn, but had a familiarity to them. They reminded me of an asshole I came across once or twice in my days of being a beat cop. “Do you suspect foul play?”

              “It’s too early to tell. The bruising on his body suggests he landed on his back. Typically, a jumper will swan dive from a bridge or from a cliff because they belief the impact will kill them instantly.”

              Rodney saw the look in my eyes. The mix of Fred’s assessment and the way the victim was dressed was pleading for me to call this a possible homicide.

              “Don’t tell me; you think he was murdered.”

              You read my mind. I let the smile slip but turned towards Fred. “Does the victim have any ID?”

              “None, no wallet; no license; no credit cards; no keys and no cash.”

              Something was fishy about our John Doe and it wasn’t just the horrendous smell coming from his clothes. “Detective Johnson, how do you want to proceed?”

              Rodney clapped a hand to his face shielding his eyes. His head shook from side to side. “We need a full tox screen done on our John Doe. We need fingerprints, dental records and fingernail swabs as well.”

              If I could reach the top of his bald head, I’d pat him gently and tell him good boy. Years of being my partner made him see this was more than just some guy jumping off a bridge. Someone murdered our John Doe and sent him to the same watery grave the Campus Killer sent me to.

Chapter 3
-Claire

              Claire woke in her warm comfy queen sized bed. The veins pulsated on the sides of her head. Soft moans escaped her parched throat as her hands rubbed the spots where the pain dwelled as if it would magically go away.

              “What the fuck,” she whimpered while reluctantly peeling the covers from her naked body. “Wha-what the hell happened last night?” Her fingers gripped the sheets as she crawled to the other side of the bed. The sexy black dress she wore the night before lay at the foot of the bed.

              It was like she was experiencing Deja-vu. Everything was happening just like it did the last time she went out, only this time Claire woke in her own bed. Please tell me it didn’t happen again. Panic had set in. Claire jumped off the bed and hurried to her chair to retrieve her fluffy lavender robe and bolted for the front of her house. Her long dark hair flipped from side to side as she scanned every room for any clue; any indication of what happened the night before.

              Claire finally reached the front door, finding the gold painted deadbolt stretched across the frame. “Oh thank God,” she gasped as she collapsed against the door. She dabbed her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. The nightmare was fresh in her mind. She didn’t remember drinking too much, but knew she had given the asshole from the bar a taste of his own medicine.

             
The guy from the bar!
Memories of what she did the night before came flooding back.  Claire switched the shot glasses, ensuring he had drugged himself instead of preying on a defenseless woman. When he was at a point of passing out, she walked him out of the bar and threw him in the backseat of her car. Claire didn’t know what to do with the guy and continued driving around. She remembered thinking what happened to her and what the asshole planned on doing to the hot blond if she had downed the drink that was intended for her. The mere thought chilled her to her core.

              Claire pulled over just before reaching the Mid-Hudson Bridge. The roads were empty at one in the morning.
I can’t let this asshole hurt another woman again.
Claire threw open the driver’s side door and stormed the back of the car. The man she only knew as Ambrose was still unconscious in the backseat. She ripped open the rear passenger side door and pulled him out.

              With Ambrose’s arm draped over her shoulders, Claire dragged the body to the walkway and hoisted him onto the ledge. “This is for all the women you’ve hurt and all the women you planned on hurting.”

              Ambrose’s body fell from the ledge. His back smacked against the cold May water of the Hudson. His body floated for a few seconds before being submerged. With the drugs coursing through his system, Ambrose was powerless to fight the current or to take a single stroke to save his life.

              The sound of the phone ringing loudly from the kitchen snapped Claire out of her dream-like state. Her blood ran cold while she sat in her living room
. Did I really? No, it’s impossible. I couldn’t have.
The phone rang loudly again. The sound became a nuisance to her.

              She walked quickly to the kitchen and slipped the cordless phone from the charger. “Hello,” she said cautiously.

              “About fucking time,” the woman on the other end said. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling your cell all morning.”

              Sheila’s voice was like nails on a chalk board to her. “Sorry, I-I’m not feeling well this morning.”

              “Is everything all right?”

              “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine.” Claire wondered if she should tell Sheila about last night and how she didn’t remember how she got home. She decided it would be better not to. Sheila was a friend and her assistant, but didn’t need to know where she was at all times. “I won’t be in the office or at the hospital today.”

              “Damn, you must be sick if you’re calling out.”

              Claire knew it made it her look bad to call out. Her co-workers depended on her, and she felt like she let her patients down by not showing up. But there were more important things on Claire’s mind, like piecing the rest of last night together and figuring out if she really killed Ambrose.

              “Sorry Sheila, I’ll call you later.”

              Claire hung up the phone and stumbled out of the kitchen. The house appeared immaculate. Everything was in its place just like she liked it. Claire could not fathom how she got that drunk last night and if she was, how she didn’t knock anything over.

              She moved to the living room and plopped down on the couch. The leather cushions lightly burned her legs from the bright sun peaking through the blinds. She let out a yelp and jumped up from her seat.

              Claire turned towards the window. Her eyes caught sight of an empty bottle of vodka lying on the floor. “Well, now I know how I got so drunk.” She picked up the bottle and noticed the dried up droplets on her hardwood floor. Claire ran to the kitchen to get a wet towel to wipe up the mess hoping it didn’t set in and ruin the floor. As she ran back to the living room, something caught her eye. A bulging black leather square sat on her mantle with a pair of keys resting on it.

              “No, don’t tell me... I couldn’t have…” Claire raced grab the wallet from the mantle. She flipped it open and combed through the contents. Two hundred dollars in twenties sat in one compartment. “Fuck, please tell me this was some other guy’s wallet.”

She ripped out credit card after credit card. Visas, Mastercards and AMEX cards all fell to the floor with the same name on them, Blake Ambrose. The weight of what she did was coming down on her. Claire’s heart raced faster than it ever had before. This was more than just a panic attack. She killed a man. It was only a matter of time before someone remembered her walking out with him last night. Claire continued emptying the wallet. A driver’s license and a business card fell to the floor. The license was a spitting image of the man Claire met and attacked at the bar. His dastardly good looks and evil intentioned smile stared back at her. Claire finally picked up the business card. The name on it read: Blake Ambrose, Attorney at Law.

It wasn’t bad enough I killed a man, but I killed a lawyer. I’m as good as dead
. Claire was in full meltdown mode and didn’t know what to do. She turned on the TV and flipped to the news.

A short woman with dirty blond hair stood near a cluster of trees with a bridge looming in the background. “Reports came in earlier this morning of a body washing up along the banks of the Mid-Hudson Bridge.”

Oh no.

              “Police were called and dispatched to the scene where the victim was pronounced dead on the scene.”

             
Oh god no. This can’t be happening to me.

              “Police offered no comment at this time. We do know the victim was male and in his late twenties possibly early thirties.”

              “They don’t know his name,” Claire whispered. “They don’t know his name. They don’t know it because I have his wallet.” This was the best news Claire heard all day. Then she thought about the car keys. “His car, he must’ve had it there last night.” She couldn’t go back to the club. It was bad enough they might have caught her on camera going into the club and possibly leaving with the victim. But if she showed up again and was caught stealing his car, she was done for. There was only one thing Claire could do. She needed to get rid of any evidence linking her to Blake Ambrose’s murder.