A streetlight blinked erratically, accompanied by a violent hiss as it struggled mightily to remain lit, only to lose its battle moments later. The resulting darkness, however, was only temporary; the brightness of a full moon shone down on parked cars and buildings nearby and illuminated the area in a soft glow. With dogged determination, the moonlight continued to spread to every nook and cranny, fighting its way through the dense branches of an old oak to cast a single ray into a half-circle window forgotten over time.
Once inside the vacant room, the moonlight slowly crept along the walls, taking its time to inspect the area as if stunned by what it had uncovered. Newspaper clippings hung haphazardly along almost every square inch of the walls, even taking up space on the supporting beam and ceiling above. Article after article mocked the San Francisco police department, criticizing their ineffectiveness of capturing a serial killer gone wild. Gruesome photos of the victims accompanied the media blitz and completed the picture – a shrine erected in the name of the killer.
A pair of muffled voices disturbed the silence of the macabre scene, and the moonlight fled the room when a single bulb, fastened on a plain white porcelain fixture, flicked on, highlighting the room in artificial light.
“I need to show you something,” said Lindsay in a soft voice, struggling to keep the nervousness from creeping into her tone. The reassuring touch of Cindy’s hand against her lower back grounded her, and she continued her journey up the makeshift stairs.
“What? You got bats in your belfry?” teased Cindy, sensing her girlfriend’s edginess. When she’d suggested they put up a few Christmas decorations and asked if Lindsay kept them stored in her attic, the color had drained from the other woman’s face. She’d been just about to propose that perhaps it would be better to wait until the weekend when Lindsay suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. She’d just followed along blindly.
“Not even close,” whispered Lindsay, taking a deep breath and stepping up onto the attic floor. She hesitated momentarily, but finally moved to the side and allowed Cindy a full view of the room. The young reporter’s foot had barely touched down on the wooden floor when she caught her first glimpse at the attic walls. Biting down on her lower lip to keep a gasp from escaping, she forced herself to walk closer to the newspaper clippings and then moved wordlessly along the wall, her eyes scanning the dozens and dozens of headlines and photos. Lindsay’s obsession with Kiss-Me-Not had been much worse than she could ever have imagined.
“Why haven’t you taken these down?” asked Cindy softly as she stopped in front of a set of photos push-pinned into the wall, the faces of the victims with their mouths sewn shut displayed prominently before her, bringing back what memories she had of the crimes to the forefront of her over-active imagination. She couldn’t keep the shiver from running down her spine.
A low voice near her ear made her jump.
“Dad died,” mumbled Lindsay, pausing briefly to gather herself. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and eased her arms around Cindy’s middle, relieved when the younger woman leaned back against her without a second’s hesitation. “Then the murders started, and I got caught up again.”
Cindy tilted her head to the side and rested her cheek against Lindsay’s, the familiarity of her lover’s skin against her own giving her the courage to move forward with her suggestion.
“How about now?”
“Now?” Lindsay crinkled her brow in question. The warmth from Cindy’s body was both calming and soothing, and she wasn’t about to surrender her current position to make eye contact with the reporter.
“To take all this down.” Cindy turned in Lindsay’s arms. “Let’s take it down together.”
Lindsay looked down at Cindy and smiled.
*****
Click…
A hooded figure froze in place and spared a glance over his shoulder. The normally soft sound of a key, worn with age, sliding into a deadbolt echoed loudly in the small confines of the hallway. Dividing his attention to either side of him, he slowly turned the key until the mechanism eased into place. Pausing momentarily to ensure that his actions hadn’t garnered anyone’s attention, he opened the door and stepped inside, immediately surveying the layout of the spacious room.
It was perfect - a one-room apartment, unfurnished save for a single 3’ x 6’ folding table that had been set up against the far wall. He shifted his gaze to the center of the room where light from the morning sun had forced its way through a small opening in the drab-looking curtains. Drawn to a single ray of light, showcasing dust particles normally invisible to the human eye that floated lazily in its path, he couldn’t help but smile at the ironic correlation. More times than not, for some reason or another, people chose to ignore what was right in front of their faces, even if their well-being depended on their attention to the smallest of details. Their lack of notice had boded very well for him in the past, and he could only hope it would continue in the future.
Pushing his deep-seated thoughts aside for later reflection, he refocused on the task at hand and returned to the hallway to retrieve a dolly he’d left just outside the door. Placing his foot on its lower metal bar, he pushed it forward while easing back on the handle as he rolled the cart inside and closed the door behind him.
Edging near the table, he returned the dolly to its upright position and carefully removed the top box from the stack, placing it in the center of the table. Then, retrieving a hidden knife from his boot, he slid the sharp blade through the packing tape and lifted up the cardboard edges, taking just a moment to grab hold of the hard plastic sticking up from the Styrofoam that offered protection to the box’s contents. With a soft grunt, he lifted the object free of its container and gently set it down next to the empty box, and after removing the plastic tie that bound the electrical cord, he positioned the closed circuit television monitor nearer to the wall outlet. Pleased with its location, he reached for the next box.
*****
A flash of bright red hair went unnoticed by the usually observant inspector who sat hunched over her desk poring over the files of the recent murders attributed to the Hallelujah Man. Her gaze moved across the pages laid out in front of her, the lines of text blurring together until a virtual sea of black swam before her eyes. She blinked to clear her vision and moved her focus to the gruesome photographs of the various crime scenes, hoping to spot something – anything - that would jump out at her and scream the killer’s name across the vast space of the room. But the photos remained silent, just as silent as the victims who stared unseeingly back at her, their ‘sins’ laid out in vivid colors for all to bear witness: gluttony, wrath, greed, and pride. Lindsay swept her hand through her hair in frustration, her mind conjuring up the remaining deadly sins not yet addressed by the killer. Which one would show up next?
Keeping an eye trained on the bowed dark head, Cindy slinked past the maze of desks scattered around the bullpen. Her expression – normally a tell-tale sign of her mood – showed a myriad of emotions, mostly uncertainty. She wasn’t sure whether to be proud of her stealth skills or hurt that her lover hadn’t noticed her presence. Lindsay always seemed to have a sixth sense for knowing whenever Cindy was anywhere in her vicinity, but today, the reporter slipped by without so much as a blip on the inspector’s radar. The lack of awareness only further added to her worry that Lindsay was straying dangerously close to the point of no return as her current obsession threatened to grow by leaps and bounds, despite the progress they’d made together. There was no way she’d allow Lindsay to erect another shrine to another killer.
Cindy was eager to catch the psycho religious zealot too, but she wasn’t willing to sacrifice the woman she loved in the process. There had to be a way to keep a balance between their personal and professional lives, and after what she’d seen last night, she knew she’d need help in finding and maintaining that delicate balance. With a determined stride, she rounded the corner and turned toward the elevator on her way to meet Claire and Jill in the morgue. They’d need a united front to keep Lindsay from straying too close to the edge. So focused on her mission, she narrowly missed running smack dab into a coffee-carrying Jacobi.
“Whoa,” said Jacobi, stepping neatly to the side and just managing to keep his cup and its contents from hitting the white tiles of the linoleum floor. “Where you headed in such a hurry?”
“Oh, hey Warren,” Cindy gestured to the few drops of coffee that had barely escaped its container to land on the inspector’s hand. She looked up at the expressionless man and smiled sweetly. “Sorry about that. I don’t always pay attention to where I’m going.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that,” the older man answered in a gruff tone, keeping his true feelings about the reporter to himself. He really liked the vibrant young woman, especially since she’d not paid any attention to his partner’s current case of perpetual grumpiness either. She’d just flash that cute little smile of hers, and he’d watch in amazement as Lindsay’s bad mood would melt before his very eyes. Yes, Cindy Thomas was the best thing that had ever happened to his partner.
“Well, I’d better get going; Jill and Claire are waiting for me.” Cindy made a show of checking her watch, before pointing toward the nearby elevator and taking a few steps back just as a soft ding signaled the car had arrived. Jacobi watched as the doors to the elevator had yet to open wide enough to allow the young woman to slip through, but her impatience to see her friends had her leading with her shoulder and turning almost perpendicular to the doors as she eased into the car to stab at the button that would take her to the floor that housed the morgue. Minutes later, she burst into Claire’s office and quickly closed the door behind her, placing her full weight against the wooden and glass structure. She didn’t waste any time getting to the heart of the matter.
“Okay, I know I wasn’t around years ago when the Kiss-Me-Not killer first came onto the scene, but I’m very concerned that the Hallelujah Man could be well on his way to surpassing Harris as number one on Lindsay’s hit parade of serial killers.” The thought terrified her, especially after witnessing firsthand how truly obsessed Lindsay had been with Kiss-Me-Not. It’d taken the pair almost two hours to box up all the clippings, photos, and files the night before, and she was going to do everything in her power to make sure the attic walls remained bare. Even the coolness of the window blinds pressing against her shoulders and soaking through her thin cotton blouse did little to ease her tension. It continued to roll off of her in waves.
Perched on the edge of Claire’s desk, Jill turned to face the reporter. She tilted her head slightly and folded her arms across her chest. “Trust me. Lindsay is a long way from replacing Harris from her top spot.” She held up her hand to stop the protest before it could escape Cindy’s lips. “But you’re right; she’s definitely falling into the same pattern.”
Leaning back in her chair, Claire folded her hands across her middle. “So – what are we going to do about it?” Vividly remembering Lindsay’s downward spiral the last time, she knew they had their work cut out for them and had even entertained the idea of drugging and kidnapping Lindsay and then whisking her off to someplace quiet and relaxing for a few days if need be. In fact, she’d suggest the very idea if one of the other women didn’t come up with something less drastic. Although, if truth be told, she believed the answer to curing Lindsay’s obsession lay with the young woman directly across from her.
Cindy pushed away from the door and shuffled over to the worn leather couch, snatching up one of the throw pillows and holding it against her stomach as she plopped down rather ungracefully in the center of the sofa. With the soft pillow cushioned in her lap, she leaned forward and placed her face in her hands. Her words were mumbled out from between the small space formed between the edges of her palms.
“She promises that she’ll try harder not to become so invested in these cases, but then the next murder pops up, and she’s right back in the thick of things, spending almost every waking moment at the station and sometimes not bothering to come home at all. I’m at a complete loss as to what to do. I’d hoped you two would have some ideas.” Cindy had seemed to have all the answers before she and Lindsay had become romantically involved, but now, she constantly worried that she’d do something stupid that would drive the other woman away.
“You could always handcuff her to your bed,” said Jill teasingly. “That should distract her for awhile.” She winked at Claire, mistaking the other woman’s wide-eyed look as shock at the suggestion that Cindy hold Lindsay captive as her sex slave, instead of an instinctive reaction of worry of how Cindy might react to Jill’s words.
“I think that may be a bit too drastic,” Claire chided, wondering if she was the only one who’d noticed that their young friend hadn’t seemed too comfortable discussing her sex life lately.
Cindy, on the other hand, was eternally grateful that her face was still buried in her hands. Being bent over at the waist in the classic ‘hyperventilation treatment position’ was rather fortuitous as well. It was just too bad that she hadn’t been able to stifle the high-pitched squeak that had escaped.
“Oh,” offered Jill, once again misreading the situation, “so, you have thought about it.” She gave Claire another wink. “Honey, it’s okay. We’ve all thought about it at one time or another.”
“Um, Jill, ixnay on the andcuffshay,” warned Claire, knowing full well Jill had actually done much more than just think about Lindsay’s handcuffs, but right now her focus was on thick red hair carelessly strewn across denim covered knees. Pushing to her feet, she gave Jill one of her patented laser looks as she walked past on her way to the couch. She continued her line of thought as she placed a supportive hand on Cindy’s back. “I think we need to concentrate on more conventional means of distraction.” Conveniently, her own rather unconventional idea of drugging Lindsay had been completely forgotten when the handcuff idea had been suggested.
“We’re talking Lindsay here, Claire. Unconventional distraction is the way to go, and bondage may be just the ticket. I don’t think she’d be as upset as you’d think if she found herself handcuffed to her bed.”
Wide-eyed, Claire glared at Jill and gestured forcefully toward the back of Cindy’s head. As if trying to dodge the unseen finger aimed her way, the reporter burrowed further into the pillow, and Claire responded with a gentle pat. “I wasn’t referring to Lindsay’s reaction.”
“Huh? . . . Oh!” Properly chastised, Jill crossed the room and took a seat on the other side of the reporter. She placed her hand next to Claire’s and began to rub soothing circles on Cindy’s back. “What do you suggest then?” Her gaze moved across the back of the bent over woman and focused on Claire, but before the other woman could formulate an answer, the door to the office swung open and a dark head poked inside.
Lindsay frowned momentarily at the sight of Cindy being comforted by her friends, but she shoved her concern to the background to relay her news. She made a mental note to question Cindy about it later.
“There’s been another murder. Apparently envy now has a name - Charles Moore.”
ACT I
Claire frowned as she circled the antique rocking chair, once said to be one of John F. Kennedy’s favorites according to the victim’s housekeeper, who’d somehow managed to offer the tidbit in between crossing herself and muttering prayer after prayer. Figuring Charles Moore hadn’t had any idea that he’d meet his end while sitting in the priceless chair, Claire was certain its value would be greatly depreciated now that it was stained with blood and bits of grey matter, the gruesome scene looking strangely out of place in the tastefully decorated study.
“Something’s not right,” she muttered under her breath, making another pass on the custom-designed Italian marble floor. The bruises on Moore’s face appeared to be as fresh as the single gunshot wound at his temple. He hadn’t been tortured and toyed with like the other victims; instead, it appeared he’d been pistol-whipped a couple of times and then shot – quick and easy – not at all like the previous Hallelujah Man’s victims. However, the wire threaded through the skin of the man’s eyelids had definitely been the work of a madman, despite the fact that it appeared to have been performed postmortem.
“Okay, it’s more than a little creepy how the victim’s eyes being sewn shut so closely resembles the Kiss-Me-Not’s method of sewing his victims lips together, but tell me again why this murder is being linked to the Hallelujah Man?” asked Claire, gently lifting the victim’s head and turning her attention to the exit wound. She spared a glance at Jill who was standing several feet away, the ever present white handkerchief covering her nose and mouth.
“The responding officers found a Bible with a highlighted verse,” said Jill, her gaze shifting to the various groupings of paintings on the mauve-colored walls. She concentrated her focus on the victim’s collection of art and refused to look at the display of metal artwork in, around, and through Moore’s eyelids. “I don’t get the envy reference though. This guy appears to be loaded – huge house full of priceless antiques and art, a garage full of vintage automobiles, a beautiful fiancée, judging from her photo, and I’d imagine a very healthy bank account. What could he possibly be envious of?”
“He’s not,” Lindsay’s voice floated from over Jill’s shoulder, the inspector’s attention on a clear plastic evidence bag that she held in her hand. She lifted it up for her friends to see and explained her reasoning. “I think we’ve got a true copycat this time. Someone’s got their signals crossed when it comes to how the Bible verses have been used.”
Jill stepped closer and squinted through the thick plastic barrier at the highlighted verse of the encased Bible – specifically, the bright fluorescent yellow that sloppily showcased each line of the verse – as she lowered her handkerchief. “Hmm, this does look amateurish, especially when you compare it to the horrific manner he used to showcase his chosen ‘message’ in the Watkins murder. And whenever he’s left a Bible behind at the scene, he’s always used a red marker to circle the reference to the passage.”
With a latex covered finger, Lindsay pointed to the yellowish-colored passage. “James, chapter 3, verses 14 through 16: But if you harbor bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast about it or deny the truth. Such wisdom does not come down from heaven but is earthly, unspiritual, of the devil. For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every evil practice.” She paused dramatically. “This idiot has confused the whole Bible reference idea. He’s killed the person he’s envious of, instead of the other way around.”
“And he didn’t make this guy suffer either,” said Claire, pointing to the bullet hole in Charles Moore’s temple and then the barely visible bruising around his wrists. “The killer just tied him to the chair – loosely at that – hit him across the face a couple of times, and then blew his brains out.” She gestured to some grey matter that clung to the arm of the wooden chair’s surface, causing Jill to slam her eyes closed and turn a lighter shade of pale as she swiveled around to face the opposite wall. She took slow, deep breaths as the handkerchief once again found its way to her mouth and nose.
Not fazed in the least by the gore, Lindsay stepped closer and tilted her head, her line of sight following the path Claire’s finger had just taken. The Hallelujah Man had always made certain his victims received his ‘message’ loud and clear. Whoever killed Charles Moore definitely hadn’t done his homework. She moved to inspect the victim’s wrists, but a noise from the hallway broke her concentration.
“Psst!”
Three heads swiveled as one toward the source of the sound, each woman reacting differently at the sight of the individual who’d caught their attention. Lindsay sighed audibly, Claire lifted one corner of her mouth in a grin while simultaneously shaking her head, and Jill frowned slightly.
“How does she do that?” whispered Jill, easing closer to Claire and gesturing toward the redheaded reporter who kept glancing back over her shoulder, splitting her attention between her ‘co-club members’ and the area behind her.
“Do what?” asked Claire, watching as Cindy nervously shifted her weight from foot to foot as if expecting someone to take her by the arm and forcibly escort her from the crime scene.
“Get by the officers.” Jill was truly amazed how Cindy managed to sweet talk her way past the yellow crime scene tape time after time. But this time, the reporter had made it into the inner sanctum of the actual murder without any assistance from a certain inspector.
Lindsay sighed once again as she finally took her first step toward her girlfriend. “She can be quite persuasive.”
“I’ll just bet,” muttered Claire under her breath as she and a chuckling Jill followed in their friend’s footsteps. The trio had barely reached the door when Cindy began to rattle off the findings of her most recent research.
“Charles Moore is a saint. He gives to charities all the time, especially local ones. Last week, he gave a million dollars to a home for battered women.” Tilting her head and pushing up on her toes, she attempted to peer past her friends to get a good look at the crime scene as she unknowingly repeated Jill’s earlier words. “I just don’t get the envy reference though. People who commit the sin of envy resent that another person has something they perceive themselves as lacking. This guy doesn’t seem to be lacking anything.” Her gaze zeroed in on the victim’s face. “Hey, what’s that on his eyes?”
Lindsay glanced back toward the body slumped down in the antique rocking chair. “For some reason, the killer sewed the victim’s eyes shut. We’re not exactly sure why.” When she’d first seen the threaded wire, a cold chill had slowly made its way down her spine. Her first thought had been that the Kiss-Me-Not killer had somehow found a way to taunt her from beyond the grave.
Cindy nodded in immediate understanding of the wire’s significance. “Like Dante’s Purgatory.”
The three other women shared a quick glance and then crowded around the reporter.
“What do you mean?” asked Lindsay, her focus back on the victim’s eyes.
“In
Dante's Purgatory, the envious were punished by having their eyes sewn shut
with wire because they were seen to have gained sinful pleasure from seeing
others brought low, in reference to Saint Thomas Aquinas’ description of
envy as ‘sorrow for another's good’.”
She paused momentarily, the wheels almost visibly turning in her head -
it always reminded Claire of Nate’s hamster running around and around the
wheel of its cage. “Moore
wouldn’t have anything to be envious of.
In fact, he’s almost too good to be true.
Is that a sin?”
Her rhetorical question still lingering in the air between the four of them, Cindy scanned every inch of the crime scene and continued her train of thought, “Looks like the Hallelujah Man messed up big time... unless...” her eyes widened dramatically at her own implication, “Oh my God, this is a copycat!”
Quickly closing the distance between herself and the reporter, Lindsay clamped a hand over Cindy’s mouth and shot a glance around the room at the various personnel working the periphery of the crime scene. “Shh... I don’t want anyone to know that we’re on to him. This son of a bitch isn’t getting away with this.” She was determined to nail the copycat. If she couldn’t get a bead on the Hallelujah Man, finding his copycat would have to do for now.
Cindy shared a knowing look with Claire and Jill. There was no longer any need for them to find ways to distract Lindsay from her growing obsession with the Hallelujah Man; the copycat had done the job for them.
*****
“I picked the fiancée up at the airport,” said Jacobi, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb toward a nearby interrogation room. “She’s as jumpy as a cat. At first, I thought she was nervous because she had something to do with the murder, but then I realized it was me she was scared of. She almost jumped out of her skin when I tried to take her by the arm to escort her to the car.”
“What happened to the Jacobi charm? Losing your touch with the ladies?” A teasing grin eased its way onto Lindsay’s face.
“Hey, my touch is just fine,” replied Jacobi gruffly. “But seriously, that woman is more than just a little unsettled, and I’m not talking about her reaction to being driven somewhere other than home. I think maybe you should talk to her alone.”
Lindsay spared a quick glance at the closed door of the interview room and then at the stairs leading up to her lieutenant’s office. “Okay, sounds like a plan.” She briefly turned her attention back to her partner. “Will you fill Tom in on what we suspect so far?”
“You just want my tired old bones to have to climb up those stairs,” said Jacobi with a soft grunt as he pushed to his feet and started toward the stairway.
Grinning widely, Lindsay waited until he’d climbed the first few steps before she called out to him. “Oh, and be sure to tell Tom that we’re treating this as a regular case.” With an added smirk, she headed for the interview room, hoping the fiancée could shed some light on their latest case; however, in her haste to talk to the woman, Lindsay had forgotten what Jacobi had just told her. It all came back to her when the petite woman leapt from her chair and moved against the far wall when Lindsay forcefully barreled into the room.
“Ms. Walters, I’m Inspector Lindsay Boxer. Would it be okay if I asked you a few questions about your fiancé?” Lindsay purposely kept her tone soft and gentle as she slowly eased the rest of the way into the room and motioned to the chair that had just been vacated. She offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Won’t you please have a seat?”
Keeping a steady gaze on Lindsay, the woman worried at her lower lip in a sign of obvious indecision. The new inspector didn’t appear to be as intimidating as the one who’d whisked her away from the airport, but the dark-haired, leather jacket-clad woman exuded a powerful presence in her own right. A ball of energy, confidence, and a touch of cockiness flowed freely from the inspector, but it was apparent that she was making every effort to tamp down on her forceful personality. Sally Walters was certain the woman was used to getting her way. The problem was that she had no idea why she’d been brought into the station in the first place.
“Um, may I ask why I’m here?” asked Sally in a less than steady voice. It was the first time she’d spoken since she’d acknowledged her identity to Inspector Jacobi at the Continental luggage carousel of the San Francisco International Airport. She’d just gone along quietly and hadn’t even asked if she could phone her fiancé.
Lindsay was just able to hide her surprise at the question. She hadn’t realized Ms. Walters hadn’t been informed of her fiancé’s murder, and she briefly wondered what reasons Jacobi had given for her personal escort to the San Francisco Police Department. Surely the woman hadn’t come so freely without asking questions, or maybe Jacobi hadn’t lost his so-called charm with the ladies after all.
“What exactly did Inspector Jacobi tell you?”
“He just said he needed to ask me some questions.”
“And you just went along without protesting?”
“Yes ma’am, he’s a police officer.” Shrugging slightly, Sally slowly crossed the room, retook her seat, and placed her hands in her lap. Lindsay waited for further explanation, but it soon became apparent that Ms. Walters had nothing else to offer as she bowed her head and moved her focus to her restless hands.
Easing into the chair across the table, the seasoned inspector watched the nervous woman fidget in her seat, every bit as unsettled as Jacobi had described, when the expression of another woman she’d recently interviewed suddenly flashed before her eyes. Bells and whistles screamed in her head, and Lindsay sat up straighter in her chair.
“How would you describe your relationship with Charles Moore?”
A blonde head snapped up and green eyes, filled with fear, locked on to Lindsay’s. It was the first time she’d made direct eye contact with the female inspector. “What do you mean?”
Lindsay frowned slightly at the sudden change in the other woman’s demeanor. She’d only asked a simple lead-in question, and Sally Walters had already reacted in a way Lindsay had been expecting from her much harder questions, the ones she hadn’t asked yet. Holding on to her suspicions, she studied the blonde closely as she moved ahead with her theory.
“Has he ever hit you?”
“What?” It was evident that Sally Walters was completely shocked by the question as her jaw went slack and her eyes widened. “Charles would never hurt me or anyone else for that matter. He’s a sweet and gentle man.”
‘Was,’ thought Lindsay, her gaze moving to the hand Sally had unconsciously placed on the surface of the table when she’d defended her fiancé’s integrity. A band of channel-set, round, brilliant diamonds enhanced by a large center-cut diamond, encased in a six prong setting, caught her eye. The ring was elegant, but not flashy, and Lindsay suspected Sally had had the final say in the style. She didn’t come off as being someone who felt comfortable in the limelight.
“Ms. Walters, when was the last time you spoke to your fiancé?”
“Is Charles in some sort of trouble?” Sally eased her hand back into her lap and clenched both her fists tightly as her entire body tensed as if expecting a blow. To Lindsay, it appeared as though the physical response wasn’t foreign to the woman, but she also knew she needed to push forward in the interview. She could no longer postpone the inevitable.
“Your fiancé was murdered last evening; your housekeeper discovered the body this morning.”
In hindsight, Lindsay realized she shouldn’t have been quite so blunt; she was just able to rush around the table and catch Sally before she slid from her chair and onto the floor. Lindsay held on tightly and turned her head toward the door.
“Hey! A little help here, please!”
*****
A pair of hands flew across a keyboard as the clickety-clack of keystrokes went unnoticed by the individual responsible for the rhythmic sound. Cindy performed search after search, trying to find some background on Charles Moore that might shed some light on why someone had gone to such great lengths to kill him and then attempt to shift the blame to the Hallelujah Man. She softly muttered her thoughts under her breath.
“There’s got to be someone who doesn’t like this man.” She clicked on the next link, only to find more accolades, professing the charitable acts of Mr. Charles Moore. Her grandmother had always told her that sometimes there’s fire without smoke, but she was beginning to wonder if, this one time, her grandmother was dead wrong.
“Thomas! What’ve you got on the Moore murder? Has the serial killer struck again?”
Cindy practically jumped out of her skin as she swiveled in her chair to face her editor. She really hated it when someone appeared out of nowhere. “I’m working on the story now. The police have neither confirmed nor denied whether the murder is the work of the Hallelujah Man, but I can promise you that I’m in constant contact with my source at the police department.”
Every word she’d spoken was true, especially the bit about the constant contact. She certainly couldn’t have any closer contact than sleeping with her source. She bit down on her lower lip to keep a smile from escaping at the thought.
“Alright, but we need that story ASAP.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll have it soon.”
Nodding his head, the editor continued on his way, his focus already on one of her colleagues as he began barking orders and demanding another story. She watched for a moment, grateful that she was no longer his main focus, before turning her gaze back to her monitor. There had to be something noteworthy among the hundreds of photos that her latest search had revealed. Determined, she moved her attention from the foreground to the background of each shot. Two hours later, she pushed from her chair and grabbed her cell from her purse as she started for the exit.
“Hey, it’s me.” Cindy spoke into her phone as she stepped out of the building and into the adjacent parking garage.
“Got something?” asked Lindsay, closing the Moore file and concentrating instead on her girlfriend’s voice. She hadn’t been able to make any more headway in the case and hoped Cindy would come through with some kind of pertinent information as she often did.
“Um, maybe; I’m just not sure at the moment. I want to check a few things out first.” Cindy shifted the phone to her other ear and quickly changed the subject before Lindsay could question her further. “So, how’s your day been?”
Lindsay groaned into the receiver. “Not very good.” An image suddenly made its way into her thoughts, and she smiled mischievously. She glanced around the bullpen to make sure none of her colleagues were within earshot. “Except for the beautiful blonde I held in my arms.”
“What?” Cindy stopped dead in her tracks right in the middle of the parking garage. She was extremely lucky no one had come barreling around the corner and made her a new hood ornament. “What blonde?” Clenching her fist, she tried very hard not to imagine the same fist slamming into Jill’s face. She knew Lindsay didn’t harbor those kinds of feelings for Jill any longer, but she just couldn’t stop the little green monster from rearing its ugly head.
“Moore’s fiancé,” said Lindsay. “She fainted when I told her about the murder. I was barely able to catch her before she took a nosedive onto the tile floor.”
“Not funny, Lindsay.” Cindy breathed a sigh of relief and, once again, started toward her parking space. “So, how did the rest of the interview go?”
“It didn’t.” Lindsay fiddled with a paper clip, unbending and straightening the metal as best she could with one hand. “We’re going to continue the interview tomorrow.”
Cindy could clearly hear the frustration in Lindsay’s voice and adeptly changed the subject. “I was calling to ask if you’d like me to pick up Chinese and meet you back at your apartment around 6:00.”
“That sounds great,” said Lindsay in relief, grateful to finally have something to look forward to. Sharing a meal and quiet time with her lover was just what she needed.
“Okay, I’ll see you at six then. Bye.” Flipping her phone closed, Cindy pressed the unlock button on her remote and reached for her car door, hoping she’d have something besides Chinese food to feed Lindsay that evening. As inane as her idea was, perhaps it’d at least open other leads. Backing out of her space, she sped away to meet her source.
*****
At precisely six o’clock, Lindsay pulled her Jeep behind Cindy’s red Saab and smiled. This was one of the few times since she’d made inspector that she’d actually come home when she’d planned. Stepping from the car, she spotted Cindy sitting on the steps to her building, and lengthening her already impossibly long stride, she started up the sidewalk.
“Hey,” said Lindsay, a lopsided grin forming in the corners of her mouth and turning into a full-fledged smile when she caught sight of the warm and welcoming expression Cindy wore. Her policewoman’s mind, however, wouldn’t allow her to just enjoy the moment. “So what was it that you were checking out this afternoon?”
Cindy swooped up the bags of take-out from the step beside her and pushed to her feet. “First, we celebrate the fact that you actually showed up on time, then we’ll discuss things over Chinese.” She winked teasingly. “I got crab rangoon.”
Leaping up on the porch in a single bound, Lindsay swept past the young woman before Cindy could blink an eye. Holding the door open, she gestured with her free hand. “Well, what are you waiting for? C’mon, the food’s going to get cold.”
Chuckling, Cindy stepped through the door and headed toward the stairs. She’d read once that the way to a woman’s heart was through the doors of a good restaurant, but apparently with Lindsay, all she needed was take-out. That was fine with her though; she preferred to have Lindsay all to herself anyway. Her pleasant thoughts were sidetracked by the faint sound of a dog barking.
“Is that Martha?” Cindy stood alongside Lindsay, just outside the apartment door, and waited for the other woman to unlock the deadbolt.
“Yeah, I think it is,” said Lindsay, hurrying with the lock, “but she hardly ever barks. Wonder what’s up?” With a turn of the knob, she opened the door and stepped inside. Martha was nowhere to be found.
“Arf! Arf!”
“Martha? Where are you, girl?” Lindsay moved further into the apartment and tilted her head to listen. Another bark led her to her bedroom, but a quick visual sweep of the room still didn’t turn up the canine. She turned to find Cindy practically in her hip pocket.
“Where is she?” Cindy stepped beside Lindsay and turned on the light switch. She gazed around the room just as a pitiful whine sounded from beneath the closet door. Crossing the distance, she opened the door and was almost bowled over by a very grateful Martha.
“You locked her in the closet?” asked Cindy, easing down on one knee to receive several swipes of a rough tongue across her cheek. She hugged Martha close and looked up at Lindsay expectantly.
“I did not lock her in the closet,” said Lindsay adamantly, her gaze moving from what would normally be the perfect scene – Martha’s unconditional acceptance of Cindy – and instead, focused her thoughts on her morning routine. She could’ve sworn Martha had walked her to the door as she’d done almost every day since she’d come to live with Lindsay.
Martha whined again, her head resting on Cindy’s shoulder and her eyes searching out those of her master. Feeling the intense scrutiny, Lindsay pulled herself from her troubling thoughts and walked over to pat her pet on the head. A pink tongue lolled from Martha’s mouth, giving every indication that she’d forgiven Lindsay’s indiscretion.
“Sorry, girl; I’ll be more careful next time,” Lindsay rubbed the fur behind Martha’s ears, earning herself a satisfied bark.
“I think I’ve got just the thing to make Martha forget all about her unsettling day,” said Cindy, pushing to her feet and grabbing up the bags that she’d dropped when Martha had decided she was in need of a full body hug. “I just happened to stop by someone’s favorite butcher.”
“Arf! Arf!”
“You’re spoiling her. She’s going to expect a bone every time you come over.” Lindsay stood as well, her long reach allowing her to maintain contact with Martha’s soft coat of fur.
“Well, today, she deserves a treat, don’t you, girl?”
“Arf! Arf!”
Cindy laughed and started for the kitchen, Martha right on her heels, while Lindsay stayed behind, making another visual sweep of the room. She truly couldn’t remember closing the closet door that morning. Blowing out a deep sigh of frustration, she flipped off the light and headed for the kitchen. She had some major making up to do.
On the far wall of the darkened bedroom, a red light blinked lazily inside the viewfinder of a camcorder positioned just behind the air-conditioning vent, its built-in motion sensor bringing the recording action of the camera to an abrupt halt.
