ACT II
Sliding her key into the deadbolt, Cindy unlocked the door and eased it open, reaching a hand inside and feeling around for the light switch. A quick flick of her finger and the room was awash in a soft glow, revealing a silently waiting Martha. The border collie sat quietly on her haunches and stared at the newcomers, her tail wagging slightly as she recognized the redheaded woman’s scent. Her eyes immediately fell on Cindy’s hands, searching for any sign of a white paper bag that usually meant a nice, juicy bone.
“Hey girl, sorry I don’t have anything for you tonight,” said Cindy apologetically as she moved to the side to allow Jill to enter. Pushing the door closed when the other woman stepped across the threshold, she took the blonde by the elbow and ushered her to the couch. “Why don’t you lie down for a bit while I heat up some soup?”
“I’m not really hungry,” lied Jill, her stomach practically eating away at itself. She felt weak and dizzy, mostly due to lack of nourishment, but she was scared she’d only lose anything she tried to force down.
Cindy sat next to her friend and took hold of a hand that had lost all its warmth. “You’ve got to eat something. You’re going to get sick.” She cradled Jill’s hand between her two palms and rubbed gently. “I think you’d feel better if you changed out of those clothes, too. There’s a pair of sweats on the second shelf in Lindsay’s closet and some socks in the top drawer of her dresser. I’ll fix you something light to eat while you change.”
Jill opened her mouth to protest but closed it just as quickly. It would feel good to put on something comfortable, and it certainly wouldn’t hurt to eat a spoonful or two of soup to pacify Cindy. Then maybe the younger woman would leave her alone, and she could curl up on the couch and try to sleep away the bad memories.
“Okay, but just a small cup.” She slowly eased to her feet and started toward the bedroom, calling over her shoulder, “Don’t come back with a tureen of the stuff either.” Jill knew Cindy all too well; the girl didn’t know the meaning of moderation.
“Deal,” said Cindy, standing and moving in the other direction. “Meet me in the kitchen after you’ve changed.” With a huge smile, she hurried into the other room, Martha right on her heels.
In the bedroom, Jill hesitated in the doorway before moving further into the room. She ignored the unmade bed, its covers thrown back carelessly and its pillows nestled closely together, and tried not to imagine what she’d interrupted when she’d made her call earlier. She knew one thing for certain though, it had held much more meaning than the half-drunken encounter she’d had in the alleyway with Kristie. It was little consolation that she’d at least remembered the woman’s name.
Pushing her troubled thoughts away, she stepped in front of the open closet and zeroed in on the sweats Cindy had referred to, grinning slightly as she lifted the pants free and held them up in front of her – average length and fairly new, definitely not Lindsay’s. She efficiently stripped down to her silky bra and panties and slipped into the comfortable sweats, making a quick stop at the dresser on the way out to grab a pair of socks. Her nose, and specifically the aroma that had wafted her way, led her directly to the kitchen.
“That doesn’t smell like any canned soup I’ve ever had,” said Jill, following the enticing scent to stand next to Cindy. “Is that homemade?” She stared down into the small pot, ninety-nine percent certain that neither Campbells nor Progresso had been responsible for its contents.
“Lindsay doesn’t like canned soup,” offered Cindy, ladling a scoop of the hot soup into a small bowl. She cradled it carefully as she carried it to the table.
Martha watched from the doorway as the blonde human followed her new person. The woman called Jill wore an expression much like Martha always did whenever there was a bone involved.
****
“Thanks for coming with Catherine to the precinct. I really appreciate it.”
Standing beside a dark blue sedan, William Carter held his wife close as he shook Malcolm Abbot’s hand. He knew his release had been sped up because of the attorney’s presence and was grateful to the man for getting him out sooner than he’d expected.
“I was glad to be of service,” said Abbott, returning the firm handshake. “I’ll contact the DA’s office tomorrow, and we’ll get this all sorted out.”
“I don’t know why that girl lied. She certainly was happy when Mark was buying her and her friend all those drinks.” Carter shook his head. “Guess she figured to take things further and got mad when Mark didn’t go along.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Carter; no one’s going to believe a drunken college student over a world-class race car driver. It’s obvious she’s just out to try to ruin his reputation.”
“It’s sad, isn’t it?” said Catherine with a soft sigh. “People are always out to get the good guys.”
Abbott offered up a smug grin. “That’s why there are lawyers like me who make certain they don’t get away with it. Now, you two go on home and don’t worry. I’ll make this, and the scuffle with the police officer, go away.”
“Thank you, Mr. Abbott; thank you so much.” Catherine smiled her thanks as she watched the attorney walk away.
“So, Mrs. Carter, what do you say we go home?”
Pushing up on her toes, Catherine kissed him sweetly.
****
“Now I know why Lindsay keeps you around,” teased Jill as she stretched out on the sofa. She’d eaten two bowls of Cindy’s homemade soup, before retiring to the den and the comfortable couch.
“Somebody has to make sure she’s fed.” Cindy smiled and reached down to pat Martha on the head, the dog having forgiven her for not bringing home a treat. Of course, the two dog biscuits had helped soothe most of the pain away.
Jill closed her eyes and sighed tiredly, hoping to finally get some much needed rest, but the image of William Carter, lying in the holding cell, pushed its way forward, and in a single second, destroyed everything Cindy had accomplished in ridding her conscience of his memory. She shivered uncontrollably.
“Are you cold? Do you need a blanket?” asked Cindy, reaching for the neatly folded afghan that lay on the back of her chair. She’d moved to the couch and had already thrown the cover over Jill before the other woman could respond.
“Thanks,” whispered Jill, burrowing under the blanket and purposefully keeping her eyes closed in hopes that her friend would decide to leave her to sleep. But a touch to her hand and the quiet rustling of Cindy situating herself on the floor next to the sofa told the DDA that the young woman wasn’t going away.
“Jill, please tell me what’s going on with you. I want to help, but I can’t if I don’t know what I’m fighting against.” Cindy spoke softly and with emotion. “Trust me. Please?”
Biting down on the edge of her lip, Jill opened her eyes and started when she felt a weight on her legs. She looked down the length of her body to see Martha’s brown eyes staring back at her. The dog kept eye contact as she slowly inched forward, stopping only when her head was resting on Jill’s chest.
“Carter’s been charged with assaulting a young college girl,” said Jill softly, reaching out to run her fingers through Martha’s soft fur. “He said he didn’t touch her, that she’d been drinking and made the whole thing up.”
Cindy sat perfectly still, too scared to move or say anything that might distract her friend. Instead, she offered her support with a gentle squeeze of her hand, the change in touch seeming to spur Jill on.
“I know better though; I know what he did. He’s the one who’s lying. He’s the one who pushed his body hard against hers and whispered how special she was as he fondled her and forced himself inside of her.”
A single tear eased its way to the corner of Jill’s eye, holding steady until it finally lost its battle with gravity and spilled over, slowly falling down a pale, smooth cheek. Cindy instinctively reached out and caught the droplet before it could roll off the edge of her friend’s jaw, and gripping Jill’s hand tightly, she silently stood guard against the threat of more. She hadn’t realized she’d need to guard against her own tears as well.
“He’s my stepfather, Cindy.”
****
Pulling her Jeep behind Cindy’s car, Lindsay switched off the ignition and rested her head against the seat. She hadn’t been able to track down Carter’s arresting officers as they’d been called for backup on a robbery gone bad that had left one policeman injured and a suspect dead, but she figured time was no longer of the essence anyway, seeing as how Carter had made bail. She just had to make certain that the assault charges stuck and that Carter’s attorney couldn’t poke any holes in the victim’s story. Jill would be devastated if the bastard managed to beat the charges leveled against him.
As she reached for the door handle, she paused, her thoughts turning to her encounter with Jill’s mother. It was strange how, had she accidentally run across the woman on the street, she’d probably not have made the connection. But once she’d overheard the woman, known who the woman was, the similarities between her and Jill had been eerily uncanny. Although, considering their blood relationship, Lindsay shouldn’t have been surprised.
It was just that she already had a visual image of Catherine Carter in her mind: tall, thin, with high eyebrows, drooping eyelids that covered coal black eyes, a turned up nose and pointy chin, and symmetrically two-toned hair - black on one side and white on the other. In other words, a true-to-life Cruella de Vil. With the Disney character imprinted firmly in her head, Lindsay crawled from her vehicle and started toward her building; Catherine Carter would always be Cruella to her.
Half-way up the sidewalk, she glanced up at the light that glowed softly from her apartment window and wondered how Jill was faring and if she’d confided in Cindy. Lindsay would follow through with her promise to divulge the details of Jill’s painful past, but she truly believed it needed to come from Jill. Cindy needed to know that every member of the club trusted her enough to reveal even the darkest moments of their past. Lord knows Lindsay was trying; it was a constant uphill battle to force herself to confide in her lover, but she was improving every day, or at least in her mind she had.
Lindsay eased her apartment door open and peeked inside, before stepping into the room. Martha raised her head from Jill’s chest to eye the intruder, but she softly laid it back down when she recognized her master. Cindy, on the other hand, hadn’t noticed her lover’s presence, so focused on the blonde head that lay in her lap as she gently eased a lock of hair from the sleeping woman’s forehead.
Tip-toeing toward the touching scene, Lindsay whispered softly, “Did you get her to eat something?”
Cindy glanced up and smiled sadly. “Yeah, I fed her some of your soup.” She looked back down at Jill. “She told me about William Carter.”
Lindsay closed the distance and crouched down next to the couch, placing a hand on Cindy’s knee. “She’s been through so much, but she made it. Jill’s a survivor.”
“Yeah, but she shouldn’t have had to,” said Cindy, lifting her gaze to meet Lindsay’s. “Parents are supposed to protect their children.”
Lindsay flinched slightly, but kept her focus on the subject at hand. “She looks like she’s resting comfortably. Why don’t we leave her to sleep?”
Nodding, Cindy very slowly and gently eased out from under Jill, and with Lindsay’s help, soothed their friend back to sleep. Hand-in-hand, the two lovers spared one last glance at the sleeping blonde, before retiring to the bedroom.
Martha watched her humans walk away and then turned her focus back on her charge. She’d keep guard through the night.
****
Just before dawn, when the darker edges of the sky had begun to lighten to a shade of pink, a phone chimed loudly, disturbing the quiet and the two women who slept entwined together. Lindsay groaned and blindly reached out to the nightstand, slapping her hand around the small space until she finally located the annoyance.
“Boxer,” she said with as much irritation as she could possibly interject into her voice. She’d barely gotten two hours of sleep and someone had to pay.
Cindy smiled against warm skin and snuggled closer, her eyes popping open wide when she was almost thrown from the bed as Lindsay unexpectedly sat up and dislodged the young woman from her comfortable spot.
“What?” Long, bare legs were thrown over the side of the bed. “When?” Lindsay reached toward the footboard and grabbed a pair of worn sweats, shimming into the pants and tugging the shirt over her head as she alternated the phone from one ear to the other. “I’ll call Claire.” Without so much as a goodbye, she flipped her phone closed and gripped it tightly as she ran a hand through tangled locks.
“What’s happened now?” asked Cindy, scooting closer to Lindsay and lightly rubbing her lower back. She held her breath, hoping the Hallelujah Man hadn’t struck again.
Lindsay reached back and patted her lover’s hip, before she pushed to her feet. “I need to jump in the shower. Can you make some coffee? We’ll need to wake Jill when I get out.”
Cindy scrambled out of bed and slipped into her clothes, hurrying after Lindsay who’d already left the room. Veering toward the kitchen, she spared a glance at a soundly sleeping Jill, and wondered what else could possibly go wrong. Minutes later, she found out.
“Jill?” said Lindsay softly as she reached out to lightly touch her friend on the shoulder. Martha stood to the side of her master and watched the proceedings closely, not at all happy at being removed from her comfortable position.
“Hmmm…” murmured Jill, her eyes still firmly closed as she hovered between wakefulness and sleep – that place that held no problems, no pain, and no nightmares, only peace and serenity. Had she known what awaited her she’d have chosen to stay there, but the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee pulled her into full consciousness.
“Oh, that smells divine,” said Jill, pushing against the end of the sofa until she was sitting upright. She reached out for the steaming cup Cindy held and cradled it in her hands, inhaling the rich scent before taking her first sip. “God this is good. I just love hazelnut.” She snuck another sip, before teasing, “You’re one lucky woman, Linz. I’d snatch Cindy up for her coffee-making skills alone.”
Smiling at the firsthand knowledge of Cindy’s other skills, Lindsay leaned forward and placed her elbows on her knees as she clasped her hands together loosely. Jill had awakened in a surprisingly good mood, and she hated to be the one to have to burst her bubble. Sometimes, life really sucked.
“Jill, Tom called,” she hesitated momentarily, before pressing on, “The girl didn’t make it.”
“What?” asked Jill, halting the mug halfway to her lips, her brain not quite awake despite the few sips of caffeine. “What do you mean?”
“The girl Carter assaulted,” said Lindsay, careful not to refer to his relationship with Jill. “There were complications. Tom has assigned the case to me and Jacobi. I’m going to meet Claire at the morgue.”
Tossing off the blanket that lay across her legs, Jill moved to stand. “Okay, just let me finish this cup and give me a few minutes to dress. I’ll ride with you.”
“You’re not going with me. Cindy will drive you to your apartment for a shower and change of clothes. I promise to keep you informed.”
Jill glared at Lindsay, noting the steel of resolve taking root in the other woman’s posture. There was no sense in trying to argue with Lindsay. It would only make them both tired and frustrated. Besides, there was something much more important that she needed to do. Something she’d waited a lifetime to do.
“What’s her name?” she asked, sinking back into the sofa’s cushions and taking another sip of coffee, resigned to be left behind with Cindy, but only because she knew it would take time to get everything in order.
“What?” The question completely threw Lindsay. She’d expected a knock-down drag-out, or at the very least, more of an argument from Jill.
“The girl who died? What’s her name?”
Lindsay knitted her brow in confusion. “Why? What does it matter?”
“I need her name for the murder charges I’m going to file against Carter.”
“Um, Jill? Don’t you think . . .” started Cindy, leaving her unfinished question dangling in mid-air, the edges of her words scorched from the look that was being directed her way. She was frankly amazed she was still breathing.
“I’m still a DDA in this city. It’s well within my purview to file any charges I see fit, regardless of the crime or the criminal,” said Jill in a hard tone, daring either of her friends to dispute her claim.
Cindy wisely kept silent, while Lindsay made a mental note to call Denise to fill the acting DA in on the murder. She just had to figure out a way to explain the situation without actually ‘explaining’ the situation. Denise could be a real pain in the ass when she wanted to be, which was usually whenever she was breathing.
“Kayla Anderson. I’ll send you more information as I get it.” Pushing to her feet, Lindsay allowed Jill to believe she’d won this particular round. “And eat something before you go to the office.” She softened her tone. “You still look pale.”
Pleased with the compromise and touched by the caring shown by her friends, Jill offered a lopsided grin and turned toward Cindy. “Okay, Paula Deen, what’s for breakfast?”
****
“What’ve you got?” asked Lindsay, skipping over pleasantries and jumping right to the autopsy findings, as she walked into the morgue and headed directly for the slab that held the body of Kayla Anderson. She gazed down on the youthful, innocent-looking face and clenched her jaw in anger. The co-ed had had a chance at a long, successful life until it had been snatched away by a man who should’ve been thrown into prison and the key tossed away years ago.
“First, hello to you, too, and second, why didn’t you call and tell me what was going on?” Claire stood from her bended over position and glared at her friend. “I had to find out what had happened from the police report. It took me a few minutes to put it all together.”
Lindsay visibly flinched and shrugged apologetically, her leather jacket making a light crinkling sound when she raised her shoulders. “Sorry, Claire; everything happened so fast, and then Cindy said something about you getting lucky and I thought that if Ed had been able to . . .”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” interrupted Claire, her cheeks beginning to glow. “You can stop right there.” The coroner smoothly changed the subject to their friend’s mental state. “Is Jill alright? How’s she holding up?”
“Just as you’d expect. She’s all over the place; I don’t think it’s fully sunk in yet. Cindy is handling her like a pro, even got her to eat something last night and again this morning,” said Lindsay, her focus straying to the victim’s blonde hair. She didn’t dare ask Claire the color Kayla Anderson’s eyes.
“Good for Cindy and good for you, too, for keeping Jill out of the morgue. She doesn’t need to see this, at least not for now anyway.” Claire inched the sheet to just below the victim’s shoulders and waited for Lindsay to zoom in on the bruises that lined Kayla’s neck.
Angling her head to get a better view of the purpling marks, Lindsay jammed her hands into her pockets and balled up her fists tightly to keep from hitting something. “Were those caused by someone’s hands?”
“Yeah, big ones, too,” replied Claire, splaying her hands as wide as she could and comparing her span to one that caused the bruises. “Way bigger than mine.”
“So, he strangled her?” Lindsay swallowed the fury that threatened to choke her and asked the question she always dreaded. “Was she raped?”
“Bruising suggests that it was, at the very least, rough sex,” Claire explained, hesitating momentarily before adding, “Oral and vaginal.” She gestured toward an angry-looking head wound. “However, the cause of death itself wasn’t strangulation, it was blunt force trauma. The witness’ statement says the victim was struck across the face and then she fell. Whatever she hit when she landed caused extreme swelling which, in turn, led to an aneurysm that eventually caused her death.”
“Any way to prove she was forced and that it wasn’t consensual?”
Claire nodded and pointed to the victim’s shoulder. “Here and here…” she waited for Lindsay to note the small indentation types of bruises and clarified, “Someone pushed her to her knees. And there’s more.” She lifted the sheet that covered the lower part of the victim’s body. “Look at her knees – they’re scraped up pretty badly. She didn’t get banged up like that kneeling on her own.”
“We’ve got to pin this on Carter. Please tell me you’ve got DNA.”
Claire grinned smugly. “I’ve got DNA.”
****
Freshly showered and wearing her favorite jeans and sweater, Jill strolled through the mostly empty corridor that led to her office, her head held high and projecting an air of confidence she didn’t actually possess. Had it been during the regular work week instead of a Saturday, Jill wasn’t certain she’d be able to pull off her false bravado and found herself grateful for small favors.
A slight smile creased her face in memory of the fierceness and tenacity a certain redhead had displayed during the night and into the morning light, determined to do whatever was necessary to offer support in any way she possibly could. Cindy had wanted to accompany the DDA to her office or, at the very least, to the elevators, but Jill had insisted that she was fine and that the reporter had better things to do than baby-sit a grown woman, unless the woman just happened to be a dark, brooding inspector, she’d teased, earning her a light blush and causing Cindy to actually stutter. She neglected to mention to her friend how badly she needed to face this particular part of her nightmare alone. It was important that she be the one to strike the first blow to slay the demon.
Stepping into her office, she walked briskly to her desk, easing around its edge and lowering herself into her chair. The stack of files she’d been working on the evening before stood to the side, a stark reminder of what a difference a night had made. Her thoughts were suddenly flooded with images as they flipped through her mind like a bad slide show: Denise at her office door, a brief phone call morphing into drinks with Nicole Honeycutt, the enjoyable encounter with Kristie cut way too short by the call that started her downward spiral, the . . .
“Jill, you look like hell,” said Denise, her arms folded comfortably across her chest as she leaned against the office’s bookcase, her voice startling Jill from her thoughts and causing her to jump in her chair. Placing a shaky hand over her rapidly beating heart, she stared at her boss who stood in the exact same spot as her flashbacks had begun mere seconds ago.
Jill squinted to rid the image, but Denise remained solid, no signs of even a shimmer. Had she dreamed the whole thing? Had she fallen asleep at her desk and allowed her ultimate nightmare to play itself out into something much worse than she’d ever imagined in her conscious state?
The apparition pushed off the bookcase and started forward, speaking aloud as it moved. “Damn, you are out of it.”
Blinking rapidly, her eyelids fluttering as frantically as a pair of baby bird’s untested wings, Jill focused on the moving object as it neared, noting casual black pants and a soft, cream-colored cashmere sweater. She looked down at herself to see faded jeans and her favorite red woolen sweater. It hadn’t been a dream after all.
“So what’s all this fuss about filing a simple murder charge? Lindsay called and said I needed to push the paper work through ASAP,” said Denise, having come to a halt inches from Jill’s desk as she refolded her arms over her chest. She looked less than amused.
“Er,” Jill stuttered, struggling to break free of her trance. “It’s … um, nothing I can’t handle.”
Denise raised an elegant eyebrow and looked at the DDA in disbelief. "If that's so, then how come Lindsay felt the need to call me? She's certainly never bothered to consult with me before. You've always been her go-to gal, so why was she worried enough to call me for help?"
“You’d have to ask her,” Jill replied with a shrug, easily continuing her lie, “I have no idea what she’s thinking.”
“So then, I don’t guess it has anything to do with the fact that this Carter guy insisted that you be called, specifically asking for you by name,” said Denise accusatorily, not believing for a second that Jill didn’t know what was going on in Lindsay’s head. The all-girl clique knew everything about each other. “What’s your relationship to him? An old lover?”
Jill went perfectly still. Just the insinuation that she and William Carter were lovers made bile rise in her throat, its thickness almost choking her. She swallowed hard and prepared her line of defense.
“He’s married to my mother.”
“He’s your stepfather?” asked Denise, barely able to contain her surprise; however, she didn’t allow it to distract her from her doing her job. “Bernhardt, you need to distance yourself from this case – now. If this goes to trial, it’ll be thrown out before opening statements can be made,” she spat, furious with her DDA for crossing the line.
“Carter is not my stepfather,” Jill spoke slowly and very deliberately, her face etched with raw pain and her blue eyes smoldering with unbridled anger. “And don’t ever refer to him that way again.”
There was no doubt in Denise’s mind that the threat wasn’t an idle one and definitely one that warranted further explanation. She knew perfectly well that Jill would never come right out and tell her though; she’d have to do a little digging on her own if she wanted answers, but for now, she needed to calm the waters.
“Look, I’m sorry if I offended you, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting you anywhere near this case. I can’t take the chance that you’ll have a change of heart and go soft on the guy. With Mark McMurphy involved, it’s likely to get high profile status and not one we can afford to lose. Emotions can’t get in the way of a win.” She relaxed her stance to temper her words and to appear less threatening, but that was the only concession she intended to make.
“You think I’d deliberately tank a case?” asked Jill, her anger finding a new place to rest. “Do you really believe I’d let anything get in the way of a win, or justice for that matter?”
Denise stayed silent, internally assessing the situation. Jill Bernhardt was her best asset; she was smart, dedicated, well-researched, always prepared, and extremely wily when she needed to be. If the Carter case did go to trial, she’d need someone of Jill’s caliber sitting in the prosecutor’s chair, but her relationship to the defendant trumped every single one of her positive attributes unless…
“If you want in, you’re going to have to sit second chair… to me.”
****
“How’d it go last night?” asked Cindy with a toothy grin as she slid onto the bench seat across from Claire. The two were the first of the club to arrive at Papa Joe’s for another one of their impromptu meetings, and Cindy was glad for the time alone.
Caught off guard - although she should’ve known Cindy would ask about her evening with Ed - Claire fought back a blush and answered simply, “Fine,” and then she belied her grossly understated reply by shifting uncomfortably in her seat. She attempted to shift the conversation as well. “So, tell me everything about your night and, specifically anything that had to do with Jill.”
Lindsay had been vague at best in her recap of the previous night’s activities, but with Cindy’s eidetic memory and storytelling ability, Claire was counting on the reporter to recount every single minute Lindsay had left out. She’d forgotten about Cindy’s tenaciousness when it came to getting answers to her own questions, but not for long.
“In a minute,” said Cindy, still wearing her grin, “tell me about your date first. I want to hear all the juicy details.” She paused and thought for a moment at just how juicy the details could get, especially from someone with a medical background and years of experiences she didn’t possess. “Well, maybe not every single one.” She leaned forward in anticipation. “Just the good ones.”
“We had a nice dinner and then we went home.” Claire pushed against the back of the booth, folded her arms across her chest, and put on the face she used with Nate to indicate their discussion had officially ended. Although usually, with Nate, there hadn’t actually been a discussion at all, just Claire saying no to whatever inane idea her son had come up with. “Now, tell me about Jill.”
Cindy stared across the booth and noted her friend’s stiff posture and determined expression. Claire could be as stubborn as a mule when she put her mind to it, and from all indications, it appeared that her mind was gearing up for her to dig her heels in. With a sigh, the younger woman gave up, but only for now; she’d catch Claire in a weak moment and ask again later.
“I think she’s doing remarkably well, considering the circumstances. Of course, I wasn’t privy to the circumstances until she’d already faced William Carter and then gotten sick in the precinct’s restroom.” Cindy frowned. “Come to think of it, I didn’t know much then either.”
“Sick?” asked Claire, relaxing her posture and slipping effortlessly into her doctor mode. “Lindsay didn’t say anything about Jill being sick.”
“That’s because she wasn’t sick ‘sick,’” drawled a low gravely voice as the third member of their group slid into the booth next to Cindy. “It was just a reaction to seeing that asshole after so many years.”
Claire shot an irritated glare across the table at the dark haired inspector as she processed the new information. “If Jill was sick for any reason, you should’ve phoned me. What if she’d contracted that virus that’s been going around the Hall?”
“It wasn’t a virus, and besides, I told you why I didn’t call,” said Lindsay, “I didn’t want to interrupt you and Ed, in case you were having sex or something.”
Cindy smiled; she hadn’t expected the topic to crop up again so soon. Quickly readying herself to dive in head first, she didn’t bother to worry if there was a net to catch her. One didn’t waste golden opportunities, especially with a fellow club member. “So did you and Ed have sex?”
“Is that all you two think about?” accused Claire as she glanced from Cindy to Lindsay, mentally taking stock of their respective reactions. A huge grin broke out on her face, and she took a moment to add festive decoration to the table she’d skillfully, albeit accidentally, turned and set. “It is, isn’t it?”
Cindy’s face reddened even more, coming very close to matching the color of her hair, while Lindsay fiddled with the edges of a napkin, wishing she was intimately familiar with Origami so that she could lose herself in the art as her fingers smoothly worked the intricate folds. Her thoughts, meant to distract her, instead morphed together with the subject of Claire’s question, and she hurriedly pushed the napkin toward the center of the table as if it were on fire.
“No,” Lindsay blurted out, a little louder than normal, causing her to wonder if perhaps there was a smidgeon of truth in Claire’s accusation. If she’d been interrogating herself, she’d have immediately suspected guilt as she’d certainly sounded as if she’d protested much too quickly. A change of topic was definitely in order.
“So, um, lab results back yet?” she asked in her best inspector’s voice, despite the slight stumble at the start, and even managed to maintain a steady gaze at a clearly amused Claire. She watched the other woman carefully and noted the exact moment Claire decided to let her and Cindy off the hook. Of course, it may have had something to do with the fact that Claire wasn’t exactly bubbling over with excitement to discuss her sex life with Ed either.
“Not the one you’re hoping for. I don’t have a DNA sample for comparison,” reported Claire, a touch of frustration creeping into her tone, “and nothing unusual popped up in any of the other test results. Her blood alcohol level was high though, and with her stomach contents indicating that she’d had very little to eat, I’d say she’d have been quite intoxicated.” She sighed audibly and shook her head. “Not good for our case.”
“Yeah, just ‘cause she was drunk, it’s not rape or murder anymore. She was asking for it,” said Cindy, disgusted at how easily opinions could be swayed, her own included when she thought back to the Hammond case. Now, she realized the point Jill was trying to make about how a jury processed information when it came to circumstances that could influence a case. It shouldn’t matter though. When it boiled right down to it, rape was rape, and murder was murder, plain and simple.
“Good thing there’s an eye witness who saw
Carter strike the victim. Maybe
that’ll balance the scale,” said Claire, hoping she’d spoken the truth
but knowing it would take a stellar testimony to rid the jury of certain
preconceived images. She did,
however, have every faith in Jill to ask the right questions that would lead
the witness to take the blame off the victim and put it back where it belonged
– squarely on the shoulders of William Carter.
Having similar thoughts as Claire, Lindsay also had another. “If the victim was intoxicated, chances are the friend was, too. Cross-examination could pose a real problem.”
“I’m sure after Jill preps her, she’ll do just fine,” said Cindy, her recent testimony having gone much more smoothly than she’d first thought it would. The assessment of just how well she’d done had barely registered in her mind when it was verbally confirmed by someone who was a much better judge of testimonies and their impacts on juries.
“Maybe you should give her some pointers,” said Jill, aiming a teasing smile at her friend as she settled herself comfortably beside Claire to relay her news. “William Carter will be officially charged with the murder of Kayla Anderson.” She paused just long enough for the good news to sink in before she turned a stony glare on the woman who sat directly across from her.
“Care to explain to me why in the hell you went over my head and called Denise?”
****
