White Offerings (12 page)

They found Rasp sitting at Molly’s desk when they returned. She whispered into the phone, and Molly could tell she was talking to her lover. Her entire face radiated pleasure, and she giggled at one point. When she noticed them standing over her, sandwiches in hand, she abruptly ended the conversation and stood up.

“Sorry for taking your space.”

Molly shrugged and dropped the sandwiches on the desk. “No problem. We thought you might be hungry.” They set up lunch and recounted their unsuccessful morning. “We could put hundreds of man-hours into this and get nothing,” Molly concluded.

“Then we need to think of another angle,” Rasp said. “My people spent two hours this morning brainstorming the number combinations, looking on the Internet and researching all the obvious possibilities—bank account, safety deposit box, bus station locker—you name it and we tried it. Whatever that number means, it’s not obvious.”

“Too short for a phone number,” Andre murmured. “It could be an address.”

Rasp nodded. “We thought of that. And when you index those four numbers with every possible location in the metropolitan area, you get over three hundred hits. We went ahead and cross-checked, but nothing stood out. Besides, if you were writing an address, wouldn’t you want to remember the name of the street?”

They couldn’t argue with that logic. Molly popped open a ginger ale and asked, “Anything more on the body?”

“Yeah,” Rasp said. “The autopsy results came in, and the M.E. confirmed that Itchy was killed by a bullet from a thirty-eight. The beheading and the stabbing were postmortem. And, of course, he was dumped in the trunk and left at the airport.”

Molly thought of the puncture on Itchy’s cheek. “What about the cut below his eye?”

“That was a punch,” Rasp said. “It happened before he died, but it’s hard to know when exactly.”

“He didn’t have it the day he got picked up,” she observed. “It could be tied to the killer.”

“Or not,” Andre countered. “Street people wind up in fights all the time. Anything on the car?”

“Nope. It was reported stolen twelve days ago,” Rasp replied, “from the parking garage in Paradise Valley Mall.”

“Definitely professional,” Molly said. “This all ties to Carnotti, but we’re going to have a hell of a time proving it.” She suddenly realized that she’d wolfed down her sandwich in six bites.
She must think I’m some sort of slob,
Molly thought. She noticed Andre and Rasp were slowly chewing their sandwiches, using the meal as a time to relax.

The conversation glided away from the murder and Andre asked Rasp about the culture in Washington, D.C. Rasp recounted her last visit to the Kennedy Center to see Gilbert and Sullivan’s
HMS Pinafore.
Molly listened, unsure of how to participate or what to say. She was not good at small talk and floundered in these situations without Ari. Until they had become a couple, she had avoided parties or social events with coworkers or her few friends. She existed on either extreme of the continuum—festivities with her family who knew her well or random hookups with strangers who only wanted to know her body, not her mind. Ari changed all of that, unwilling to become a hermit and demanding that they spend time with other couples. Whenever they went out to a party or an event, she kept Ari at her side, and Ari was the one who made introductions or asked questions of strangers.

While Andre and Rasp finished eating, Molly checked her e-mail. She was surprised to find one from George Linkowitz, a detective who detested her and generally avoided any contact. During a briefing a few weeks before, Link arrived late and found that the only seat left was next to her. His face turned white and he leaned against a wall, opting to stand rather than sit next to a dyke. The e-mail subject line simply read
FYI
, with no message—just a photo attachment. She opened the picture, which was fuzzy and overexposed by the lighting. It was Oaxaca, that was evident, and when she looked closely at the people in the photo, two women, she realized that the image staring back at her on the computer screen was Ari—and Biz Stone. Her initial reaction was neutral until she studied the whole picture, which had obviously been snapped by a cell phone. Not only were Biz and Ari sitting close together in a booth, they were holding hands.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, Mol?” Andre asked. He leaned over her shoulder and looked at the screen. “Is that Ari?” She said nothing and swallowed hard. He finally added, “Shit.”

She wheeled around to face Rasp and gauge her expression. Their eyes met, and Rasp looked down. She was relieved to see Rasp had no comment and chose not to add to her discomfort. She minimized the photo and turned her back on the computer, determined to keep her personal life out of the office.

“So where do we go from here?” Andre asked her, and she threw him a weak smile, grateful for the diversion.

“I think we hit the streets and talk to Itchy’s contacts,” she said. “Find out if anybody knows anything. I’ve got several names in my notes that we could follow.”

Rasp nodded. “Sounds like our best bet. I’ll have the experts keep working on the memo pad and the numbers. Somebody might have a moment of brilliance and come up with the answer.” She wadded up her sandwich wrapper and tossed it in the trash on her way out.

Andre looked at her. He knew her vulnerabilities, and she was certain that he had heard about her drinking and her wild life before Ari. Although they didn’t spend hours psychoanalyzing each other or sharing intimate details of their lives like some of their brethren, enough was said during their small-talk time—while they canvassed neighborhoods looking for witnesses or sat on stakeouts as they had for the past week. It was the little comments, the pauses in the conversation, the body language and sometimes the anger that showed how well they knew each other. And she knew that Andre was waiting for her to decide whether they kept working or called it a day so she could handle her personal crisis with Ari.

She opted to do a little of both. “Let me send an e-mail while you go get the Wainright file out of storage. Itchy mentioned a lot of people during that case. We’ll make a list and see who’s around.”

Andre left and Molly returned to her computer. She pulled up Link’s e-mail and hit
Forward.

Monday, October 16th

5:18 PM

Ari checked her watch and saw that she had a few hours before she met Jane for dinner. She decided to finish her e-mail, which had multiplied tenfold during the day while she was out with Biz and meeting with her new clients. Then, she’d spring for her own birthday present and get a massage.

She glanced at her inbox, noticing that thirty-eight messages awaited her attention, and she began prioritizing and eliminating them. The ads and spam she deleted without opening, and she noticed several of the subject lines were about matters that could wait until the morning. Halfway down the string was one from Molly. She grinned, recognizing there was a photo attachment. They were always sending funny pictures or messages back and forth, especially on days when they wouldn’t spend the night together. There wasn’t a message, which was unusual. She clicked on the picture, and it only took a moment for her to recognize the subjects and the location. She closed her eyes momentarily, angry that Molly’s fellow officers could be so cruel. She was aware of the immature pranks and mean-spirited jokes cops played on one another, especially against officers they didn’t like. For Molly it was a fifty-fifty split, and anyone in her squad was as likely to give her a break as they were to kick her in the teeth. Whoever had sent her this picture wasn’t a friend, and she imagined Molly’s insecurities were raging. She saw it as Molly would—as two lovers meeting secretly. She needed to share the truth immediately. The massage forgotten, she punched in Molly’s number. After several rings, it went to voice mail. She disconnected and hit redial, assuming Molly was upset and avoiding her, but she wouldn’t allow it. This time Molly answered—but she said nothing.

Ari waited, knowing the silent treatment was part of her punishment. After nearly half a minute, she said, “Baby? Are you there?”

“Yeah.”

The clipped answer told her everything. “Molly, you need to let me explain. I saw the e-mail, and it’s not what you think.”

“Well, what
should
I think? Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on,
dear
?”

She closed her eyes and her mouth went dry. “There’s nothing to it. Yes, I had lunch with Biz. She asked me to go with her to check out the florists since I know Jane so well. We wound up at Oaxaca, and she told me this very sad story. I took her hand to console her. It wasn’t anything.”

“It must have been some story. I didn’t know you even knew Biz.”

“I didn’t until the other day. Jane introduced us when she hired her. She was taking your advice.”

“And Biz was clearly taking liberties. Ari, that woman is as loose as Jane. And she doesn’t care that you have a girlfriend.”

“I take it you’re jealous.”

“Damn right I’m jealous! I don’t want my woman anywhere near her. Do you understand?”

Ari’s Italian temper flared at the ultimatum. It was the kind of comment her father typically had made to her mother during one of his jealous rages. “Your
woman
? It’s not like you own me. I told you I’m not having an affair, but I’m not going to tell you that I’ll never see or talk to her again. She’s working on Jane’s case, and if she needs my help, then I’m going to give it to her.”

“Great! You can do whatever the hell you want. It’s not like we’ve made a commitment to each other.”

The comment deflated Ari immediately. Without realizing it, she had balled her free hand into a fist. The tears came at will and she was no longer able to speak. She pressed the END button to eliminate the awful silence between them.

Monday, October 16th

7:33 PM

Jane dragged her fingers across the rows of hangers in her walk-in closet as she debated what to wear for her dinner with Ari. She was sure Ari would be dressed in a smart pants and blouse ensemble, her standard going-out attire. She also knew that heads would turn at the sight of Ari’s long legs and gorgeous dark hair. A touch of envy pricked at her, and she shrugged it off quickly, focusing her energies on selecting something that would rival Ari’s natural beauty. Her competitiveness peaked whenever she felt compared to her. She knew she could have any woman she wanted, and she could turn heads when she walked through a room—yet Ari could turn more.

She finished surveying her bedroom closet, unsatisfied with the choices. She headed into the second bedroom to find more options. No guest would ever stay over, since the room functioned as her own department store. Rows of portable clothes racks filled the space, and Teri had designed and built shoe cubbies for each of the walls. The closet served as an accessories area, and she owned enough purses and jewelry to go with every possible outfit she could contrive. She went straight for the most expensive rack, realizing she should have started there. She chuckled at her indecisiveness. Ari did nothing to warrant this competitive streak. If anything, she was apathetic about her appearance and its effect on others. She was oblivious to the stares of strangers and refused to cater to the changing fashion trends.

She selected a crème-colored silk blouse, a short, black leather skirt and a chic pair of pumps that would give her the height necessary to stand near Ari, who would otherwise tower over her five-foot-four frame.

An hour later, she looked in the mirror and was pleased with the results. It only took a few hundred dollars in clothing and makeup to achieve the desired look, but she had acknowledged long ago that beauty was a job for her, whereas Ari woke up with a natural loveliness and needed only to spend a few minutes applying a little blush and lipstick. The doorbell sounded and she glanced once more at the mirror before bounding down the stairs and opening the door to greet—Aspen.

“Hey, honey,” Aspen said. She embraced her and pushed her against the open door in one motion. “I’ve missed you,” she murmured before her tongue slid down Jane’s throat and her hands stroked her buttocks. “Take me to bed.”

Jane gently pushed Aspen away long enough to shut the front door. “Let’s not give my neighbors a show.”

Aspen shrugged and dropped to her knees. “Why not? Most of them could probably use the education.” She hiked up Jane’s skirt, pulled down her pantyhose and licked her thighs. “Forget the bedroom. I’m too horny and impatient.”

Jane’s eyes widened. Aspen’s fingers burrowed under her thong and touched gold. “Darling, Ari will be here any moment. I don’t have time for this.” She gasped. Aspen ignored her comments and thrust her tongue deep inside. She fell back against the wall, realizing it was no use to fight, and she enjoyed it too much to stop her. Aspen was an exceptional lover. She wrapped her hands around the back of Aspen’s strawberry blond hair and pulled her against her hips. She watched Aspen’s technique in the reflection of her foyer mirror until she was completely satisfied and had screamed, “Oh, God,” at least five times. She prayed Ari wasn’t waiting on the other side of the door.

“Did you enjoy that?” Aspen asked with a wicked smile. She stood up and kissed her on the cheek. “I know you’re going to dinner, but I’d love to see you later.”

Before Jane could answer, the doorbell rang. She rushed to the mirror, rearranged her skirt, realizing her face was flushed, and it was highly likely that Ari would know what they were doing.