ELICIT: A game of seduction

CHAPTER TWO

My car skided across the highway, my speed way past the limit. The siren stuck on top of the car screeched and cars parts to make way for me. A perk of my detective work that I both loved and hate. I hate it because sirens are practically calling for attention, and it might make some people on edge when they hear it because they know something must have happened and it's mostly bad. And I hate that I was the one making people uneasy, a contrary but I have learnt over the years that there was nothing I could do about it - it comes with the job. So, I took console in the fact that I was doing it to save lives.

I cut through the corner, drove beside the rows of cars already lined in front of the house and parked across the street, I cut off the engine and got out, and crossed the road towards the mansion. My partner, Brad Gilbert, got out with me, and together we walked into the scene.

The house was a beautiful storey building painted white. The entrance of the house has been already been taped, to keep civilian off, and I and brad had to bend into the house.

Two uniformed officer standing guard by the door greeted, "Good morning, detective."

"Good morning." I replied as one of them lead us. The house, a spacious space, had a lot of artworks in the living room. The officer led them up the stairs, crime scene investigators already at the scene, a few are by the stair rail dusting it for fingerprint. I nodded in greeting and walked on to a hallway. They turned left and the officer points. "Up there." But it wasn't necessary, it was impossible to miss the shadows of people through the transparent, half opened door, I could take it from here. I thank him anyway.

I walk along the hallway, taking in my surrounding, the paintings hung on the wall. I stood in front of one and faced my partner and my longtime friend.

"Who do we have here?"

"Rose Sullivan." He says, his intonation high like he expects me to know recognize the name. I don't.

He adds, "A singer?" as though that might ring a bell.

"Never heard of her."

"Three Grammys? Five oscars?" He rants off list of her achievements, as if that might make me know who she is. I don't. The only singer I know is Beyonce and lady Gaga. If it ain't them, then I have no idea.

"No?" He asked when he see I don't know. "You can't be helped." Whatever. Behind him, A uniformed officer walked out from opposite the hallway. "Hey, Danny, where are they?" I holler.

"Upstairs. To your right." He shouts back

"Thanks." I muttered and moved upstairs, Brad at my heel.

I walked into the room greeted by a detective — my boss, Ben Douglas, clad in suit.

"Do we have a time of death?" I asked.

"Almost." He says as he goes through the report in his hand.

Without looking up, he mutters just as a figure walks into the room from behind me, "I'm sure you both know Captain Carter."

I can't hide my surprise, "What's the Chief's office doing here?" This was definitely not the Chief of Internal Affairs' jurisdiction.

"Observing." Captain Carter says, eyes fixated on me. Of course he was. Observing me. I try to hide my irritation, I.A was using every opportunity to stick their nose in my business. it's been three years already, they should cut me some slack.

"The chief of Internal Affairs office must have nothing on their plate for you to be here 'observing'." Brad remarked dryly.

I see another CSI from my peripheral, checking the fireplace, to see if it was still warm, or if it had been lit at all.

I walked further into the scene, a bedroom very spacious and exquisite but not so much now, with the crowd — forensic, Crime Tech, Homicide unit, Medical Examiner, Crime scene unit, Evidence Team and Detectives and of course Internal Affairs, all managed to fill the room — and the smell of corpse and blood in the room.

The victim, a female, blonde hair, was tied naked on the bed. Face and chest covered in blood and multiple stab wounds. Very deep stab wounds, jeez! Someone went on a stabbing spree.

I greeted the examiner bent over the body, Doctor Henry, british man, sixties, bald head, a professional with a nice personality, I smiled. "Hey, Doc."

"Hi, Lilian." He stands.

"What does it say?" I asked, not taking my eyes off the body on the bed.

"Ninety two degrees. About six hours."

"Close time of death would be around..." I checked my watch, calculating, "Two am?"

"That's right." He nods.

"Somebody close the drapes, please." A CSI calls from behind the bed, ultraviolet flashlight in his hand. I walk towards the window and threw down the curtain. Ben walks towards me, "The maid came in about an hour ago, found the body, called it in."

"Maybe the maid killed her." Brad remarked from beside me. I scrunched my nose, I don't think so. Ben speaks confirming my thought. "Maid is a fifty fifty year old woman. And weighs only one hundred and eighty four pounds, while the victim weighed two hundred and ten pounds."

Which basically means the maid could not have tied her up without the victim putting up a fight.

"Any bruises on the body?" I asked the doc.

"No bruises." He confirms.

"Then the maid didn't do it." I say just as a high tempo song comes on so loud. I turned around to see Brad near the large stereo player across the room. He fumbles with the buttons, before pushing one and the song dies. I arched one brow at him, like really?

He raised his hand, "Sorry."

I shake my head and turned back to Ben. "She left the club around midnight with her boyfriend. And that was the last time she was seen."

Time of death minus last time seen equals less than two hours, but it gives the murderer enough time to kill, then make a run for it. Hmmm, we are starting to get somewhere. I notice the look on Doc's face. He's discovered something.

I turned towards him, "What's it?"

"Weapon is an a long object with a pointy edge."

"Like a screwdriver?"

"An ice pick." Someone says from behind me, I turned and an officer walks towards me, a transparent bag in his hand, containing a bloodied ice pick. "Found on the coffee table in the living room."

"In the living room?" I ask.

He nods and Ben whistles as he writes his report.

Someone that kills then leaves the weapon, an evidence, to be seen, like they don't care or not. Seem like we have a sociopath on our hand.

The man with the ultraviolet flashlight muttered, cutting into my thoughts. "There is semen stains all over the bed sheets."

I walked closer to the bed, collected the flashlight from him to check myself. The light shone green on the bed, crystalizing the white fluid on the white sheet.

"Interesting." I tsked. It almost look like a crime of passion, but it isn't. My instinct says premeditated.

"Looks like someone got two Ds; d**k and death." Brad whistles.

Everyone laughs, I shake my head, a corner of lip rising but quickly falls when Captain Asshole - sorry I mean, Captain Carter - jumps in.

"This is sensitive. Miss Sullivan was the ambassadoress of the mayor's campaign."

Jeez, this guy's got a stick up his ass, about a foot long, I would say. I could roll my eyes but I don't, I shouldn't be wasting my time reacting to him. I turned to Brad, "I thought you said she's a singer?"

Ben answers. "She was a retired singer."

Carter cuts in again, "A civic minded, very respectable singer."

I roll my eyes now because there is a cocaine powder lined seperately for use, on the bedside drawer that says otherwise.

He catches me rolling my eyes and he glares, getting in my face. "Listen to me, Reede, I'm going to be get a lot of heat on this. I don't want any mistakes."

I would have told him to go f**k himself but that would be crossing the line. And this days - and by this days I mean this past years, I have been sticking to the rules. So I swallow down my anger and faces Ben.

"What's Sullivan's boyfriend's name?"

"Vincent Kemp. 149 Piedratro."

"Always a pleasure, Captain." I say sarcasm thick, as I walk past him on my way out.

I walked down the stairs with Brad. "Rose and the mayor must have been tight." I stated.

"Huh-uh." He agrees.

"Reede!" Ben calls from up the stairs, I turned, looking up at him.

"Keep your three o'clock." He says, eyes on the report he's writing.

What? I frowned, "Do you want me to work the case or n..." He cuts me off with a snap, "I said keep your three o'clock."

Fine. "Alright. I'll keep it." I conceded. I actually didn't mind keeping my six, as long as I was allowed to work this case. I don't know but there's something about this case that intrigues me. And my instinct on this case was just... more than high.

I probably shouldn't follow my instinct anymore considering.. nope I wasn't going down the black hole. Not today.

I had a case to solve. And a Vincent Kemp to see...