Chapter 7-2
1182 Words
“I understand. Smells like a while,” France said. “We’ll have to take him and all the other animals as evidence.”
“Oh, no, you can’t take Eneida’s animals!” Rachel cried out immediately. “She would be devastated to think her animals went to the pound!”
“I’m sorry, but we have to take them. Once the lab has checked them for any potential evidence, they’ll go to the Humane Society. You can collect them from there,” the detective said.
“Oh, no-o-o,” Rachel wined, shaking her head. “This just keeps getting more awful. Awfuller. Is that a word?”
Joe looked at his wife, who was obviously reeling from the events. “Not sure, Honey. Don’t worry about it. We’ll claim the animals when they’re released, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, nodding her head. Whatever Joe said was fine.
“Excuse, me folks,” Detective France said as he stepped away with his phone.
The couple watched as more people in different uniforms entered, carrying a stretcher. They continued over to where the body was located. All the uniformed people were tall and large. Burly was an apt description of the men for sure. Even the women were tall and large. Rachel thought all of them looked like they lifted weights and were double dosing on steroids. Being on the short side, she suddenly felt like she had been transported to the world of giants.
When the detective returned, he had instructions for the couple.
“I have called for a matron and she’ll be here momentarily,” he said. “You two will have to go to your condo and give her the clothes you’re wearing.”
Rachel looked alarmed. “Why? Are we suspects?”
“No, but your clothes are evidence,” he said. “Both of you walked around the crime scene, so you may have picked up valuable evidence that will help us catch the person who did this.”
Rachel’s eyes traveled to her husband.
“Not a problem,” Joe said. “We’re happy to do anything that will help.”
“Murphy!” Detective France called over to the uniformed officers and then turned back. “Corporal Murphy will accompany you to your condo.”
Corporal Murphy walked over from the group assembled around the cages. He was a tall, redheaded, freckle-faced young man. And cute, Rachel couldn’t help but think, despite the circumstances.
“Take them to their condo unit. Peggy is on her way to collect the clothes,” the detective said.
“Yes, sir,” he answered. “Come on, folks. What’s the number of your condo?”
“Four thirty-four,” Joe said.
“I’ll come to your office later after you open,” France said to Rachel. “We’re going to be here a while. No one will be able to have access to this place until the crime scene unit clears it and the Hazmat team comes in to clean.”
“Understood,” Joe said. “Come on, Rachel, let’s go home.”
Rachel followed Joe, looking sadly back at the dog. “Soon, baby,” she whispered.
They rode down the elevator in silence with the deputy.
It wasn’t long after entering their unit that a chunky woman carrying paper bags appeared. She wore a green uniform like all the others.
“I’m Margaret Scott. You can call me Peggy,” she said. With her brown hair tightly pulled back into a ponytail and sans make up, she gave the appearance of what one might envision a prison guard looked like.
Rachel didn’t think the name of Peggy suited her. She looked more like an Arnold, as in Schwarzenegger. The biceps on the woman jumped out from under her quarter length sleeves, and she had a set of shoulders to match.
“You,” Peggy said, pointing at Joe, “go with Murphy. I’ll take this one. You’re both going to have to strip and give us your clothes.”
Rachel immediately felt her heart jump into her throat.
Joe led Murphy into the bedroom after Peggy handed the officer some paper bags.
“Where do you want to do this?” Peggy asked, looking at Rachel as she stood uneasily in the kitchen.
“Uh, do I have to?”
“Yes, you do.”
“The bathroom?”
“That’s fine with me,” she answered. “Long as it’s big enough for both of us.”
“It’s over here,” Rachel said, walking around the corner toward the bathroom.
Once standing inside, Rachel felt like slamming the door. Why couldn’t she just take off her clothes and hand them out to the officer? Rachel wondered if the officer was going to watch her undress. Surely, she would turn her back? But, no, that wasn’t the case. Officer Scott stood firmly in front of Rachel, hands resting on broad hips, waiting for Rachel to make the first move.
Slowly, Rachel gathered up her housedress into her hands and pulled it over her head. Underneath she had on a nightie. “Do you need this, too?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Officer Scott said. “I’ll need your shoes, though.”
Rachel handed over the housedress. The cop loosely let it fall into one of the paper bags. Rachel slipped her feet from the flipflops, bent over to pick them up, and then held them out to the larger woman.
“Here you go, Peggy,” Rachel said, dropping her shoes into the bag.
To Rachel’s horror, Scott took out a small camera and told her to stand with her hands to her sides. She did as told, while the woman photographed her, front and back, head to toe, palms up, palms down, and everything in between, until all of Rachel’s body was recorded for evidence. She felt violated from the experience.
“You’ll be notified if you can pick up your clothes—or not,” the officer said as she turned to open the door. Rachel quickly grabbed a bathrobe from the hook attached and threw it on. It happened to be one of Joe’s, so the gray terry robe hung to the floor.
When they walked out, Joe and Murphy had already finished with the undressing. Her husband was standing barefoot in the middle of the living room wearing one of her bathrobes, the pink one. Her favorite one with ruffles and lace. She thought he looked really silly dressed in her robe, with the hem barely reaching his knobby knees. Rachel shook her head at the sight.
“You couldn’t find a better bathrobe?” she asked.
“You’re wearing mine!” he said. “I wasn’t prepared to need a bathrobe on demand.”
“Okay, folks,” Corporal Murphy said, “we’ll leave you now so you can get some sleep.”
Joe and Rachel looked at the officer like his hair had morphed from red to black.
What sleep?
What sleep?
- Writer
