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“Yeah sure,” Robin replied without an ounce of enthusiasm. Murder was never her favorite kind of work, and this one was likely to affect her more than usual.
“You going to be okay?” Leslie asked.
“Felicia’s dead, that’s pretty strange, huh?” Robin said softly.
“That’s what I thought. Say, why don’t I do the preliminaries at police headquarters and we’ll get together later and discuss it?”
“No, I’ll go. I have to,” Robin replied.
Leslie knew the first hot-fired emotions in Robin would be subsiding now, as the sensuous blonde stuffed another loss into her heart and became the model detective. Robin had been Felicia’s lover ten years before, and it shouldn’t affect her now, but Robin would still feel the loss even if it didn’t show on the surface.
Robin was efficient, responsible and steady, even though she had the temperament to break down at the drop of the hat. Leslie feared that she just might lose it this time. She often thought that the detective business was too rough for her partner. Yet, Robin had always loved the puzzle of investigations, putting disparate pieces together in her own curious way. She had the knack for coming up with the right answers, using some mysterious intuitive process that Leslie didn’t understand. This case would shake her more than normal and Leslie almost wished she hadn’t called her; but then Robin would have been very upset when she found out.
Chapter Two
“Can you tell us what you have on Betsy Longcore?” Leslie politely addressed the rotund detective behind the metal desk. She and Robin felt as if they had been shoe-horned into the cramped office where there was hardly a breath of air to be had. Robin coughed, while they both attempted to peer through the cloud of smoke surrounding them. The blustery detective was exactly the kind of man they abhorred, reason enough to enjoy the company of women.
“A knife, Betsy Longcore’s knife, complete with her fingerprints. She and the Roman lady were into this bondage stuff, figure she got a little too into it, if you know what I mean, and she stabbed her. There are enough reported arguments between them to suggest a decent motive.”
“Betsy found the body?”
“Betsy Longcore killed her. She had the knife in her hand. Didn’t let go of it until the police came on the scene and took it from her.”
“There’s a lot of explanations for the knife,” Leslie charged.
“Yeah, and one good one. She murdered the dyke.”
Leslie sighed, “Is that all you have?”
“Aw ladies, there’s a whole lot more,” he said, leaning back in his chair, blowing more smoke in their faces. “We got pictures of Felicia Roman with all sorts of women. Real, what do you call it ‘Domme’.” He just had to snicker as he said it. “Your Betsy Longcore was jealous. Had every reason to be. The way I see it, she’d had enough of her lover lady running around on her. Plus, she was in the house all night, she admits that. With everything else we have, we don’t need a whole lot more. We got bags of evidence to comb through, but I don’t think it’s gonna change a thing.” The detective ground his jaw against the cigar, a little spittle running from the corner of his mouth.
Leslie waved the cloud smoke out of her face, then tried to catch a fresh breath—impossible as that was. “There were three other women in the house that night, too. Have you considered them?” she asked.
“Humm, let’s see,” the detective looked at his reports. “There were three, yeah, all living in that fleabag of an old house, this Martha Quigley, Remy … ah something or other, real long name, and some chick, Zelda, from New Orleans. They tell me they were playing their own parlor games that night, and that they were all fast asleep at the time of the murder, safely tucked in their beds.”
“You assume they’re not lying?” Leslie asked.
“We’re considering their stories, Ms. Patrick. But you can leave that for us to sift through.”
“It seems to me that you really have a lot of possibilities that you’re not seriously considering. How about Jane Hugh?” Leslie asked.
“Yeah, I got something on her too. She was in a lesbo bar with a bunch of dyke friends of hers. Her story checks out.” The detective looked up at them with a case closed attitude, and a silly smirk. “You two play their games?” he asked, motioning to Robin and Leslie with an insinuating gleam in his eye.
Leslie had to bite her tongue.
“You’re out of order detective,” Robin said, with a degree of purpose that Leslie rarely saw from her partner.
There didn’t seem to be much point in continuing the conversation. There was obviously plenty of evidence to indict Betsy, but there was also enough loose ends to tie knots all around Roman Hill Estate.
“How about some dinner?” Leslie asked, as she and Robin were out on the street again, breathing the fresh air.
“I don’t know whether I want to eat after that,” Robin answered.
“I know what you mean,” Leslie replied. “But I’m still famished. A little food might settle me down.”
They found a small diner near the station, and sat down opposite each other in a booth, both ordering soup and crackers.
“My stomach is doing flip flops,” Robin said, while staring into Leslie green eyes. “Pictures were pretty horrible. Not a lot of blood, just that small wound.” Her voice trailed off.
