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“I’m not sure, but the way Martha was almost afraid to let Remy talk …”
“Afraid she’d incriminate herself?”
“Or both of them. I think it’s very possible one of them could have some secret they wouldn’t want any one to know, especially when it concerns this case. How about a little side trip?” Robin suggested.
Several hours later Leslie and Robin were making their way north in Leslie’s pick-up, chattering back and forth about the case. Revelations from the morning about Leslie’s experiences the night before went undiscussed, creating an ever mounting tension between the two.
“Do you suppose there could be some conspiracy between the three ladies in question?” Robin asked.
“What makes you think that?”
“I’m not sure, but if we believe it’s not Betsy, and we know instinctively that it’s not Jane, because she’s too sweet to do it …” Leslie laughed. “Then it would have to be one of the other three, and for the life of me, I can’t quite figure which one could do it. They all seem to be rather mild mannered women. Hardly your killer type.”
?
?Well, when you rule out the “killer type” because she’s got a soft side,” Leslie said, referring to Jane, “maybe you can assume that your mild mannered suspects might have a darker side. Underneath, there could be some evil lurking.” Leslie’s eyes gleamed with a mocking horrified glow.
“I guess we’ll have to see if we can get something really concrete on this trip. We sure could use a solid lead – sooner than later.”
“You’re right on that,” Leslie agreed.
The two drove in silence for some time. Then about fifty miles down the road, Robin turned in her seat and put her hand on Leslie’s thigh, enjoying the warmth of her partner’s body. “So, you want to stop at a motel …. maybe take care of this ‘stuff’ going on between us?” she wondered aloud.
“What stuff?” Leslie asked.
“You can’t feel the tension?”
“What? I got to you?” Leslie said. She was almost triumphant, having given her partner a taste of the same jarring discoveries she’d been treated to in the past. Robin’s sordid sexual disclosures had left her with her mouth on the floor on more than one occasion.
“You’ve wanted me back on your terms,” Robin suggested, “now you want me back on mine… is that possible? You’re not too good at lying about these things. Your revelation this morning was a pretty blatant come on.”
Leslie turned to her and smiled. “I know, and it was probably stupid, because I’m quite prepared to love you again, but I’m not prepared for the sex. Not yet anyway. I know that it sounds absurd, but it is really strange to me that I’d respond so enthusiastically to S&M, when I did a pretty good job of feeling rather bored with it when the two of us were together. I’m still not sure about you and me and how that would feel. Besides, I have a relationship with Rosalie.”
“Rosalie didn’t seem to bother you last night,” Robin pointed out.
“I know. But that was practically anonymous, and it was work. Rosalie wouldn’t have any problem with that. Sleeping with my former lover and business partner, that’s something different. I’m not sure Rosalie would be that open-minded.”
Robin snickered, listening to Leslie defend herself. “You know, I think it’s you that has a problem, same as always. Rosalie is a convenient excuse. You never thought the two of you would be together long in the first place. You don’t really love her, mutual respect, maybe, but love … come on Les. Besides, you can’t tell me that that little slut doesn’t fuck whoever she damn well pleases.” The disgruntled Robin turned back in her seat and stared out the window, watching as the sunny countryside rolled by, thinking for just an instant it would be nice not to go back to this case at all. All the weird things that it had seemed to spawn – it wasn’t worth it.
“Rob, c’mon.” Leslie interjected after about ten minutes of silence. “I’d rather not make any mistakes. Could be more painful than we know. Maybe you and I could try again, but it’s going to take a little time before I’m ready.”
Robin listened impatiently as Leslie went on about her fears, finally interrupting, “What does it matter if we make mistakes? It’s not going to change anything, is it? We’ve already kept the partnership together through one break-up.” She shook her head angrily. “I don’t know why I’m arguing with you. Listen to yourself, this doesn’t sound like you at all.”
After that, the matter was closed.
Riding in a prickly silence the remainder of the trip, the partners arrived at the mental hospital an hour later.
Leslie flashed her identification to the woman at the front desk; and after sitting in the lobby to wait, they were finally ushered into a pleasant office with an expansive set of windows that overlooked an all too passive scene. Brightwood’s grounds looked like a stereotypical movie set version of psychiatric hospital serenity. A few people strolled the landscaped lawns, though at lunch hour, most of the staff and patients were in the dining room.
“I’m Jessica Crandall,” a stately woman said rising to shake their hands. Dressed in a plain grey business suit, her hair tied back in a bun at the base of her neck, she had the pinched look of an austere bureaucrat, which made the detectives immediately doubt her usefulness to their investigation.
“Robin Penny and Leslie Patrick,” Leslie introduced them, “we’re private investigators, looking into the death of Felicia Roman. We have reason to believe that one of the suspects in this case was a former patient at Brightwood.”
“Oh? It was my understanding from the papers that the murderer is in custody.”
“We have reason to believe that the woman in custody is innocent.”
“Really?”
