Observations From Above
She thought she'd never get to work. Her entire block was blocked off with yellow crime scene tape and metal barriers. Law enforcement personnel were all over the place; crime scene technicians were crawling around, taking pictures, digging through planters and trash cans, bagging and tagging anything that could be evidence. Several news vans had been allowed in and were set up behind a perimeter, cameras focused on what appeared to be a vehicle of some sort.
She was thankful there was a back entrance to her building's parking garage on the next block over. It meant having to get the guard to move some wire cables aside, but the attendant on duty was more than happy to accommodate, saying that he would leave the opening until the scene on the other street was clear. Being able to move the cables aside was put in place after 9-11, but she had never imagined it would actually be necessary to do so.
Entering her third floor office, which overlooked the chaos in front of her building, she turned on the TV, turning the channel to one of the stations with a van and reporters down below. She kept one eye on the live coverage as she turned on her computer and began checking her email.
On the screen, a handsome reporter was commenting that an ambassador had been found murdered in his car earlier that morning, leading to speculation as to why exactly he was on that particular street late at night, as there was nothing there connected to the victim's particular embassy. She noticed the ambassador's name on the screen, but didn't recognize it. He was from one of the African nations and had only been in the city for six months.
A few minutes later the reporter began to interview one of the officers on the scene. When he introduced the officer as a detective, her head turned from the computer monitor to focus on the television screen. She had recognized the detective's name, and was now studying the people in the background. Not seeing who she was looking for, she rose from her desk and went to the large expanse of window behind her.
She scanned the crowd below, looking for one particular person, one particular shape she would recognize as hers. There he was. Well, at least, there was part of him. His head was stuck inside the driver's window of the car; presumably he was studying the body, poking, prodding, smelling, observing. He pulled away and spoke to the crime scene tech next to him, waving a long arm at something inside the car. As he moved to the back seat, the crime scene tech began his work processing the door.
She watched in awe as he worked, opening the rear door of the car and ducking inside in one fluid movement. It never ceased to amaze her how comfortable he was with his body, seemingly unencumbered by its size, his every movement unconscious, smooth, practiced, flowing. Her thoughts wandered to time spent with him as she watched him work, enjoying her view from above.
His partner joined him then, her petite frame in stark contrast to his large build. The two moved as a well-oiled machine, in sync from years of working together. They seemed to be able to read each other's minds as they moved, trading places, taking notes, handing each other things. They moved away from the car then; she went to a plain silver car parked about fifty feet away, and began to talk to four suited men. They appeared to be of some importance, and were not happy with what she had to tell them.
He moved several feet forward from the car, into the street, pulled out a binder and began writing furiously. She watched with tender expression as his salt and pepper curls bent over the notebook and his left hand moved smoothly and elegantly across the paper, leaving notes and insights in its wake.
Suddenly, he looked up and appeared to become instantly aware of his surroundings. Unconsciously, he clicked his pen closed and pocketed it with his left hand, while his right hand closed the binder and tucked it under his arm. He turned his back to her and began to scan the street, taking notice of every building, store, and window; all places where potential witnesses could be. He slowly turned to his right, starting at the end of her side of the block, still scanning. Finally, he was looking straight ahead, and she watched as recognition began to come over him, his face starting to relax into a look of mischief, as he raised his head.
She held her breath as his eyes moved slowly up the front of her building. Had he heard the cry of her heart that he notice her standing at the window? Oh, she hoped so, as she eagerly anticipated the moment when he would notice her standing in her window and their eyes would connect.
His face broke into a huge grin as he caught sight of her, and she exhaled loudly, smiling back equally as happy as they finally made eye contact. He had been unable to see her the last several days, as his work kept him very busy, and during a late night phone conversation the night before, they had made plans to see each other that very night. She was suddenly concerned that the scene before her would cause him to need to cancel those plans, but she shoved that thought aside as she raised her hand and placed it on the window in front of her.
He glanced around quickly, before raising his hand back, then placing it on his brow, so as to appear that he was blocking the early morning light from his eyes as he scanned the windows of her building. He broke eye contact then, as he continued his scan down the rest of the block. She dropped her hand in hopes that no one else would see what had just transpired between them. She continued to watch him, hoping he would look back in her direction.
He never looked directly back at her, but did stick his hand into his pocket and pull out his BlackBerry. It had been a gift from her, as he was constantly complaining about his police issued cell phone and its lousy reception and horrible photo quality. Now, he discreetly looked down at it and began pressing buttons. Her curiosity was piqued when he pocketed it without so much as a glance in her direction and walked over to where his partner was still talking with the men in suits.
As she watched him join the animated conversation, her cell phone beeped, indicating she had a text message. Sighing, she turned away from the window and fetched it from her desk. It was time to get to work, she thought, as she glanced at the phone's screen. The small window indicated the text was from HIM, and there was no need to push the 'read now' button, as the message was short and sweet. Three letters glowed brightly at her: 'I c u'.
Her hear soared. She floated back to the window and looked lovingly down at him, now deep in very animated conversation with the group below. There was much gesturing and head movement, one or the other in the group would point to the victim's vehicle, one of the buildings, or some other object in the area. She admired him from above as she held her cell phone, subconsciously caressing the screen bearing his message to her: 'I c u'.
Suddenly, she got a wicked grin on her face and, raising her phone, she quickly fingered the screen and entered a reply. She hit 'send', then returned her attention to the scene below, focusing on one person in particular.
She knew when he had gotten the message when she noticed his shoulder jerk slightly. He always kept the phone on the vibrate setting, but could not tell whether or not the fabric of his coat was moving at this distance. He sent her a quiet message when he patted his pocket, then stuck his hand inside. She figured he was having to turn off the vibration, and giggled.
There was no way he was going to be able to look at the phone anytime soon, and she knew being unable to check the message would bother him to no end. It was only fair, she thought. Several nights ago, they had been out at dinner with one of her clients, and he had teased her mercilessly by constantly rubbing her thigh under the table. He had lightly caressed her and drawn designs on her through the fabric of her dress and knew there was nothing she could do about it. He had enjoyed tormenting her, and the resulting love making session they had had much later that evening had been nothing short of fantastic.
Now it was her turn to mess with him. She enjoyed watching him become more and more agitated as the conversation went on. She could see the desperation building in him as his shoulders became more and more tense, and he shuffled his feet and shifted his binder and occasionally rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. She giggled again as she perversely enjoyed his frustration.
Her assistant called her name then, coming into her office with a handful of printouts and phone messages. It was time to start the day, and she sighed as she turned away from the window.