Who Shot the Bitch Troll?
Prologue
Grace
After my son calls me for third time today, I decide to go over to Escala to check on Ana myself. Once again, he is driving us all crazy because he thinks that something is terribly wrong. This time it is because she is tired. After the past few weeks, it should be no surprise to anyone that she is tired. She has been under a great deal of stress as she has been trying to keep everyone happy.
There really isn't anything that I can do, but I told him that I would take her blood pressure. He found some reference on the Internet to stress and high blood pressure in pregnant women and now he is convinced she has pre-eclampsia. He called up Greene and she hung up on him. Then she called me and told me that if he doesn't cut it out, she would no longer treat Ana as her patient, no matter how much money he paid her.
As I walk into the foyer, I am greeted by Sawyer who informs me that Ana and Mrs. Jones are in the television room. By the grin on his face, I can tell that nothing is wrong. No doubt, Christian has told him to expect me and why. But he seems unnaturally cheerful about something. When I enter the room, I am delighted by what I see.
Ana and Mrs. Jones are both seated on the couch watching, of all things, a soap opera. They look like a pair of teenage girls drinking Diet Coke and eating Sun Chips. Ana looks up at me guiltily.
"Hi, Grace," she says quietly. "I was too tired to go to work today and Christian insisted that Gail watch over me. But I woke up about an hour ago feeling better. I didn't want to hang out alone, so I invited her to watch some crap TV with me."
"Can I get you anything, Dr. Trevelyan?" asks Mrs. Jones, quickly standing and suddenly flustered.
"Do you have another Diet Coke?" I grin.
I would like to take part in this little girl time. Ana has told me that Christian dislikes it when she is over-friendly with the staff. However, it is not in her nature to be aloof. And he tends to be a little more tolerant of her relationship with Mrs. Jones. I do not understand what his problem is. Gail Jones is both dedicated and diligent n her care of Ana. It is only natural that they have developed a closer bond than that of the typical employer-employee.
As she goes off to the kitchen to get one, Ana turns to me.
"So I am assuming that my husband finally browbeat you into coming over?" she asks wryly.
"More like drove me crazy," I answer cheerfully. "Here, let me take your blood pressure."
"What does he think is wrong with me now?" she says as she rolls her eyes.
"Here, roll up your sleeve so that I can get the cuff on," I reply.
Then, as I pump up the cuff, "Pre-eclampsia."
"What's that?" she asks as the cuff deflates."
"110/70," I say when I finish counting. "Excessively high blood pressure, it can be very dangerous for both mother and child."
"Do I have anything to be worried about?" she asks, arching an eyebrow.
"Hardly," I reply. "Most people would kill to have such low blood pressure, whether pregnant or not."
Mrs. Jones returns with my soda.
"So then, it is okay if I have Ana off her diet for a while?" she asks a little nervously.
"What diet?" I ask in return.
"Mr. Grey has created a list of approved dietary items for Ana to follow for the next five months," she explains. "Occasionally, I permit Ana to indulge in a few of the proscribed items."
Now it's my turn to roll my eyes.
"Do you know that if he keeps this up," I comment. "That Dr. Greene will refuse to continue to treat you?"
Ana frowns.
"Yes, actually," she replies. "I'm afraid that if he keeps this up, then there won't be a doctor in Washington State who will be willing to treat me."
"Code green, Mrs. Grey," calls Sawyer from the other room.
Mrs. Jones springs into action grabbing the chips and soda cans and tossing them into a box with the game consoles. Then she passes a blanket to Ana, who throws it over herself.
"Code green means that Christian is coming up in the elevator," whispers Ana, conspiratorially. "Gotta love that CCTV!"
I smile at her fondly. Mrs. Jones smooths her skirt and says loudly, "Can I get you anything, Mrs. Grey? Dr. Trevelyan?"
"No, we're good, Mrs. Jones," answers Ana equally loudly and then softly giggles.
"Thank you, Mrs. Jones," Christian says quickly as he passes her.
Once she is behind us, she gives us a mischievous grin and goes off, presumably, to make dinner.
"How are you feeling, darling?" he asks Ana, looking at her anxiously, after gently kissing her cheek.
"Just fine, dear," she replies.
Then he turns to me.
"Mother, thank you for coming right away," he says quickly. "How is she? What is her blood pressure?"
"She," answers Ana emphatically. "Has a blood pressure of 110/70."
"Mother," he says in concern. "Isn't that a little low?"
"Enough is enough!" I exclaim, now thoroughly exasperated. "Her blood pressure is perfect! How many times do I have to tell you to stop fussing? Ana is a perfectly healthy, young woman with no medical problems and no history of medical problems. But at the rate you're going, I have a good mind to check your blood pressure!"
Christian looks back at me in astonishment, while Ana has a fit of giggles. Suddenly, she stops and gets the strangest look on her face.
"Ana!" cries Christian in anguish. "What's wrong?"
The next thing I know, Sawyer and Taylor have come bounding in. But Ana looks up at us all with her blue eyes glowing and her face radiant. I can feel my own face broadening into a ridiculous smile.
"It's the baby," she says in wonder, and then another look of surprise crosses her face. "I can feel the baby move."
"Are you sure?" asks Christian. "What does it feel like?"
"Like what Dr. Greene said it would feel like," she answers. "Like butterflies fluttering. We've seen Blip moving on the ultrasound before, but I've never felt it."
"Mother?" Christian turns to me, looking perplexed.
"Christian, it's the miracle of life," I say, softly. "It's a special moment. Stop worrying and enjoy it!"
He sits down beside Ana and puts his hand over her growing bump.
"There it goes again," she says, smiling gloriously up at him.
"I can't feel it," he says uncertainly.
"Give it time," I say. "It's too soon. In a few weeks you will not only feel, but see the baby moving. If Ana is feeling movement already, I would say that this is going to be a good size baby."
"That's what Dr. Greene says," agrees Ana.
"Why is everyone here?" she asks, noticing the security men in the room.
"Mr. Um Grey," replies Taylor a little uncomfortably. "Has us on high alert status since last night. We heard him call out."
"Christian!" she says in frustration. "I had a couple of nightmares. You know that I sometimes have nightmares. If you're like this now, what are you going to be like when we get close to my due date."
"We'll have two ambulances on stand by, Mrs. Grey," replies Taylor with an absolute deadpan expression on his face. "One for you and one to transport Mr. Grey after he has a stroke."
Everyone laughs out loud but Christian and Taylor. Although his expression remains impassive, Taylor looks rather pleased with himself. Christian looks around at us and finally smiles sheepishly.
"Okay, I get the message," he says. "I'll do my best to chill out."
"Dr. Trevelyan," says Mrs. Jones from the doorway. "Will you be staying for dinner?"
"Please, stay, Mother," adds Christian. "I promise to behave."
"I'll have to take a raincheck," I reply, as I pick up my coat. "Your father and I are having dinner with Mia and Ethan."
Christian frowns.
"What's going on between those two?" he asks. "I thought that he wasn't interested."
I shrug, which clearly doesn't please him.
"Christian, you really mustn't be such a control freak," Ana scolds. "You know, you're getting . . . out of control. Mia is a big girl. She can take care of herself."
Shaking my head, I take my leave. I kiss each of them and Sawyer follows me out to push the elevator button for me.
"Code green?" I whisper to him. "You're in on this little conspiracy?"
"Yeah," he smiles cheerfully. "It helps lighten the tension, you know, keep us all sane."
As I ride the elevator down I think to myself that old habits die hard. One of these days my son will realize that you can't control everything. And babies are most certainly among those things at the top of the list, along with independent wives and strong-minded younger sisters.
Clark
I shake my head as I stand over the body. The coroner's examination shows that she's been dead for at least eighteen hours. Looking around at the crime scene, there's not much to give away who the perp might be. The house is locked up tight as a drum with no forced entry. There are no signs of struggle. There's one bullet wound in the abdomen, but no weapon left behind.
The CSI are dusting for finger prints, but the place is clean. Shit! This was a real professional job. Luckily, the young man that found her, barely entered the room and didn't touch her. He freaked out, dialed 911 on his cell, and waited for us outside. So there is nothing to contaminate the crime scene.
Isaac, the young man, has identified her as Elena Lincoln, 43 years old, divorced. He only looks about 25 and tells us that he is her boyfriend. She was vacationing inTahiti for the past two weeks and returned last night. On her way home from the airport, she called him to meet her for a date this evening. Funny thing is that he has a key to the apartment. He said that it was so he could water her plants. So far we haven't found any.
It looks like someone was waiting for her when she came in. The light was on in the bedroom when Isaac found her. From the looks of the place and the clothing and jewelry she's wearing, she must be pretty rich. Apparently she owns a chain of beauty salons, real upscale. The team is still going through the house looking for evidence of a robbery, but so far nothing seems out of place.
Now that Isaac has calmed down, I decide that it's time to ask him a few questions.
"So Isaac," I say to start things off. "How long have you known Mrs. Lincoln?"
"I've known mistress . . . I mean Mrs., Lincoln for about three years," he replies.
Mistress? What the fuck does he mean by that.
"How did you meet?" I ask.
He looks uncomfortable.
"At a local club," he replies.
"So you have been steadily dating all this time?"
"Yes."
"Exclusively dating?"
He smiles a little.
"Yes, exclusively dating," he confirms.
There is something about this guy that's weird. He doesn't look like the type of guy that a rich lady would go for. He is good looking, but he is dressed in a kind of goth way, including a dog collar.
"Do you know if Mrs. Lincoln had any enemies?" I ask.
He narrows his eyes and thinks. I can tell that he knows something but is not sure if he should spill the beans.
"Listen, Isaac," I say sternly. "Right now we don't have a lot to go on if we want to find your girlfriend's killer. Do you know of anyone who had a grudge or disagreement or any kind of falling out with her?"
I notice that he smirks at the word girlfriend. What the hell is his problem? Between a crime scene with no evidence and a weirdo boyfriend, I am starting to get pissed really fast. As my annoyance registers on my face, I can see that he realizes that he better start talking quickly or risk my wrath. I have a very low threshold of tolerance for assholes.
"Mrs. Lincoln used to be best friends with Dr. Trevelyan and the Grey family," he says reluctantly. "They split up about six months ago. Mr. Christian Grey was her silent partner in the salon business. They broke up too."
"When?" I ask curtly.
"About the same time."
Oh, great! I have to deal with that asshole Christian Grey again. Figures that he'd be mixed up in this kind of shit. Suck for me. No sooner do I finish up with the Hyde fucker and think that I'm free of that prick forever than he shows up in another case. God damn it, I just hope that this is a coincidence.
"Do you know what this was all about?"
Again, he gives me that stupid smirk.
"Mrs. Lincoln never told me anything," he finally says.
"That's not what I asked you, you moron!" I growl.
"But I can't tell you if mistress . . . Mrs. Lincoln didn't tell me," he says apologetically.
What the fuck is this guy's problem? This is the second time that he has called her mistress and then corrected himself. Does he think that I am so fucking stupid that I don't realize that. And there he sits, with his girlfriend lying dead in the bedroom so passively. It seems that now that he has gotten over the initial shock, he is in some kind of zone. I wonder if he took some pills when we weren't looking. He's too freaking calm about all this.
The CSI now informs me that it looks as if nothing has been taken. There is a safe in the bedroom that hasn't been touched. There are some pretty pricy pieces of art intact. The place is in perfect condition. There is no evidence of robbery. That leaves us with only one possible motive, someone wanted her dead, and our best source of information appears to be either a stoner or an idiot.
Worse than that, the only names that he has given us will be nearly impossible to deal with. Carrick Grey will no doubt tell his whole family to keep their mouths shut. His son Christian will have a fleet of lawyers on my ass within hours of approaching him. But still, without any real knowledge of what it is that created the rift between Mrs. Lincoln and the Greys, there is no real motive to be had. They could have had an argument over the place settings for the fall cotillion or something.
Suddenly, Isaac stirs out of his stupor.
"Mrs. Lincoln's ex-husband, Linc hated her," he says.
"Explain," I say sharply.
"She told me that he beat the shit out of her before he divorced her," he replies.
Now we're getting somewhere. This is a gold-plated motive for a murder if I've ever heard one.
"How long ago were they divorced?" I ask.
"Seven years," he answers.
Oh, shit! Nobody kills their ex-wife after seven years, unless she has somehow fucked him over. Okay, I'll go after Lincoln first. They could easily have had a dispute recently that Isaac the idiot didn't know about. There's plenty of time to deal with the Greys. I place a call to my Captain to give him the update.
Christian
"Holy fucking shit!" I hear Taylor exclaim loudly.
"What is it Taylor?" I call out.
He rapidly enters my office.
"Look at this item on the local news," he says as he points to the screen of his laptop.
"Mrs. Elena Lincoln found shot dead in her home tonight," I read aloud. What the fuck?
"What's wrong, Christian?" asks Ana, who has come to the door.
I give Taylor a withering look. Thanks to his outburst, Ana has to hear this shocking news tonight, right before bedtime. And she has been so happy and calm since she felt the baby move earlier. But there's no avoiding telling her because if we don't, she'll worry more. I bring her out to the living room and sit her down. Taylor slinks off to his office. He knows that he's in for it once I've settled my wife.
"Ana, I'm afraid that I have some rather upsetting news," I say. "Elena was found shot to death tonight in her house."
Ana looks shocked. Even though I know that she has an intense hatred for Elena, I am sure that she never thought that anything like this would ever happen to her. But slowly, her shock switches to another emotion, relief. I suppose that as long as Elena was living with ten miles of us, she was going to worry about her.
"Do they knows who did it?" she finally asks.
I shake my head.
"So far the only information that has come out is that she was shot," I reply.
Ana stares into space for a while.
"I would be lying if I said that I was sorry," she says quietly. "But a part of me thinks that she got off easy."
As I look into her beautiful blue eyes, it is hard for me to fathom where that came from. Of course, if she was shot then probably she experienced a minimum of physical suffering. I can see that Ana is thinking of all of the pain that Elena inflicted on me, and countless other men. In one sense, it is rather heartless of her, but in another, I know that it won't disturb her sleep tonight.
She yawns.
"I'm going to bed, are you coming too?" she asks.
So much for worrying about how much the news would impact her. That gets Taylor off the hook, although in the future he is going to have to be much more careful. I think that Ana would have become more emotional about a stray dog being run over. I sigh. Considering her condition, I'm really glad that this has not created any more disturbance for her. And that she won't be brooding. This is our first Christmas together and I want it to be very special.
"I still have work to do," I say, as I kiss her head. "I will join you as soon as I am finished."
"Okay," she says. "I'm going to work in the morning. I really did feel a lot better after my nap today."
That declaration is a two-edged sword. Naturally, I'm glad that she's feeling better. On the other hand, I am not pleased that she is returning to work. She has been doing very well working from home and her PA Hannah is very accommodating about running back and forth for her. However, there is no way in hell that I am starting that argument at this hour of the evening. She would win anyway.