Chapter Three
I woke up late, probably two hours after Brian had left for work. My head was spinning, and I felt slightly nauseous, realizing that I had Freudian-slipped my alarm clock into ringing at 7 PM. The morning light was gray, signaling a dark day ahead.
I used to enjoy taking showers in fairly cold or lukewarm water. I used to like the shock of that feeling in the morning, ripping me out of a sleep-state, sharpening my senses. Nowadays I only use hot water, and it never really wakes me up, but I think that might be for the best.
As I walked to the precinct, I thought about poor old Jeremiah. I wondered what it would be like to be a man in his fifties, in a dead-end job, bored with work and family life. And then to meet a beautiful young woman, so full of life and energy. She swept him off his feet, most likely he couldn't believe that someone so young would be attracted to him. She promised him the world, a second chance at youth and romance and excitement. And then she took it all away.
Was that enough of a motive to rape and kill? I It would depend on the personality of this man – was he self-important, did he feel entitled to good things and enraged when they escaped his grasp? Or was he weak-willed, vulnerable to the charms of younger women, and too wrapped up in his own self-pity to care about the pain he had caused his own family?
The sharp ring of my phone cut my thoughts short. I felt a flood of relief that it wasn't the Captain, ready to berate me for being late.
"Hey Bri."
"Hey there, sleepy-head. You gonna be on time for work?"
"More or less," I said, squinting in the sun's gray glare.
"You got home late last night. Was it that rape-homicide you're working on?"
"Oh," I replied absently. "No. Um, Alex Cabot is back in town on a case, and we caught up for awhile."
"Oh joy, the Witch of the West has returned."
I grinned. "Relax Brian, she isn't here to bust your chops. She's working on an appeals case in D.C., and she's only here for a few days. You probably won't even have to see her."
"From your lips to God's ears. I'll see you at home later?"
"Yes you will! Have a good day, Bri. Bye."
I hung up and resumed my walk, but my thoughts about the case began to fade away, and to be replaced. I passed a small florist's shop, and I saw a bouquet of bright red roses lightly pressed against the window. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe I ought to send them to Alex's office, to thank her for the talk we had shared. Twelve minutes late to work wasn't so much more offensive than seven minutes, after all.
"That's Cabot. C...A...B...O...T."
"And what address would you like these sent to, ma'am?"
"Um, Sixty Centre Street...Number Five..."
"Would you like to send a card?"
She slipped me a small card, a few inches wide. I held the pen in my hand, and all of a sudden I froze, unable to make a mark on the plain white paper.
Dear Alex...I wanted to thank you...
Dear Alex...It was great to see you...I would love to see you again before...
Dear Alex...
I put the pen down.
"You know, I - I don't think I'm going to send these after all," I said to the puzzled florist, and left the shop hurriedly.