57
Rune Alignment
Chapter 17.
"Is there anyway to move this to the top of Monday's list?" Bobby asked the young evidence clerk.
"I'm sorry detective. You know I can't do that. Evidence is examined in the order in which it is received," the young man recited from the Rules and Regulations Of Evidence Acceptance, Routing, and Management manual.
"Yeah, yeah. Thanks anyway." Bobby went to find Jerry. He found the head audio technician sitting in front of a multiple disc burner, again wearing headphones. He tapped his buddy on the shoulder and Jerry pulled off the phones.
"Bobby. Doing some off duty body guard work, huh?" Jerry said with a wink and a mild elbow jab. He was a good guy, but could be a real jerk sometimes. Bobby ignored the comment.
"Are those the copies of the cell messages?"
"Yeah, almost done. I've done one for Louise to transcribe from, one for Huang, one as evidence, one for your department, and my backup."
"Can you do one for me, too?"
"You mean in addition to the department one, one of your own?"
"Yeah."
Jerry looked at his friend and said slowly, "I suppose. How do you want me to write it up? Not in your name, I'm sure."
Bobby thought a moment, "Assign it to the department as a second."
"Ok, but if there are questions, I'm coming to you. You can have one of these when they're done and I'll do up the extra afterward. Give me another ten minutes."
"Thanks, Jerry." He headed toward the elevators, pushed the up button, entered and pressed eleven.
"So, you've never married?"
"No, just never seemed to happen."
"Would you like to, though?"
"I suppose, if I found the right man. It's hard to know who is right, though, isn't it."
Bobby came around the corner and saw his partner and Gleason leaning across the desk tops talking like two neighbors over the fence. Both my girls, he thought and smiled.
"Gossiping?" he said as he approached.
The women turned and looked at the man they both loved; although Gleason would not have admitted to anything at this point.
"Just girl talk," Eames offered.
Gleason stood and Bobby moved to her side, excessively close to her side. They were nearly touching. Sexual tension radiated from the couple.
"Jerry is just about done burning the discs with the cell messages."
"You said on the phone that you had another 'Elliott encounter.' What happened?" Eames asked.
"He was at the market, ran into us, and was too familiar with Gleason."
"Did he get fresh with you?"
Gleason answered, "No, not at all, he was just . . . being himself – intrusive, not minding social or positional boundaries. It was odd, though, that he should be there at the market right where we were, at the same time."
"Bishop needs to finish checking with the university and then immigration first thing Monday," Bobby said to his partner.
"Immigration? What does immigration have to do with Elliott?" Gleason asked, looking up at Bobby.
"Um, Elliott's here on a student visa."
"What? From where?"
"Wales," Eames told her.
Gleason said nothing. Eames and Goren looked at her. She looked off, thinking. She crossed her arms. She's shrinking into herself. She's worried, beginning to be afraid, he thought.
"What are you thinking?" Bobby asked her.
She didn't respond at first, but a change had come over her. A dusting of fear changed her posture and coloring. She was afraid again. "I had no idea he is Welsh. He doesn't sound like it, does he?"
"Actually I think he's working hard to bury any accent." Bobby offered. "I thought he sounded forced, trying to speak with an American, New York accent."
"So what happened?" Eames asked.
"I convinced him to leave her alone unless he wanted me to take him in for stalking."
"Bobby was something to see. I'm sure Elliott will not be around outside of class." She sounded as if she was trying to convince herself. She was subdued. Her fear had returned.
I'm sure he was something to see, thought Gleason. "What's this about an envelope?" Eames asked. Gleason looked to the floor, seemed to stiffen and looked at the floor. Could he move any closer to her?
Sidestepping the question, Bobby replied, "It's in line for examination sometime on Monday." He gave his partner an unspoken look that asked her to drop it; couldn't she see how all this talk was affecting Gleason?
Eames read the message in Bobby's eyes and said, "Well, it seems like nothing is going to happen in a hurry. Monday will be a busy day."
Near panic. Calm down! But where have they gone? Have they left; gone back to her nest to continue rutting? Should not have had to take that little bit of time to indulge. Tsk, tsk. You have no control, none. But . . . it was wonderful, wasn't it. Found a special private space, out in the open, all alone, air all around. Shot it all into the bushes. No one would know, no one saw. Wonder where they are. Keep looking; they are here somewhere. He walked on.
They stopped by Jerry's lab to pick up the disc. "What is that?" Gleason asked.
"Something Jerry burned for me."
Gleason considered this and then said, "It's copy of the messages from my cell phone, isn't it?"
"Gleason, don't do this to yourself. It was a mistake to have you come in. You should not have been so close to those details of the investigation. I should have taken you to my place and then come in."
They headed to Bobby's apartment in silence. Bobby broke the silence with, "I want to stop and get some wine. What do you like? Are you red or white, sweet or dry?" he asked her glancing to his right with a smile.
She thought a minute and then answered, "You tell me."
"Oh, I see how this is going to go," he grinned. "Hmmm . . . let me see . . . well . . . I think . . . if I do what I'm supposed to do, and I do it right, you will be anything but dry. Did I figure right?"
She stared at him in pleasant surprise, turned in her seat to face him. "You dirty boy. You are quite the detective, but you didn't really answer your question. You tell me, what do I like."
Bobby smiled at her, enjoying the game. With a deeper, huskier voice, he began, "I bet you like . . . it slow, really, really slow, with lots and lots of touching. Slow touching everywhere; outside and then in. Touching with more than fingers. Wet touching, licking, sucking, softly, slowly, in all the places. I think you like it quiet, warm, dark; maybe candles and soft music." He had to shift in his seat. She stared at him, mouth slightly open. My God, she thought.
He continued, "You like to wait for it. Let it build; anticipate it. Wanting it, but wanting to wait for it. Letting it happen in its own time. Feeling it approach slowly, like warm soft waves, reaching further and further inward, upward. It might take hours to get there. And I think, when you get there, you just let go, let it happen, living in the moment, rising and falling, over and over, lots of times. Then I think you like to rest and start again."
She was stunned. He looked straight ahead, driving. She just stared at him. Finally, he glanced at her, "Well, is that what you like?" She still couldn't say anything. He glanced again, longer this time. He couldn't read her expression. Why doesn't she say something? Oh, God, what did I do? I've frightened her. "Gleason, I'm sorry." He reached for her hand. "Please forgive me. I didn't mean to frighten you. Ah, God."
But, she didn't pull away. In fact, she took his hand in both of hers, raised it, lifted his middle finger and slid it into her mouth. He gasped as she pulled her tongue along the underside length of his finger. Her tongue tickled the small web between his fingers. She sucked it, sliding it in and out of her mouth. He groaned audibly and whispered, "God almighty."