It's A Crime (15 page)
Authors: C.E. Hansen
“Dean…
did I ever tell you are a dick?”
“Yeah.”
Dean put his head down and knelt next to the body. With his gloved hands he lifted the body first on the right, taking his time, looking underneath then walking around the corpse to the other side. Nothing under the body. No clue.
“Body’s stiff, rigor
set. I’d say maybe two hours…three at most.”
Damn pretty girl
, Dean thought.
She wasn’t a “pro.” Wrong place and time
. He shook his head.
Does this shit ever get better? Fuck this life.
“See anything unusual?”
Carrie asked.
“No, this one is just like the others
,” Dean said. “No clues to get us to the fucker’s door, but damn if I’ll let vice have this. They’ll screw it up for sure…she deserves better. This one’s not a pro.”
“
Keep looking, maybe we missed something,” Carrie said. “I’ll ask the captain if he can hold back the assholes in vice. How did they get the other case, anyway?” Carrie took her cell out of her pocket and called the captain. She shook her head at Dean, waiting on hold.
Dean stood at the head of the girl and looked left to right.
He walked down to the foot of her body and looking up and down, circled the dead woman again.
“Thanks
, Captain.” Carrie put her cell back into her jacket pocket and crossed to where Dean squatted. “What d’ya got?”
“Her shoes look odd
,” he abruptly stated, looking up at Carrie.
“How?”
“They’re twisted and lifted. Like some fucker was trying to steal her boots.”
“Hey.
Hey,” Carrie yelled toward the CSI. “Bag and label the boots an’ get ‘em printed.”
A young guy who
m Carrie had never seen before walked over to the van pulling his gloves back on. He opened a box containing a roll of large zip top bags. He grabbed two and shoved another into his jacket pocket. He walked back to where the two detectives stood and opening the large bag, carefully pulled the woman’s boots off her feet and placed them into two separate bags. His gaze lingered extra-long on the body of the girl. He took out a sharpie and wrote the case number, the date, time, Jane Doe. He took both bags back to the evidence van and placed the boots in the box with the other evidence taken from the scene then returned.
“Need a
nything else, Detectives?” He obviously needed to feel necessary.
“Not at the moment
,” Carrie responded. “Hey, who the fuck are you?”
“Tom.
Tom O’Brien,” the newbie answered, nervous but looking to impress the detectives.
“Well, Tom, we will let you know when we need you.”
She paused and looked at her partner, smirking. “It may be a long night, Tom. Go and get yourself coffee.”
I rearranged my appointments the next day and had Karen open the shop, allowing me to spend the whole morning with Cole. I made us both breakfast; my specialty, eggs Benedict, with home fries, fresh orange and cranberry juice, and, of course, coffee. I made our plates, bringing them into the living room, where we both sat in front of the TV, Cole in black silk pajama pants I bought him yesterday, and me in the matching top, cartoons played in the background.
I
tried to wear my happy face on the outside while my heart was breaking inside. I would miss this man who lit my body on fire. I wasn’t sure if I would see him again, and if so, when. We spent the few hours we had together rolling around, tangling the sheets.
Cole
received a phone call in the late morning from his pilot with the flight plan filed for their trip back home, back to Colorado. I held onto him for a long time before he left to go back to his hotel to pack, angry at myself for looking so needy. I walked him to the elevator wrapped in my silk robe. He kissed me long and hard, holding me close to him.
“I’ll be back soon.
I have things I need to take care of, things to catching up on.” He kissed me softly then turned to step into the waiting elevator. I watched the doors slowly close. Hot tears slid down my cheeks. A sob escaped my chest, and I was grateful the doors had closed before Cole witnessed my raw emotions.
I
slowly walked back to my apartment and bent to pick up the newspaper left by the building staff. After walking in, I make sure to lock the door behind me then poured another cup of coffee and sat down at the table. I opened the newspaper, flipping to page six to read the society gossip. My mother was not mentioned, for a change. I got bored quickly and closed the paper. I drained my cup and was about to pour another when I the headline screamed from the front page.
“WOMAN FOUND BRUTALLY MURDERED IN CENTRAL PARK.”
Dear Lord
.
She was murdered
literally minutes from here. I quickly pushed the paper away as if that would distance me from the heinous act.
I
selfishly became more concerned about the emptiness of my apartment. Without Cole my home didn’t feel as warm. Needing a shoulder to cry on, I grabbed my cell and called Michelle. I filled her in on the wonderful time I had with Cole, how perfect everything was. I left out the part that I might be falling for him, but Michelle knew me better than I knew myself. She laughed it off, but I could hear the hesitation in her voice. I was grateful for the diversion as she ranted about her night with Jeff. That took my mind off my loneliness for a while.
I was b
ack at work the following day, going over paperwork I’d neglected. I opened my laptop and fired up QuickBooks.
Time to put my head back in the game
.
As I
finished payroll the door opened. I looked up and saw Karen standing in front of my desk holding a gorgeous bouquet of stunning white roses. I knew who sent them before opening the card. A tightening in my chest radiated to my core thinking about him. I pulled the card and read it.
Missing you.
Cole
. I raised the card to my mouth and lightly kissed it as though that act could bring him back. Glowing with the memories of our two days together, tears trailed down my face, dropping onto the invoices on my desk.
I was starting to lose my edge
, my control. I promised myself after Craig never again, and here I was opening myself to a whole new world of hurt.
I
did an internet search, “Cole Grayson, Denver Colorado.” The search provided pages and pages of articles and pictures.
Grayson
Industries, Inc.—Investment properties. A highly successful property acquisitions firm, located in downtown Denver, with offices in San Francisco, Chicago and Palm Springs. Cole Grayson, CEO, 29-year-old billionaire...
WOW.
I found
many negative articles about Grayson Industries, Inc. and its CEO regarding the hostile nature of the acquisitions of companies in financial difficulty. “Ruthless” was used more than a few times. I knew he had a need for power and control, but I would never have pegged him as coldblooded.
I
also found articles regarding his philanthropic work...
that looked promising.
I scrolled down article looking to see if I knew anyone who associated with him or his company. Then I saw the pictures. Dozens of pictures—all with him sporting a gorgeous woman on his arm.
Big surprise there. I’m sure he’s used to snapping his fingers, and like that, a willing partner would appear.
The one
picture that caught my eye was of him with an absolutely stunning brunette. She had gold, almond shaped eyes. She was tall, slender but curvy. She had her arm hooked possessively into his, looking very much like the cat that caught the canary. The green monster popped her ugly head out.
I
scrolled further down to see Cole pictured with that same woman; this time he was wearing a tuxedo, his hand on her lower back, and she wore a stunning gold sparkling gown that matched the color of her eyes.
Nice choice, bitch.
There was that ugly monster again. This time she gut punched me from the inside. Ugh.
The caption underneath made the monster totally take over.
“
Billionaire Cole Grayson and his lovely fiancée, socialite Lauren Buckley, attending the benefit for the Denver Center of Performing Arts. The event was held at the Governor’s Residence at Boettcher Mansion…
” I looked at the elegant long manicured fingers holding the clutch and saw the diamond on her finger. What the hell? The date of the event was just four months ago. I started searching her name. Sure enough plenty of articles mentioned the engagement and none stated it was over.
DAMN HIM.
My heart
sank. It was like a physical blow. I shut the laptop and looked for my cell on the desk. I was going to call him but I held off; I needed to think this through. What was I going to ask him? Was I just a quick fuck?
Classy, Grace
. Grow up. Men do to women what you do to men. Turn around is fair play. Get over yourself, and go find your pride. Stop gushing over this guy. He may beautiful, but you are in a city crawling with gorgeous men all vying to please you, so snap the hell out of it.
I copied and pasted the article, picture and all
, and emailed it to Cole. In the subject line I wrote, “Had a great time. It was fun. Don’t worry…I have no intention of telling LB. No response required.”
I pushed send.
It was childish I know. I should have just called and asked him straight out why he didn’t tell me. He was gone for just three days and I was feeling used.
I heard a buzzing sound.
I looked down to find my cell phone ringing. Cole. That was fast. Guess I got his attention. I pushed the decline button on my cell and lifted the cordless from its base and dialed Michelle. “We are going out tonight, Shelle. I won’t be an asshole sitting around waiting for an explanation. Fuck this shit.” I told her to call Gwen and Sophia.
I
pictured Michelle rolling her eyes. “Sounds good to me. It’s Wednesday. Let’s go to Quest and then Slow Pete’s”.
“Oooh, a woman after my own heart.”
I
will
get this guy out of my head.
“I’ll have the car pick you up at eight; be ready.” I thought for a second then added, “Wear the blue dress I got you, you’ll look hot in that.”
“Will do.”
We ended up have a wonderful time that night. It was fun to have the girls together again. It was also a miracle we were all in a good mood, and no one was catty. The dinner was excellent, the club was totally rocking. My feet were so tired from all the dancing I walked into the building barefoot, carrying my shoes, and gave Michelle a hug goodnight. I fell asleep that night totally exhausted.
The next morning
when I was in my office I searched the internet and
viola
. It worked like a charm; the paparazzi were there with us last night in numbers, as I knew they would be, since I called my old publicist and told her to have a couple of cameras handy. Let him see me in the news tripping the light
fantistique
with gorgeous men. At least I never pretended to be something I’m not.
Cole was pacing the floor in his office, his shoes a steady tempo of staccato alternating with muffled steps as he first crossed the floor then vintage area rugs. His monitors strategically placed on the walls flashed stock quotes and news channels. Three doors down the hall, in his opulent conference room, sat the sellers of 412 2
nd
Avenue, New York City. He had flown the group as his guests for a weekend in Colorado, wined and dined them. They were presently sitting in there waiting to reject his first offer. Cole knew how the game was played. Real Estate Acquisitions were his forte. It was how he built his empire.
