Suspect Passions (5 page)

“That’s so hard to do.” Gil pushed his coffee cup aside and stood to leave. “She’s so damn hot. Even you’d like her.”

Syd took the good-hearted ribbing as his way of getting back into work mode. As she placed the accident report in her clipboard, communications relayed a message for her to call the city attorney’s office. She waved good-bye to Gil and dialed the number on her cell phone, wondering what person with friends in high places she’d pissed off now. The receptionist who answered was unable to provide much information. She merely said that Syd should attend a meeting at two o’clock in the city attorney’s conference room on the second floor.

As she hung up, Syd mentally reviewed the cases she’d made recently and decided this had to be a wrap-up of the shooting investigation. She went through the rest of the morning excited that soon the entire incident would be behind her.

*

Regan retrieved her next Diet Coke from the mini-refrigerator beside the desk in her small office. She popped the tab and took the first fizzing sip. Her eyes were burning and tired, and it was only noon. She’d started reading the new civil-case file Terry gave her yesterday, reviewing witness statements and mapping out a timeline of the actual shooting. The cleaning crew had finally run her out of the building after midnight.

When she got home sleep proved impossible. The facts of the new case had mingled with the old one from Nashville, keeping her tossing and turning. Her last client was so traumatized by the act of killing another human being that he’d found it impossible to cope. He had horrible nightmares, flashbacks, bouts of drinking, and blackouts from booze and drugs in the final days before he took his own life to escape the pain. Regan had failed the young officer, the City of Nashville, and her employer. She’d allowed her personal turmoil to take priority over her job. She’d had the case for only a week when Martha announced that she wanted out of their relationship.

At first Regan didn’t take her seriously. Martha often vied for her attention when a big trial occupied most of her time. But this time she was serious.

“I’m not in love with you anymore,”
she’d informed Regan with the precision of a practiced response. “I’m not happy and haven’t been for a long time. And don’t try to talk me out of it with your legalese.It won’t work.” Then the final blow. “I’ve found someone else and I want out.”

She moved out the next day, and Regan felt like she’d walked headlong into a brick wall. Her mind went completely blank, all function overtaken by the emotional swell inside. She couldn’t argue. She was in such a state of shock that she didn’t even cry for several days. But when she did, the crying didn’t stop for weeks. By then it was too late. Martha had moved in with her new girlfriend and Regan was left to thrash about in their half-furnished home, wondering what had happened to her once-happy life.

Obsessed with finding out who had sabotaged their relationship and trying to fix it, Regan worked on the case by day and her former lover by night. She followed Martha home from her office and discovered that the culprit was not some babe who had suddenly invaded her life, but a woman Martha knew very well, the athletics director at the university and her boss of eighteen years. They’d traveled together to all their out-of-town games and had sworn time and again nothing was going on between them but work.

Armed with this new information, Regan tried to persuade Martha to return. She offered to forgive her and start over. Martha requested half the appraised value of their home as soon as possible. Regan’s substantial negotiating skills were of no use on her own behalf. Was it any wonder she hadn’t been able to fully apply herself at work? She’d tried to give the case and the young officer her best effort, but it hadn’t been enough. She couldn’t concentrate on the small details that were usually the trademark of her litigating skills. No one blamed her for the loss of the case, but she knew the truth.

Even now, she found it hard to separate her professional impressions of the new case from her emotional responses to the past. She felt an attachment to the High Point officer she would be representing, yet she had never even met her. The past produced magnified feelings that made no sense in their present context, and she was growing progressively less enthusiastic about handling the case. Portions of the new file were scattered across every horizontal space on her desk and on the floor surrounding her chair. She was reviewing the case summary for the final time before meeting with the officer this afternoon and making a to-do list of the information she would need.

The shooting incident itself seemed clear-cut. An armed robber had exited a jewelry store and opened fire when confronted by Officer Cabot. The officer had returned fire and killed the suspect. Witness statements supported her account of events. Even though the suspect was only eighteen years old, his actions limited the officer’s options. The family had probably brought the lawsuit out of sheer grief, which was understandable, but not actionable by the court.

In criminal proceedings a good attorney first attacked the evidence, looking for loopholes and problems with the State’s case. If that didn’t work, the focus shifted to the victim to find “justification” for why he was victimized, how he contributed to his misfortune. If all else failed, the final mode of defense was to question the police and their procedures. But in a civil process those strategies didn’t necessarily apply.

Regan needed to find the weakness of this case before opposing counsel did and neutralize it. In criminal prosecutions the burden of proof was high, beyond a reasonable doubt; civil cases merely required a preponderance of evidence. And in her years of civil work, Regan had learned that anything could sway a jury in favor of mourning relatives. While she completely sympathized with the family, from all she had read, it seemed that Officer Cabot was just doing her job. Regan wasn’t about to let another police officer become the victim of misguided grief.

And she wasn’t about to lose another case like this one. Her pride and professional prowess were on the line. There was no personal upheaval to distract her this time, and she intended to keep it that way.

Syd ducked into the third-floor restroom for one last look at her uniform. She wanted to make a good impression on the attorney who would deliver the final clearance from her eight-month ordeal. Straightening her uniform shirt where it tucked into her trousers, she was grateful for a relatively slow morning on patrol. She hadn’t had to wait in sweltering businesses for owners to respond to false burglar alarms or spend long hours directing traffic. Her uniform felt relatively fresh.

As she slid her hand down the front of her trousers, her thoughts strayed to the woman in the elevator yesterday and she felt a tingle of excitement. Maybe they would run into each other again. Blondie had definitely piqued Syd’s interest, but city hall was a big place and you could work here thirty years and never meet all the folks who filled the myriad public-service positions. Their paths had crossed twice already. How often could lightning strike in the same place?

Satisfied with her appearance, Syd checked her watch and headed for the city attorney’s complex. She arrived fifteen minutes early and surveyed her surroundings. The circular reception area was the hub for a maze of offices shielded from the waiting area by heavy wooden doors. People popped in and out of their private workstations like jacks-in-the box on a merry-go-round. The receptionist showed her into an empty conference room that housed a shiny, rectangular mahogany table with twelve leather-upholstered chairs. A bank of windows on the opposite wall made the grouping appear to float against the city’s skyline. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls on either side of the table, filled with thick procedurals and statute books.

Syd pulled out the cushy chair at the head of the table and was enjoying the view when a distinguished-looking white-haired gentleman entered the room followed by a woman. Syd recognized her immediately, Miss Friday Night Snob, the woman from the elevator. Her tailored black slacks clung to her body like idol worshipers to a rock star. A flint blue mock-necked sweater ignited the cobalt hue of her eyes and cupped palm-sized breasts that bounced perkily as she crossed the room. The only detractor to the attractive package was an oversized black blazer that hung from her shoulders like a decade-old housecoat and yelled Don’t Notice Me.
But it was already too late.

Stunned, Syd rose. She couldn’t suppress a slight smile or the involuntary flutter of her heart. The gentleman spoke first, introducing himself as City Attorney Terry Blair. He motioned to the tall woman across from him. “And this is Assistant City Attorney Regan Desanto. She’s recently joined our staff from Nashville.”

Syd shook his hand and turned her attention to Regan. As their hands closed around each other, Syd noted the strength of Regan’s grasp and detected a quickening of her own fluttering heartbeat.

She maintained her grip until she felt a slight tug and knew she’d forced the attorney to purposely withdraw. The cool blue eyes that had gazed so unabashedly upon her body after orgasm now evaluated her with obvious confidence. Was it possible she hadn’t recognized Syd from the restroom? Or even the elevator? Syd’s ego felt a bit bruised. For her, Regan Desanto was instantly memorable.

“Officer Cabot, I’m pleased to meet you.”

The voice was just as cheery, sincere, and sexy as Syd remembered from the elevator. She wanted to urge her to say more just so she could listen to its easy cadence and soothing quality. And that stare. The intensity and all-encompassing nature of it made Syd feel she was the sole recipient of her attention.

“My name’s Sydney…Syd,” she said weakly.

The attorneys took their seats on either side of the table, with Syd at the head. Terry Blair rubbed his hands together and seemed to be evaluating her. Regan Desanto’s gaze hadn’t left her since she entered the room. Now her left eyebrow was arched and a questioning look was etched across her face.

Blair must’ve realized he didn’t have either woman’s attention because he cleared his throat and said, “Let’s get started.” Directing his next comment to Syd, he continued. “I’m a little surprised, Officer. In the history of our police department we’ve never had a female officer involved in the fatal shooting of a suspect.” His face flushed bright pink. “I guess that sounds sexist, doesn’t it? Believe me, I didn’t intend it to be. It just makes this conversation more difficult.”

Syd stared at him and a sick feeling gathered in the pit of her stomach. This was supposed to be a meeting to exonerate her once and for all from this nightmare, wasn’t it? “I’m afraid I don’t understand. I thought I was here to get a final all-clear on the shooting.”

Terry Blair looked like a politician who’d been caught taking money from the widows and orphans fund. He shuffled the papers in front of him and avoided Syd’s eyes. She would’ve felt sorry for him if she hadn’t been struggling to contain her rising anger. She turned toward Regan Desanto and saw sadness and concern on her face. She could feel compassion emanating from the attorney and a lump formed in her throat.

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Regan scooted her chair closer to the table, stretched her long slender fingers across the slick, flat surface toward Syd, and leaned forward as though to reach out to her. “What Terry is trying to say is that we’re not here for that reason.”

Syd swallowed hard. “Then what?”

“The family of the young man you shot has filed a civil suit against the city, the police department, and you personally.” Regan paused. “I’m very sorry, Officer Cabot. These situations are never easy.”

“These situations?” Syd pushed back from the table and jumped to her feet. “These
situations?
We’re not talking about a situation here, Ms. Desanto. We’re talking about my life.” She grabbed the side of the table to steady her shaking hands. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through in the last eight months?” She didn’t wait for a response. The pitch of her voice rose and trembled with each word. “Of course you don’t. All you’re concerned about is saving the city’s precious money.”

Syd felt as though the sky had opened up and was showering liquid lightning down on her. Perspiration popped out on her forehead and dotted her skin underneath the heavy vest. The entire shooting incident was being revived and pummeled anew into every muscle, fiber, and nerve of her being. How was this possible?

“And
you?
” She turned her fury on Terry Blair. “Do you really think my being a woman makes this harder? Ask anybody who’s ever killed someone. Killing doesn’t discriminate by gender, age, class, or culture. It rips us all apart, the killed and the killer. The only difference is the wounds are visible on the ones who die. You have no idea what we’ve been through. And when you pretend to understand, you just come off as patronizing.”

Regan stood and moved toward Syd. Gently grasping Syd’s upper arms, she gazed directly into her eyes. “I’m so very sorry, Officer.”

The grip on her arms sent a jolt of conflicting emotions through Syd. She wanted to scream and cry, but at the same time she wanted to rush into the strong embrace and be comforted by the compassion flowing from this stranger. Self-preservation took charge.

“Don’t touch me.” She deliberately backed away and swept her fingers through hair that clung to the sides of her hot, sticky face. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me, either of you. I can’t go through this anymore. It’s not right. It’s supposed to be over.”