The Dashwood Tapes Ch 02

Everyone looked at Steve in shock.

He sat, alone, in the ME's office as the whole place swarmed with detectives. Rafferty had immediately called the Lieutenant and he had rushed over with half of the other officers from the office.

Steve knew he would be put on the suspect list, immediately, as husbands always were, especially when there was an indication that the wife had been involved in some kind of an affair. He was still sitting in the chair, leaning over with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, when he heard someone else come in. He looked up and recognized the two men from the Internal Affairs Division. Well, that sealed it. He looked at them.

"Steve, we need to ask you some questions."

"Not without my attorney or a union representative here."

The IAD detective looked at him and frowned.

"Steve, you know how that looks! You lawyer up right off the bat and it just screams guilty!"

"Fuck you, Gus! As far as you guys are concerned, I'm already guilty and all you want to do is figure out how to bend the facts to make it stick."

The IAD detective tensed and his voice reflected it.

"That was uncalled for! We're here to find out the truth!"

"Yeah, the truth the way IAD sees it. Take off Gus. I'll talk to you when I have an attorney, until then, you can pound sand!"

The IAD detective started to speak and then thought better of it. He turned, with his partner, and left. Rafferty stuck her head in the door.

"What do they want?"

"They want to crucify me."

"Why?"

"It's their job. When a cop's wife is murdered, it always seems they try to prove the cop is guilty but it's really no different than any wife's murder investigation. They're going to find out, eventually, that we had been fighting for weeks. They're also going to find out that I left the bar last night, drunk. They won't care that I haven't seen her since our last fight and they won't care that I drove directly home from the bar and collapsed on the bed, alone. As far as they're concerned, I went to the building, caught my wife in flagrante, beat her boyfriend to death and then, in a drunken rage, rammed that pole up her ass."

"You didn't, did you?"

"Hell no! I wouldn't go to that much trouble for that bitch. I just wanted her out of my life."

Just then the Lieutenant came in and looked at Rafferty.

"Excuse us a minute."

She bowed out and pulled the door shut.

"As of right now, you're on Administrative Leave, with pay. Aside from the fact that you just found your wife murdered in a most horrendous way, you are one of the prime suspects."

Steve nodded.

"Do you want my badge and gun?"

"Hell no! As far as I'm concerned, you are on Grievance Leave and you can take as long as you like but, as you know, the IAD boys are going to want to talk to you, again. What the hell did you say to Gus? His panties were in a wad so tight he couldn't hardly walk."

Steve told him what he had told the IAD investigator.

"You do know how to make friends but I must agree with you. Now, get your ass out of here and go home."

"That house is not really where I want to go. Lots of bad memories."

"Where are you going to go?"

"Hell, I don't know. Maybe a hotel."

"That'll get expensive in a hurry! Whatever you decide, let me know how to get in touch with you besides the cell phone. The IAD boys will be looking for you."

"Fuck them."

"Go. Get out of here."

Steve stood and gathered himself. When he walked out of the office, the rest of the place got quiet and he could feel the eyes on him. He walked straight to the door, without looking at anyone, and headed for the stairs. As he started to mount the stairs, he heard the click of heels behind him, turned and saw Rafferty.

"What happened?"

"I'm on vacation."

"What?"

"Administrative Leave. Officially, Grievance Leave. Unofficially, I am a favored suspect in the murder of my wife."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Go home, pack a few things, find a place to stay so I don't have to go back to that house and then probably get stinking, falling down drunk."

She looked at him.

"What do I do?"

"You go back and get the Lieutenant to assign you a new partner and go on about your business. Sorry, Rafferty, I was really getting to like you."

He turned and headed up the stairs as she stood and looked up after him.

His mind was blank as he drove back to the house. Arriving home, he went into the house, looked around and gathered up his laptop and some papers from his desk. He went to the bedroom and packed a couple of bags, turned off the lights and, carrying the two bags, grabbed his computer case, went out the front door, locked it and walked to the car. He tossed the bags into the back seat, climbed in and then just sat there.

Driving required a destination and he didn't have one. He turned the key, backed out of the driveway, turned down the street and, basically, let the car take its own course. He drove randomly until he saw a neon light flashing in front of a 'hole in the wall bar' in a seedy strip mall. He pulled in and was soon inside, sitting at the bar with a scotch in front of him.

Sometime later, his phone rang. It took him a minute to recognize it and the four double scotches he had enjoyed were making it difficult to think in a cognitive manner. He was well on his way to stinking drunk but managed to find the phone and answer it.

"Stevens."

"Steve, are you ok?"

"Who the fuck is this?"

"Steve, its Angela Rafferty."

"RAFFERTY! What a surprise. Are you calling to tell me you want to come over and arrest me?"

"No, Steve. I'm just concerned."

"Rafferty, you're one hell of a partner. You're still worried about a nearly convicted wife murderer?"

"Steve, how much have you had to drink?"

"Not enough! But I'm about to fix that."

"Where are you?"

"I don't know. It's a nice place, though. The bartender is nice and doesn't ask a lot of questions and the other drunks keep to themselves."

"STEVE! Look, ask the bartender where you are."

He looked at the bartender.

"Hey Bud! Where the hell am I?"

"The, He's Not Here Lounge."

Steve burst out laughing.

"I'm at the, He's Not Here Lounge. Isn't that a gas?"

"Steve, you stay there."

"Rafferty, I'm not going anywhere. I have enough money to get properly twisted."

He heard the phone hang up and laughed again. Poor girl. Still thinks she can save the whole fucking world. He took another long hit of the scotch and leaned back in the bar chair.

"What the hell. One more washed up cop on a drunk."

She found him still sitting at the bar. He looked up as she walked up beside him.

"Rafferty! How the hell did you find me?"

"You told me where you were."

"Oh. Yeah. I did. Well, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to get you."

"What? Why? I'm a suspect. You shouldn't be hanging around with a suspect. You might get to be a suspect, too. That would be a career ender!"

"Let me worry about that, besides, the lieutenant knows I'm here."

"Good old Stu."

"Now come on. Can you walk to the car?"

"Hell, yeah, I can walk!"

Steve stood up and promptly nearly fell, only the bar stool next to him saving him.

"Opps! Must be a slick spot on the floor."

She sighed, put an arm around his waist, put his arm over her shoulders and helped him stagger from the bar. At the end of the bar, an old alcoholic watched the whole scene through rye clouded eyes then remarked to the bartender.

"How come nobody, with looks like her's, ever comes in here looking for me?"

The bartender looked back.

"Probably because you haven't had a bath in a month."

The old man laughed and downed his rye.

Rafferty got him into her car, found his keys in his coat pocket and retrieved his bags from his car. She also looked in the compartment under the seat and retrieved his pistol and badge. At least he had the forethought to take them off before he went into the bar. As she got in her car, she suddenly stopped and looked at him as he was already leaning on the car window and snoring. What was she going to do?

She set her jaw, put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. She pulled onto the driveway of her house. It had been her parents' house and when her mom had died, shortly after her dad had died, it became hers. It wasn't much, she thought, but it was paid for. She pulled into the garage and closed the door. No use giving the nosey neighbors more to gossip about than they already did. She opened the door and caught him before he toppled out onto the floor then shook him until he roused and looked at her, his eyes blurry and speech slurred.

"Rafferty? Are you still here? You want a drink?"

She pulled him up to his feet and steered him toward the kitchen door. Once inside, she managed to stumble him toward the spare bedroom and let him fall, face first, onto the bed. She looked down at him and then closed the door. She was exhausted and all she wanted was a hot shower and her bed.

He opened his eyes and winced. Even in the dark room, his eyes hurt. His head hurt. Everything hurt! He lay as he had hit the bed, laying half on and half off, his feet resting on the floor and fully dressed. He tried not to move but his bladder was disagreeing with that decision so he struggled to his feet and, when he turned around, it struck him that he was in a strange place. He stood still and let his alcohol addled brain slowly put it all back together.

Rafferty!

He opened the bedroom door, looked both ways, turned right and found a bathroom. That taken care of, he followed his nose to the smell of coffee and cooking eggs and turned into the kitchen. He stopped and leaned on the door frame, surprised at the need to rest from the exhausting journey down the hall. She had on a pair of really short shorts, a T-shirt and, as far as he could tell, nothing else as she was at the stove cooking eggs. She turned around and smiled.

"You look like shit!"

"Then I must look just like I feel."

She poured and handed him a cup of coffee.

"Breakfast is about ready. Sit."

He managed to get to the table and pulled out a chair. The coffee was welcome and he drank deeply.

"Why the hell did you come and get me?"

"Don't partners take care of each other?"

"We aren't partners. I'm a, nearly, washed up cop and you're a fresh young detective with lots of potential."

"That's not what the Lieutenant says."

"Yea? What does Stu know?"

"He says you're the best detective he's ever worked with."

He looked up.

"That still doesn't explain why you came and got me."

"He told me to. He said that if I was going to help you solve this case, I'd better get you sobered up and back on your horse."

That made him really look at her.

"I'm on leave. Put out to pasture. No official status."

"Yeah. Stu said he had to do that to get the IAD guys off your ass for a while. He says that if you want to get the answers to this ordeal, you'd better get yourself in gear and you need a partner who can access the department assets without arousing suspicion. Guess who?"

He looked at her and tried to concentrate on the matter at hand but her nipples, standing out through that thin T-shirt, were making it difficult.

"Look. Go put on some clothes. I need to be able to think and you're making it hard to keep my mind on the right things."

"Now you sound like old man Cogborn."

He frowned at her.

"GO! And then get me some more coffee."

She grinned and he swore that, as she walked past him, she made her ass sway just a little more. She came back fully dressed and he continued thinking as they ate breakfast.

"Have you got an ID on the guy?"

"Not yet. The fingerprint results haven't come back yet. I asked them to call me when they did."

"Why aren't you in the office?"

"I called Stu. He knows."

"Is there a surveillance system on that building?"

"Don't know."

"We need to find out. If there is, we need the video. Let's head down there and see."

"Your bags are in the backseat of my car. You can use the bedroom you woke up in and the bath in the hall."

He looked at her.

"You sound like I'm staying."

"Do you have anywhere else to go?"

He thought about it.

"Not at the moment. Thanks."

After a hot shower, shave and fresh clothes, he began to feel human, again. When he came out of the bedroom, she was sitting in the living room, waiting. As she stood, he stopped and looked. She was wearing a dark red skirt that fell about half way down her thighs, a creamy blouse and her hair was carefully styled. She also wore the signature stiletto heels for which she had become famous around the office.

"Jesus, woman. We're investigating a homicide, not going to a cocktail party!"

She twirled.

"You don't like it?"

"Hell. I'd wolf whistle if it wouldn't make my head explode!"

She grinned and her face lit up. He turned and headed to the garage.

"Come on! You drive."

"Hell, yes, I'll drive. It's my car!"

She expertly maneuvered the car to the Francis Dashwood Trust building. The yellow police tape was still there and a notice was tacked to the door, stating the building was sealed until further notice. They parked and got out. He looked up and down the building.

"I don't see any cameras. Let's walk around the building and see the rest of it."

They slowly walked around the building, checking every possible place for cameras but found none. In the alley, they found another door that was heavily barred and locked. They walked back around front and he looked up and down the block again.

"Let's walk up the block. Maybe some of these businesses have cameras."

As they strolled down the block, checking the fronts of the buildings for video, he was intensely aware of her walking beside him. Whatever scent she was wearing kept wafting toward him. He heard the click of the heels on the concrete. As they neared the end of the block, it was evident that security was not high on the list of things people, in that neighborhood, worried about. He stopped and looked again.

"Well, this looks like a dead end. Did the uniforms come up with anything from their canvass?"

"Haven't checked."

"Can you do that? You can drop me somewhere while you go back to the office."

"Don't have too. Remember? We've gone paperless."

She pulled her smartphone from her purse and he watched as she moved her thumbs in a blur. In a few minutes, she began to read.

"Nothing much. No one was in any of the businesses at the time the murders took place. Not too many people hang out here at that time of night. One of the uniforms did talk to a homeless guy who stays around here somewhere. He said he remembered a big car coming down the street but he couldn't remember when."

"Not much help."

He looked up and down the street, again, and then at the building.

"Is there anything in there about the rest of the building?"

"Apparently not. They either haven't searched or they are not going to."

That bothered him a little. Why would they not search it?

"I want to know what is in the rest of that building."

She looked at him.

"How?"

"It's the scene of a crime isn't it? Why didn't the uniforms clear the building? How did we find out about these homocides, anyway?"

"It came in on an anonymous call from a burner phone."

"Was the building locked when they got there?"

"Not according to the initial reports from the first arriving unit."

"I want to talk to the officers that made that call and I want to talk to the shift supervisor who was on the scene."

"I'll give them a call."

"Now, let's see what else is in that place."

They walked back down the street toward the building and then crossed over. He didn't even hesitate at the crime scene tape, just lifting it aside and holding it for her. She followed him, glancing around occasionally.

"What if someone sees us? Won't they be suspicious?"

'Why? We're cops investigating a murder. I revisit crime scenes all of the time."

He tried the door but it was locked.

She watched as he knelt, reached into his jacket and pulled out a small leather case. He opened it and took out two thin metal objects, inserted them into the lock and, in seconds, she was amazed to see the lock turn and the door swing open.

"Where in the hell did you learn how to do that?"

"I spent three years undercover with vice. You learn a lot of interesting things hanging around with criminals all of the time."

He held the door for her and then carefully shut and relocked it before looking around.

"You take the doors on the right and I'll take the left. If you find anything interesting, call me."

They moved off and began opening doors. The first one he tried was a janitor's closet. He checked it but didn't find anything of interest. The next one was of interest! It was an office. He stepped in and moved carefully, looking at the items on the desk. A metal filing cabinet was mostly empty as were the drawers of the desk. He was disappointed. Apparently, the office wasn't used.

The last door he tried, opened into a larger meeting space. It was set up with chairs around the walls and a dais at one end with a couple of larger chairs. It was obviously some kind of lodge or meeting room. Unlike all of the others he had been in, this one was bare. There were no symbols hanging, no pictures or artwork. He closed the door as she walked up to him.

"What did you find?"

"A room that looked like a living room. It had couches, chairs and tables. The next one was a dining room or conference room. Big table, lots of chairs. The last one, there, is a kitchen."

He looked around.

"Ok, second floor."

They moved up the stairs. She stumbled slightly on the stairs and reached out to grasp his arms to steady herself. He felt her hand, looked around at her and reached out to hold her.

"You ok?"

"Yeah, just took a bad step."

"I can't imagine why in those heels!"

He held her arm until they reached the top of the stairs.

"Ok, same drill."

She nodded and moved away. He hadn't reached his first door when he heard her.

"Steve. You better come look at this."

He wheeled around and hurried to where she stood in a doorway and looked over her shoulder. Inside was a complete medical exam room. Everything was there that you would find in a clinic. It was all white, stainless steel and sparkling.

"What the? Why do they have a doctor's office up here?"

He pulled the door shut and moved to the next door as she followed along. He opened it, flipped the light switch on and stood, amazed. That room was fitted as an interrogation room, complete with a real jail cell in the back. He turned out the light.

The next six doors they opened all yielded similar details. They found a room fitted luxuriously with a large round waterbed, mirrors everywhere, sofas and chairs...one of them looked like a huge tent, presumably a harem. Another room resembled a medieval dungeon. One was just an office with a large wooden executive desk and chair, book shelves and even books. One was a school room with chalkboards, desks and a teacher's desk.

One looked like a baby nursery except all of the furniture was adult sized, including a bassinet, high chair and even a play pen. The last one they opened, yielded a surprise. Expecting another strange appointed space, they found what appeared to be a high-tech video recording studio, complete with a control booth, cameras, lighting and sound equipment.

"Well, looks like someone likes remembrances of their escapades but I haven't seen any cameras in the rooms. Have you heard about any blackmail schemes lately?"

"No. The vice guys haven't said anything."

"Put a bug in a couple of their ears that they should be on the watch for blackmail operations using video tape of sexual activities."