This story has the same protagonist as Undercover Cop: Captured, but the events here take place before that operation, so our detective is not yet traumatised. Most of the character's description has been copied from the other story, so that readers do not need to check there in order to learn who Angelica is.
I changed the perspective in this story to first person, because I think it fits the storyline much better.
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INTRODUCTION
My name is Angelica Cox and I am a homicide detective. The main reason I did not become a fighter was because I am too smart. I have the posture, strength and tenacity, but my brain would simply not have enough challenges in a ring, no matter the sport. Which job is adequate when you are strong AND smart? Twenty year old Angel had thought that joining the police sounded like a good idea. Ten years later detective Cox thinks it had been an awesome idea!
Since we mentioned... Cox. Having a last name the same as a Hollywood/TV celebrity is cool, right? Well, maybe in Hollywood, where sexual services for directors or producers in exchange for a role are customary (unless these men prefer little boys), being named "COCKS' is fine. It is a completely different matter in the police, where a day without a sexual joke or innuendo is considered wasted. Exchanges like the one below were pretty common.
"Hey, Cocks! Do you like 'em Big and Black?"
"I might've, but your mother hoards them all."
But I was born standing tall and talking back, so I was in my element. I could not imagine being a Hollywood prostitute (also known as an actress), just with a different kind of currency. And when I stood, I was indeed tall.
I am a real amazon, 180 centimetres tall, athletic body, broad shoulders, full firm round buttocks from infinite number of squats, endless powerful legs and surprisingly large natural D-cup breasts, which looked perfectly sized for my wide chest. Complete the look with a gorgeous (but not angelic) face, large round blue eyes, long thick wavy blonde hair and you'll get a detective that does not look like one at all. But just like Colombo had used his clumsiness and scruffy appearance to his advantage, so did I with my sexbomb looks. No-one expected a big brain to go with such a body; they were all in for a surprise.
Double surprise even, because I took as much care of my body as of my mind. I regularly worked out hard, stretched twice a day and practised martial arts. I became a warrior after all, but not a mindless gladiator serving only for the purpose of entertaining equally mindless crowds. I was fighting for law and order, however grandiloquent that may sound.
My outfits did not exactly follow the dress code of my work place. Short skirts, high heels, tight pants, deep cleavages - I wore them all and almost miraculously never got in any serious trouble with my superiors. Of course there were some who claimed that my entire career was based on sexual favours, but they simply envied my good looks and intellect.
I am still single and do not have any mid-term plans of changing that status. I am aware that I have a difficult character, narcissistic personality and am as much dedicated to personal improvement as to my work. A relationship would only get in the way. That does not mean I shy away from men, quite the opposite; I have a stable company of friends with benefits with whom I regularly meet. I prefer to avoid "romancing" with colleagues, but I am not completely against that idea. I am not a "never say never" kind of person though, after all I had said "Never!" to drugs; there was enough excitement in my life (including sex), so I do not need any artificial supplements. "Drugs are for stupid people'' is my motto and I hate stupid people.
INVESTIGATION
Another day, another homicide, another investigation. I might have made it sound boring or mundane, so don't get me wrong, I love my job and the challenge that comes with unravelling the truth. Unfortunately my partner was sick and because of staff shortages I would need to solve this case on my own. It did not bother me too much, I had full confidence in my own abilities.
The place where the body had been found added spice to the investigation. The building hosted a restaurant, a hotel and a luxurious apartment; it all belonged to Michael Bradford. More than once Mr Bradford had been suspected of illegal activities like gambling, money laundering, drug trafficking and pimping, but neither of the cases had enough evidence to put him behind bars. Those were all small fries compared to homicide, and while Mr Bradford was not a suspect yet, it would be a significant achievement to prove his guilt. But I was getting ahead of myself; I had to be observant and methodical, these were the methods to a successful investigation, not wishful thinking.
By the time I arrived at the place the cops had already secured the crime scene.
"What have you got, Johnson?" were my first words to the officer at the spot.
That might sound impolite, but there was a reason for such behaviour. Long time ago, even before I became a policewoman, people of the precinct had decided to skip the 'Good morning' part when there was a dead body present.
"White, middle-aged man. Seems to have been shot in the chest. Employees of the restaurant found the body," officer Johnson told me what else he had learnt so far.
Jerry, because that was his first name, was still young, a few years younger than me, but a really good cop. The only thing unprofessional about his behaviour was his gaze. As he talked he eyed my body from head to toe; I ignored that, because it was our little game. To be specific my outfit was far from being professional either, as usual.
I was wearing a white blouse which might have been considered classy, if not for the cleavage which offered a generous glimpse of my large breasts. My brown leather skirt was too short to be called professional either, it reached almost to the middle of my thighs, so I guess it could be called decent. It paired really well with the knee-high boots on ten centimetre tall block heels and light jacket, both also made of brown leather. My legs were covered in sheer tan pantyhose. Some might say that this outfit was more suitable for a night out, but that was my style for work. I looked hot and I knew it, but that would not stop me from conducting an investigation, quite the opposite.
I listened attentively to Johnson as he led me towards the body.
"You said he was shot," I remarked when we got there.
"Just my initial observation. The coroner is on his way."
"There's no blood. If he was shot it didn't happen here."
"Someone moved the body?"
"Might be. Show me the witnesses."
The employees were waiting to be interrogated in the kitchen; as Johnson led me there we were joined by HIM. I have heard of Michael Bradford, but I had never seen any of his photos, yet when he approached us I was certain we were dealing with the owner of the entire establishment. He was tall, athletic and ridiculously handsome; he could look me in the eye when I was in high heels which was not common. Mr Bradford was immaculately dressed, but more importantly he oozed masculinity and confidence. If not for the fact that I was a detective and had an equally strong character I might have fallen for his charm right there and then.
"Mr Bradford, I presume?" I asked.
"That's right. And who is this beautiful lady being escorted by the police?" he said with a charming smile.
