"Inspector, the reports from the lab just came and Dr Ramirez personally told me to deliver these to you. He said he had some urgent personal business to attend to," said the mousy lab assistant. She didn't look Cyrus in the eye and was fidgeting on the spot, hoping to be let off soon. Detective Inspector Cyrus Threadgill was also called 'The Silencer' by his colleagues because of his ability to drive even the most eloquent officer to silence and tears with his harsh words.
Cyrus raised his eyebrows, waved his hand as a gesture for her to leave and began to shuffle through the report. Whatever Theron had told him earlier had been confirm by the actual post-mortem. The head wound killed him almost instantly. Then why the show with the shot to the heart and testicles?
Cyrus frowned and decided he will have to read through the report in detail later on. He needed to first talk to his other officers working on the case to see if they had come up with any leads to bring him a step closer to some answers.
On the top of the list was an interrogation with their lead suspect- Mrs. Sybilla Wilde. Cyrus didn't think that the demure Mrs. Wilde was capable of doing such gruesome act; knock herself senseless only to wake up, grieving like the bereaved widow she is now. It just didn't make sense. The blood was sprayed on her clothes as well, meaning that she must have been standing behind the victim. Yet she claims that she did not remember anything.
From the corner of his eyes, Cyrus spotted a brunette frisking by; turning his head a slight angle, he spotted her.
She looked better than she did the other time. In her crisp business suit and tight chignon bun, she didn't look like she was about to ask for his number.
"Detective Threadgill?" her tone wasn't enquiring but one seeking confirmation.
"Yes, Ma'am," Cyrus replied, the curiosity in his voice unmistakable.
"What the hell have you done, you sick bastard?" she hollered; slapping her palm on the desk in front of him.
Heads turned and a scarlet flush crept up his face.
"Cy, with that hot head, you're on your own" said a detective to his direction.
Rolling his eyes, Cyrus grabbed her hand and led her out of the building. He could feel her eyes burning holes into him. Those whiskey eyes... and her scent were sending his blood boiling.
"Inspector, what do you think you're doing by putting my client in custody without seeking my advice? Who do you think you are? Oh, she has her rights and I will make sure she gets them!" Eulalie managed to shoot her venom even though she appeared to be smiling at him.
Amused yet surprised to be spoken to in that tone, Cyrus simply stared at her, contemplating his next course of action.
In the sunlight, her hair actually had streaks of blond in them and beneath her powder; he could see her pretty freckles spread across her cheeks. He never understood why but he always found freckles cute. Cyrus didn't know what exactly about her that intrigued him. But before he could stop himself, he blurted, "Why don't you have coffee with me?"
Eulalie stopped in her tracks and turned her perfectly heeled feet to face him. Her eyes flickered over his body for a moment; her eyes showing the contemplation going through her mind. Sashaying boldly to his side; she stood merely inches from him and whispered to his ear, "I like to make my own moves."
Stepping back, she smiled and said, "Why don't we discuss this over lunch? I have a proceeding in two hours and I need to fill up my stomach."
To the world, his face did not register a single flicker of emotion, but in his head, Cyrus was practically in hysterics. This woman is something, he thought. Never in his twenty-eight years did her ever meet a white girl he didn't consider too boring or demure. Whatever he saw in Sybilla that night, Eulalie clearly was the opposite.
***
"So Detective, tell me, did my sister not request for me to be present for her interrogation as I have instructed?" she asked, taking a spoonful of pasta into her mouth. Cyrus caught himself staring at her mouth and almost didn't hear the question.
"She did not Ms. Duras," he replied, smiling to himself as a wave of confusion and embarrassment washed over her.
She was silent for a moment. Cyrus figured she was possibly trying to put forth an argument or trying to see if there were other cracks that she could attack him with. He knew that his office called him 'The Silencer', yet in the current situation he was in, he did not appreciate this silence that was growing between them.
"I was on the Police Force scholarship to major in law at Columbia. So whatever you're thinking of doing, over this meal; just stop at the thinking part. This is my move now," said Cyrus as he leaned over the table and set his mouth on hers.
He kept his eyes open and saw the shock register in her widened eyes. Almost as swiftly as his lips had touched hers, he pulled back and leaned back on the chair. As if on impulse, she wiped her mouth with the napkin provided and glared at him.
"Don't ever do that to me again. I will sue your freaking black ass and the entire police department if I have to. Is that understood?" the anger in her voice was unmistakable. Cyrus merely smiled, enjoying the game he was playing.
"Sure, if that's your move," he replied and got up; tipping an imaginary hat in her direction, he walked back to his office. He was positively sure that she was seething mad right now.
*** Sitting in her car, Eulalie frowned, thinking about the exchange she had with that incorrigible Inspector. She never fell into silence and was never undermined as she was at that dining table. Oh, he thought he was so hot and macho in his black tailored pants and neatly pressed shirts. She bet that his mother still ironed them for him.
Oh, she did not notice his cute butt or his light tuff of brown curls. Oh, she certainly did not also notice his torso which was muscled and lean from all that training. Eulalie hated herself for not noticing all those things. But she hated herself most for not noticing that bulge between his thighs. Was it true about what they said about black men? Eulalie shuddered.
"FINE! I'm in denial, damn it!" she shouted to no one in particular. Lucky for her, she was in her car and no one was within her range.
***
An hour later, during her courtroom proceedings... Eulalie was in her top form. She buried thoughts of Cyrus to the extreme corners of her mind. She was told that the Judge had been called in specifically for this case that she was handling. She was not sure of his leniency and was not willing to risk sending the criminal she was prosecuting back on the streets too easily.
He was a difficult one; he did not want to hear so much of what she wanted to say but wanted to hear from the accused himself what he thought was the proper punishment that he deserved. What a nerve!
"Your Honor! This is outrageous. I seriously believe that the accused should at least be sentenced to..." Eulalie began to demand. But the Judge simply cut her in mid sentence.
"No, Miss Duras. Let him finish," was all he said. Eulalie was fuming. That was twice in a day that she was being silenced by men!
At the end of the hearing, she watched her prosecuted being escorted to his detainment area with only half the sentence that she would have preferred him to have. Walking towards the exit, Eulalie heard snippets of conversations concerning the great Judge Travelli. According to her, he is a prick; just like that Inspector.
***
In the comfort and isolation of her office, Eulalie locked the doors and turned down the blinds. Leaning her head back on her chair, she closed her eyes.
She could still taste his lips on hers. They tasted mildly of his sweat and faintly of the coffee that he was drinking. He smelled so purely male and characteristically primal that she was afraid he might devour her if she did not watch her guard.
Her legs rested itself on the table in front of her and subconsciously, she began toying with her silk panties. Her Mère would never allow any of her daughters to wear anything but matching undergarments made from the finest material. She was a true French woman and wanted her daughters to be culturally informed.
But suddenly, she felt grateful for her mother's insistence on beautiful lingerie. She imagined Cyrus's fingers finding such a soft material at her most private parts. Would he be appreciative of them? She figured that he probably liked something different in his women. He seemed like a difficult man to please.
Smiling to herself, Eulalie inserted one finger into her pussy. She found it to be already wet. She felt a twinge of shame and of surprise to know how much he affected her. Slowly drawing out the wetness, she massaged her clit and began to fondle her breast through her blouse. She wondered if it was true that black men had big cocks. She never dated them because her Mère disallowed it. But after that kiss, she started wondering if she would ever satisfy her curiosity.
Just thinking of his cock made her rub her clit more vigorously. Releasing her blouse buttons and unhooking her bra, Eulalie began to play with her nipples as she massaged herself to an orgasm.
When it came, Eulalie had to bite her shoulder to prevent the scream from escaping beyond her room walls. She was shuddering from such an intense orgasm; something she never experienced before just from masturbation. She figured the black cop thing was kind of kinky and turned her on more than she would admit.
