Amber Witt was still getting ready for work when she heard three sharp knocks on the apartment's door, so she waited for her husband Greg to get it. When the knocks came again, sharp and efficient, she was instantly exasperated. She hollered, "Honey, someone's at the door. Can you get that?"
Amber held the eyeliner pencil away from her for a moment and breathed steadily through her nose, staring at her own fuming face in the mirror. Her eyes flashed dangerously and red color rose in her cheeks and spread down across her heaving décolletage. She didn't know why she had to tell him; he could hear the doorbell just as clearly, and yet it wasn't until she said something that she heard him scamper from his desk in the office to the front door. Plus, he knew this morning was a big deal for her. Slowly the storm cloud passed, leaving her at a steady simmer of annoyance. Amber finished applying her makeup and stood back from the vanity mirror, making sure she looked perfect. It wasn't necessary; she knew she looked damn good. Amber was tall, just shy of six feet, with long legs, curved hips, a small waist and perky C-cup breasts. They would've been bigger but she was an exercise freak and chose a flat stomach over heavy, swinging knockers. They still jiggled invitingly in her low-cut dresses and unbuttoned shirts, and that was good enough for government work.
On this day she was giving an important presentation to the biggest client her firm ever had, and she was dressed to impress. She wore her suit blazer and skirt set, navy blue with white trim, and her satin white blouse with the pearl buttons.
Amber didn't just have the body; she had the face to match. She had a long nose, thin elegant eyebrows over her bright green eyes, and auburn hair she wore in a severe pixie cut. The softest thing on her was her full and pouty mouth, which pouted even more when she walked into the kitchen and saw who sat at her table.
Three men waited patiently for her, and they all looked up at the sound of her high heels on the hardwood floor. The first was her husband Greg, looking even more nervous than usual and stirring his mug of coffee incessantly. The second was their chubby neck-bearded neighbor Spencer Knowles, and the sight of him slurping coffee through his wide fishy lips had Amber making a mental note to throw away the mug later. The third man, with his coffee clutched in one meaty fist, was a uniformed police officer. He gave her an efficient smile.
"Good morning, Mrs. Witt. I'm Officer Hank Grabowski and I wanted to ask you and your husband a few questions." He took a big swallow, then nodded toward the empty chair across from them.
Amber smiled apologetically. "I'm very sorry, but I'm giving an important presentation this morning and really must be going. I'm sure Greg will be able to clear anything up."
"Sorry, but it really must be both of you. I just have a few questions. Please, have a seat."
Amber glanced at her watch and sighed, then caught herself and decided that a little less visible annoyance might go a long way. She pulled out the empty chair and adjusted her blazer as she sat so that her tits were pointing right at the officer, and when she sat she lined up her legs the same way. She crossed them with deliberate carelessness, letting the skirt ride high on her pantyhose-clad thighs.
The officer, a broad man with a strong chin and warm brown eyes, obviously liked what he saw and he didn't try to hide his appreciation. Unfortunately, Spencer liked what he saw too. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him adjusting himself inside his loose cargo shorts and felt a shiver go through her perfectly poised body. That was when Amber noticed the box that sat on the table in front of the officer. It was about the size of a shoebox but printed on the side was HARRIS COLLECTIBLE ACTION FIGURES, which meant one thing to her: this box that now sat on her pristine dining room table had originated in her slovenly neighbor's apartment. She resisted further shivers, and the desire to dry heave.
Officer Grabowski opened a notepad and clicked his ballpoint pen. "Alright Mr. and Mrs. Witt, how long have you lived here?"
"Um, about a year and a half," Greg answered hesitantly, then looked at her as if he wasn't sure. Amber nodded, and internally rolled her eyes at her hamster of a husband.
"And you moved from Pittsburgh, correct?"
"Yes," Amber spoke up. "I secured a position at a marketing firm downtown, The Murphy Group." she paused for him to recognize the name and be impressed, "and Greg works remotely for a software company in Toronto. So he could work basically anywhere."
"I see. How do you like it here in San Diego?"
"Oh, like any city there are downsides," Amber cast an unsubtle glance in Spencer's direction. This cop came off as a real alpha male type, the kind of guy who grew up walking all over nerds like her neighbor, and her husband for that matter. She imagined she and Officer Grabowski had a shared disregard for pathetic beta males. "But overall we're quite pleased. Aren't we honey?"
"Oh yes," Greg beamed.
"Hey, that's great." The large policeman picked up his coffee and had another long sip, then pointed at the red band that encircled Amber's wrist. "Are you in the menstruation phase of your cycle?"
Amber was caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic but recovered quickly. "No, um, follicular. Which is great because we're trying to have a baby so we get very hopeful when I'm fertile. Maybe this month, honey." She reached across the table and took Greg's hand. He gave her a warm squeeze and nodded eagerly. Good boy.
Spencer made a sniffing sound, as if he had stifled a laugh, and Amber fixed him with a cold stare. Before she could wonder what that was about, Officer Grabowski continued. "How long have you been trying?"
"Almost six months," she responded confidently, squinting for a moment as if to double-check her math.
"I'm sure you know your neighbor Mr. Knowles," Grabowski motioned to the man sitting beside him, and Amber was dismayed to see a delighted smile spread across Spencer's chubby cheeks. Grabowski wasn't looking at either of them; he had lifted the top off the box and set it aside, looking into it as if it held bad news. "Last week Mr. Knowles came to me with some very disturbing information, and I was hoping you could help me sort it out."
"OK." Amber uncrossed her legs and sat forward in her seat, trying to see what was inside the box. She didn't completely give up her flirtatious advantage though: she ran one hand inside the open collar of her shirt as if to adjust her necklace, and spread the material to expose the swell of her breast in her lacy bra cup.
The officer pulled a thick stack of photographs out of the box, removed the rubber band that bound them and fanned them out in front of Amber. Greg craned his head to see, and Amber's mouth went dry.
"Can you verify these are all photos of you, Mrs. Witt?" Officer Grabowski asked.
