Case 321

by Shiralyn J. Lee

  Case 321

  By

  Shiralyn J. Lee

  Case #1 in the Paige Bleu series.

  Copyright 2013 Case 321 by Shiralyn J. Lee. Case 321 is the sole property of the author and under no circumstances is this work allowed to be reproduced or sold on any unsolicited site. Please be aware of the piracy laws and the consequences that can occur from committing such a crime.

  This book is written in the lesbian genre and contains lesbian sex and strong language.

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Author Bio

  Published Books

  Introduction

  Paige Bleu is an investigating agent, who tracks down dangerous criminals with the help of her partner, Emily. After undergoing a six month leave from work, due to a gunshot wound and severe injuries, Paige is ready to go back to work. Her first case hits home as she finds herself connecting with the victim of a sexual predator. Can she and her partner track down the perpetrator and save another girl from the hands of this madman?

  Chapter One

  Today is going to be a new start for me. I’ve been off work for six months and three days, recovering from an injury that I thought had taken me away from everything that I believed in. Several appointments with the shrink, and a month in the hospital, had given me time to convalesce. I’d taken a bullet for my partner Emily, and then the bastard who shot me, drove his car right at me, causing injury to my left leg. All I could hear were tires screeching, Emily screaming for me to move out of the way and then my own deafening scream. My leg was fractured in several places. But the most important point in all of this is that I saved Emily’s life. She had been his target and I jumped out in front of her, taking the shot directly in my shoulder, causing me to smack down over the hood of the car before being slung on to the tarmac, hitting it with great force.

  Robert Clemens, the perpetrator, managed to drive another half mile before he was spotted by a police unit out on patrol. There was a high speed chase through the city, with three county police cars hot on his trail. He drove as if death was the only option he had. A few minutes later he was pronounced dead at the scene. Taking a corner too fast, his brakes failed to work. He injured two women and killed a small dog as the car rolled over twice, finally being stopped during its third flip, by a street light. Death was far too good for him. I wanted him to suffer for the crimes that he had committed, crimes that only someone like me could handle. Most of my cases consisted of sick fucks, tracking down child killers and rapists. Robert Clemens had raped several women, tortured them and left them for dead. One girl, 18 year old Sarah Whitmore, died in the hospital an hour after she’d been found in an alley way. She had been beaten, raped and stabbed. It was her death that caused media uproar, not that they hadn’t been publicizing the case to begin with, but Sophie was the first to die from the hands of this monster. Emily had put herself up for bait so we could catch him. She began to frequent the same bars and clubs that the other victims had been picked up in. Two weeks of surveillance, working constant night shifts and checking out every single male who walked into the clubs, paid off. When Robert turned up on a cold wet Friday night, I waited in the car right outside the club entrance, whilst Emily sat at the bar waiting to be picked up. As soon as she saw him, she just knew he was our target. She’d come across his file before and recognized him immediately. He had raped a girl back in 2001. Emily worked the case and was hot on his trail when he fled, leaving no trace of his whereabouts. Her eyes lit up when she clocked his presence.

  She text me, that it was him. Playing it cool, she enticed him to go outside, find somewhere private that they could be alone. But he wasn’t stupid, he knew that she was working for the law and his plan was to take her out. That’s when I came in to the picture and got taken down.

  ♦♦♦

  My girlfriend Kate has been quite patient with me lately, putting up with my annoying mood swings and ridiculous tantrums that form out of the blue. But that’s not the real me. I don’t have tendencies to behave like an immature teenager. I’ve been throwing these moods ever since I got out of the hospital and I know it’s because I’ve been bored and frustrated. I’m a workaholic, a slave to the agency and I keep a strict regime to work out daily and maintain my fit body. That was taken away from me briefly.

  I lay in bed next to Kate. She was still asleep. We’d made love last night, if that’s what it was supposed to be. It was the first time we’d been intimate in months, the last time being a week before I was injured. It felt unemotional though, as if we did it just to release our own sexual tension and didn’t really give a shit if the other got off from it. She’d chosen to sleep naked after our session and I couldn’t help but notice how slender and silky her skin was. She was lay on her side with her back facing me, her long brown hair had swept across the pillow and I could smell the aroma of raspberry and vanilla from her shampoo. It smelt good. My fingers were just inches away from her body. I stretched them out ready to touch her, but instantaneously I retracted them back.

  5.30 am, the alarm went off, waking Kate from her deep sleep.

  “Hey, baby,” she said sleepily, turning over to face me and give me my morning kiss. “Are you excited that you’re going back to work today?”

  She placed her arm over my waist and positioned her head comfortably into my armpit. I kissed the top of her head and we lay there for another ten minutes before I finally forced myself to get up.

  I showered quickly. Blow dried my hair and tied it back in a pony tail, drank a strong mug of freshly pressed coffee, kissed Kate, ate half a slice of buttered toast, kissed Kate again and then left for work.

  Sitting behind the wheel of my dark blue Chevy Suburban, I put my sunglasses on and then took a moment to think about starting the vehicle. My confidence had been broken when I was taken down and I knew I’d have to fight this demon if I wanted to recover from it.

  The palms of my hands had become clammy and my nerves were slightly on edge. I gripped the wheel hard and stared directly ahead. This was the first time that I had to drive since my recovery.

  The street was clear of any traffic, including pedestrians. We lived in a Cul-de-sac, eight other houses, four on each side of us, had been built, each one identical to the next. A front door consisting mainly of small glass panels, a porch, two large windows on the ground level and two slightly smaller sized windows on the upper floor, all looking out onto a small patch of rich green grass, a concrete driveway and a few shrubs that needed little care and attention.

  We were the odd ones out, being that we were a lesbian couple and every other household in the street consisted of straight couples either married or co-habituating and all of them with small children. But it was a safe haven to live in.

  “This is ridiculous,” I told myself, trying to forget how vulnerable I was felling.

  I started the car and just as I was about to pull out of the driveway, my phone rang, startling me.

  “Hi, Emily, I’m on my way,” I quickly said.

  “Hi, stranger, I thought I’d just check in with you,” she said. Her voice sounded excited, probably because we were to work together again.

  “Ok, well I’m coming in. See you in a short while.” I put my phone back inside my jacket pocket and began my journey in to the city.

  One good thing about my Chevy was that leather seats added so much extra comfort. Although the distance from my house to the office was a little over ten miles, the drive itself would almost certainly take me an hour to get through the city.

  Chapter Two


  I entered my code 78415 on the door keypad, to gain entry to the building. Victor Love, guard and security watchman, sat at his post in front of his computer terminal inside the lobby. I knew as much about him as he did, email account; victormlove@secure.com, password; Lillianlovesme, originally from Palm Springs CA, Born September 20 1959. He drives a silver 2005 Chrysler Sebring. I know his home phone number, mobile number, his wife’s number. That man couldn’t take a shit without me knowing about it.

  “Welcome back, Miss. Bleu, it’s so nice to see, and looking so well too,” he said, greeting me with his usual smile.

  “Thank you, Victor, it feels good to be back.” I smiled pleasantly at him, and then headed for the elevator, situated in the center of the lobby.

  The outside walls were made from black granite and polished metal, framed the elevator doors. The doors themselves were a highly polished stainless steel and allowed me to view my reflection. Staring back at me was a tall woman, mousey blonde hair, standing confidently and wearing a very expensive black Versace suit. I was not the sort of person to mess around with, not if you wanted to walk for the rest of your life.

  I pressed the button and waited for the doors to open, and then stepped inside the five foot metal box. Four lights, recessed into the ceiling light up the small space. The entire cubicle was lined with polished chrome with a hand bar running around three of the walls. The floor was tiled with a biscuit color, enabling the light from above to bounce and reflect around the tiny space.

  The doors closed and I pressed the button for the fifth floor. The elevator was silent as it made its way up past the other levels. I hardly even noticed that it had moved.

  The doors opened and I walked out into the corridor, turning left, Cheri Bourque was approaching me. The heels on her black stiletto shoes tapped annoyingly on the white marble floor as she swayed her curvy hips like a tart. She wore a pencil skirt that hugged tightly onto her thighs, and her pea green top with its ugly large frill around the neckline, showed way too much cleavage. She had boob job three years ago. She denied this, of course, and said that they were naturally large, firm mounds. A few of us had a bet going, so I had an investigator colleague check this out…she had a boob job alright, and it was paid for by her secret lover, no other than, Jeremy Dorn. He works on the floor above. They both think that their affair has been very discreet, this is an investigation agency, everyone who’s anyone knows about everyone’s business. They’ve been fucking for eight months, two weeks and five days. The first time was in Jeremy’s office. He had her bent over his oak desk and took her from behind. His wife’s picture that normally sat to left side of his desk had been knocked to the ground. Cheri told him to fuck her until she went insane. How do I know this, I hear you ask? Men like to talk about their sexual conquests. I got him drunk, promised him I’d let him in on a lesbian secret if he told me his darkest secret. He spilled everything about Cheri. I even knew the description of her underwear she wore that night. He passed out at the bar. As if I was going to give him any info on my sex life with Kate, hell no.

  “Hello, Paige,” she said insincerely. She looked me up and down taking great care to make sure that I saw her reaction to my chosen footwear. So what if I liked the manly choice of boots. They’re comfortable, hardwearing and I can chase down any sick fuck with ease, should the situation arise.

  “Cheri,” I replied calmly, giving her a knowing nod. I on the other hand, remained expressionless. She was not going to get any further recognition from me. I already had enough visuals in my head. She carried on walking past me, her hips swaying, her chest stuck out as far as she could push it, an attempt to seduce me sexually, no doubt. But her act didn’t work on me, I prefer my girls honest, bright, classy; you get what I’m saying.

  I walked to the end of the corridor and then turned left. My office was a few doors down.

  Opening the door, I was greeted by an overly excited partner. Her smile was enough to tell me how much she was grateful to have me back on the job.

  “Paige, I just want to say thank you,” she said fast, hardly able to catch her breath. She presented me with a bunch of flowers that she’d been holding behind her back. Not that I didn’t know that she had them, I could smell their scent as soon as she walked into the room.

  “Well I just love yellow roses, so thank you, Emily, and there’s nothing to thank me for. We both knew what we were getting into.”

  “How’s Kate, I hope the pair of you managed to recoup some alone time together,” she smirked.

  “Kate is Kate. I’m not sure that anything has changed between us over the last few months. It’s been pretty strenuous with the added pressure of me stuck at home and getting on her nerves, as well as she has got on mine,” I informed her.

  “Paige, welcome back. Can I see the pair of you in my office, say in five,” Mike asked, as he popped his head through the doorway. He was our boss. A bit of a tough nut at times, but he always knew when to show compassion.

  We walked into Mike’s office exactly five minutes later. He was sat behind his glass desk; it had been specially made for him and imported from the UK, an anniversary gift from his wife. Behind him, a large window that spanned across the entire wall, practically offered a panoramic view of the city. He looked comfortable sitting in his black leather executive chair, rifling through a document as he peered through his gold rimmed glasses. They made him look older than his age, 43. He was the type of guy who dressed ten years ahead of himself but still came across smart and confident. He always wore his mousy blond hair with a few strands of gray, parted on the left and I don’t think that I’ve ever seen him without a tie.

  “Again, Paige, it’s good to see you back. So how’s Kate?” he said, looking up at me, half smiling whilst pointing at the two chairs in front of him for us to sit down.

  “Why the fuck is everyone asking about Kate? She’s the same old Kate that she’s always been, can we please just get on with it!” I slammed. My outburst had been unwarranted, but I felt as though talking about Kate before I’ve even been in the building for more than five minutes was enticing a bitter sweet mood with me. We had issues and I wasn’t quite feeling in the mood for fluffy talk about the Mrs.

  “Ok, no need for the outburst, Paige. So there’s a case that I’d prefer the two of you take on. There’s a young woman who’s been taken into care. She hasn’t spoken a word in the two weeks that she’s been there. She was found tied up like a dog in a back garden in Church Street, East Highlands.”

  “Found, as in…” Emily questioned his vagueness.

  “It’s all here, in her file. I’m sure that you’ll both go over it very carefully.” He closed the folder and threw it down on his desk in front of Emily. The case number, 321.

  Chapter Three

  We read through the documented notes and viewed the supporting photos. There wasn’t too much information about the girl, apart from the address where she’d been found, the neighbor’s name who had reported seeing her and the doctor’s written evaluation. It was evident that she had been brutally raped and beaten. There were even signs of torture from cigarette burns and scars, presumed to be from a knife blade or similar object. Psychiatric reports stated that she couldn’t, or wouldn’t talk, but that her perception was extremely agile.

  The house in which she had been rescued from had been the property of Kathleen Speight, but the report showed that she had passed away several years ago, leaving the house and all her personal belongings to her 39 year old son, James Speight.

  The girl, who is nameless and only known as case 321, had been tied to a length rope by a leather collar that had been placed around her neck. The leather had been glued at the buckle to prevent her from removing it. She was outside in the lower part of the grounds, away from the house and any suspecting neighbors. There was a small shed that she was able to use as shelter and only a blanket and two bowls, one filled with water and the other with pieces of chicken.

  She had drawn attention to herself when
she began to howl like a coyote. The howling went on for hours and the neighbor, Rodney Brown, had gone to the end of his grounds to see what all the noise was about. He immediately called the authorities when he caught site of the girl.

  The police report showed that she has signs of neglect and that it was possible that she may have lived this way for quite some time. She showed signs of aggressiveness and growled, even tried to bite the officers as they came to her rescue.

  It was evident that she had not bathed in quite some time. Her hair was matted and infested with lice. Her body was caked in filth. Her toilet facility was none existent and her teeth in dire need of dentistry. She was extremely underweight and malnourished. The overall finding was that the subject was on the brink of starvation.

  She is currently under Dr. supervision at, The Delia Miring Center at Harrington Hospital where she is undergoing health and mental assessments.

  James Speight had not been seen around in the immediate days leading up to finding the girl and there is in place an APB out on him.

  “We need to talk to the neighbor, what was his name?” Emily asked, quickly scanning through the document again.

  “Rodney Brown,” I answered her, before she could find his name.

  “How can you live so close to a neighboring house and not see or hear that there’s something going on? I mean, are people that callous about another living being, did this guy choose to turn a blind eye, knowing that this girl was at the mercy of a madman?” Emily reeled off.

  “This is what we need to find out,” I told her.

  Our first priority was to pay a visit to the girl. We had to find out if she really couldn’t talk or if she had just become so withdrawn that she was afraid to speak. She may have been conditioned by this sick fuck to stay silent during her trauma. If he was as much of a monster as my imagination was portraying him right at this moment, then she would have nothing else to fear. She would have experienced the most devastating, immoral act that anyone could have performed on her, and now having a group of strangers poke and prod her and throw questions at her, may possibly have an adverse effect.