“Figure it out! Now, out! Both of you.” He pointed to his door and waited for them both to exit.
Fuming Martinez made her way to the break room and the cup of tea she hoped would calm her, but was not surprised when she heard Lampard enter. They said nothing to each other but busied themselves making tea. Martinez was about to leave when Lampard suddenly spoke.
“I think we could do a lot of good working together, as best as you can I would appreciate you giving me a fair opportunity at being a part of this team.”
Martinez did not turn to look at her. “As long as you get that we are not friends and there will never again be anything intimate between us, I am ok with that.”
She didn’t wait for Lampard to respond, but instead made her way to Manning we had a paper folder in his hand waving at her.
“Ok, so I narrowed the suspect list down to nine people in the building who work in the medical field- nurses, doctors and three pharmacists.”
“Any luck with the girls,” she asked.
“Chances are you won’t get an identification. What I know of the Farmer is that he chose his victims randomly. Of the nine bodies he left behind in California, seven of them were later found to be street girls who would never have been missed to begin with.” Lampard explained.
“How did the Bureau identify those girls?” Martinez asked her.
She could see a spark in Lampard’s eye at the fact that she was directing a question to her.
“We did a facial reconstruction then took to the streets around the area the bodies were found. Most of those girls turned out to be from out of town with little to no connection where they worked.”
Martinez told her thanks and walked away, heading for the elevator. Manning exchanged a confused look with Lampard before he shrugged and went back to the footage from the apartment- he was trying to narrow their suspect list down based on who went up on the roof.
* * *
“Anything for me yet?” Martinez asked walking into the room decorated with the weed covered bodies pulled from the crime scene.
“Oh how I missed you coming here to rush my work,” Sharon said sarcastically to her.
Martinez would have had some quick comeback for the remark and Sharon didn’t miss the fact that she did not.
“You ok?” Sharon asked her.
Martinez looked at the woman who stared at her in concern and for the first time saw her for more than a cute, bronzed skin and smoking hot medical examiner. She saw her as the friend she could be, but Martinez was not at that point yet, so as much as she instinctively wanted to say she was not, she smiled said yes then waited patiently for Sharon to tell her what she had found.
“ Well, I ran a tox-screen on all the victims and I found the one common factor. They were all in a diabetic coma.”
“What?” she asked not sure she understood what Sharon was saying.
“All these girls had diabetes, so to keep them alive your killer induced a diabetic coma and continued to feed them a solution that was pure sugar and water. They were all kept alive for about two or three weeks before their bodies gave out. And based on decomposition we can tell who was the first victim.” With that Sharon pointed to the woman she was working on, then at the others.
“If he was going to use them as fertilizer why would he need to keep them alive?”
“Because,” Lampard said from behind her and Martinez again closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “He was playing God. He enjoyed the feel of being in control of whether or not they lived and how their bodies were used. We are likely looking for a man who had Mommy issues or was constantly treated as less than by the women around him.”
“And the diabetes,” Martinez asked opening her eyes.
“It’s likely he worked somewhere where these women would come in to fill prescriptions and he figured they would be easy to subdue. Or it could also be a connection to his personal life. Maybe a woman who was important to him died after being in a diabetic coma.”
Martinez listened keenly to what the woman said then called Manning to ask him to check if any of the suspects had diabetes or had relatives who recently died from complications from diabetes. By the time she got off the phone Sharon and Lampard were deep in conversation about the stages of decomposition and the genius behind the way the killer had preserved and then use the bodies as a nutrient bed.
She thought they were both deranged. Martinez drew the line at admiring genius that resulted in mass murders.
“Did your lab finish the facial reconstruction,” she interrupted their conversation, glaring at Lampard whose smile disappeared immediately.
“They are almost done,” Sharon said and gestured to the technical lab across from her.
“Mind if I go take a look?” Lampard asked.
Martinez immediately jumped on the opportunity to get rid of the woman from her space. “No, not a problem? Can you bring me copies when they are done?” she asked trying to make her eagerness seem as if it actually had something to do with the job.
For the first time all day Lampard’s grey eyes stared at her, but it was with hurt. And Martinez recognized it immediately, as the woman tried to smile at Sharon and walked into the other room.
“Not cool!” Sharon shouted at her pinching her arm as punishment as soon as Lampard was out of earshot.
“Ouch!”
“Why are you being so mean to the woman? Don’t you think she feels bad about Connelly’s death too? We all do!” Sharon glared at her. “And we get that he was your best friend, but you have to let her off the hook, she is not to be blamed.”
Martinez sighed, “I know.”
“Then what is your problem? She is being helpful and I have watched you all day shove her away and be downright rude every time she tries to help with the investigation. You are being an emotional girl and it’s affecting your work, so stop!”
Martinez knew what she was saying was true, but she had no idea how to stop. She didn’t hate Lampard, she wasn’t even sure that Connelly’s death was the reason she still resented her so much.
As if reading her thoughts Sharon asked, “Or is there something else you are not telling me about?”
Martinez didn’t answer, she simply went into the room where Lampard stood waiting on the pictures and resigned herself to trying to be nicer. They walked in tense silence back to the elevator when they were finished, pinned the pictures to the board in the precinct in silence, then took steps back and stared at them in silence.
Martinez wasn’t actually concentrating on the pictures though; Lampard’s presence beside her was a distracting one. She found that the minute she had decided to let the anger go she realized that her problem was the fear she had of connecting with this woman who intoxicated her at every turn. She became increasingly aware of Lampard beside her, the silent breaths and the way she played with the charm bracelet on her hand as she thought about the case. With that came the memory of the way she had felt in her arms.
“The Farmer is back,” came a sultry voice from behind them, interrupting her thoughts. They both turned to look at the woman who was dressed in black pencil foot jeans and shin high boots, a close fitting black top that showed her curves and cleavage. The woman had straight black hair that made her dark eyes more mysterious and a lazy sexy smile on her face that was directed at Lampard.
“Nicole?” Lampard gasped staring at the woman. “What are you doing here?”
The woman took a few confident steps, closing the gap between her and Lampard before kissing her on the forehead. “I heard my guy was down here wreaking havoc, and I missed you so I finally made use of a couple of my vacation days. I got permission to come give a hand, and seeing you was added incentive.”
“And you are?” Martinez asked feeling a bit of jealousy creep in.
“Hi, I am Special Agent Nicole Stanley. I worked on the case of the human Farmer a couple years ago.”
Martinez felt the answer was incomplete and she looked at Lampard waiting fo
r her to finish it.
Nicole caught the look between them and answered before Lampard could. “I am also her ex.”
Martinez smiled took a deep breath and walked off to make another cup of tea, mumbling to herself about the twisted jokes God loved to play on her, while begging forgiveness for any sins she committed in her previous life that warranted this form of divine retribution. She was convinced there was no other reason for her suffering.
Chapter 3
“Who is tall dark and deadly?” Manning asked her as she walked into the video room. He tipped his head to the woman with whom Lampard was engrossed in conversation.
Martinez did not answer the way she wanted to, again missing Connelly’s presence because with him she had not needed to filter her words.
“A colleague of Lampard’s,” she said trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“Looks more like her ex lover,” Manning chuckled. Martinez didn’t respond because she had worked long and hard for Manning and the other guys on the force to get over her sexuality when a crazy ex had made it known. They had levied sexist comments at her for months, and it was with painstaking diligence that she had gotten them to get over it. Every now and then someone would make some comment of the other and she would ignore them, but she was not so sure Lampard could. She had come to realize below the tough exterior she was as soft as putty.
Wait, why am I trying to protect her, Martinez thought to herself.
She chalked it up to not wanting the backlash to get to her and then went about looking through surveillance videos with Manning. It was some time after eight when he decided to call it a night, leaving her to go through what was left of the footage.
Their homicide floor was empty except for the few stragglers still putting their finishing touches to late paperwork. She glanced around for some sight of Lampard but couldn’t find her, and found herself wondering if she had gone home with her ex or something.
“Not your business,” Martinez said to herself and turned back to the footage where for the third time in less than two hours the same man came from outside the building and headed to the roof top.
“What’s not your business?” Lampard asked from behind her.
Martinez turned in surprise smashing her knee against the foot of the desk and howling in pain. Lampard rushed over to her and gently massaged the spot, before they both knew what was happening.
Martinez quickly pulled her leg away and placed her attention once more on the screen.
“I think I found something,” she said to Lampard pointing at the screen. “So from the footage we can see this is a community garden, almost every resident has visited the garden and left with something at one point or the other, but sadly there are no cameras pointed at the garden itself. But this man,” she tapped the screen, “under two hours he has gone to the roof three times, each time with a duffel bag.”
“Can you see his face?” Lampard asked
“No, it is clear that he is familiar with the building and where all the cameras are. The cap hides his face and he never walks head on in the direction where any cameras are.”
“Smart,” Lampard said, “But not smart enough.”
Martinez watched her pull her phone out and dialled someone. “Are you busy?” Lampard asked the person who answered. “I need to use your software for a body ID.”
Lampard hung up the phone and then told her to hang on for about ten minutes. Lampard explained that he must have been in the building some other time dressed some other way, and FBI software could use his body features to tell who he is.
While they waited Martinez tried as best as she could to focus all her attention on the footage, making notes on a notepad and ignoring the fact that Lampard was seated so close to her.
“Are we going to keep doing this?” Lampard asked her.
“Yes, I had enough vacation so I intend to stay here working on the footage all night.”
Lampard sighed, “That’s not what I am talking about.”
Martinez glanced at her momentarily, “What are you talking about then?” She asked before going back to the footage in front of her.
“Us.” Came the hesitant response.
“There is no us,” Martinez responded curtly and had she looked at Lampard she would have seen her flinched with sadness in her eyes.
“You know what I mean,” Lampard whispered.
Martinez figured that if she did not have this conversation with her now then it would always be hanging over their heads, making it hard and tense to work with each other. She decided that the chief was actually right, they needed to figure it out, so she would say her piece.
“Look, we had a moment, we kissed, we touched and it was breathtakingly awesome,” she said looking into Lampard’s eyes that looked that they were waiting for the other shoe to drop, and Martinez would not disappoint. “But there can never be anything between us. It was in your moment of weakness and I know it wasn’t much else than you needing a hug, I know what that feels like so I gave you one. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
Lampard looked like she was about to say something in response but Martinez was not about to allow her to break the resolve she had worked so hard on for the pass couple hours. She wanted nothing more than to kiss this woman, and at some point in her day she had even imagined the unadulterated fornication they could get up to together, but she couldn’t go there.
“Besides,” she told Lampard, “you seem to have someone else already and I don’t want to be caught up with all of that.”
“Who are you talking about?” Lampard asked looking a bit confused.
“Hey you two, lucky I had not been sleeping. I am jet lagged.” Nicole walked in as if on cue and placed a case on the desk between them both.
Lampard and Martinez exchanged looks as the woman opened the case to reveal a computer.
“What are we using for the body identification?” Nicole asked them, catching the looks they were giving each other. “Oh, do you guys need a minute?” she asked with a smirk.
Martinez ignored the cocky woman and Lampard’s explaining eyes and gave her the USB with the footage. As the software ran the images Martinez had marked, a heavy awkward silence fell over the room. The beeping of the machine, as itquickly compared stride length, foot size and walking mannerism with everybody in the footage, was the only thing that could be heard in the room. That was until Nicole turned to Lampard and started talking.
“I miss you back at the bureau, you should consider coming back home.”
“Brooklyn is my home,” Lampard responded testily. “I have a life here now.”
Nicole seemed not to hear her as she spoke, “You could move back in with me, and go right back to your old job. Why you would leave that to be the patronized guest of the NYPD is beyond me. Come back home.”
“Stop that!” Lampard said. “I am not moving back with you and I have a home. Besides New York has a lot more to offer me and the people at the NYPD are my friends.
Nicole chuckled and it sounded like she took Lampard’s words for a serious joke. This only served to spark a fire in Lampard’s grey eyes and Martinez felt it was the perfect time to excuse herself. This was clearly more than just a regular argument. She took leave of the room and grabbed her jacket heading outside into the cold night air. Minutes later Lampard angrily huffed out of the building, and seeing Martinez there she stalked in angered haste towards her. Martinez felt endangered but before she could run for her life, Lampard pulled her in and pressed a kiss against her lips.
“It’s you I want and I have wanted you from the very first time I saw you, so you figure yourself out because I am not going away any time soon.” Lampard walked away before she could respond or even register the fact that she had just kissed her.
“Lots of fire in that one,” Nicole said emerging from the shadows of the building and nodding a head in Lampard’s direction. “Enjoy her while I allow you to.” The woman said and left Martinez standing in the coo
l night air wondering what the hell was wrong with them both.
She shook her head and went back into the precinct thinking about the last thing Nicole had said to her. The woman had behaved like Lampard was her property, and that surprised Martinez because somehow she knew that Lampard was not the kind of woman you owned. She was the kind of woman you invited to the table and waited on her to decide to come.
Martinez shoved the drama from her mind as she looked at the result that was on her computer screen. They had identified the man in her absence. Miguel Sanchez, a pharmacist in a drug store a couple blocks away from the precinct, and whose registered address was another apartment on Banner Avenue. She was not going to wait until morning to go after him and so she tried calling Manning, but got no response. She hung up and tried a couple more times again reminded that Connelly was not there, had he been there he would have stayed to work late with her. Had he opt to go home he would have answered her phone call on the first ring.
She looked around the precinct to see who she could get to accompany her to stake out his place until morning when they could get a warrant- she found no one about. Refusing to leave it alone she told the uniform at the front desk what she was going to be doing and told him to be sure to keep an ear out for a call in case he needed backup.
She got into her car and drove to the pharmacy. At this time of the night the area was deserted except for a few of the working girls who loitered about. She took the opportunity to ask a couple if they recognized any of the girls from the facial reconstruction photos, but they all ignored her casting nervous glances to a white pickup truck that was parked on the side of the road behind them, with the engine still running and the dark windows rolled up.
She gave an exasperated sigh and walked towards the van, then slapped her badge on the window and motioned for the occupants to roll their windows down. She knew it was a dangerous move and quite stupid, but she was not leaving without some information.
When the windows didn’t budge she slapped the pictures of the dead women against the window one by one. As she got to the fourth photo the window came down and the thick smell of marijuana assaulted her nostrils.
Look Me in The Eyes (Keeping an Eye on Her Book 2) Page 2
