by Jae
The shop owner hurried down the aisle. "Thank you, thank you, Detective!" He wanted to shake her hands, but they were full of struggling thief, so he turned to Dawn. "I'm very sorry, Ms. Kinsley. That never happened in my store before. Would you accept some more fruit as a compensation for the scare?"
"No, thank you, what I have is enough, really." Dawn shook her shopping bag with two apples and a banana.
The shop owner sighed. "She's another one of those one-banana buyers," he said to Aiden.
She's single, Aiden translated. And probably as straight as they come.
"I might only take one banana, but I buy two packets of cookies every time I come in here," a smiling Dawn defended.
Aiden waited for two uniformed officers, whom the shop owner had called, to take the thief off her hands before she allowed herself to chat with the patiently waiting psychologist. "So, do you come here regularly?" She winced when she realized it sounded like a lame pick-up line.
"Regularly enough to get a reputation as a 'one-banana buyer,' it would seem." Dawn winked.
Aiden had to smile. She liked the psychologist's wit. "Been there, done that."
"I live just a block down the street. You want to come with me and have the cup of coffee I had to decline last week?" Dawn Kinsley tilted her head and looked up at Aiden.
"I thought you didn't drink coffee?"
"I don't, but nevertheless I make a mean cup. Just like you cops like it – strong enough to be considered black paint in every other occupation."
Aiden laughed. "Now, that's an offer I can't resist." Asking me to come home with her, tempting me with coffee... is she flirting? Aiden pondered as she followed Dawn down the street. Ha! You wish. That's just the natural warmth and friendliness of someone who's comfortable around people.
Side by side, they climbed the stairs to Dawn's second-floor apartment. "Make yourself comfortable," Dawn called over her shoulder, already heading for the kitchen.
Aiden lifted a brow. Cop or not, she wouldn't leave a stranger unsupervised in her living room. Hesitantly, she stepped across a colorful rug, past overflowing bookcases and shelves full of framed pictures and potted plants.
Orange curtains suffused the living room in a golden light. In the corner was a desk piled high with books, files, and magazines. Above it, a chaotic arrangement of children's drawings and colorful postcards fought for space with a shelf full of seashells, a piggy bank, and stuffed animals. A recliner, a rocking chair, and two mismatched chairs completed the furnishings.
It was a bit chaotic, in a charming and paradoxically almost soothing way. Aiden thought about her own apartment, which was neat and nearly void of any personal knickknacks. Dawn's apartment wasn't overly tidy; it had a cozy, lived-in feel. It felt like a home, not just a place to eat and sleep.
I like it, Aiden decided as she sank down onto the couch.
Within minutes, she heard the gurgling of the coffeemaker. Her hostess returned with a tray and placed coffee, tea, and cookies on the coffee table. "Black, without sugar, right?" Dawn sat in a rocking chair across from her visitor and nodded toward Aiden's mug.
"Right." Aiden didn't ask how Dawn knew her coffee preferences. The psychologist seemed to have some sort of sixth sense concerning police officers.
"So, have you recovered from all those attempts to bore you to death?" Dawn looked at her over the rim of her mug, a smile in her eyes.
"Huh?"
Dawn shook a finger at her. "Oh, come on, Detective. I'm well aware how 'eager' most cops are to sit in a chair all day and listen to some theoreticians who want to tell them how to do their jobs."
"Yeah, we just love it," Aiden admitted with a grin. "But actually, your lecture wasn't half bad. You're not just an academic, are you?"
"No. Maybe I'll go into teaching someday, but for now, I'm pretty happy with what I do – which is counseling survivors of rape and sexual abuse," Dawn said.
Aiden looked down into her mug. "That has to be tough."
Dawn shrugged. "As tough as being a sex crimes detective, I would imagine. But someone has to do it, and sometimes you feel that you've made a difference, and that makes it worth it."
Yeah. I guess she's someone who would really understand the job, Aiden thought. Silence grew between them, but Aiden didn't find it uncomfortable.
"I have to admit that I didn't invite you up without an ulterior motive, Detective." Dawn didn't beat around the bush.
Aiden swallowed. "And what motive might that be?" She regarded the psychologist suspiciously.
"I know we hardly know each other," Dawn said, "and I normally wouldn't do this, but..."
Aiden's eyes became wider and wider with every word. It truly sounded like a come-on. She wasn't sure what she would do if it was.
"...I have a favor to ask," Dawn finally finished.
Okay, so it's not a come-on. Aiden laughed at herself. Sleeping with a woman like her couldn't be considered doing her a favor.
"I've searched for someone who could speak to my group, and it seems I found the ideal person for the job." Dawn looked at her expectantly.
"Your group?" Aiden repeated.
Dawn nodded. "It's a support group for survivors who've gotten pregnant by rape."
Suddenly, the coffee left a bitter taste in her mouth. For once, she had been relaxed, not thinking about anything job-related, and the question caught her off guard. "I'm in no way 'ideal for the job,'" she protested, struggling against her rising anger.
"Of course you are." Dawn rocked forward and touched her hand encouragingly.
Aiden flinched. She didn't know how or from whom, but she was suddenly convinced that Dawn Kinsley knew about the circumstances of her conception. The thought did not sit well with her. "No!" she repeated. "I can't give advice to women in that situation. I... I... I just can't, okay?"
"Okay." Dawn's gray-green eyes didn't hide her disappointment and confusion, but she accepted Aiden's rejection without pressuring her to change her mind.
Aiden shoved back her only half-empty cup of coffee. "I have to go."
Dawn rose with her. Her smooth brow furrowed as she followed Aiden to the door. "If I insulted you in any –"
"No," Aiden held up her hand, "you didn't. It's just... You... you haven't insulted me."
"All right." For the first time, it seemed as if Dawn didn't know what to say.
Aiden slipped past her, forcing herself not to look back. The door closing behind her echoed in her mind for the rest of the day.
CHAPTER 3
AIDEN FUMBLED with the key for a few moments, stiff hands and tired eyes refusing to work together, before she finally managed to unlock the door. Everything was dark and silent when she entered her apartment. Only a wave of stale air, a pile of bills and junk mail, and two parched potted plants greeted her as the door closed, echoing loudly in the silence.
For the last three days, she had slept in one of the precinct's bunk beds, tucked away in the tiny spare room that looked more like a storage closet than a comfortable place to rest. Today, their hard work had finally paid off. Portland's inhabitants had one less child molester to worry about.
Exhausted but content, she threw the mail down onto the coffee table and pressed the "play" button on the answering machine, only to be told that she had "no messages" – not that she had expected any since she didn't have many friends outside of the squad.
With a glance at the clock, which told her it was four a.m., Aiden stepped past the coffee machine and headed for the refrigerator instead. She skipped using a glass and drank directly from the orange juice container. One of the many advantages of being single, she told herself, trying not to think about how nice it would be to come home to a set table, a sympathetic ear, and a warm body in her bed.
She kicked off her shoes and yanked her shirt over her head while she headed to the bathroom. Leaning against the sink, she splashed water onto her face and rubbed burning eyes. The mirror above the sink showed disheveled black hair and lines of f
atigue on her face. Her amber eyes were bloodshot. Running her tongue over her teeth and tasting three days' worth of coffee and Chinese takeout, she decided a shower could wait and grabbed her toothbrush.
She watched absentmindedly as water dripped from the faucet. The sound of the falling drops accentuated the silence in her apartment. Out of habit, she reached up to the place where other people might store their bath radio and turned on her police scanner. She was so used to listening to the radio transmissions of the Portland Police Bureau that it became a soothing background noise while she brushed her teeth. She barely registered a domestic violence callout and two DUIs.
The scanner crackled. "...at 228 Northwest Everett Street."
"What?" Aiden mumbled around her toothbrush. Not only was the address in her immediate neighborhood, but it also sounded oddly familiar. Convinced that her tired mind made her imagine things, she returned to her brushing and gargling when the dispatcher's voice came through the scanner again, "I repeat: We have a 10-31 at 228 Northwest Everett Street. Unclear if suspect is still at the scene. Respond code two."
She spat a mouthful of toothpaste across the sink and mirror as she recognized the address: someone had been assaulted – or possibly raped – in Dawn Kinsley's apartment building. A sudden surge of adrenaline banished her tiredness. She tried to tell herself that there were dozens of other women living at the same address, that it probably wasn't even a rape, that she wasn't on call, but a quivering deep in her gut made her abandon her toothbrush and grab her wrinkled clothes again.
"Dispatch, this is unit one-eighteen. That's 10-4. I'm en route; ETA two minutes," a patrol unit responded via radio.
Even knowing help was on the way, Aiden didn't stop. She had long ago learned not to question her instincts. She dressed with the automatic movements of someone who had been called out at unholy hours of the night a thousand times. Within minutes, she was on her way back into the night air.
* * *
Aiden pulled her car into a parking space beside the squad car, whose blue and red lights were coloring the night. A uniformed police officer stopped her before she reached the door to the apartment building. "Sorry, ma'am." He blocked the entrance. "Do you live here? Do you have any identification?"
She silenced him by shoving her badge into his face. "Detective Carlisle, Sexual Assault Detail."
"Wow, you guys are really fast tonight. I'm Officer Trent, patrol district eight-twelve."
Aiden wasn't in the mood to exchange any chitchat or to explain her fast arrival at the scene. "You responded to a 10-31. It was a sexual assault?"
"Yeah." The officer nodded. "It –"
"Which apartment?"
"2B. My partner's up there."
Aiden clenched her hands into helpless fists for a second. It was Dawn Kinsley's apartment. She didn't wait for the elevator and took the steps two at a time. She stopped in front of the door to 2B, afraid of what she might find on the other side.
A loud knock brought her face-to-face with another uniformed officer staring blankly at her.
"Carlisle, SAD."
"That was fast," the young officer unknowingly echoed his partner and stepped aside to allow her entry. Aiden could see his relief at not having to deal with the victim himself. She knew that patrol officers had little if any training in dealing with rape survivors. He followed her back in and pointed over his shoulder while he glanced down at the notebook in his other hand. "The victim's name is –"
"I know her name," Aiden interrupted. She took a second to compose herself. Inhaling deeply, she stepped into the apartment.
The half-open bedroom door showed crumpled sheets, a knocked-over lamp, and random objects scattered across the floor. The detective in Aiden began to process the crime scene automatically, but then she stepped past the bedroom door and entered the living room, immediately spying Dawn Kinsley.
Dawn sat on the same couch where she had shared coffee and tea with Aiden just six days ago.
Aiden almost didn't recognize her: Dawn's gaze, which had always calmly rested on the person to whom she was talking, now darted around the room. One of her formerly steady hands fluttered across the side of her swollen face while the other hand clung to the blanket someone had wrapped around her shoulders to hide her torn clothing. Dawn's naturally fair face appeared even paler in contrast to the bruises on her cheek.
The woman on the couch wasn't the competent rape counselor Aiden had met a few days earlier, but a shattered rape victim.
Aiden cleared her throat to announce her presence and sat down on the edge of the couch, close enough to be an available, soothing presence, but far enough away that Dawn didn't feel threatened. "Hey, Ms. Kinsley... Dawn." She made her voice as gentle as she could.
Dawn's head shot up. "H-hi. I... I'd say it's nice to meet you again, but under these circumstances..." She looked away, wiping at the tears in her eyes as her body began to tremble.
Aiden swallowed. She had the sudden urge to hold Dawn's hand or lay a protective arm around her, but she kept her distance, knowing it could do more harm than good at this point. She didn't want to scare Dawn even further. "Can you tell me what happened?"
"Someone broke into my apartment... a... a man." Dawn pressed her lips together. "He had a weapon and... he hit me." Her fingers traced the marks on her right cheek.
Aiden nodded encouragingly but didn't interrupt.
"He... threw me down... onto the bed, and then he..." Trembling eyelids closed for a second. "He raped me," Dawn whispered. She looked at Aiden in disbelief. "Detective, he... he..."
"I know," Aiden murmured. She moved a little closer to Dawn but not yet close enough to touch her. "Did you know him?"
Dawn shook her head.
"Okay. Can you describe him?" Aiden knew she had to maintain a professional distance and ask the standard questions, but it was hard when you knew the person who sat trembling across from you.
"He was tall and muscular and... heavy," Dawn said, her voice shaky. "Black hair. Angry, blue eyes."
"Good, that'll help us look for him." She touched Dawn's forearm fleetingly. "I'll take you to the hospital in a second, okay? Can I get you anything or do anything for you before we go? Should I call anyone?"
"No." Dawn vehemently shook her head.
"Are you sure?" Aiden asked. She didn't like the thought of Dawn having no one be there for her. Of course she would try to make the rape kit procedure at the hospital as easy as possible for Dawn, but her primary role was that of a detective, not that of a friend.
"I don't want my mother to see me like this, and I'd rather tell her in person than scare her with a call. There have been too many of those calls in our family," Dawn said quietly.
Aiden nodded but asked no questions. She didn't want to invade Dawn's privacy any further.
"I'd like to change, though." Dawn looked down at her torn T-shirt.
Aiden sighed. "You can't, at least not yet. I'm sorry, but it's evidence. How about taking a new set of clothing with you to the hospital so you can change after your examination, hmm?"
"I... I can't go in there." Dawn pointed a trembling finger at the bedroom.
"It's all right," Aiden soothed. "I'll do it." She stepped over a fallen chair, shattered ceramic figurines, and books with torn-out pages, careful not to touch anything that might be evidence. Dawn's glasses lay on the bedroom floor, the frame broken and one lens shattered.
Aiden picked out a comfortable looking sweatshirt, loose-fitting pants, and a pair of warm socks. Adding panties and a bra, she bitterly shook her head. She had fleetingly dreamed about seeing the charming psychologist's underwear – but these definitely weren't the circumstances about which she had fantasized. Even harmless flirting with Dawn Kinsley was no longer a possibility. Everything had changed tonight.
She returned to the living room with the bundle of clothes under her arm. Her heart lurched at the sight of Dawn fumbling with her shoes, her fingers trembling too much to manage the laces.
&nbs
p; Aiden wordlessly put the clothes aside and knelt down in front of Dawn, tying the laces. "Anything else?" she asked.
"Can I brush my teeth?"
Aiden bit her lip, feeling bad that she had to deny Dawn that simple request. "No, sorry. That could destroy evidence. I have to talk to the officer for a minute, okay? It won't take long."
The cop, who had wisely retreated to the kitchen, looked up as she entered. "She give a description?" he asked.
"Tall, muscular, black hair, blue eyes. I'll have her work with a sketch artist later, but for now give out a BOLO for a suspect fitting that description to all precincts."
The officer nodded and took a few notes.
