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Chapter 20
February 1999
Universities, like
any large organization, are unwieldy by design. It takes time
for anything to be done. Procedures and protocol must be followed.
The Dean of Students received the first call about the Times-Picayune
article by mid-day. After a summary investigation which consisted
of a couple of telephone calls and a perusal of the Monday paper,
a letter was mailed to the Tulane chapter of Alpha Iota Fraternity,
requesting an explanation of the issues raised in the story.
By late Monday afternoon,
it was apparent that the response to date had been inadequate.
This fact was driven home by the third phone call from a TV news
outlet. The dean made another phone call was made, this time
to the president of the AI chapter, requesting a face-to-face
meeting the next day. The AI member who took the call promised
to forward the message.
It was curious that
the original story appeared in an on-line publication that belonged
to Loyola, as it concerned Tulane students. The University planned
to ask about that when the AI president met with them.
The phone call from
campus security, reporting TV trucks parked along Broadway, sent
a charge through the bureaucracy of the academy. The lights stayed
on late as meetings were held and plans were made. Additional
phone calls to AI went unanswered. Action was needed.
On Tuesday morning,
the dean, escorted by Tulane security, walked through the phalanx
of cameras and correspondents to the front steps of the Alpha
Iota House. There, the delegation realized they had been too
slow - the lawyers had already arrived. Like flies to a rotting
carcass they swarmed, with their annoying briefs and unfortunate
insistence of search warrants. There was nothing for it but to
retreat and call in the university's own legal eagles. The action
now belonged to the attorneys.
A telephone call
to the neighboring campus was now made, and it was learned that
Loyola had absolutely no idea what was going on. A second investigation
was launched, which ran right into the Free Speech and First
Amendment claims of the very-tenured Dr. Harriet Jennings. A
second, seemingly irresistible, force ran into a mostly unmovable
object.
~*~*~
"Hurry up!"
cried the television reporter over the sound of chanting and
drums. "The rally's started."
"Hold your
damn horses," said the cameraman under his breath. The talent
was always pushing him around, and it was his job to make them
look good. There was so much he could do to sabotage the shot,
and the reporters were often too stupid to realize it.
In this case, the
cameraman had decided that discretion was the better part of
valor and dutifully prepared for the set-up shot. The reporter
assumed a neutral expression and began.
"We're here
today outside the Alpha Iota House at Tulane University where
a coalition of activists is protesting the pace of the investigation
into the events of Mardi Gras night."
The cameraman moved
closer to the action, as about two dozen protestors, mostly women,
were carrying placards and chanting. One was beating a drum.
Signs held proclaimed, JAIL AI - NOT WOMEN and NO JUSTICE, NO
PEACE.
"Make sure
you get what they're saying," advised the reporter.
No fuckin' kidding, thought the cameraman as he adjusted
the microphone.
"WHAT DO WE
WANT? JUSTICE! WHEN DO WE WANT IT? NOW! WHAT DO WE WANT? JUSTICE!
WHEN DO WE WANT IT? NOW!"
"Man,"
complained the reporter, "they always chant that.
You'd think college students would think of something more original."
The cameraman pulled
in tight. If the crowd looked bigger, there was a better chance
of making the broadcast. Maybe the footage would be picked up
by the network. One could always hope.
~*~*~
The protest was
the lead on the six o'clock news. "At least they spelled
the words right," joked Chris.
Will didn't laugh.
He sat staring moodily at the screen, thinking, How did it
come to this?
~*~*~
The publicity was
felt all the way downtown to the inner offices of the New Orleans
Police Department. Pressure was placed upon the Second District
to move on this case, at the cost of anything else. The word,
it was whispered, had come down from the mayor's office. It took
several days for the NOPD to arrange a formal interview with
Marianne Dashwood. She met with the original interviewing officer
and another woman, an assistant prosecutor with the district
attorney's office. The interview went on for some time, as both
women tried every method at their disposal to help the Loyola
coed recall the events of February 16. Two hours went by before
they gave up, adding almost nothing to what they had before.
The police officer
glanced at her notes one more time. "Miss Dashwood, there
is one last thing we would like you to do. Are you up for it?"
Marianne held her
head as a headache throbbed. "Let's just get it over with,"
she said resignedly.
A phone call was
made, and after a short wait, a male police officer entered the
interview room, a manila folder under his arm.
"Miss Dashwood,
my name is Lt. Fitzwilliam. I'm with the narcotics division."
Mari glanced at
the ADA, who shrugged her shoulders. "What can I do for
you?"
He placed the folder
before her and opened it. "Would you look at these photos,
please?"
Before her were
five photographs, all mug shots of young white men. She gasped
at the fourth one.
"Do you know
this man?"
"That's Greg
- Greg Wickham. Has…has he done something wrong?"
"Miss Dashwood,
this is very important. Can you tell us anything about this man?"
"Uhh…he's
a friend of my boyfriend - ex-boyfriend, John. I've seen
him around John's apartment and the fraternity house. He's a
student at Tulane, I believe."
"Anything else?"
"No."
"Was he at
the party?"
Mari tried to concentrate.
"I…I suppose so. He was supposed to come; John said
so. But, I just don't remember if I saw him or not. Why are you
asking so many questions about Greg?"
Richard sat down.
"Just part of our investigation." They didn't want
to corrupt the case by planting thoughts in Mari's head, so they
kept quiet about Wickham's past.
The ADA asked, "Do
you remember drinking anything that night?"
Mari held her head
again. "I…I don't know."
"Did anyone
give you a drink? Please try to remember."
"I'm trying
as hard as I can! I just don't remember!" Mari broke down.
The others looked
at each other and shook their heads.
~*~*~
The lawyers made
sure that there was only one admission ticket for outsiders to
the Alpha Iota House. It was called a search warrant. Armed with
the precious piece of paper, investigators fanned out throughout
the house. At the advice of counsel, no members volunteered any
information or answered any but the most basic of questions;
and those got a terse "yes" or "no."
Henry Tilney stood
next to Pat Patel as a policeman moved into Pat's bedroom. "Where
are your sheets?" the cop asked Pat.
"What's not
on the bed is in the closet," Pat answered.
The officer turned
to him. "These are all laundered. Any used sheets?"
"Just what's
on my bed."
Henry had to stop
himself from spurting in surprise. He waited until the cop's
attention was drawn away before taking Pat by the arm and forcing
him into the restroom for a private conversation.
"What the hell?"
Henry said between his teeth. "I thought Chuck told you
not to wash those sheets!"
Pat wouldn't look
at his pledge director. "Look, you're using Mr. Darcy's
attorney, but my dad got me my own lawyer. We're doing what we've
got to do to protect ourselves."
Henry was amazed.
"He told you to do that? That's…that's destroying evidence!
Interfering with a criminal investigation! You could go to jail!
I can't believe he told you to do that!"
"Who said my
lawyer told me anything? I didn't say that," Pat said in
an emotionless voice.
"Pat…"
"Look, we know
what we're doing. My dad…shit! Just leave me alone!"
He tried to leave, but Henry's hand on his arm stopped him.
"Pat, I understand,
but I REALLY disagree with what they told you to do..."
"Nobody told
me to do anything!"
"Right."
The two looked into each other's eyes for a moment before nodding.
Pat made his way out of the bathroom while Henry leaned against
the counter, running his hands over his face.
This goddamn
thing's gonna pull the chapter apart!
~*~*~
March 1999
The Chief Assistant
District Attorney sat behind his desk, allowing his assistant
to have her say. She finished her presentation, and he glanced
at the notes again.
"So, you're
telling me," he fingered the report, "that we should
move forward with this case."
"Yes, sir,"
she said. "I believe there is probable cause for a rape
investigation."
"And how do
you get that? There's nothing here."
"Sir, if you
had listened to the victim…"
"Alleged victim,"
he corrected her.
The ADA was flustered
and began again when she was interrupted.
"That's enough,"
the Chief Assistant District Attorney stated. "If all you're
got is your gut, then we're through here. Shut it down."
"Sir! You can't!"
"Can't I?"
he said dangerously. "I thought I was in charge here."
"I'm sorry,
sir, but I really must protest!"
He sighed. "Your
passion is duly noted, but rejected." He stood up. "In
case you've forgotten, there is a murder a day in the city. We've
got twelve - count 'em, twelve - capital cases we're handling
right now. We don't have the manpower to run down every case
that's thrown at us. The people want results, not efforts. We
can't waste our time with this."
She tried one last
challenge. "Can I go to the DA on this?"
The Chief Assistant
was not offended. "Be my guest, but I should let you know
that the order comes down from him." He walked around the
desk. "We'll tell the press that the investigation is ongoing,
but as far as you're concerned, this case is closed." He
sat on his desk. "Look, I know you're new to the office.
Let me give you some advice. Passion is good, but it'll burn
you out. We play to win, and that means we don't take every case.
That's just the way it is. If you can't take that, then maybe
you need a new line of work."
"Maybe I do."
He sighed. "Think
it over. If you do decide to leave, I'll give you a glowing recommendation.
Now, get back to work."
~*~*~
Lizzy lay on the
bed in her dorm room, her mind in a whirl. Campus security had
just changed their phone number for the second time since the
article came out. Their original number was changed to a private
one as a precaution, and it was to be kept secret, yet someone
had leaked the new number, and they had been receiving calls
from newspapers across the country.
It had to be
somebody in security or administration. Probably a student worker.
Were they bribed? Is there no honor anymore?
Lizzy tossed her
body onto her side in frustration. She looked up, to see her
Riptide beanie on Mari's desk. She knew Mari had retrieved it
from the trashcan, and neither said a word about it. Lizzy tried
to ignore it. Sometimes she succeeded in only noticing it twice
a day.
Sighing, she sat
up, starring at the doll. It was painful because it reminded
her of William, and that reminded her of the awful confrontation
they had. Why had she said the things she did? Why didn't she
tell him that it was Justin, not her, who put that stuff about
Darcy and his father in the piece? Why was she so angry with
him?
Lizzy knew the investigation
was going nowhere. Already, the story had disappeared off the
pages of the paper and the TV screens, replaced by the latest
scandal out of Hollywood. Marianne could remember nothing. There
was no evidence.
Could I have
been wrong?
No! Something
happened. Greg and John said so. It's the AIs - they must have
gotten rid of the evidence. Of course, that's it. And the police
aren't trying hard enough.
But as she lifted
her eyes to Riptide's, she remembered the man who gave it to
her. She could not draw on the anger that previously fueled her
resolve. She was only left with the whisper of nagging doubts.
How could William
fool me so completely? How could the guy who gave me that allow anyone to hurt Marianne?
Not for the first
time, Elizabeth cried in frustration.
~*~*~
Abe answered the
door when George rang and let the young doctor in. "Emma's
getting the dinner ready," he explained.
"Emma?"
asked George. "She made dinner?"
"Heavens, no,
George! Miz Taylor made the gumbo. Emma's just heating it up.
Emma cooking? I wouldn't do that to you. Wouldn't want you to
get food poisoning, now would I?
"I heard that!"
came a shout from the kitchen.
"You hungry,
George?"
"You bet. Tell
you what, Abe - I'll go help Emma. You just sit yourself at the
table."
"I knew I liked
you. You're a sensible man, George."
George saw Abe to
the dinning room table before continuing to the kitchen. It had
been a while since he had seen Emma - with his work, her classes,
and the scandal sitting over everything - so their only contacts
had been telephone calls. It would be safe to say the surprise
was complete.
George entered the
kitchen. "Hey, Emma, it's…" His voice died as
he saw the beautiful dark-haired lady in a green floral halter
dress and heels. Dark hair.
"Emma?"
She turned with
a big smile on her face. "Hello, George."
"You…you
dyed your hair."
"Did I? Oh,
yes, I did." She ran her fingers through her tresses. "I
got tired of keeping up the blonde look, so I returned to a more
natural color. You like?" she grinned. She well remembered
his comment at Mardi Gras.
"Uhh…yeah.
It looks good." Real good.
Emma's smile grew
as she took in his adorable discomfort.
"I guess I
ought to help you serve the food," he said lamely.
"Sure."
She walked over to him, passing a bit closer than necessary,
to open a drawer. "Here's the tableware." She set out
what was needed. "Would you be a dear and bring this out
to the table?"
George nodded and
moved to gather the items. Emma didn't move, forcing him to reach
close to her body to get the utensils. George had to move around
her to get to the door.
"Abe,"
he asked the older man, "when did Emma dye her hair?"
"Emma? Oh -
that. After Mardi Gras. Guess I got used to it. Looks good on
her, don't it?"
George returned
to the kitchen once his mission was accomplished. Emma was transferring
the gumbo to a tureen. "Want me to grab that?" he asked.
Emma looked over
her shoulder. "No, I've got it." She put the lid on
and moved to the oven. "Got to get the French bread. Oh,
there's a salad in the fridge," she pointed as she bent
over.
George got the bowl
out of the Sub Zero, trying to keep his eyes off Emma's posterior.
Does she know what she's doing to me? He placed it on
the counter as Emma set the bread on a butcher block cutting
board. She quickly sliced it and placed it onto a serving plate.
"I'll just
bring these in," she said as she took the salad bowl in
her other hand. Moving towards the door, she brushed up against
George. Her light, flowery perfume invaded his nostrils. The
view down her top was breathtaking. "Oh, excuse me."
She wore a knowing smile as she sauntered out.
George was trying
to make sense of all this. She's teasing me? She's flirting
with me? That hair, that dress…Can I control myself?
He readjusted his trousers.
Emma came back into
the kitchen. Again, with all the room available, she brushed
up against him, her breasts brushing across his chest.
What happen next
was unplanned, at least by George. He felt as detached as if
he were watching a movie. He saw a hand grab Emma by her forearm.
He remotely realized that it was his own. Emma turned towards
him, never losing her slight, teasing smile. Then her back was
against the counter and two hands pinned her there. She made
no move to resist as he grew closer.
This kiss was like
no other they had shared. Gentleness was the last thing on George's
mind. Hungrily, he devoured her lips, driving his body against
hers. He delighted in feeling the softness of her generous breasts
against him. His arousal was jammed into her belly.
Emma was excited
by his response. Her hair, her dress - all part of her plan.
That she had succeeded in driving him to distraction fed her
ego. What was surprising was the violence of his reaction and
how much she wanted to learn the depth of his desire. She couldn't
move, and she didn't want to. The feel of his body against hers
was exhilarating, a sensation she had no intention of ending.
She felt small and sensual and all the things she'd never felt
with him before. She grew dizzy, the blood rushing through her
ears.
George released
Emma's arms to hold her ever tighter, and her arms pulled him
closer as she returned his passion. Their tongues danced as she
began to moan. He started to move a hand between their bodies,
creeping upward, aching to touch her…
"Hey!"
came Abe's voice from the dinning room, "where's the chow?"
The two broke apart,
panting. Emma cried out, "Just a minute, Papa! I'm getting
the rice now!"
George looked sheepishly
at her, but Emma would not have any of it. She grabbed him by
the back of his neck and gave him a quick, hard, sloppy kiss
before pushing him away. "That will have to hold you 'til
later, George," she whispered, her eyes alight with desire.
She gave him a naughty grin and returned to the stove.
George leaned against
the counter, trying to contain himself. He was sure that if Abe
had not been there, he would have been unable to stop. He would
have taken Emma right there on the kitchen floor.
"You going
to get the gumbo?" she asked.
"Emma!"
he hissed, "I can't go back out there like this!"
She giggled. "Get
yourself together, George. We'll be waiting." She exaggerated
the sway of her hips as she walked to the dinning room.
With a groan, George
adjusted himself again and picked up the tureen. I hope Abe's
attention is on the food!
~*~*~
George was relieved
that Abe seemed to be unaware of what had transpired in his kitchen.
He wasn't sure how the older man would react to the son of his
close friends ravishing his youngest daughter. Dinner proceeded
without further incident, Miz Taylor's shrimp and okra gumbo
judged to be excellent.
Of course, Emma
was careful not to let her father see the teasing looks she was
throwing at George. And George managed not to cough up his soup
when he felt a bare foot caress his shin. George was only able
to breathe easy when dinner was finished and Emma left to get
the dessert.
They had the bread
pudding in the living room, Emma on the couch, the men in armchairs
to either side. George was able to relax for the first time that
night. He quietly observed Emma's behavior. Most of the time
she appeared to be attentive to her father's conversation, but
every few minutes she would give a smoky gaze to George.
Finally Abe rose.
"I'm gonna watch some TV."
Emma spoke up. "Papa,
I thought George and I could look though some old photo albums.
You know…reminisce for awhile," she smiled weakly.
Abe looked at her
and then at George, who was trying to keep a neutral expression.
A slow grin spread over the older man's face. "Oh…right.
Okay, I'll just be in the study. Have a good time…reminiscing,"
he chuckled.
After Abe left the
room, George said, "Well, I guess we're bust-murff!"
He couldn't say
anything more, as Emma decided that it was a good time to pick
up where they'd left off in the kitchen. She pulled him onto
the sofa and locked onto his lips but good. He fell back, the
girl half on top of him, doing her best to crawl into his skin.
The blare of the basketball broadcast from the den was the only
sound in the room.
"Em…Em,
for god's sake…do you know what you're doing to me?"
he finally managed to whisper.
"I thought
you would be enjoying this!" she shot back in a low voice.
"Enjoying this?
Want me to show you how much I'm enjoying this?" he gasped.
"I should - I would, if your father wasn't in the next room!"
He raised his hips slightly as an exclamation.
Emma got the point.
"Did I do that to you?" She wiggled slightly.
George groaned.
"All right - you asked for it." He pulled her tightly
against him and turned over. Before Emma realized it, they had
switched positions, George's solid weight comfortably against
her body. Finding no distress at all in her present location,
she smiled wickedly - a smile that faded as he grazed a finger
along the bottom half of her breast.
"You've got
this coming," he growled. He slowly worked his fingertips
to the center, as his lips caressed her neck. She wore no bra
under the halter, and her excitement was apparent. His kisses
to her throat and neck burned against her skin as his digits
had their way with her breast, first drawing lazy circles around
the tip before gently squeezing the nipple between two fingers.
Fire flowed through Emma's body; she could not help but arch
into his touch. She had to jam a fist into her mouth to stop
from screaming her pleasure as George's mouth began inching toward
her cleavage.
All too soon, George
pulled away. "There, you've got some of your own back. I
ought to finish the job and compromise you good, 'cept Abe would
probably get his shotgun and pepper my backside."
"He wouldn't,"
Emma gasped. "He doesn't have a shotgun."
"He'd hit me
with a golf club, then."
She laughed. "Not
from his new set." They sat up, much closer together than
before.
"An old one,
then." He sighed. "Emma, what the hell are we doing?"
"What? I don't
understand."
George had a serious
look on his face. "Emma, look, we're getting close to a
point of no return. Don't get me wrong. I like this - a lot.
Too much, maybe. But, Em, if we go much further, there's no going
back. If this doesn't work out, I…I don't know. But we can't
go back to the way we were before."
Emma looked at him
with big eyes as she thought. "You…you don't want to?"
George kissed her
hand. "Emma, all I'm saying is we've got to know what we're
getting into."
"What do you
want?"
"Em, that's
unfair. You're the one at risk. You've got your whole life in
front of you. It's gotta be what you want."
Emma looked deeply
at him. "I want to be with you." She leaned in and
kissed him.
"Me, too. Okay,
we'll do this."
"George…what
about…George, what are you feeling?"
He pulled her close.
"What am I feeling? Oh god, Emma…I feel like I just
won the PowerBall. A gorgeous, funny, sweet young woman just
told me she wants to be with me, rather than somebody a whole
lot more handsome, richer, younger, or…"
"…or still
has his hair."
George threw back
his head and laughed. Emma joined in, and then they were kissing
again - until they heard the unmistakable sounds of a man getting
out of a recliner. Desperately they arranged themselves, Emma
grabbing a photo album from the coffee table and opening it to
a random page before running her fingers though her hair.
"What's so
funny?" asked Abe from the doorway.
Emma glanced down
to see she had opened the photo album to a picture of her mother.
She shut the book, thinking hard. "Remember the trip to
Biloxi where we…where we…" she faked a giggle,
imploring George with her eyes to go along.
"Yeah,"
said George, "and then you went into the water, and Irene
said…what was that she said, Abe?"
Abe was nonplused.
"I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about."
"Oh - well,
I guess you had to be there," George said with a straight
face. Emma cracked up.
"You two have
lost your minds," Abe observed. He waved dismissively at
the two laughing figures on the couch and returned to his basketball
game.
"That was brilliant,
George," Emma whispered. "He'll leave us alone for
the rest of the night."
"Yeah, the
old boy can dish it out, but he can't take it." George let
out a breath. "I'm not too sorry for the interruption, though.
Things were getting a little out of hand in here."
Emma felt her cheeks
redden. "You're right. So what do we do now?"
He pulled her close.
"Talk - about stuff. It's been a while since we talked.
I've missed you. How've you been doing?"
Emma liked leaning
into George's embrace. "School's okay, except for…you
know."
"Yeah, I understand."
"George, I
know I asked you before, but please, can't you tell me what's
going on? How did things get this way?"
George sighed. "Emma,
I really shouldn't say… Aw, shit. Everything's already gone
to hell 'cause of all this secrecy. What do you want to know?"
"What happened
at the AI House? Really."
"That's just
it, Emma. We don't know."
"But Mari was
attacked…"
"Was she? By
whom?" Emma turned away. "Wait a minute, Em, I'm spilling
my guts here - you gotta give up what you know, too. Did Mari
actually say she was assaulted?"
"She doesn't
remember."
George looked at
her. "Then, where did Lizzy get her information? Who's the
source?"
"I don't know."
"It wasn't
Waguespack? We thought that son-of-a-bitch might be the guy lying
to her."
Emma shook her head.
"I don't think it was John. What happened to him?"
"He dropped
outta school after we threw his sorry butt outta the chapter.
Our lawyers say he's staying at his aunt's house in Mississippi."
"Why did you
do that, if nobody thinks anything happened?"
He sighed. "Em,
something happened, but John wouldn't tell us. Half the
house saw John carrying an insensible Mari out the back door,
with that drug-dealing Wickham at his heels."
"What's that
about Greg?"
George turned to
her. "Greg Wickham is a drug dealer hanging around the University
area. 'Course, we find that out after Mardi Gras. He's
not a Tulane student or a member of Alpha Iota. If anything happened,
I'll bet it was at the hands of those two. We threw John out
for bringing a guy like Wickham into the house."
Emma gasped. "Oh
my god, George. A few days after it happened, I ran into Greg
on the common on campus. He was looking for Lizzy, and I directed
him to Loyola."
"Holy shit.
He must've been Lizzy's source."
"He lied to
her."
"'Course he
did. Son of a bitch." George ran his hand though his hair.
"Em - we didn't know! We didn't know if Mari had been hurt.
We suspected something, but we didn't know for sure. We took
what steps we thought were right at the time, and then that article
appeared; all hell broke loose, and then there were attorneys
running all over the place, telling us to keep our mouths shut.
I really shouldn't even be telling this to you."
"Are you going
to get into trouble?"
He kissed her forehead.
"Em, I am in trouble. I'm the chapter's alumni advisor
and an employee of Tulane University Medical Center. I have some
responsibility for this…"
"You didn't
tell them not to talk to Lizzy, did you?"
George sighed. "Things
were not handled the way I suggested they should've been, but
I gotta be honest. When Lizzy showed up at the house with that
photographer, ain't nobody was gonna talk to her."
"Your armed
guard made that clear."
"Emma, that
was Will's bodyguard."
"Why does Will
need a bodyguard?"
"That night,
when they were trying to carry Mari out of the house, Will got
into a tussle with Wickham. Emma, Wickham's dangerous. He might
come after Will for manhandling him."
"Oh, no."
She started to cry. "Everything's wrong. Mari's hurting,
Lizzy got it wrong, Will's in danger…George! Your job! What
about your job?"
"Shush, Em.
Don't worry - my position's not in jeopardy." I hope.
"The police and the university are investigating, and we're
cooperating, through our attorneys. Everything will come out
right in the end."
"Not everything."
At George's questioning look, she continued. "What about
Mari?"
"I don't know.
How's she doing?"
"Scared, confused.
She knows something happened, but she can't remember. And everybody's
pushing her to remember. The stress is eating her up."
"I thought
her name wasn't being used by the press."
"It's not,
thank god, or it would be worse. But the DA's office, both colleges
and the police want something - anything. It's awful. And Lizzy
- Lizzy's so mad at Will right now, and Will's mad at Lizzy.
They're so right for each other, and now they hate each other.
I can't stand it. It's my fault."
"How's that?"
"My match-making
- setting up Lizzy and Will. If I hadn't done that, then maybe
they wouldn't have taken this thing so personally."
"Em, stop beating
yourself up over that. You couldn't set up Will Darcy with a
free steak dinner, if he didn't want it. Things happen. Will
and Lizzy are gonna have to sort out things themselves, if that's
possible."
"I don't think
it is possible."
"Probably not."
He hugged her tighter. "Em, I gotta go. I've got early duty
tomorrow. Let's say good night to your dad."
Emma was disappointed
that Abe decided to see George to the door. The doctor took his
leave of the older man and then turned to Emma. "Don't worry,
Emma, everything will be all right," he assured her again
as he stoked her cheek with his thumb.
"Drive safe."
"I'll call,"
he said before giving her a light kiss. He looked up to see Abe's
amused expression. "Umm…"
Emma looked sideways
at her father. "Papa, George and I are dating."
The two men mumbled
congratulations and thanks to each other as they stiffly exchanged
handshakes. After George left, Emma turned to her father. "Well?"
"He's a good
man, Emma. You make me very happy."
Emma kissed her
father's cheek, excused herself and went to her bedroom. She
undressed and prepared herself for bed. Slipping under the covers,
she forgot all about scandals, controversy, and friends angry
at each other. Her mind was on one thing - George.
She looked down
as one of her hands moved across her breast, copying George's
caresses. She groaned as she recalled the sensations, the quickening
of her breath, and the tightening in her belly. She had been
touched that way before, but she had never experienced such an
intense reaction to it.
It's because
this time, it was George,
she reasoned.
The girls at Newman
playfully teased Emma over her reticence with the boys while
in high school. Her nickname was Sister Emma - some, she supposed,
half expected her to convert and join a convent. It wasn't that
she didn't like boys. She just didn't feel the need to go much
further than kissing and hugging. She had made out with guys
countless times, but that was about it. She knew she wasn't the
only virgin in college. She wanted her first time to be special,
with a special man, and she hadn't found him yet.
Until now.
Emma's other hand
moved to the junction of her legs, her fingers slowly gliding
over her sex. She closed her eyes, imagining it was George doing
such things to her. After a minute, she reached down and lifted
the hem of her nightgown. Spreading her legs, she pleasured herself
as she gave in to the fantasy of George lovingly deflowering
her. The thought that he would be the first sent her over the
edge in a violent orgasm. She had to muffle her cries into a
pillow.
Catching her breath,
she replaced her hem and rolled over to try to sleep, wondering
if George was thinking of her. She looked forward to seeing him
again, knowing tomorrow would be one day closer to that momentous
day when George would first make love to her.
She could not know
that across town, in the privacy of his rooms, George had sought
similar release that night, her name on his lips.
~*~*~
Tommy Bertram pulled
into the parking lot of the Second District and leaned over to
his passenger. "You stay here, Sarah. I'll be right back."
She gave him a kiss
on his cheek. "You're doing the right thing, Tommy."
He smiled as he
got out of the car. Within moments, he was standing before the
front desk. "I'd like to see Lt. Fitzwilliam, please."
The desk sergeant
checked his screen. "He's not in right now. Can somebody
else help you?"
"Ummm…I
was told to see the lieutenant. Can I leave a message for him?"
The desk sergeant
had almost twenty years experience and was eighteen months from
retirement. His goal in life, after almost two decades on the
beat watching other men and women get the promotions he felt
he deserved, was to do as little as possible. Taking messages
from some scummy informer for Narcotics was not something he
enjoyed. Grumbling, he reached for a pad when he spotted someone
in the squad room.
"Hey, Jonesy!
Got a live one for ya!"
The female detective
approached the desk. "What's up?" she said as she glanced
at the visitor.
"Fella here
to see Fitz. You wanna handle it?"
"Sure."
She turned to Tommy. "I'm Officer Jones. I work with Lt.
Fitzwilliam. Can I help you?"
"You're his
partner?"
"Yes, you could
say that."
Tommy figured that
was good enough. "I've got something for him. Can we talk
somewhere?"
"Sure, just
come with me." She led the way into a conference room as
the desk sergeant went back to his Field and Stream. He
was supposed to sign the visitor in, but he blew it off, figuring
Jones would make note of it.
The two sat down.
"Now, what can I do for you?"
Tommy took a breath.
"This is about that thing at Tulane. You know, the AI house?"
"Yes. That's
not really our department…"
"I know, but
see, I think I know who did it, and he's definitely somebody
you're looking for."
"Okay, who?"
"You're going
after the wrong guy. It wasn't John Waguespack. It was Greg Wickham."
Jones' eyes widened.
"You've got proof?"
"Yeah. Let
me tell ya 'bout my conversation with John…"
~*~*~
Jones saw Tommy
back to his car. "Thank you for coming forward, sir. I'll
pass this along to Lt. Fitzwilliam and the people working the
Tulane case. We can get in touch with you at this number?"
she indicated on the form.
"Yeah,"
Tommy said as he stood by his car.
Jones looked in.
"Hi! Are you with Tommy?"
"My name's
Sarah," the thin, dirty-blond girl said, shaking her hand
thought the open car window.
"Your boyfriend's
very brave."
Sarah smiled. "Yes,
he is."
Jones straightened
up. "Thank you again, Tommy. We'll be in touch." Tommy
nodded as he got into his car. Jones watched as they drove off.
Once they were out of sight, she moved directly to her personal
vehicle, file still in hand, and drove down the block. She pulled
into a convenience store parking lot beside a pay phone. She
quickly dialed a number.
"Yeah?"
"Somebody was
snitchin' on you today," she told G-Daddy.
"Fuck! Who
was it?"
"Gonna cost
you double."
There was a pause.
"Okay."
"Name's Bertram.
Mean anything to you?"
"Yeah, I
know him. What'd he say?"
"It was you
at the AI House. Says you attacked that girl."
"Fuck! How'd
he know that?"
Jones read Bertram's
statement.
"So, whatcha
gonna do with that report?"
"Depends. How're
you gonna handle this?"
"I'll take
care of Chicken Man, don't worry."
"Look, I don't
wanna get involved in any of that…"
Too late to crawfish
now, with all the nose powder you've scored. You're in too deep.
Don't worry. You just work your end, and I'll take care of mine.
Now, what about the file?"
"I'll get rid
of it. Fitz'll never know he was here."
"Good. Oh,
don't get any fancy ideas about turning on me. I've got evidence
stashed away. Real nice photos. You can even see the zit on your
chin."
Jones sighed; she
was afraid of that. One day, she would have to kill Wickham,
if he didn't kill her first. "Regular place, right?"
"Right." The phone went dead.
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