Nena sat in her favorite chair, a beige, torn, lazy chair with her feet up. “I am sorry for being so casual, but if I ever hope to have the scars on my feet heal, I'll have to keep them up as much as possible.” Her nose twitched apologetically.
Detective Burrows waved his large hand.
Connie came out of the kitchen, a tray with cups, coffee, sugar and creamer on it. She spread out the dishes and filled the cups. “We have raspberry donuts.” She smiled at him.
“I shouldn’t. Trying to get rid of my girth.” He slapped his stomach and smirked, his eyes lively dancing across her face. She felt heat rising and her pants felt tighter.
He looked at Nena, his flirtatious demeanor becoming professional. “We’ve been contacted by the FBI. They want the case and my boss agreed.”
“You’re closing my case? It’s only been a few weeks.” Nena gasped.
Thomas shook his head. “No, we’re not. The FBI has resources we do not have. They’ll get every piece of evidence. Little as there is. We really were hoping to find evidence of a second perpetrator. But your doctors tell us you’ve been washed down with bleach at least once, killing any residue. We’re stuck. The rape kit confirms that Duane raped you, but there’s no evidence of DNA belonging to anyone else. And the only reason we got Duane’s is because someone offed him before he could clean you up.”
He sipped his coffee, longingly looking at the raspberry donut on the tray. “Now, I have to ask you again. But you need to understand something. If it happened this way, there won't be any consequences. I already cleared it with the DA. Especially since your doctor told us several times that it’s obvious you can’t remember.”
Connie tensed and sat up straight. “Wait a minute ...”
Detective Burrows raised his hand and his eyes narrowed. “Let me finish. “His deep voice bellowed. Connie exhaled but said nothing else.
“Is it possible that we'll find your fingerprints on the brick that killed Duane?”
Nena's mouth dropped open, and she jumped out of her chair. Connie did, too.
“Of course it's possible, you idiot, but how would I know? What does it mean anyway, that there won't be any consequences? How is fighting for your life a crime? Besides, you'd say anything to get me to confess, wouldn't you? And later on, you'd still charge me, so how stupid do you think I am, to admit to something that I can't even remember?”
Nena stormed out of the living room, into her bedroom and slammed the door shut.
Connie growled. “Great, you had to ask this way? As if you already knew and only wanted to see how she reacts?”
Detective Burrows lifted his hands and locked eyes with hers. “Yes. See it from my perspective. She either killed him in self-defense or that blue-eyed monster killed Duane. These are the options. Unless you subscribe to a fairy rapist killer that happened to be about, putting bad guys out of their misery.”
Connie blushed. His nonchalant, half-hearted joke came closer to the truth than any of his investigations. She exhaled and wiped her sweaty palms on her pants. Thank God Nena isn't in the room.
He mistook her reaction. “I'm sorry, that was out of line.”
He cleared his throat. “Nena is in the clear. We can’t find any fingerprints on the brick. Police work isn’t complex. We go by the evidence. And right now, the evidence is clear. Nena was raped by Duane, Duane got killed with the brick, the weapon right next to him. The evidence in the warehouse is inconclusive. Fibers, prints, all that stuff could have been left by anyone at any time. Nena’s recollection of a second man needs to be substantiated by evidence. That’s not saying we don’t believe her. But that’s the way police work is: Evidence or it didn’t happen.” He emptied his coffee. The cup wasn’t a small size, but in his large hands, it looked tiny.
“Rapists are habitual creatures. If the second guy exits, he’ll do it again. Most likely in another state because I’m sure he left Minnesota the same day. Which is one of the reasons we’re giving this to the FBI.” Thomas stood up, buttoned his jacket and walked toward the entry door.
Connie lifted her head, quizzically staring at him. “One of the reasons? There are other reasons why the FBI gets this case?”
He glanced in the direction of Nena’s bedroom before pulling Connie into the kitchen. He
leaned toward her, whispering. “Remember the camera she mentioned?”
Connie nodded. Even now, her hands became balmy at the thought her murdering Duane was caught on camera. But wouldn’t somebody had said something?
“We have the same issue; there’s no evidence there was a camera.” He said something else, but Connie experienced temporary deafness. No camera. She sighed, leaned against the wall and allowed relief to wash over her. Then she realized Burrows just kept talking. She shook her head and focused on what he was telling her.
“Except, the camera being there makes sense. There’s a huge market on the dark web for real-life rapes, murders. But I didn’t mention it to Nena because we can’t tell if it’s the case here and there’s no need to add to her suffering.”
Connie couldn't believe what she was hearing. “Huh?”
His large hand ran across his chin. “The dark side of the internet. It’s the online version of black markets and it’s quickly becoming the main communication for syndicates and individual criminals. Drug trafficking, human trafficking, hiring a hitman, you name it. Often, victims that wind up on sale on the dark web are kidnapped, or lured with false promises, some are sold by their families. The bigger issue is the number of consumers of these sex slaves, the variety of the perversions. But the stuff that gets the most hits are real-life rapists doing real victims. The sheer number of these videos is depressing. Among those, Narco porn. It’s the most recent hot item.” He paused.
Connie swallowed hard. “Narco porn?”
Thomas glanced into the living room, then focused back on Connie. “A person, male or female, doesn’t matter, takes drugs like Rohibnol, that keep the body awake but it wipes the memory. While some take it willingly, the involuntary ones, rape in other words, get the highest ratings.”
Connie leaned against the wall, feeling dizzy.
His large frame moved close to her, his green eyes expressing worry as he looked at her. “It's such big business the FBI created its own unit. They'll monitor for it, try to find who did this and arrest them. It could also be that it was local perverts, God knows we got those. I’m hoping Nena is spared this fate.”
Connie moaned. “That’s beyond depressing.”
Detective Burrows' eyebrows furrowed as he struggled to admit a harsh reality. “The world we live in is not as nice as it could be, believe me. Aggression against children and women is a lucrative business.”
He reached for her, his warm hand caressing hers. “I’m sorry.”
Connie sighed. “Not your fault.”
“I know. But I’m a police officer. I should be able to do something about it. Instead, I’m chasing empty leads into nowhere.” He sighed. “Which reminds me, we searched Duane’s apartment again. There’s no tech, no phone, nothing. Which makes me wonder if he had another place, a stash house of sorts. It’s not unusual to have those, but it’s probably out of State.”
Connie nodded. “And you can’t touch that.”
He glanced around again, making sure Nena wasn’t around.
His hand cupped her face and he leaned in. “Connie …” He whispered. She hugged him, lifted her head and his warm lips found hers.
“Probably not appropriate …” He whispered as he pulled away.
Connie laughed. “I won’t tell.”
“Have dinner with me. For real this time.” He smirked. “Pick you up at seven?”
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