Page 142 - The Houseguest

without introducing herself. “I am. And you are?” I replied. “I’m Detective Fitzgerald with the 17th Precinct, NYPD,” she responded with obvious pride. “What’s the problem, officer?” I asked adding a suitable mixture of concern and sincerity. “May I come in and ask you a few questions?” she asked. “Well, of course. What is this concerning? I’ve paid my police benevolence fee this year,” I quipped with a grin. “And we do appreciate that,” she responded indignantly as she walked by me to sit on the couch. Sitting across from her in my favorite leather chair, I wondered how trained she was at detecting the truth.
I learned that she was the first on scene at the coffee house abduction. She explained that they were currently waiting on a warrant to search the premises. Countering her statement wearing my best dumbfounded expression, I asked why.
Detective Fitzgerald was an attractive woman...I guessed maybe in her early 40’s. As we spoke, I could feel she had an edge about her, something I couldn’t quite isolate. The more we talked, the more I decided that she was a walking oxymoron. She was audacious, yet unexpectedly compassionate. She was shrewd, and still undeniably naïve. She intrigued me. Regardless, she came at me with a barrage of questions. Of course, in my schematic for Ravenge, I had anticipated this would happen.
She continued, “I need to know your whereabouts on April 5th.” Quickly I answered, “Of course you understand, I need to know why you’re asking. Full disclosure, I am an attorney.” “Do you know Brian Gabel?” she answered my inquiry with an inquiry, a tactic with which I was all too familiar. And now the play was getting more intriguing, so I
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The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life