Later that morning, Jennifer walked into her apartment at half-past ten.  Her legs ached and her back was on fire from combing every inch of the construction site for clues.  There were no leads other than the victim herself.  Walking through the living room and into her dining room, Jennifer unloaded her pockets.  She was startled when her fingers brushed against the blunt-nosed metallic cylinder that could only be the muzzle of a gun — and it wasn’t one of her eight guns from the feel of it.

As realization dawned, the color drained from her face.  She must have taken it from the crime scene.  Somehow, she had confiscated evidence!  How she did it, yet had no recollection of it, she had no clue but returning it would be a bad idea.  It would prove to the guys how incompetent she really was.  For some inexplicable reason, Jennifer felt driven to work this case hard and solve it quick.  In her years on the force, this was the first time she felt galvanized.  She wasn’t going to let anything stop her from finding Kyma Barnes’ killer!  Resolved, Jennifer pulled the gun out of her pocket and inspected it.  It was a Smith & Wesson Bodyguard 380 pistol.  It was relatively new on the market and a standard issue for mall cops and security guards.

What a great little gun for those two-bit wanna-be cops…

Taking it to the kitchen table, Jennifer set herself up and cleaned the gun with the chamois cloth from the cleaning kit.  She removed the magazine and put it in the metal safe where she stored all of her ammo.  Jennifer knew that all remnants of the killer’s prints would have been lost by now since she had muddied the handle with her prints and vomit.  With a resigned shrug, she decided to add the gun to her collection which was housed in a locked wooden cabinet deep in the back of her semi walk-in closet.  Satisfied all was secure, she went to shower away the stress of the long night.

Abatu beamed.  Its second command had been taken and acted upon successfully.

***

The first few days passed by in a flurry of activity for Jennifer.   Breaking the news to Kyma Barnes’ family was a priority on her list but she dreaded it.  With longing, Holden remembered how she hadn’t fully engaged herself in her demanding job.  But sometimes, especially times like this, it was just too intense not to turn off.

In the squad car, Jennifer pulled up to the curbside outside the victim’s parents’ home and sat for a full 10 minutes with the car running before shutting off the engine.  As she walked up to the neat modern brick multi-family building with snazzy chrome and glass balconies for each condo unit she hoped Kyma’s mother would choose not to use her balcony in an illicit way.  She rang Mrs. Barnes’ buzzer and waited two heartbeats.

“Yes?”

“Mrs. Barnes? My name is Detective Holden with the NYPD.  Can I come up and speak to you?

“Ah…what is this about?”

“Mrs. Barnes, I’d rather speak to you in person.  If you don’t want me coming up, can you please come down to speak with me?  I won’t take up too much of your time.”

After a pregnant pause, Jennifer heard the door click open.  She pushed open the bronzed-etched chrome door with its block glass diamond shaped cutouts and headed for the elevators.  In no time at all, she was standing in front of 5B.  Before she could press the buzzer, the door opened.  A young man with wide shoulders but a wiry thin physique stood before her with pinched lips.

“Detective Holden, I presume?”

Jennifer nodded.  “And you are?”

“Gerald Palmer.  Won’t you come in?”

He backed up and allowed Jennifer to enter.  She scanned the room and noticed the well-appointed furniture that was most definitely not from IKEA.  The clean lines were European but of a finer quality than the large franchise Jennifer frequented.  There were no signs that Mrs. Barnes’ furniture had been put together with a hammer, nails and a few well placed pieces of box tape. 

A worried looking woman in her mid-fifties came quickly into view interrupting Jennifer’s thoughts.

“Detective Holden?  Please come into the living room.  It’s more comfortable than here in the foyer.  Gerald can get you something to drink.  Can’t you, Gerald?”

“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Barnes.”  Jennifer strode into the living room and tried not to stare at the tasteful original artwork peppering the exposed brick walls nor the fluffy lamb’s wool throw rug on the floor in front of the soft beige leather sofa.  Remembering what her mentor told her years ago when she first became a detective she didn’t dally and delivered her message.

“I’m very sorry to tell you, Mrs. Barnes, but your daughter, Kyma Barnes, was found dead early this morning.  She was murdered.  If you’d like to come down to the morgue and ID the body I can take you, or, you can follow me there.  Either way, I will make sure you get home safely.”

Jennifer watched as Mrs. Barnes’ eyes glazed over.  Gerald took four long strides and was by her side before she collapsed onto the soft rug.  He dragged her to the sofa and made her sit.  Still standing, he took several ragged breaths himself before a keening sound came from his parted lips.

“Mr. Palmer?  What was your relationship to Ms. Barnes?”

In a faraway voice, he said, “She was my girlfriend.  I was going to ask her to be my wife when she got home last night…”

He blinked once then again and sunk to his knees as the first of his sobs began.  Kyma’s mother was pale and not a sound could be heard from her.  Jennifer panicked.  She took out her phone and dialed 9-1-1.  Paramedics were needed…stat.

With the emergency response call completed, Jennifer found the kitchen and filled two glasses with water.  She rushed back into the living room.  When she tried to offer a glass to each of them she realized that they were both in deeper stages of shock than when she had left.  She set the useless glasses of water on the coffee table and stood unsure of what to do. 

Gerald was now doubled over with his forehead on the fluffy rug bawling and pounding a fist on the floor.  However, Kyma’s mother was worse.  Her eyes had rolled; only the whites were showing.  Jennifer sprinted over to her and checked to make sure her tongue was not hampering her breathing.

“Goddamned ambulance.  Hurry up!”  She made a face as she pinched open the woman’s mouth by squeezing her cheeks.

Belatedly realizing she should have brought back-up, Jennifer hoped that she could manage the pair until the paramedics arrived.  Just then she heard the whirring of the ambulance’s siren.  Breathing a sigh of relief, Jennifer held down the fort for the next five minutes.  She went between Gerald and Kyma’s mother and made sure that they were breathing and did not injure themselves unduly.

***

The second ambulance’s doors slammed enclosing Gerald Palmer’s drugged form in a cocoon of tranquility.  Mrs. Barnes had to be more heavily sedated as she began to jerk and writhe on the sofa within moments of the EMT personnel arriving.

“You did pretty okay in there Officer,” said the male paramedic.

“It’s Detective, Detective Holden.  Thanks…my first solo notification, no less.”

He whistled and shook his head.

“And you had two of them.  Wow.  Good thing they didn’t flip out on you.  I’ve seen some families take it out on the messenger.  You’re pretty darned lucky.  You following us?  Or what?”

Jennifer stood and stared wide-eyed at him.  It had never occurred to her that she was in any danger.  Forcing air back into her lungs, she nodded.

“Yeah, I’m following.  Didn’t get anything out of them.  I’ve got no other leads and they’ve got to know something.”

He nodded sympathetically and ambled around the side of the EMT emergency vehicle while calling over his shoulder. “Hope so, for your sake.  See you at Methodist.”

***

After being a permanent fixture at the hospital for thirty-six hours, Jennifer was finally cleared to talk to Gerald.  Her eyes flicked past the red-plastic covered miniature Bible under his hand on top of the stark white hospital sheet.  He hid it from her view when he noticed her staring.

She nodded towards the now hidden book.

“You get comfort from that?”

“Don’t you?”

She shrugged, “I asked you first.”

He frowned.  Then, his lips turned up sardonically.  “I’m finally in a situation where I need my faith and what happens?  The one sent to help has not a drop of it.”  His eyes held no jaded mirth or sympathy for her.  They simply contained a hint of accusation and a heaping load of dejection.  “Well, let’s get on with it, Detective.  Religion and State don’t mix, right?  What do you need of me?”

Unnerved, Jennifer lowered her eyes and fiddled about trying to gain her composure before starting her questions.  Clearing her throat, she pulled her small notebook out of her side pant leg pocket and flipped it open.

“Need a list of all of her friends — work and personal.  Need her past lovers, if you know who they are.  Need any disputes you and she had in the last year, and any other disputes you know of that she had with others in the past year…”

“I get it.  Did I do it?  Or, did a disgruntled ex-lover kill her knowing she was about to be off the market.  Understood.”

Jennifer gave him a curt nod and he gave her a list of friends, colleagues and a basic rundown of Kyma’s life and habits.  Armed with those lists Jennifer thanked and promised him justice for Kyma.  She was turning away when Gerald stopped her.

“Detective Holden?”

She paused but didn’t turn around.

“I may be stepping out of bounds here.  I also may sound extremely stereotypical, or racist, even, but I have to ask.  You’re in charge of my girlfriend’s case…I need to know if —”

He paused.  Jennifer turned around to look at him.

“I need to know if you will do everything in your power to find whoever did this to her.”

It wasn’t what she expected and she was relieved.

“Mr. Palmer, I will do everything in my power to make sure Kyma Barnes’ killer is brought to justice.  Of that, you can be sure.  If there’s one thing I believe in, above all else, it’s the power of jurisdiction.”

Gerald noted her eyes and countenance as she spoke.  He heard the fierceness in her tone and smiled for the first time.

“I believe you.  Thank you, Detective.  Please let me know if I can be of any further assistance, and please, keep me abreast of any new developments.”

Not trusting herself to speak, she simply nodded and exited the hospital room.

After a quick check with the nurses’ station, Jennifer found out that Mrs. Barnes was still under sedation.  Her pressure kept fluctuating and her doctors refused Jennifer’s persistent requests to question her.

Frustrated, Jennifer left the hospital and raced through every red light on her path from Park Slope back downtown to the precinct.  She wanted to check on the status of the evidence.  Twelve evidence bags were taken from the scene and Holden needed to know if they had gotten any hits.  After seventy-six hours, Forensics had better have something to show.

* * *

“Whatcha got for me, Babs?”

“Hi Holden.  How ya doing?  Got anything poppin’ in the boyfriend category yet?  How am I?  Gee, I’m fine —”

“Yeah whatevs.  What did the results say?”

As Detective Barbara Strickland read off her findings, a huge smile spread across Holden’s face.  The evidence showed that her instincts were spot on.

An hour later when the bullpen grapevine news reached him, Yearwood came over to Jennifer’s cubicle.

“So, little Ms. Ner-Do-Well is hot stuff right now according to the bullpen.”

“Is that right?” Jennifer said, her feet up on her desk, while drinking a double latte.  “What’d you hear?”

“That your call about the saliva on Barnes’ left tit and the perp’s stuff on her hand hit the bull’s-eye,” he screwed up his face before continuing.  “Not for nothing, but Holden, you haven’t been anybody’s first-string pick the whole time you’ve been on the force.  Were we all missing the boat?  Or, did something change?”

Cocking an eyebrow, Jennifer looked up at him.  She grinned enigmatically then shrugged.

“There’s nothing I can say that will make any sense to you, or anyone else.  For some people the time has to be right for them to shine; now’s my time.  That’s how I see it.”

She took another slurp of her strong coffee and waited.  She had to wait several minutes before he spoke again.

“But…but here’s the thing, Holden.  You’re…were, so bad at so many basic things.  We all wondered how you got onto the force.  Man, you couldn’t even collect and bag evidence by the book until I showed you how three years ago!”

He blurted out the last bit in a rush and his cheeks colored as soon as the words tumbled out.  He looked away and fiddled with his hands before getting up the nerve to look her in the eye. “You can’t just tell me it’s your time.   Shit, nobody’s time comes suddenly out of the God-damned blue like this!”

The Fury moved imperceptibly to the fore so even Jennifer had no inkling she was no longer controlling the conversation.

“How do you know it was out of the blue?  Whatever that means.  What if I just didn’t want to play whose got the bigger dick with you bozos?  What if I found watching the paint dry on my nails was more fascinating than seeking out the most efficient way to collect bodily fluids from stiffs, hmm?  You know, you guys don’t make it easy to be a regular woman ‘round here.  You have to be a blonde bombshell like Babs in Forensics, or a smart bitch like Betty Feinster with a mean left hook, to gain your collective pious respect.  I didn’t feel like playing to the tune of your pied piper.  How ‘bout that?”

As she was speaking, Jennifer took her feet down and rose out of her seat until she was an inch away from Yearwood’s face. 

He refused to back down even though the red-hot waves of anger emanating from Holden were enough to stop his heart.  He stood his ground. 

This appeased the Fury and it pulled back allowing Jennifer to take the helm once more.

Jennifer looked confused for a second when she realized she was kissing distance from Yearwood.  She blinked a couple of times and pulled back with speed.

Trying not to do a double-take Yearwood’s eyes narrowed.

“Yeah…yeah, I see how you may have wanted to opt out but to hide your intelligence and your observation skills so completely?  And make us all think your lottery and gambling schemes were more important than protecting and serving?  It’s a bit much to swallow…”

The Fury came back.

“I don’t give a rat’s hairy damned arse what you think!  This is my life and if I want to play ball now I will because I damned well feel like it.  Get out of my cubicle if all you’re going to do is piss me off!”

Holden plopped back onto her chair, yanked open one of her metal drawers snagging a can of Red Bull.  She chugged it down like it was sweet tea then burped for good measure as she tossed the empty can into the trash.  She pulled up to her computer, opened up the Barnes file and went back to reviewing her notes, clearly, dismissing him.

Yearwood opened his mouth a couple of times to say something but the right words wouldn’t come.  He shook his head and walked away realizing his hopes for getting closer to the enigmatic detective were dashed, yet again.

***

Detective Holden decided to start making the rounds and check out the people on the lists Gerald gave her.  Her first stop was the salon Kyma had worked in, The Heights Salon of Brooklyn in the Brooklyn Heights section of the borough.   

          Even three days after her death, the tone of the place was quite somber.  Jennifer could see everyone was genuine in their grief and had truly liked their former manager.

Nothing here.

Sighing, she thanked everyone and left with no additional leads.  She got in the squad car and took another look at Gerald’s lists.  She decided to drop in on a few of Kyma’s friends at their jobs, scattered across the City and the other outer boroughs, to see if she could shake anything loose.  It took a couple of days to make contact with the six women and two men listed.  Yet, Jennifer still had a big fat sum of zero to show for her efforts.  But, there was one slight ping.            Herman Billings, one of the few men on the lists, was head over heels in love with Kyma.  However, from the feedback of other interviews on the short friend list Jennifer was told that Kyma had never noticed Herman, at all.  While there was plenty of angst with him, he was no killer.  Jennifer’s read of Herman was that he was too afraid he’d ruin his manicure.

Jennifer looked down at her own badly bitten nails and shoved them in her pockets as she rode down in the elevator stewing in frustration.  The particularly posh Upper Eastside elevator that she found herself in had floor to ceiling mirrors, tasteful high-wear carpeting and varnished cherry wood panels.  None of these accouterments helped her mood.

Kyma’s friends were not suspects; they were not even tangentially subverting any laws other than the law of physics.  The boob jobs on two of Kyma’s friends were extreme, to put it mildly.    Sighing, Jennifer nibbled on her bottom lip while watching the numbers slip by on the lighted panel above the doors.

That leaves a complete stranger; or someone on the outskirts of Kyma’s life.  But how would she have met that someone?

She checked the list again and realized that Gerald hadn’t put down a lot of her favorite beauty spots.  He only listed the typical places a high-maintenance New York City woman frequented, including: Bliss 57, Jeunesse, Kiehl’s, Ohm, Great Mother Jones and Spa Castle in College Point. 

Jennifer smirked as she recalled that Gerald was quick to point out that Spa Castle was frequented rarely.  He ensured Holden that Kyma had had to do what was necessary to maintain herself even when commissions were not optimal.  Jennifer had barely managed not to roll her eyes when he imparted that tidbit of information but the detective had put it in her notepad.

Snob factor — past twenty-five on the Richter scale…

As for Kyma’s shopping haunts, that list was much longer.  On it, of course were Bloomie’s, Bergdorf, H&M, Zara, Century 21 and a host of shoe stores that Jennifer wished she could shop in including Jimmy Choo, Steve Madden, Christian Louboutin, and the like.

Where did Kyma get all her money?  Gerald doesn’t look especially loaded, and neither did her Mom.  Middle-class, sure.  Upper middle, maybe.  But rich?  Naahh.

In that moment, with Holden’s crap load of coming-up-on-a-blank-wall-nothingness, she held onto a well-worn tool in the detective toolbox – follow the money.  Shaking her head, Holden jotted down that note.  Kyma’s commissions could be the answer, but Holden didn’t think that answered it all; the shop didn’t look that busy.

Dejected and testy, Holden headed back to the precinct hoping that Babs would find a match for the perp’s saliva, or blood in the database. 

Holden needed an answer and it had been a week already since Kyma’s death.  Holden’s hopes that she would find the killer quickly were almost as dead as her victim.  The lab report’s findings would either break open the case, or shut it down cold. 

Either way, Babs told her that the database run would take, at minimum, 4 to 5 days.  Barely containing herself, Jennifer gritted her teeth and decided to wait and bug Forensics the next day.

 “So you mean to tell me out of all the friggin’ perps in our database, this one’s not in there?”

Jennifer screamed into the phone making the cops in her area turn to look at her.  “Yes, I do want you to run the prints and the saliva again ‘cause, yeah, I think you missed something! This is not the first woman this guy’s killed, Babs.  And I bet your pretty little ass, it won’t be his last.  So, do us all a damned favor and run them again.  You had twelve fucking pieces of evidence sent to you!  You even got a few strands of hair!  There are other states in our fair country, and Canada’s not that far away, either.  Did you think to check anything outside of New York for a match?”

She paused to hear Babs’ reply and ran a hand through her disheveled hair which had already fallen out of its bun.

“So, this case doesn’t warrant the use of those types of resources without the Chief’s approval, huh?  Well I’ll get the damned approval!  You just start the broader search now!”

The bang of the phone onto the handset made everyone flinch and swivel back to their desks as Jennifer stormed her way towards to the Chief’s office.

Next Chapter: Chapter 4