CHAPTER:
Wednesday Night
After making a hasty exit from the Gentleman’s Club, Tara went back to Julian’s apartment to help him browse through the numerous surveillance videos. It was approaching three in the morning when the blurry-eyed detectives caught a break. Their mystery woman finally appeared on the grainy black and white recording; the camera catching her from the back as she walked with purpose straight for the booth at the rear of the club. It wasn’t until the suspect and victim got up to leave nearly twenty minutes later did the detectives get a clear view of her face.
Agreeing to get some sleep and reconvening the investigation later that afternoon, Tara left Julian’s house to head to her own. At 0430 hours, Tara found herself sitting in the dark on the couch in her living room, fatigue assaulting her body but her brain refusing to let her succumb to sleep. Fiddling with the tape in her hand, Tara played every scenario she could think of, regarding Mr. Nolan’s death, over and over again. When her thoughts started to shift from the case to an elfish faced redhead, Tara pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned.
As a faint light began to creep through the curtains, assaulting her weary eyes, she tapped her phone to life. Looking down at the clock on the display screen, she groaned again when she realized she had been sitting in silence for two and a half hours.
Realizing she would not be getting any sleep, Tara pushed herself off the couch. Walking toward her bedroom, she stripped her jeans off and grabbed a pair of shorts lying on the grown, pulling them up her legs quickly. Leaving the scantly used bedroom, Tara headed toward the closet next to her front door, pulling out a pair of worn running shoes. Slipping her feet into the well-loved Adidas, she tied the laces snuggly before exiting her home. A five mile run is what she needed, the burning in her leg and tightness in her chest would be a welcome distraction from the case and above all, from Willow.
888
Thursday Afternoon
It was nearly 1700 hours when Julian finally arrived back at the precinct, rejuvenated and ready to tackle the investigation head on. Looking at his partner slumped over her desk; he worryingly observed the heavy bags under her eyes.
"Didn’t sleep?" he inquired even though he already knew the answer.
"Nah, sleeps overrated," she joked as she looked up at the slender man. "You ready to track down the lovely Ms. Thatcher?"
More than ready," he replied, as he picked up the keys to the coupe off of Tara’s desk. "I’m driving."
Tara nodded her head in acceptance as she pushed her chair backward.
888
It had taken them longer than they expected to track down Margarete. They had stopped by her office first but quickly realized, thanks to the receptionist, that they had just missed the raven-haired woman. Deciding to stop at her house, the duo pounded on her front door for several minutes but received negative results. Patrolling around the neighborhood, it was by a grace of God that they stumbled across the Executive leisurely jogging on a nearby bike trail.
Apprehending the suspect with little resistance, the duo headed back to the precinct.
888
Upon returning to the precinct, the duo silently walked Margarete to the second floor where they placed the woman inside one of the empty interrogation rooms. With the door securely locked behind them, the two partners looked at each other, a silent but knowing look passing between them before wordlessly entering the adjoining room. Inside the small office, Tara and Julian leaned against the cement wall as they watched Margarete slowly pace around the interrogation room. If the woman was worried, she showed no signs of it. For the next ten minutes, they watched on as Margarete's demeanor stayed calm and collective.
"I'm gonna go get a coffee," Julian finally said, breaking the long stretch of silence. They were letting Margarette 'sweat it out', a tactic used many times before to get the suspect thoughts racing and lips loosened. It would only be a matter of time before the woman cracked and knowing Tara, she would want to be there to witness it. "You want anything?"
"No, I'm good," Tara muttered as she continued to watch the raven haired women through squinted eyes.
"Suit yourself," chirped the man as he pushed himself off of the wall; heading to the door.
"Come on Thatcher, give me something to work with," Tara muttered to herself as she continued to scrutinize the suspects facial features.
888
"What's the verdict?" Julian asked as he gracelessly walked into the room; his elbow hitting against the wood door as he attempted to keep it open without dropping his armload of takeout food.
"Nothing," Tara grouched out stone faced, her eyes darting to the left to look at her partner. "She's been in there for forty minutes and it's like she's not even phased in the slightest."
"Hmm," hummed the other detective as he walked forward, depositing the greasy brown paper bags onto the table in front of him. "Maybe she needs another hour to reflect. Here," he said, tossing the brunette a bag full of food. "I got your favorite, a bacon cheeseburger with a fried egg."
"You get fries?" Tara asked as she peered into the bag.
"Yup," quipped the male as he sat down in one of the available chairs, sliding another bag to the empty seat beside him, "and of the curly variety."
"You know me so well," chirped the brunette as she sat down next to her partner. "Thanks."
"My pleasure," Julian replied moments before biting into his own burger. With a mouthful of half masticated beef his eyes trained on the suspect on the opposite side of the two-way mirror, "Now, we wait."
888
"Why didn’t you tell us that you were with Marcus Nolan the night he died?" Tara questioned, her expression demanding.
"You didn’t ask," was the placid reply that came.
Tara clenched her jaw in frustration as she stared at the dark-haired woman seated opposite of her. She was in the interview room questioning the suspect while Julian watched from the observation room next door through the one-way mirror. Upon returning to the office to conduct the interview, the detectives decided to do the ‘Good Cop Bad Cop’ routine, Tara wordlessly being nominated as the bad cop.
"What do you mean I didn’t ask? That was the first question out of my mouth," Tara retorted, narrowing one of her eyes.
"No, it wasn’t." Margarete Thatcher shot back snidely. "You asked where I was around two in the morning. I was at home like I said before."
"So what? You didn’t think to mention that to us? You were the last person to be with him!" Tara raised her voice as she slammed a clench fist down onto the steel table.
"It’s my life; I choose what I want to say. I’m very much like you Detective Maclay. A private person," Margarete replied coolly, meeting Tara’s stare audaciously.
Tara frowned and shook her head slightly. "You don’t know anything about me."
Margarete smiled in a spine-chilling way. "I know more about you than you know about yourself."
Tara let out a bark of laughter, amused by the woman’s tactics. "I really don’t think so."
"Well, let me explain then. You lead a life of abandonment and loneliness. Most of the time you’re just going through the motions. You rarely make a connection with people, so you replace the gaping hole in your heart with meaningless one-night stands. You surround yourself with death to numb yourself to the idea of dying. The tough facade you pass off is actually a mask for the little lost girl that you really are. How am I doing so far, Tara?" Margarete smirked in self-satisfactory.
Tara’s urge to strangle the woman right there grew stronger by the second, her fingers itching to squeeze around the woman’s petite neck, as Margarete went on with her deduction. Tara was positive that the executive must have done a background check on her to know this much. "You’re wrong," she said calmly, not about to be pulled into the mind game that Margarete was tempting her to play. On the other hand, she could feel her blood boiling. The only other time she felt like this was when Willow unknowingly read her like a book. This time however, she had no desire to kiss the woman standing before her.
"Denial’s not a good look on you, Tara," the dark-haired woman continued to taunt. She was getting slightly frustrated that her attempt to derail the detective had fallen flat.
"It’s Detective Maclay. And thanks for your concern. So, what happened after you left Vixens with Marcus Nolan?" Tara asked, getting back on track with the interrogation. She had plenty of training when it came to suppressing her true emotions. Margarete would have to work a little harder.
Margaret let out a defeated sigh. "We went back to his house, drank a little and then I went back home," she proclaimed, her expression defiant.
"But not before you poisoned him," Tara responded.
"That’s a very strong accusation, Detective Maclay," Margarete replied, glaring hatefully. Glancing at her watch, she heaved a sigh of annoyance before looking back up at the detective. "It’s getting rather late, Detective. Now, I know my rights, either charge me with murder or let me go."
"You’re not going anywhere," Tara stated firmly. She stood up from her seat and walked out the door. Once she had closed the door behind her, she squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled an exasperated breath. Margarete had completely seen right through her.
She took a few steps down the corridor and entered the observation room. She stopped dead in her tracks as soon as she opened the door, the second occupant in the viewing room catching her off guard. "What are you doing here?" she blurted out.
"I was told you were questioning a suspect, so I came in here," Willow explained, wearing an apologetic expression. She was astounded by the revelation she heard and wondered how much of it was true. When she had read Tara the riot act, it was based off of pure speculation and vague observations she knew would anger the brunette. This however, these statements that Margarete made sounded personal. When she had turned to Julian for answers, he was straight-faced and chose to remain silent.
Tara nodded thoughtfully as she stepped fully into the room. She wasn’t sure how long Willow had been in the room, she just hoped she hadn’t been in the room long enough to have heard what Margarete said.
"Tara, you know we can’t keep her here right?" Julian said dejectedly.
"I know," she grouched as she looked through the two-way mirror. She watched as the raven-haired woman sat unperturbed in the interrogation room, staring into the mirror with a smug smirk. There had got to be something that they had missed, something that would connect this woman to the crime. "But something in my gut is telling me that she did it. I’m not gonna just let her go."
"Actually, I may be able to help you with that," chirped Willow as her face lit up. "I was able to pull a saliva sample off of the victim which matched the DNA found on the condoms."
"That’s great news," Julian exclaimed. "Any matches in the database?"
"Unfortunately that’s were my good news end." Willow said with a soft shrug of her shoulders. "I ran the sample several times but nothing came up. If we could pull a sample from Miss. Thatcher, I could cross examine it."
Snapping out of her admiration of the redhead, Tara turned her attention to her partner. "Julian, you try to get a warrant to search her house and to obtain a sample of her DNA. Dr. Rosenberg, I need you to re-examine the victim’s body again, see if there’s anything that might be able to help us further."
"What about you?" Willow asked just as Tara was turning away. "What are you gonna do?"
"I’m going back to the crime scene to do another check of the house. Hopefully she left something behind," Tara answered hurriedly before exiting the room.
888
Early Friday Morning
She had arrived at Mr. Nolan’s house a little after one in the morning, ripping off the crime scene tape blocking off the front door as she entered the residence. For three hours afterward, Tara thoroughly searching the victim’s house, room by room, inch by inch and had come up empty handed.
About an hour ago, as she was doing another sweep of the master bedroom, Julian called to inform her that he and Harris were having trouble tracking down a judge at such an early hour and that they would have to wait a few hours to obtain the search warrant when District Court opened. Exasperated, Tara continued with her search, crawling on hands and knees as she peered under furniture.
Pushing up off of the floor, Tara stood numbly in the middle of the gloomy living room, completely exhausted. She hadn’t slept for over thirty hours and her body was starting to show signs of fatigue; her shoulders aching while her legs became weary. The sudden roar of thunder jolted Tara out of her daze. She looked out the large glass bay window to see rain continuously pour down from the sky.
It was moments like this that Tara hated the most. Alone, helpless and hopeless. She clenched her jaw and banished the intruding feeling for the umpteenth time in her life. Lifting her arm, the movement sluggish, she wiped beads of sweat off of her forehead using her sleeve.
This is going nowhere. She practically ripped off the blue latex gloves she was wearing and stuffed them into the forensic kit on the carpeted floor. She kneeled down and started repacking the contents of the kit, getting ready to leave. She could only hope that they find something in Margarete’s house, which would point to her involvement in Marcus’ death.
Tara slammed the kit shut and stood up, clutching its handle tightly. When she raised her head, the sight before her made her heart skip a beat.
_________________ Alyson, oh, Alyson why don´t you join my band? So you could play the flute like this one time in band camp. I Am Forever / A Special Christmas of Sorts / Maybe It's Just Me / Honeysuckle Rose / Blackouts and Breakthroughs / When Love Arrives
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