Northern Virginia
June 15, 2004
Charlotte

Charlotte paced around the Fairfax County Homicide offices. God, what was taking so long? She had other things to do today.

Baldwin sat quietly, flipping through the file over and over again. She’d tried getting his attention by slipping past him and running her foot up his calf, but he cock-blocked her, clearing his throat meaningfully. She finally caught his eye, there was a combination of desire and exasperation lingering in the clear green. She winked at him, then resumed her pacing.

They’d been waiting for Max Goldman, the commander of the Fairfax County Homicide team, for the better part of an hour. He finally chugged through the door, running his hand through his wispy black hair, combing it back from his prominent forehead. Baldwin jumped to his feet, shook the outstretched hand. Goldman turned to Charlotte second, grasped the tips of her fingers in that bizarrely effeminate way some men had. She supposed it lingered on from the days when a touch of the fingers would lead to a kiss, planted softly on the top of the hand. But this was 2004, for Christ’s sake. Like a real handshake was going to give them girl cooties or something. She only took minor offense at being handed the limp fish second; Baldwin’s shake had wiped some of the sweat off Goldman’s palm.

“Sorry I’m late. Got caught up in court this morning. What can I help you with? You got something for me on this Clockwork asshole? He’s running our asses ragged, and we got nothin’. Fucking squirrel. I hate working these kiddy diddlers.” As he spoke, he ushered them into his office.

Charlotte measured people on a scale of one to ten, ten being the ones she wanted to fuck immediately, one representing the ones who she wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Goldman fell into the latter category. He had yellow teeth, crowded together in his mouth like they were planning a jailbreak, and he’d eaten onions with his lunch—she could smell him from five feet away. Which is where she stayed, perched on the edge of a credenza near the open door, to help catch a breeze. Baldwin was sitting face-to-face with the man, God bless him.

Goldman was still chattering. “I hope you’ve got something for me, ’cause I’m getting crucified, Jesus H. Roosevelt on the cross crucified, by anyone with a microphone within a hundred miles.”

A colorful man. What a match for that breath.

Baldwin nodded. “We have more for your team to look at, yes. We’ve refined the profile, and we have someone we think could be a suspect.”

“That’s fan-fuckin’ tastic.” He looked at his watch. “Let’s go arrest him. We do it now, we can make the five-o’clock news, get little Kaylie home by dark.”

“Let’s just go over the details first, okay? Charlotte?”

Charlotte swiveled her head toward Goldman.

“His name is Harold Arlen. He’s a convicted sex offender, lives in the Great Falls area. We think you should put some eyes on him.”

Goldman looked impressed. “What was with that big song and dance you gave me about not identifying suspects, just pointing us in the direction of a type of person? You do voodoo now, too?”

Baldwin laughed briefly, then got serious. “Not exactly. We’ve been working on the profile, and he fits many of the top-line points. We believe the man who is perpetrating these crimes is a sex offender, mid-thirties, who needs the privacy of his own home to act out his fantasies. Like we talked about, he’ll have an extensive collection of child pornography. This suspect is fascinated by children, but girls only. He was probably abused in his early years, before he was ten or so, by a female babysitter or close relative. He’s controlling, manipulative and deceitful. He doesn’t have any real friends. There’s something about him that makes children unafraid, which means he has no obvious, visible physical deformities. But he’s impotent, unable to have meaningful physical relationships with adults or children. Regardless of that, he’s charming and fits into society. His car is nondescript, a sedan, probably an import. A high-end Honda, Nissan or low-end Lexus, something that wouldn’t stand out but wouldn’t look out of place. It would match the demographics of this neighborhood. The median income in this area is about $170,000, so he isn’t driving a clunker. He’s white, too.”

“That’s not a lot to go on, Doc. You’ve described half the country-club set, and three quarters of the folks who hang at the Great Falls Pub.”

Charlotte slid off the credenza. She’d had enough fore-play—it was time to get back to work. “Listen, Arlen works at Sears in the photography department, which gives him access to children. How he got the job is beyond me. Our suspect will have a history of violence in his teens, before he learned to control his temper, so I’d advise backtracking Arlen’s life. See if he’s got something in his juvenile jacket. We’ll keep working it from our end.”

Goldman gave her legs an eyeful, then turned to Baldwin.

“Can I ask you a question, Doc? How did you narrow it down to this guy?”

“The Depo-Provera. The stabbing is a stand-in for sexual penetration. Arlen is only one of ten in the local files who are on the shot who fit the profile. I’ve got my people looking for something that might be a stressor, a breaking point that would drive him to start killing. And to be perfectly honest, when I talked to him, he gave me the creeps.”

“That’s pretty damn scientific, if you ask me. Instinct counts for a lot in this business.”

“I know. You can’t teach instinct. I tell everyone on my team to follow theirs. So I’m practicing what I preach. Arlen is involved.”

“Okay then, if you say so. I’ll get the team rounded up, and we’ll take a gander.”

Baldwin stood, stuck out his hand to shake goodbye. Charlotte just stood by his side, listening, feeling the power surge off of him. He smelled good, warm and clean, like leftover soap and shampoo and the tiniest hint of male sweat squeaking through. He didn’t wear cologne, which made her happy. She liked men who smelled like men, not flowers or wood chips or cedar. Her mind drifted back to their earlier romp.

A few seconds later, things were wrapping up. She’d missed something. Wow, she really needed to try and focus. Just being around him made her lose all track of time and space.

“Good. Thanks for your time. We’re going to go back to the office, we have more interviews to conduct. I’ve got my people back tracing the hard copies of Arlen’s life. Just give us a yell if you need anything,” Baldwin said.

He and Goldman shook hands and Goldman said, “I’ll let you know. One little problem—we do need some sort of evidentiary material to get a warrant. Judges up here aren’t easily swayed.”

“Remind them that we have a missing girl, then. See if they want Kaylie’s death on their conscience.”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear ya.”

Baldwin seemed willing to let it go at that, but Charlotte didn’t think he was taking the request seriously enough.

“Mr. Goldman, we need that warrant. We have to find some evidence,” Charlotte said.

“Then you do that, girlie. You go find me something that will talk these judges into letting us into the creepo’s house.”

“It’s agent, sir.”

“Hmm. So it is. Sorry ’bout that.”

He smiled meaningfully. He wasn’t sorry at all. Charlotte had spent her life being second to the men around her, and she got damn good and tired of having to prove herself.

Goldman saw them out and Charlotte waited until they were back in the parking lot before she spoke. Complaining to Baldwin about Goldman’s treatment wouldn’t work. Besides, she’d stuck up for herself. She decided to use a different tack.

“Was it just me, or did the commander there seem to be in a hurry to get the cuffs on someone?”

Baldwin looked at her queerly. “And you think he should be taking it slow? We’ve got a missing girl out there, plus five already dead.”

“Not slow, no. But we need more information about this guy before we arrest him. Goldman was right—we need actual evidence of wrongdoing. We’re just going on a hunch. Your hunch.”

“Charlotte, you have my blessing to drum up whatever evidence you can on this guy.” He held the car door open for her. She ran a hand along his stomach as she got in.

After he slammed the door and turned the engine over, Charlotte leaned over and rubbed his crotch. “What do you say we stop off for a quickie on our way back to the office?”

“Now’s not the time. We can wait until later.” Baldwin adjusted his sunglasses, pulled out of the parking lot a tad faster than necessary.

Charlotte was getting bored with being told no. She wasn’t used to it. Most men she slept with couldn’t take no for an answer. Well, she knew just how to fix that attitude. She waited until they hit the highway south before leaning over again, this time tugging down his zipper. He groaned.

“You’re not.”

“I most certainly am.”

She heard the ghost of a laugh from above.

“We’re going to get arrested,” he said a few moments later.

She stopped and looked up at him, the back of her head tapping the steering wheel. “Just don’t wreck the car. I’m not wearing my seat belt.”