Q raced to the kitchen and retrieved her cell phone from the charging station, dialing Lucy’s number. When it went to voice mail, she whispered a desperate message for her to call back or just to come to the house as quickly as she could. She hastily walked back into the living room to find Gabrielli and the uniformed officer already climbing the stairs. Sanger was half-heartedly opening photo albums in the built-in bookcase underneath the stairwell.

  “Careful with those,” she said. “Don’t know if there are any copies of some of them."

  He eyed her sympathetically and nudged his head ever-so-slightly towards the staircase. She swiftly crossed the room to follow Gabrielli up to the master bedroom. She found him opening the drawers in Ben’s dresser with distracted disinterest.

  “Where is Mr. Bordelon and the vehicle he has registered to this address?” he asked.

  You’re in for nasty surprise, little man.

  “He went for a run. In Audubon park,” she explained.

  “Call him,” he ordered.

  “Won’t do you any good. He puts his phone in airplane mode when he runs. It’ll go straight to voice mail,” she clarified calmly, savoring the last few moments of control she had over the situation.

  “Call him,” he ordered, again.

  Q shrugged and called Ben. She turned on the speaker so that Gabrielli could hear it ring once and then go directly to voice mail.

  “Like I said. He’s running in Audubon park. You’ll have to wait to search his car and phone until he gets back.” She folded her arms and willed herself to remain calm.

  The uniformed officer pointed to the mattress. “Anything I need to worry about under here?” he asked.

  Q shook her head and watched him reach between the mattress and box springs, feeling around. When his hand came to the area near the headboard, he stopped and pulled something out.

  She regarded her favorite pair of underwear emerge in his hand in all its red lacey glory.

  Gabrielli pounced and handed him an evidence bag. Q walked over and snatched it from the officer’s hand. “There’s no need for that. Those are mine.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Gabrielli asked.

  “Because you found them under my mattress, in my bedroom, in my home, and in my size.”

  “What are they doing hiding under a mattress?” he mused.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake, Gabrielli. How do you think that happened? Ben peeled them off me and they worked their way between the mattress and the headboard. Do you know how many pairs of underwear I’ve had to fish out from behind there?” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “You of all people, should understand. I’m sure some of the ninth-graders you like to fuck have lost a pair or two under their parents’ sofa cushions."

  The uniform looked like he wanted to crawl under the bed and never come out. Gabrielli glared at her and snarled to his colleague, “Bag them.”

  The officer held out the bag. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but if the lieutenant wants them we have to bag them.”

  She shoved them into the outstretch evidence bag. “You want to smell them first, Gabrielli?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” he leered.

  She heard Ben’s car pull into the driveway. When the door slammed, she walked back downstairs to meet him. He stood in the open doorway in athletic shorts, his body still slick with perspiration, still wearing the armband that held his phone. He pulled down the white t-shirt slung over his shoulder to wipe the sweat from his eyes.

  She held out the paper for him to see. “Search warrant. I already called Lucy.”

  He pulled his shirt over his head and nodded to Sanger, before kissing Q lightly on the cheek. “Gonna get a glass of water,” he said, throwing his car keys onto the foyer table on his way to the kitchen.

  Gabrielli called from the step where he still stood, “We need your car keys, Mr. Bordelon.”

  “On the table, Sherlock,” Ben replied without looking back.

  Gabrielli motioned for the uniform to get the keys and the officer complied. Q walked outside and leaned against the porch rail, watching him. Without hesitation, the officer opened the passenger side door and fished in the same spot where she’d found Beth’s bra. He looked confused for a moment, then quickly popped the trunk and removed the jack. He held out his hands in futility to Gabrielli.

  Q turned to look at Gabrielli over her left shoulder. “Lose something, Lieutenant?” she asked, casually.

  He glowered at her and then walked down to assist the officer. Q watched in growing relief as they searched under the floor mats for the condom wrapper and hairs that were all sitting safely in her grandmother’s hidden safe.

  Ben joined her on the porch, wrapping his arm around her waist as he slowly sipped his water.

  “How was your run?” she asked, in an attempt to inject some much needed normalcy into the situation.

  “Very nice. Just what the doctor ordered. You work out that part in the new tune all the way?” he asked, calmly watched Gabrielli quietly, but fervently, dress down the lower-ranking policeman.

  Gabrielli approached them with his right hand outstretched, snapping, “Give me your phone. Now.”

  Ben shrugged and unceremoniously walked back into the house with Q at his side. Gabrielli trailed behind them in a cloud of rage. They walked into the kitchen and Ben pulled his phone off the charger. He handed it to Gabrielli.

  “Passcode,” Gabrielli ordered.

  “The passcode is no passcode,” he replied calmly.

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Gabrielli asked, his face turning an unhealthy shade of red.

  “It means there’s no passcode, just push the button.” Ben sat down at the table and tapped his knee, gesturing for Q to sit. She complied, relieved to be close to Ben and his preternatural calm.

  Her relief faded as soon as she watched how purposefully Gabrielli navigated Ben’s phone.

  It was an act. The phone. He put something on the fucking phone.

  Q’s panic filled her until she felt like pulling off her own skin to escape it. Suddenly the room filled with sexual moans and Beth’s voice, crying from the tinny speaker, “Fuck me, bossman. Fuck me.”

  Ben and Q jumped up. “What the fuck is that?” he asked horrified.

  Gabrielli turned the phone to them. Beth’s face and naked torso filled the screen, moaning in ecstasy.

  Ben exclaimed, “I’ve never seen that before! Beth must have taken my phone for a prank or something.”

  Gabrielli sneered. “Benjamin James Bordelon you are under arrest for the murder of Annabeth Hunter…”

  Q’s eyes blacked over as Gabrielli handcuffed Ben’s arms behind his back. Sanger arrived in the kitchen. “Lieutenant, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  Gabrielli finished reading Ben his rights. Ben called to Sanger as Q’s knees buckled and she started to collapse.

  The last thing she remembered hearing was Ben’s voice screaming, “For god’s sake, Aaron, do something!”

  When she came to, she was lying on her couch with a cool compress on her forehead. The paramedic taking her pulse said, “Hey, welcome back.”

  She tried to sit up, but the world tilted and she quickly lay back down.

  “Where’s Ben?” she asked.

  “Central booking,” Sanger said. She looked for him and found him sitting in the chair across from her. “Lucy Hadron showed up as they were taking him outside, she’s with him.”

  “What happened?”

  “You fainted,” said the paramedic. “I’m going to guess you’re the type that forgets to eat.”

  “Good guess,” she said, sitting up slowly.

  “When was your last period?” the paramedic asked.

  “I’m not pregnant,” she replied.

  He gave her a smile. “I’d check, if I were you. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  As the paramedics left, Q walked slowly to the kitchen. Sanger caught her elbow and helped her sit down. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out some cream cheese. Slicing two pieces of French bread from the loaf on the counter, he smeared them both with half an inch of cream cheese and set them on a paper towel before her.

  “Eat,” he said, taking the seat across from her.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  He crossed him arms and said, “You’ve mistaken me for someone who gives a goddamn. Eat.”

  She took a small bite and her stomach betrayed her, angrily growling at both of them.

  “He put that video in his phone. Did you know?” she asked, chewing slowly.

  He held out his hands. “I did not. But you’re a smart woman, Clementine, where did that video come from?”

  “Beth’s computer,” she said, defeated.

  “Her phone is missing. Uniform says he remembers seeing it at her apartment, but it never made it into the evidence log. If I were in possession of something like that, I might check out the photo album. Could tell me what else might be out there on that hard drive of hers…. but that’s me. I’m nosey.” Sanger stood up and dusted some invisible dirt off his knees. “You want me to call someone for you?”

  Q shook her head. As he turned to go, she called, “Aaron…”

  He stopped and looked back at her. “Thanks for catching me,” she said.

  “Don’t thank me yet. I expect you’ll have a nasty bump from the kitchen counter popping up tomorrow. Didn’t quite make it in time.” He smiled apologetically and left her alone.

  She finished her bread and walked back into the living room to find two large holes in Ben’s bookcase where two photo albums used to live. A piece of paper lay on the foyer table with the inventory of everything the police took from their search. Q sighed and grabbed her house keys and her satchel.

  As she was locking up the house, a screen door slammed across the street and a tall, muscular man with a dark tan crossed towards her.

  He smoothed his light brown hair as he approached her before waving. “Hey, there. I’m Frank. I used to work for Ben. Still do every now and again.”

  Q nodded, inwardly visualizing his name on their suspect list. She smiled and held out her hand. “I’m Q. Ben’s fiancé.”

  “Oh, I know who you are, Q,” he said as he took her hand, shaking it heartily. “We actually met a few times back when Ben was trying to figure out a way to get you to date him. You probably don’t remember.”

  She shook her head and started to apologize, but Frank just smiled broadly. “That man would not shut up about you for a year. Thought I was going to have to get him into a twelve-step program or something,” he continued.

  His almond shaped, pale eyes held constant contact with hers, making her slightly uncomfortable. She struggled for something to say.

  Frank’s smile faded and he looked concerned, “Look, I saw the police and the paramedics and I just wanted to make sure that everything was ok.”

  “It’s nothing. Just a big misunderstanding,” she replied.

  Frank raised his left eyebrow. “Must have been a pretty big misunderstanding for Ben to be walked out in handcuffs.”

  Shit.

  “Like I said, it’s just a misunderstanding. It’ll blow over. I really need to go. Thanks for checking on us, Frank. I’ll let Ben know. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” She turned to go and Frank followed her down the walkway to the sidewalk.

  “Can I give you a lift somewhere?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No, thanks. I’d rather take the streetcar. It was nice to meet you.”

  He caught her arm and gave it a sympathetic squeeze and leaned in too close for Q’s comfort. “If you need anything, and I mean anything, I’m just across the street.”

  She nodded and thanked him again, quickly walking away. She glanced over her shoulder to see him standing in the middle of the street with his hands on his hips watching her walk away.

  Looks like you have some competition for the top spot, Ethan.

  Repentance is a Bitch

  Three guilt-ridden days and three lonely nights later, Q rode the streetcar in silence from her grandmother’s house. At her grandmother's insistence, she had spent the night in her childhood bedroom after she’d gone to the Kol Nidre services that began the Day of Atonement. Over the years, Q had watched congregants silently break down during specific prayers over the course of the long night and day of services specifically designed to cleanse your soul and put you right with Hashem. As a teenager, she had passed the hours of boredom trying to guess what sins these people had committed to make them silently begin to cry in utter shame and remorse. During evening services, she became one of them.

  For the sin of arrogance.

  After Ben’s arrest, she had gone straight to the hidden safe in her great-grandfather’s desk and found a porn addict sized cache of photos and videos of Beth and her lover on Beth’s phone. Like the photographs she’d been shown during questioning, most were slightly out of focus and with the angel tattoo the only thing visible on her lover’s body. Knowing that Beth’s phone contained a copy of the same video as the one on Ben’s was just as damning, if not more so. But that wasn't the end of it.

  While looking through Beth’s browser history, she came across Beth’s blog, describing in intimate detail everything she did with her lover, who she only referred to as ‘bossman.’ Q had warned Lucy, but she knew they were in trouble. Big trouble.

  As Q helped Constance off the streetcar at the stop in front of B’nai Shalom, her phone rang. Constance tisked, and left her to walk inside the synagogue. Relief washed over her when she saw Lucy’s name pop up on the caller I.D.

  “Lucy,” she said. “Is he out?”

  The police were twenty hours away from the maximum allowable time between arrest and arraignment.

  “No,” Lucy replied. “Tomorrow. You’re going to have to get a bond. Use Ben’s house as collateral, it should be enough. Go see Leo Matherne tomorrow morning and wait there. I’ll call him with the information.”

  After she hung up, Q set her ringer to vibrate and slipped her phone back into the back pocket of her white linen pants. She started to cross the street when a strong arm pulled her back onto the grassy neutral ground. Before she could protest, a car sped past, going at least twenty miles over the speed limit and so close that Q could feel the heat of its engine radiating against her skin.

  When she caught her breath, she turned to find her savior. Detective Sanger self-consciously let go of her arm.

  “Here I was thinking you were observant,” he said. “Are you alright?”

  Q nodded. “Thanks to you. I didn’t even look…”

  He knitted his eyebrows together and looked at her in concern. “How much sleep have you been getting?”

  “Enough…not much…none,” she finally admitted.

  “Fasting on seventy-two hours of sleep deprivation is probably not the healthiest choice,” he said.

  Normally, Q would have agreed with him. While she always started Yom Kippur with the notion that she would abide by the commandment to neither eat nor drink from sundown to sundown, by morning she usually ate at least two bites of yogurt and drank a cup of coffee. Not this year.

  Her body’s physical discomfort lessened its emotional pain and she found it strengthening, cleansing.

  “I’m fine,” she said as they crossed the street together and climbed the steps of the synagogue. “You weren’t here last night.”

  Sanger shook his head. “Something came up. We’ll talk after services.”

  They found Constance in the reserved Toledano family seats and sat down on either side of her. During that morning’s recitation of sins, Q managed to fight off her grief. Sanger did not. He sat with his head in his hands, shoulders heaving. Her grandmother gave Q a concerned, questioning look. Q shrugged her shoulders and Constance placed her cool, calming hand on Sanger’s back, patting in a long-quick-quick pattern that Q was familiar with from her childhood.

  “Hush, my love. Hush, my love,” whispered her grandmother’s hands. Their cold touch drawing out the heat of broken hearts and disappointments.

  As she watched her grandmother’s hands, Q took the pattern into her mind and closed her eyes. Peace washed over her where only grief had been. Resolve filled the void created by her emotional desperation.

  She was jarred back to reality when the cantor and the congregation stopped singing their prayers and the Rabbi stood to give his sermon. But the clarity remained and her heartbeat had steadied to a slow pounding.

  After services, during what the program referred to as the ‘hours of contemplation,’ Constance left to go home and have lunch with Mavis, saying that fasting was for people young enough to still sin. Q remained with Sanger and they found their way to a quiet corner of the courtyard behind the synagogue. They sat on a stone bench under a fragrant arch of sweet olive trees, their succulent perfume making Q’s nose tickle in delight.

  They sat in silence for several minutes. Q patiently waited for Sanger to speak.

  “I’m off the case,” he finally said. “Off the force, too, pending an inquiry.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  Sanger shook his head slowly. “Gabrielli figured it out somehow that I tipped you off about Ben’s car.”

  For the sin of arrogance.

  “Oh, fuck. Aaron, I’m so sorry. It must of been me,” she said.

  “Why would you do that?!” he exclaimed. “I was helping you.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” she said. “It’s just that he was so smug, standing there on my porch, and that cop made a beeline for where he’d hidden Beth’s phone. I had to take apart half the trunk to get to it and that uniform knew exactly where to look. It was so aggravatingly blatant.”

  “What did you say?” he asked, his jaw tight.

  “’I asked him if he lost something.”

  “Fuck. And then Ben had to ask me to catch you when you started taking a turn, and with my first name, even.” He covered his face and rested his elbow on his knees.

  “Aaron, I’m sorry. You were trying to help and we…” she started before she realized he was sobbing.

 

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