All the Pretty Girls - J. T. Ellison [32]
She leaned over and gingerly gave Betsy a hug. Fitz leaned against the door to the bathroom, looking distinctly uncomfortable. He was an old-fashioned kind of guy, didn’t like to see ladies in distress. Betsy picked up on it immediately. Her voice croaked as she spoke, still rough from the anesthesia.
“Fitz, I see that your chivalrous sense of justice is piqued. Why don’t you take Brian here and get him a cup of coffee. He’s been mothering the hell out of me.”
Fitz didn’t have to be told twice. He crooked a finger at Post, who reluctantly rose. With a brief kiss on the one unbandaged piece of Betsy’s forehead that was still visible, Post followed Fitz out of the room.
Taylor settled in and gave Betsy an expectant look. They’d known each other for several years, had actually been on patrol together. They were as good friends as two female cops could be, and had a great deal of respect for each other.
Betsy jumped in first. “It looks worse than it is. Broke my nose and the cheekbone. But they got everything fixed up, and I’ll look better than before. That sweet doctor did my nose while I was under. No more bump!”
Taylor gave her a small smile. “You’re keeping up a brave face. How are you really?”
Betsy deflated slightly, trying for a smile and grimacing instead. “I hurt like hell. I’m embarrassed as hell. I feel like an idiot. My own suspect rapes me? I mean really, if that got out on the force, I’d have to resign. None of the guys could ever look at me the same again. As it is, Brian’s just about to die having to see me like this.”
“But Brian’s got more than a professional duty to you, am I right?”
Betsy shifted uncomfortably, the starchy sheets crackling at the movement.
“Caught me. We’ve been dating for six months or so. He’s a great guy. I know they always say not to date anyone you work with…” She trailed off, eyes sliding away.
Before the horrible case that nearly cost Taylor her life, she had been caught up in the shooting of one of their homicide detectives. The fact that she had slept with him wasn’t well known. Taylor looked into Betsy’s eyes, wondering if the female in her had picked up on the long-dead affair. Deciding there was nothing to her statement, she brushed the comment aside.
“Now, tell me what happened last night.”
A little light died in Betsy’s eyes, but she answered. “I had fallen asleep on the couch. I woke up when I heard a noise outside. Went into the kitchen to see what it was, and there he was. The Rainman, in his black ski mask, dripping all over my kitchen floor. I tried to handle it, you know?”
“Where was your weapon?”
“Oh, of course, it was upstairs in my safe. I’m really careful with it—my sister brings her kids over unannounced all the time. Don’t want there to be any accidents.
“So I tried to talk to him. Ask him what he was doing in my house. He didn’t say a word, just flew across the kitchen like he was shot out of a cannon. Punched me in the face hard enough to knock me out. When I came to, he was finished and leaving. I wasn’t even awake when he raped me. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but I’m glad I don’t remember it, at least for now. Add insult to injury, you know?”
Taylor did know. And thanked her lucky stars.
“So what was weird to me was that he was in and out in like twenty minutes. I noticed it was three-fifteen when I heard the noise. When I woke up, it was, like, three-forty, and he was long gone. That didn’t give him a lot of time to enjoy himself, you know?”
Taylor got up and walked to the window. “But he never lingers at a scene, right? The other women he’s raped say he’s rather dispassionate. Did you get that sense?”
“Before or after he punched me?”
“Ah. Point taken.”
“Taylor, you and I know this guy isn’t about sex. He’s just some strange little man that feels he needs to make a point. There’s never been any violence before now.”
“Do you think he’s going to keep at it?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Let me ask you this.