The Aftermath

35

Roads was at the pub, eating a steak sandwich and on his third beer when Detective Jasslynn Baker sat down beside him. "Your housekeeper told me you would be down here."

"She was right." Roads nodded. "Beer?"

Baker looked at the selection of tap beers and then nodded. "The Guinness."

Roads flagged the bartender and ordered for her, sliding cash across the bar when the bartender came back with the beer. "So, what are you here for? I'm on suspension, you know."

"Yeah, I know. I have your cases," she told him.

"Really. Ain't that something."

"I was hoping that you would have time to go over the Blake house with me," she said, taking a sip of her beer.

"We can't go over it here, and I would rather not go upstairs until Tammy is done," he said. "Want to come back tomorrow?"

"No, I can wait. How long does she usually take?"

"I don't have any idea. I told her to clean until she could stand to live there, and left her to it." Roads smiled.

"In that case, I'll buy the next round," she said, settling more comfortably on the stool.

Tammy spent three and a half hours on his place. When she came down into the bar, she looked worked. Roads gave her the money. She thanked him and then left quickly.

Back upstairs, he opened the door to a new apartment. Tammy did an amazing job. "Well worth the two hundred," he said out loud.

"Two hundred for this little place?" Baker snorted.

"It's not the size, it's the mass. And there was a lot of mass," Roads told her, sitting down at his computer desk, leaving the couch or the floor to Baker.

Baker took the couch. "Got anything to drink up here?"

"Yeah. Kitchen above the fridge, help yourself," Roads told her, powering his computer on. He lit a cigarette and watched Baker move around the kitchen.

Baker, Roads decided, was a good-looking woman, despite the clothing she chose to wear at the office. When she stretched up to grab the bottle out of the cupboard, her ass was a perfect heart.

Baker came back with two glasses of scotch and returned to the couch. "Tell me about the house, Roads. The captain said you had a breakthrough last night."

Roads winced at the mention of the captain. He had really let Burns down today. Burns had saved his career and stood behind him dozens of times when things looked shaky or thin. Roads pressed the shame aside. "Not much of a breakthrough. I think that Blake is actually innocent of his mother's murder and the house. That's all. Disappointing really. I would rather it have been him than to discover another twisted fuck is out there." He took a gulp of his scotch.

"I thought you were sure it was him," Baker asked.

"I was. Now I know I was wrong. There are two of these sick fucks, maybe three. Most likely three," Roads told her. Then he explained about the puke on the front lawn and his phone call to Blake last night.

"So," he continued, "We have Blake, serial killer and amazingly sick fuck, and we have a couple of guys that killed Blake's mom and trashed his house."

"You are sure about this?" Baker asked.

"Sure? No. But that's what the facts are telling me. You can make it more sure by picking up a photo for me," he told her.

"What photo?"

Roads told her about the Internet cafe on F Street, and how they had cameras. "I have the exact time that the guy was in there, and which computer he was in front of when he was chatting at me."

"And that is the guy, or one of the guys," she said.

"It is definitely ," Roads nodded.

They sat for a while, sipping scotch and listening to the police radio. After more than ten minutes, Baker looked up at his wall, "You have a P.I. license. Thinking of going solo?"

Roads looked up at the wood frame that housed the license, "No. I thought I was, years ago, but I'm homicide, and P.I.'s only get to work homicides in the books and movies."

"Could you be wrong about Blake? I mean, could he really be innocent?" she asked him.

Roads might have been insulted had someone else asked, but Baker was a good detective. Early on, she showed she had what it took to be one of the best. She was asking as one professional to another. After all, he did misread the Oceanside thing. After thinking his answer through he said, "No, not a chance. The guy is cracked. He was wound too tight in Afghanistan and never unwrapped. He's the guy. The original. He's clear of it, but he's the fucking guy."

"So someone has got to die again before we can get him," she murmured, draining her glass.

Roads lit a cigarette and then got up with their glasses heading for the kitchen, "More than that, with his acquittal. Now we have to find him with the smoking gun or we'll never see the inside of a courtroom, especially with that bitch lawyer of his."

"She is good," Baker admitted.

"Tore me a new asshole," Roads grumbled. "You want another?"

"Sure." Baker said, and took off her jacket and undid two buttons.

Roads came back in and saw her transformation. It wasn't as startling as the transformation of his apartment via Tammy, but it was striking just the same. "Here," he grunted and tried to keep his eyes off her cleavage.

Roads, on the whole, didn't have much respect for women. Women in homicide were even worse most of the time. They were an embarrassment. They couldn't think like men, and since most homicides were done by males, the women were generally useless when trying to work a case more involved than a smoking gun. They were crap at interrogation too. Overall, simply worthless. Dead weight that someone else had to drag around.

Baker was the exception. Roads was sure there were others, but Baker was the only one he had met in more than a decade. Baker was sharp and absolutely ruthless. She had interrogation down to a science. Roads had watched her in action many times. In fact, if he heard that she was interrogating someone, he would stop what he was doing and go watch behind the mirror. She got them talking. Not by being their pal or offering to help them or any of that other crap. She just sat there, looking at a file, taking notes, and asking questions. But the questions she asked... oh, they were genius.

Baker was a good cop and a great detective. And now she was suddenly a woman. At the office, she never showed cleavage and normally wore severe clothing. She looked good relaxed, sipping on the scotch, and smoking one of his cigarettes. She looked amazing, in fact.

Roads lit a cigarette and turned his attention to the police radio. "You aren't going to be too drunk when you leave here, are you?"

"Who said I was leaving?" Baker asked.