With Alexis, I have no reason to shield my thoughts. She’s not seeking a weakness to overthrow me. And ironically, she’s the only one who has the power to wield my weaknesses against me. She accepts me wholly; the monster and the man. She doesn’t balk at my crude thoughts or actions.
“I can’t get a read on the victim,” she says, looking over her profile for the second time. “I wish we could interview her.”
“We’re lawyers, not cops.”
She peeks up. “You’re a lawyer. I’m your lackey.”
Just the suggestion has my pants tightening as I envision pulling her beneath me, showing her just how I like to treat my lackey. I clear my throat. “Read it out loud.”
“Samantha Dean. Twenty-three. Single. White,” she begins in a formal tone. “She works as a marketing director for an online fashion magazine. Spends a lot of time on her computer as she works from home. Dates mostly men she meets online. Which matches Malcolm’s own romantic lifestyle.” She flips the page.
I massage my temple, thinking past the pending headache. “In her first statement, she couldn’t remember if she scratched her attacker or not. There was no foreign DNA found on her person. No trace of her attacker. Then in her revised statement, she recalled that he scratched her. Inside her mouth. Why is that detail so important to her?”
Alexis shakes her head. Then she flips faster through the report. “But how? He wore gloves. I mean”—she holds up the picture of the victim taken at the hospital—“she was battered, yes. Her face is covered with bruises and her body sustained horrific abuse that caused abrasions. It was traumatic—but she clearly stated he was wearing gloves. The examination recovered surfactants and latex residue.”
I hold up a finger and then reach for a folder. “In her amended statement, she claims he removed a glove. That’s why it’s important.”
“And she just happened to remember that very specific detail later?”
Still digging through the reports, I say, “Are you suggesting a ruse on the prosecution’s part? You think a victim would be so easily swayed?”
She sighs heavily. “I don’t know,” she says. “Personally, I think that if the victim believes Malcolm to be her attacker, she might be desperate enough to put him away by saying whatever she feels necessary.”
“Only one problem – shit – her statement’s not here.”
“What’s the one problem?”
I glance up at her, giving up the search. “It doesn’t matter if the glove was removed or not. If the offender scratched her or not. It doesn’t matter because it wasn’t the offender’s DNA that was recovered. It was hers, on Bates’ car. So why—?”
I stop abruptly. Lacing my fingers behind my head, I palm the back of my neck, suppressing the urge to put my fist through a wall. “They’re withholding evidence,” I say, too calm compared to the storm rumbling to life inside me.
Alexis is off the couch and approaching me with cautious steps. “How do you know this?”
Lowering my hands, I get to my feet and reach for my suit jacket. “A rookie cop’s statement,” I say, sliding on my jacket. “He claimed other DNA was recovered at the scene or on the victim. It wasn’t clear, but that’s the only logical conclusion. The ACA is withholding it.”
“But why?” She steps toward me. “Where are you going?”
“Why? I don’t know – the DNA was corrupted? It’s too small a sample to share with the defense? She’s buying time to get a warrant for Bates’ DNA to compare?” I shake my head, exasperated. “Fuck. Any number of reasons why the ACA would withhold it isn’t good. I need to get the damn victim’s revised statement. We have to compare it to the cop’s. I need to find something I can use to get a relief to access all the prosecution’s evidence.”
“Wait.” She turns and grabs her purse. “You’re in lawyer mode. Stay here and work the case. I’ll have Jefferson take me back to the office to get the statement.”
“We’ll both go,” I say, but she’s already holding up her hand.
“There’s not much time if you have to make a decision tomorrow.” She gifts me with the sweetest smile, and my chest tightens. “I’ll be right back.”
As she turns to go, I reach out and grab her hand. “Don’t take long. There’s still the matter of pleasure to address once we nail this case.”
She waits patiently for me to kiss her. I seal my lips over hers, sweeping my tongue inside the tempting cavern of her mouth to taste her, telling her in one action that I don’t want to spend another moment without her.
If I get my way—which I normally do—I won’t ever have to.
19
Broken As Me
Alexis
I don’t see the gray lining the evening clouds. I don’t feel the bite of the cool night breeze. I pay no attention to the eerie quiet that blankets the city as I approach the town car. For once, I’m alive in the moment. Neither dreading the future nor regretting the past.