Rosy, looking all set for another day on the job, was greeted with a smell of frying eggs and buttered toast as she walked into the kitchen. Steam rose from a pot of oatmeal on the stove and Rosy became instantly hungry. Charity moved with calm purpose, stirring, flipping, setting plates with the flawless rhythm of someone who believed that even breakfast was an act of devotion. For someone whose primary love language is acts of service, it all came natural to her—serving, keeping things in order, making sure everyone is okay.
"Ready to go kick some ass, " Charity said gently, sliding a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her younger sister.
Apart from being older, she was taller—only by an inch at five foot eight—and fuller in figure than Rosy. Perhaps pregnancy and childbirth had something to do with it; once upon a time, they'd shared the same slim, athletic build. Now her curves had softened, settling gracefully in all the right places.
" My partner's would be first," Rosy said, taking up a fork to go about her food.
Charity arched an eyebrow, placing the toast and oats before her," He must be such a pain in the arse."
" He should have been a middle grade teacher, clearly a square peg in a round hole."
Rosy felt something was amiss.
"Where's Alex?" She asked, fork mid-air to her mouth.
" He's sleeping. Didn't sleep at all last night, kept crying as though he went through a nightmare."
" Oh. I must have been really knocked out last night. Didn't hear a thing."
" How about Michael?" Charity asked, her eyes crinkling with mischievousness. "Still in touch? I think he likes you, the way he looks at you in church."
Rosy shook her head and smiled. " We have a date today. I pray I don't get stuck up at work."
When Rosy entered the LBPD building, it was seven-fifty. She had an appointment with Captain Fisher by eleven. The Coroner's report should be ready before then. Keane was nowhere in sight yet. She should have a little time for herself. She entered her little cramped office space--her mini sanctuary– and briefly committed her day to God in prayers.
At eleven, She brisk-walked into Captain Fisher 's office. It seemed he was already waiting for her. He sat in his chair, leaning back with his thick arms crossed, his presence filling the space with a kind of oppressive authority.
"Lawson," he said with a thin smile. "Busy day?"
Rosy removed her gloves, keeping her voice steady. "I spoke to Jones's ex-wife. She confirmed he was unfaithful. That he likely had other women. One of them may have been with him the night he died."
Fisher's smile faded. "Aside from the name on the napkin, do we have any other evidence?"
"We didn't get any fingerprints from the wine glass, she was probably wearing gloves. But the coroner report came in this morning. Our guess was correct: he was poisoned. Strychnine. The dosage was lethal. Death happens in minutes, in a violent manner."
"Crap," Captain Fisher shook his head.
"I'm following the trail. Keane and I would be going to the bar Grant normally visits to grab a drink. Gartoz bar. That might be where he met his guest, and the whiskey."
Captain Fisher nodded, "Follow it quietly . We can't afford a scandal. Jones wore the badge, flawed or not. If this turns into whispers of betrayal inside the department…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "We'll bleed out in the press."
"I understand, sir," Rosy said.
"Good," Captain Fisher said, leaning forward. His eyes narrowed, hard as "Keep it clean, Lawson. Don't chase ghosts, we are short of manpower here."
" Alright Sir." Rosy said as she turned toward the door.
She felt her chest tightening that it was difficult to breathe. Ghosts. That's what he called it. But the lipstick had spelled the name clearly.
Back at her office, Keane was sitting on her chair, his legs crossed on her desk. He was playing with a pen, a sardonic smile on his face. "Roses are red, violets are blue but this one keeps chasing the wind to la-la land." Keane sang clownishly as he took his legs down in response to Rosy's angry glare.
"We'll be going to Gartoz bar tonight." Rosy said with suppressed annoyance. She went to the little white board that stood at a corner, picked the black marker and wrote:
GRANT'S HOME > H E L E N. > STRYCHNINE > GARTOZ BAR
She closed the marker and placed it back in the closure beside the duster. This was another case to prove her mettle. Her thirteen years anniversary celebration in the Force was a month away. Catching Helen would be the best anniversary gift. And who knows? It might be the case that would earn her a much needed promotion. Detective Chief Inspector Rosy Lawson. She loved the ring of that.
" What are we expecting to find at Gartoz?" Keane asked, jolting her back to reality. He was standing beside her now, arms folded across his chest.
" Apart from Helen, the owner of the bar was probably the last person that saw Jones. Alive."
" I see. Time?
"The bar opens at seven. To have a good feel of what happens inside I think we go by nine. Maybe she might be back . Who knows."
" Helen, back at Gartoz?" Keane scoffed, " That's a long shot. She knows we're on her trail. She ain't that stupid."
Rosy bit her lip. Keane was right. Even though he was still an ars…
Forgive me Lord