He wondered if he would have felt differently towards her if she hadn’t been barren, if she had bourn him children over the course of their thirty-year marriage. He regarded her as he deliberated, mulled over if children would have changed the contempt he felt for her.
Probably not.
Mary Jane, despite her good breeding and obedience, was about as interesting as plain toast. That is to say, she provided him with the basics, but with nothing extra or special to ingratiate herself to him.
That didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy being married to her when it was convenient. “I’m scheduled to attend a press conference tomorrow,” he said, noticing the way that her spine stiffened right before she turned dead eyes on him.
“Good,” she said, quietly. The single word and the small nod of her head were the only indications that she had heard anything at all.
“Douglas Brennan thinks that there’s a serial killer on the loose.” Oh yeah, that got your attention. Her head snapped to him as her eyes searched his. When he stared back at her, she blinked and quickly looked away. “He killed three women in the span of thirty-six hours. Strangled them.”
“Oh,” she sighed, a short breathy sound that went straight to his cock, “that’s terrible.”
“From what I’ve been told, the women were stand up citizens too. One,” he paused for only a moment, “was a single mother.”
She turned her head away, gently thumbing away her tears as she did so. Seeing her misery, he felt a small moment of power. She was so…pathetic, so goddamn kickable. “I’d like for you to make an appearance too. These women’s issues are best fronted by a public figure and, as my wife, you’d make a nice addition to the image of solidarity.”
“Of course. Anything for you.”
She turned to face him, and for only a moment, he thought that he saw something there. Awareness, maybe? Anger?
“Good.” He couldn’t wait to see her face when she realized that the dead bitches were the whores who’d tried to take her away from him. A small little amusement meant for him. For only him.
He pushed to his feet and moved past her chair, stopping only to grab her chin in his hand so that he could see the look in her eyes when he said, “I’ll be waiting in the bedroom for you.”
Chapter 21
Jacob stood in full uniform beside Doug Brennan, waiting for the mayor and the other city officials to arrive. Although they stood a little off the stage to the side, he had a full view of the set-up that the mayor’s office had erected on the steps outside of City Hall. The four center stone arches of the mezzanine level loomed over the makeshift stage, which had been erected front and center of the main spired tier of the building. Twenty American flags had been pegged in the slots above the arches but in the hot, eighty-degree weather, they hung limp and still. Defeated.
Usually, the LAPD’s open cases would not have garnered so much attention, let alone warranted the complete shut-down of City Hall for the morning, but Jacob knew that the immense media and civilian turnout had more to do with the victims than the fact that there was a serial killer on the loose.
To the public, the murders of three, everyday, hardworking women, one of whom was a mother, constituted the most unfathomable evil. And, well, the media knew that too, and, at least from where Jacob was standing, they were lapping it up, prepared to sell every angle of the story that they could. Starting with the shit job you’ve done so far.
He felt a vague disquiet settle in his stomach, and consciously fought the nerves that were forcing through his skin and manifesting into sweat-slicked palms. Needing to see her face, he listened to what Doug Brennan was saying half-heartedly and turned to look at the far right of the City Hall steps to where Lola sat on the grass with Sarah and McConnell.
She waved at him and although he couldn’t see the details of her features, he knew that she was smiling at him, and he felt a little of the tension leave his taut muscles. As much as he hadn’t wanted her to be there, he felt unquestionably relieved that he could look across the lawn and draw from her quiet strength. It was her, he knew, that was powering him through this particular task that the captain had assigned him.
He wasn’t an idiot. He knew that Doug didn’t want to face the people and tell them that they had no leads, no suspects, no evidence, and only a single, intangible clue as to who had violently murdered three women in only three days. But still, every time that Jake looked at Lola and imagined her in the place of Veronica Tally, Selma Holt, or Deborah Duran, he felt rage rush his head, a rage that he was channeling single-mindedly to get through the upcoming interview. So, as much as he wasn’t happy that Lola was there, he was grateful that she’d fought him on it, grateful that she’d insisted on attending, for the girls and for him.
When a procession of suits emerged from the mouth of City Hall, Jacob stood a little straighter, his stomach clenching uncomfortably as he noticed the mayor step up to the podium. The mayor nodded at him, a weary smile on his face, as his party moved to the seats at the side of the room. He acknowledged the greeting with a nod of his own, before turning to stand beside Doug, bracing for what was to come.
Jacob looked out over the assembled crowd, his hands clasped neatly together in front of him as the mayor gave the opening speech. It was a short, heartfelt lamentation about the injustice in the world, the unfairness that three young, innocent women had been taken in such a cruel way, followed by a brief promise that the city was utilizing all of its available resources to track and apprehend the killer.
When a dozen hands shot up, the mayor gestured to where he stood with Doug. “Although we have very little to go on at this moment in time, LAPD Lieutenant Jacob Simmone will now answer any questions that you may have.”
Jake stepped up to the podium. He wasn’t sure why, but a deep calm had etched its way into his mind, leaving him focused and composed for what he knew would undoubtedly be a complete disaster. He cleared his voice before indicating to a young, male reporter in the front.
“Jeremiah Tripoli, with the LA Times.”
Jacob nodded.
“Do you have any suspects at this time?”
“Although we usually would not disclose such information in an ongoing investigation,” Jacob began, “I can honestly tell you that we have no suspects to date.”
A ripple of disbelief washed over the crowd, but Jacob blocked himself to the tittering and pointed to a young reporter a few steps behind Jeremiah Tripoli. Here’s to hoping that she’ll be more understanding.
“Rebecca Sanchez. LA Daily.” She met his eyes. “Have you found any connection between the three victims? Veronica Tally, Deborah Duran, and Selma Holt seemed to live entirely separate lives…” she let the comment die off, emphasizing her intel.
“We believe that the victims met at an anonymity group for abused women. However,” he paused, “we have yet to verify that information.” When the crowd whispered among themselves, he raised his voice and spoke firmly into the microphone. He knew that pictures of the girls were frozen on the screen behind him, so he added, “We ask that anyone with information regarding any of the victims contact the LAPD immediately.”
Jacob answered seven more questions, giving only the details that he and Doug had decided were necessary, details that may help push the case forward.