Chapter 32 Kobe #3
The sharp edge of his tensed jaw stood out, and I caught myself staring, thrust back in time to the wild sex we’d shared Christmas morning, then to the soft lovemaking we’d explored later in the day. The snowball fights at the park. The laughter in the kitchen as I helped make princess pancakes.
In the few weeks we’d known each other, Dominique’s defenses had come down.
The profound sadness he had once carried was less evident.
He smiled and laughed. He was real and raw and present.
I wasn’t always a good person. I wasn’t always an honest person, but I suspected Dominique saw through it all and accepted me for who I was. Not many people had done that.
I feared breaking his heart, doing wrong in his eyes. I never wanted him to look at me with disgust.
Was it love? My skin warmed at the thought, and I looked away, unwilling to contemplate something so terrifying.
Wiping my slick palms on my pants, I tried to calm my racing heart and focus on the task ahead.
If the hair from the tassel matched Fatemeh’s, what was I going to do?
My means of acquiring the hair was underhanded, making it inadmissible as evidence.
Would I continue to pursue her as a suspect or push the investigation elsewhere?
Would I approach her and tell her what I found?
Demand the truth? And if the truth was murder, would I hide what I knew?
I didn’t like Fatemeh, but if her motives were meant to be a cure to the plague that had infiltrated the university on the day Jesse and his gang were enrolled, did I blame her? Could I arrest her?
I didn’t know how I would proceed, and that frightened me. Was I the kind of person who could turn their back on murder?
Dominique glanced up from the eyepiece, his expression unreadable.
I waited on pins and needles, wavering in my conviction.
“They are definitely not a match.”
I flinched, unsure what I had expected. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or frustrated. I stared at Dominique for a long minute and suspected he was trying to figure out the same thing while studying me.
What now? the look said.
“You’re sure?”
“One hair has been chemically altered, and the other hasn’t.”
“Fatemeh dyes her hair.”
“Yes. Although that in itself isn’t my sole determining factor for obvious reasons, but the one collected from the scene is considerably thinner and more brittle. The composition is entirely different, and there is a distinct color variation. They are not from the same source.”
I sat with Dominique’s conclusion, rolling it over in my head, deciding how I felt. “Technically speaking, this doesn’t eliminate her, does it?”
“No.”
That was the thing about comparative evidence, like hair or DNA.
If samples matched, it was incriminating.
If they didn’t, it was not exculpatory. The scarf could have been loaned to a friend.
It could have belonged to one of the women Fatemeh was defending.
Was there a group? Did they consult on the kills?
Was the flower, the perfume, and the scarf meant to represent each victim individually?
Dominique tidied while my thoughts raced. He resealed the evidence taken from the scene and marked his initials on the tag. He sealed Fatemeh’s hair in another bag and handed it to me.
“Sorry,” he said, likely reading my rumination as disappointment.
“Don’t be. Thanks for doing that.” I nodded at the other bag still on the table. “Will you get in trouble?”
“I’m a pathologist. I have a hundred different reasons for examining that hair, not the least is a detective badgering me to perform a comparative test. I do as I’m told. No one would question that.”
I chuckled. “Pass the blame. I see how it is.”
Dominique stripped his gloves, tossing them in a nearby pail. He grabbed my hand and tugged me into his bubble. This particular lab didn’t have a viewing window, and I figured that was exactly why he’d chosen it to perform the test.
“Doctor.”
“Detective.”
“You look like you’re going to kiss me.”
“I am.”
Our mouths connected, blistering and sweet, propelling me back to dismissed questions of love.
I wanted to shed the endless stress of this case and take him home to bed.
Make love again like on Christmas afternoon when Cosette had napped.
But I couldn’t. We both had obligations.
It didn’t stop us from taking pleasure in the stolen moment, and I savored his lips and tongue, his taste and the warmth of his arms around me.
He pulled away too soon, and I sighed, closing my eyes and resting my forehead on his shoulder.
Dominique traced his fingers down the curve of my back and rested his strong hands on my hips. “What’s your game plan?”
“Head back to the station and collect new marching orders from the drill sergeant.”
He chuckled and brushed his lips over my temple.
“If I get a free minute, I want to dig into these girls,” I added.
“It seems a fruitless mission. How do you proceed when all you have are three-year-old physical descriptions and no names?”
I drew back and fixed his wrinkled shirt as I spoke. “I have approximate ages and a strong suspicion that the one spiraled after her encounter with Jesse and his friends, especially if she was cast aside by an uncaring cop who was supposed to help her.”
I stilled, unwelcome memories seeping in. “I know what repressed anger does to a person, Dom. I was the poster boy for abuse. I know what it sounds like when an unstable teen screams into the void.”
Yet Ottawa was a city of millions. The futility of the task was not lost on me. How would I find one girl in a pool of thousands? But I wasn’t ready to give up without a fight.
Dominique brushed his knuckles over my stubbled cheek, drawing me from my thoughts. “Good luck. I believe in you.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. You’re a fighter, and you fight for justice… no matter how that looks.”
I contemplated his husky blues for a long time, searching them for answers. Perhaps it would remain the thing unspoken between us, and that was okay.
“Will you come by tonight?” Dominique asked.
“Do you want me there?”
“Desperately.”
The knot in my belly loosened. The strange disconnection that had followed us since Boxing Day and our mild argument at the crime scene at LeBreton Flats vaporized.
I could almost believe I’d imagined it. Dominique seemed to hear all I didn’t say.
His watchful gaze took me in, but he didn’t push me away.
I wasn’t sure he agreed with my questionable views surrounding this case, but he seemed to have accepted them.
That might change if the day ever came when I had to decide to act or not act.