Her long, almond shaped nails beamed a bright red. Siren red. There was a smear of papers across the cold, metal table. A young man, quite handsome, piercing blue eyes, was captured in the film. Gun holstered at her waist, she leaned over the table and looked upon her spread of evidence. Photos of the drug vials. The horse stables. The track. The Gatsby-Esque after party. The bed with the two dead bodies…She had him. Finally. After months of investigation and nearly being killed, Lieutenant Staci Whyte was about to close up this Kentucky Derby southern scandal, or so she thought.
***
He looked down at his hands. Large, dark, dirty, gritty, cuffed hands. Salem is what they called him around town. He had a large kingpin surrounding derby goers. He was a bourbon suckin’, meat-lickin’, horse-ridin’ Kentucky cowboy. And yes, he looked the part. He was sitting across Lieutenant Whyte for the third time this year. And it was April.
“Well, it just so happens that they lent me the horse, and I got it in writing. If I wasn’t cuffed, I could grab my phone and show you the email.”
A dark brown ringlet fell across his forehead. His hands now clasped together between his spread legs.
Lieutenant Whyte wasn’t faltering. She leaned across the table, going up on her toes in her mud-spattered riding boots.
Rolling her eyes. “Mr. Salem. Please, for the last time, if you do not concede to the release of Teacup, I will ask that you find your way into an available cell, I do not have time to go back and forth with you. Quite frankly, I think you’re an idiot and you’ve shat the bed with this one.”
She rocked back on her heels, brushed her auburn curls off her shoulders, hands landing on her hips. Salem fell back in his seat. Cuffs resting on his thigh. He sat there silently staring. He shook his head, shaking loose more of those dark, thick curls, his brown eyes smoldering in Staci’s presence.
Folding her arms across her chest in the low light of the interrogation room, Lt. Whyte continued.
“Your aunt and uncle came by yesterday, already knowing you were going to ring her up. I advised them to not confront you, but to gather evidence. So, they mounted another camera in the barn and have footage, that I’ve already watched several times, of you taking Teacup from her stall.”
“Yeah, I’m not denying I have her—”
Staci raised her hand, stopping Salem short of his words.
“You having her in your possession is all I need to book you.”
He reached up and attempted to scratch his wiry scruff. He shook his head and continued on about an email.
“Yeah, you wrote it.”
“What, no I didn’t. Aunt Lill did. She legitimately swapped Joystick and Teacup in the preliminaries. I swear.”
Staci’s eyes narrowed.
“Is that so? Prove it.” She said, unlocking his cuffs.
She tossed his phone onto his lap, his fingers antsy as to where to go first on his phone.
“Umm okay, yes, mail, here we go.”
He sat there scrolling.
“Is there a problem, Salem?”
“No, just looking for the registration forward Aunt Lill sent me.”
“You know,” she started, shifting most of her weight, there is a Search feature in your inbox.”
He tossed her a glare. “Oh, so you say.”
While he fumbled through his inbox, Staci pulled out her own phone and thumb through her messages.
She looked up to watch him type “T-E-A-C-U-P”
And…nothing. Just a cock-eyed magnifying glass, focused on empty.
“Wait, what?” he mumbled, confused.
“If I may,” Staci leaned down and gestured for Salem’s iPhone, which he reluctantly gave up.
“I think you were searching for this.”
She turned the phone screen towards him, the screen glowing in the dimly lit room, illuminating the confusion smeared across his face.
“Yeah, that’s Teacup’s LEGAL entry.” Salem pleaded, growing increasingly frustrated.
Staci calmly smiled. “No, Salem, this is a screenshot I had your Aunt Lillian just send you.”
Salem fidgeted in his seat a little. He reached up for his phone. Lt. Whyte took a self-assured step back.
“Your Aunt Lillian? You took her phone and created a fake document, legally subbing Teacup in for Joystick. Except, it just sat in her outbox. Helpless to you, but all the more valuable for us.”
She softly smiled, her left dimple coming into view, and sat up on the metal table, her left leg swinging in front of Salem. He felt like such an idiot, ‘stupid dumbfuck,’ he chastised himself.
“Shiiiiiiiiiit,” he muttered.
“Well, I’ve had such a nice time looking at you…your pseudo-confidence jam-packed in a five o’clock shadow and handcuffs. Mmmmm just kind of sexy, ya know?” Her left leg swinging, almost victoriously.
“Bitch…” he muttered.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” She leaned down, her hazel eyes narrowed, her hair falling into a middle part, her red curls cradling her face. She blinked several times, just waiting for Salem to crack.
“Can you say, grand theft?”
“Grand theft! Wha—”
“Look here, cowboy. I can book you for ringing in Teacup and illegal possession of a racehorse. Hell, definitely fraudulent acquisition and maybe even a potential animal cruelty charge if I dig a little more on your trusty phone there and see what you were going to do with Teacup after the spring races. So, you can either take all this at face value, know that I’m adding 3 felony charges to your file…” she motioned behind Salem, folding his arms behind his back. “Or we can drag this shit out longer and you be tried for the asshole you are.”
“You can’t talk to me that way!” He struggled against her surprising strength. Surprising to Salem, but not to the other cops on the opposite side of the mirror. They were behind the glass, singing her praise, or more or less about how good her ass looked in those navy-blue slacks.
“Yeah, I actually can, come on.” Staci lead Salem toward the door as it swung open, and two detectives each grabbed a forearm.
“Nice work, Stace,” said Collins. Collins, a long-time friend in the force was always there to pound her fist after the close of every criminal case.
“Ha, thanks, he’s a real dick though.” Staci smiled and sauntered away, twirling her long hair up in a clip. “Catch ya later.”
“Goodnight,” Collins whispered after her.
Pete walked up to Collins, who was still staring off behind Staci, as she was gathering papers from her desk and filing them in her purse.
“One hell of a woman,” said Pete.
“Yeah,” Collins sighed longingly. “Yeah, she is.” And they just watched as she waltzed away and down the hall.
“Too bad she carries a gun, though.” Pete chuckled.
