Thomas O`Callaghan - Bone Thief

“Perhaps it’s time for another visit,” Driscoll suggested.

The door to the kitchen swung open, and Moira appeared, holding a platter of barbecued chicken wings.

“Don’t waste your time,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Guys that get off on roasting roosters don’t get off on murder.”

A chill settled over the table.

“She even thinks like a cop,” said her mother.

“Care for another assistant?” Moira asked with a smile.

“Oh, brother,” Margaret moaned.

Driscoll was seated behind his desk, poring over the photos of the remains of the latest victim. How could one human being do this to another? he pondered. And what’s with the sanitation dump site?

Margaret stuck her head inside the door, interrupting his contemplation. “She’s late,” she said.

“Who?”

“The whiz kid.”

“Who’s watchin’ the clock?”

“You said five P.M. Sharp! It’s going on five-fifteen.”

Driscoll gestured for Margaret to come in and take a seat beside his desk.

“You don’t care for Little Miss Computer Brains, do you?”

“She’s much too brassy for my liking. But I have a suspicion that you have somewhat of crush on the young girl.”

“If truth be known, she makes me think of Nicole every time I see her.”

Driscoll envisioned his daughter’s smiling face. He remembered the warmth he felt whenever Nicole took hold of his hand. One such memory came racing to consciousness. Nicole was two, going on three. He and she were together in the playroom. “Daddy c’mere,” she beckoned, her little fingers entwined around his. “You get the wellwow ones,” she instructed, holding a yellow block with the raised letter T on it. “Build dem, Daddy. Build dem.” Driscoll got down on all fours and stacked T upon S, upon E, until the tiny tower of yellow blocks was complete. Nicole erected the blue ones. When the two columns were assembled, Nicole formed a tiny O with her lips, signaling Driscoll to blow the blocks down. How she giggled and grinned when Driscoll obliged.

“Just like you’re doing now,” said Margaret.

“What’s that?”

“Nicole. You’re thinking of Nicole.” Her voice was sympathetic. “Your face always has that melancholy look when you’re thinking of your daughter. Or didn’t you know that?” Margaret watched as a tiny tear formed in the corner of Driscoll’s eye. “It’s very understandable,” Margaret continued, her eyes drawn downward. “I only wish I had someone to blot out the nightmares of my past.”

“You know I’m always here to listen.”

“Forget I said it. I’m fine. Just a little distracted lately. That’s all.” Margaret squirmed in her seat like a schoolgirl. “Maybe it’s the case with all its blood and gore. I don’t know.”

“Can I take a stab at it?”

“At what?”

“At what’s got you distracted.”

“Fire away, Mr. Freud.”

“I think you’re jealous.”

“Jealous? Jealous of who?”

“Little Miss Computer Brains.”

“Get real.”

“No. I think that’s it. Plain and simple. I saw the look on your face at that dinner table where Moira was fawning all over me. You’re jealous of all the attention I give her.”

“Yeah, like I’m gonna get jealous of a fourteen-year-old girl.”

“Her age has nothing to do with it.”

“What then?”

“You feel put out by my feelings for her, this transference that Moira brings out in me.”

“You’d know more about these emotional issues than I would. I have to admit I’m in the dark when it comes to most psychological goings-on.”

“I want you to know it doesn’t take away from the feelings that I have for you.” Oh, boy. Did he just say what he thought he said?

“Go on.”

Trapped. Trapped by my own doing, and it’s too late to do an about-face. “C’mon, Margaret. You know how I feel about you.”

“I feel like I’ve just been asked to dance on a patch of thin ice. You have feelings for me?”

“Of course I do.” He felt his face become flushed. His having feelings for Margaret had always raised guilt, but confessing to those feelings was something else. “I’m just not in a position where I can act on those feelings.”

“But they’re there?”

“Oh, they’re there, all right.” Driscoll’s heart began to race as a stillness overtook the small room.

“Oh, boy. Where do we go from here?”

“You do understand my position. I mean, I’m still married to Colette.”

“How do you manage to do it?”

“Do what?”

“Sit with those feelings, knowing how I feel about you.”

A sad smile formed on Driscoll’s face. He fought back the urge to hold her hand.

A knock sounded on Driscoll’s door, interrupting their intimacy. Detective Thomlinson stuck his head inside, letting the tumult enter from the outer office of the Command Center.

“Somebody’s birthday out there? What’s all the hubbub?” said Driscoll.

“There’s a teenage girl outside. Says she has an appointment with you, Lieutenant. She’s dressed like a Times Square hooker! You’d better hurry. There’s no tellin’ what these johns’ll do.”

“You really know how to pick ’em,” Margaret snickered as Driscoll darted for the door.

A huddle had formed in the squad room, encircling the young teen, who was clad in a flesh-toned tube top and black miniskirt. Driscoll elbowed his way in. The circle dispersed.

“Come with me!” Driscoll snapped, escorting Moira into his office and slamming the door.

“Why are you dressed like…like-?”

“Too flashy?”

“See if this fits,” Margaret said, tossing Moira her jacket.

“I’m really sorry, Lieutenant. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll dress more appropriately next time.”

“Next time? There’ll be no next time.”

“OK, I screwed up. But, can’t I just have a go with my computer before I-”

“Ya got two minutes.”

Moira sat down and opened her satellite-supported laptop, where her fleeting fingers danced across the keyboard. The screen sizzled with codes, numbers, logarithms, and equations. Within seconds, Moira had entered the nebulous zone of hacking.

“Lieutenant, did you know the FBI is also investigating these crimes?”

“They follow all serial cases,” said Margaret.

“You tapped into the FBI’s in-house files?” said Driscoll, incredulous.

“Impossible,” said Margaret.

“No. Moria has accessed their private files. And, from the looks of it, they’re keeping a very close eye on our investigation.”

“Would you like a hard copy?” Moira asked. “I gotta act quickly before they’re on to us.”

“Go ahead.”

“Done. We’re out.”

“Get away clean?” asked Margaret.

“Just like a bar of Ivory.”

“I should report you for this,” said Driscoll gravely.

“Sometimes I get carried away,” Moira pouted. “I need a strong hand to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” said Margaret.

“Young lady, you really know your way around a keyboard.” Driscoll grinned and shook the girl’s hand.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Just so you know my heart’s in the right place, tonight’s demonstration is on the house. But next time it’s gonna cost ya.”

“How much?”

“Fifty dollars an hour. And I guarantee satisfaction.”

“What’re gonna do with all the dough?”

“Have you priced a motherboard lately?”

“Oh, John,” Margaret groaned. “We’ve got a technogeek on our hands.”

“On that note, I’m outa here,” said Moira. “Time for you two to hit the keys.”