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  “No,” Jamie responded.

  The attorney turned swiftly from the jury to face Jamie.

  “No? That’s rather presumptuous of you, don’t you think Detective?”

  “No. In my professional opinion, it is not possible that Mr. Thompson would be unaware of the weapon in his pocket.”

  The attorney crossed his arms and snorted. Jamie couldn’t help but think the man had seen one too many episodes of Ally McBeal. Well, she thought, probably more like Matlock. He didn’t really seem like a Calista Flockhart kinda guy.

  “So, you don’t see any way that this small pistol, weighing less than a pound, could have already been in the pocket of the hoodie when my client, unaware of its existence, borrowed the clothes from someone he thought was a friend?”

  Jamie shook her head. I knew it, Jamie thought, the attorney’s last question confirming her suspicion that the out of state attorney had not taken the time to read her report on Thompson’s arrest. More than likely, he had relied on an assistant to do it for him and was simply working off those notes.

  “No.”

  “And why is this that?” he drawled, asking the question that Jamie hoped he would.

  “It was in his jeans,” she answered.

  “What?” The attorney stopped and looked at Jamie and then down at his legal pad.

  “As I noted in my report, at the time Mr. Thompson was taken in for questioning, the pistol was found in the right front pocket of his blue jeans. Mr. Thompson denied ownership of the pistol and further stated he didn’t know whose pants he was wearing.” Jamie shook her head. “Even if Mr. Thompson didn’t know who the jeans belonged to, I can see no way that he would be unaware of a pistol in the pocket when he put them on. It wasn’t that big a pair of pants.” She paused and turned her head to look at the jury before continuing. “I can tell if I’ve left a set of car keys in a pair of jeans when I put them on, so I—in my professional opinion—don’t see how he would have been able to not notice a gun in his pocket.”

  The attorney stared at Jamie for a moment and then looked back down at his legal pad. He looked back up at Jamie and, twisting his lips, nodded his head.

  “Thank you, Detective. I have no further questions.” The attorney turned from the podium and walked back to the defendant’s table, glaring at both Thompson and the young assistant seated next to him.

  “Does the State wish to re-direct?”

  “No, your honor,” Megan answered the judge, briefly standing as she spoke and then sitting back down.

  “Detective, you are free to go,” the judge said, motioning to Jamie.

  “Thank you, your honor,” Jamie responded as she rose from the witness stand. She smiled and, suppressing the urge to wink at Thompson as she walked across the courtroom, she exited from a side door.

  She saw her partner sitting on a bench in the hallway outside the courtroom and headed in his direction. He looked up from his cell phone and favored Jamie with his trademark sardonic smile as she approached.

  Greg Samuels had been Jamie’s partner at the Hamilton County Sheriff’s Department since she had transferred from patrol to investigations several years before. When she had first met the man with thinning gray hair and a propensity to do things ‘old school’, she had anticipated there would issues between them. During her five years on the road, Jamie had run into the ‘good ole boy’ attitude more than a few times, so she had been pleasantly surprised to find that for Samuels, having a female partner—not to mention one who was a lesbian—was not something that had even come up as a topic of conversation between them. She quickly discovered that in Greg Samuels’ world there were just two kinds of people—good cops and bad cops. Period. They had a good, if sometimes fractious relationship, and Jamie considered him to be a friend as well as a partner.

  “Well, that didn’t take too long,” Samuels said, rising from the bench.

  “Nah,” she answered and then stretched her arms over her head. “Anything going on?” Jamie motioned to the phone in Samuels’ hand.

  He shook his head.

  “Just talking to Miranda. She’s got tickets to the Vandy game this weekend that she’s not going to be able to use and wanted to know if either of us wanted them.”

  “She okay?” Jamie asked, thinking that there had to be something going on for the young, attractive doctor to miss a home game at her alma mater. Miranda Samuels was only a couple years removed from medical school and had several friends still attending Vanderbilt University. Greg Samuels complained about a lot of things, and his daughter’s frequent trips back and forth between Chattanooga and Nashville after working long hours at one of the local hospitals was high on his list.

  “Yeah,” Samuels said. “They’re short-staffed this weekend at the hospital, so she’s not going to be able to get off. I can’t, I’ve already got plans. I told Gaines from the gang unit I’d help him finish that deck he’s building onto the back of his house.”

  “I wouldn’t mind spending the weekend in Nashville, but you know I could care less about football. Find out who they’re playing and I’ll ask Nicole. That’s more her thing.”

  Samuels nodded and began texting as they started walking down the hallway toward the elevators.

  “You know if you do go, she’s not going to want to go to the Johnny Cash museum again.”

  Jamie flashed a grin at Samuels as she pressed the elevator button. Jamie’s love for the Man in Black was only paralleled by Nicole’s hatred of all things country music.

  “You let me handle that, partner,” she said as the elevator doors opened. “I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

  Chapter Three

  “Okay, I’ll have your salads and drinks right out,” the perky waitress in a bright red shirt said, smiling at Nicole and her grandmother before turning and heading toward the kitchen.

  After several failed seating attempts, the pair had finally settled on the corner booth at Mario’s Pizza and Subs. It was, the older woman had declared, the only available seat not situated directly under an air conditioning vent. Not really believing that her grandmother was likely to “catch her death” from the cool air blowing out of the vents, Nicole had nonetheless humored the petite eighty year-old, who had a proclivity for dying her hair jet-black and wearing pastel-colored pants suits, until an appropriate seat was eventually located.

  Like many restaurants in the area, Mario’s was family owned and operated. One of the largest metro areas in the state of Tennessee, Chattanooga prided itself on maintaining that delicate balance between local flavor and big city living. There were several big chain restaurants in the area that happily catered to the area’s many tourists, but Nicole preferred to frequent locally owned businesses. While Nicole would have rather gone to one of the many barbeque restaurants that dotted the riverfront area, she knew her grandmother wouldn’t be up for anything too rich, so had decided on the pizza place where she and Jamie sometimes met for lunch.

  “So, your new doctor seemed nice,” Nicole remarked. “I was surprised by how young he is, though.”

  “He is, but I don’t think his age really matters so long as knows what he’s doing. Besides, I’d much rather have a handsome young man feel me up instead of one of those wrinkled old bald-headed bastards.”

  “Nana!”

  “Well it’s true. Believe me, honey, you don’t get to my age without taking time to appreciate a good-looking man.”

  Since suffering a stroke three years ago, Nicole’s grandmother had developed a habit of saying whatever came to mind, whenever it came to mind. It was difficult to say whether the often off-color and sometimes just plain rude comments the elderly woman frequently made were a direct result of some damage caused by the stroke, or if she had simply grown old enough to no longer give a damn. Nicole often thought the later was, in fact, the case.

  “Well, Nana…” Nicole began but was interrupted by the waitress coming back to the table to drop off their drinks and salads.

 
“Thank you,” her grandmother said to the waitress. “Well, Nana what?” she asked, turning back to Nicole as the waitress left the table.

  “Nothing. Is there anything that you need while we’re out today? We can stop and do some shopping after lunch, if you’d like.”

  “Before you take me back to the prison, you mean?”

  And here we go…

  Nicole sighed at her grandmother’s words. This was not the first time she’d had this particular conversation with the elderly woman, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

  “Nana, you don’t live in a prison. Golden Meadows is not a prison and you know it. It’s a lovely retirement home, and you have a very nice room there.”

  “You can call it by whatever pretty name you want to, the fact is the place is a prison, and you know it,” her grandmother said sharply.

  “It’s not a prison,” Nicole repeated.

  “Are there locks on the windows keeping me from crawling out?”

  “Oh for the love of God, why would you want to crawl out a window?”

  “Do they have armed guards walking around telling you what you can and cannot do?”

  “You mean the nurses, Nana? You know they aren’t armed.”

  “And have you seen the slop they try to pass off as food? Last night at supper, I swear to God, the spaghetti crunched.”

  “Nana, I don’t really want to get into this again. You know you can’t live by yourself anymore. And Golden Meadows is the top-rated assisted living home in Chattanooga. Can’t we just have a nice meal and talk about something else?”

  “Crunch, crunch, crunch…as a matter of fact, poor Mrs. Robinacci broke a tooth out of her dentures. Snapped it right off.” Nana sighed and waved a hand. “Well, I don’t think some fancy lettuce in a bowl constitutes a meal, but I am more than happy to let the subject drop if it makes you happy.”

  “Good.”

  “For now,” the elderly woman muttered under breath. “Because Lord knows, I don’t like to complain.”

  Nicole sighed and shook her head. She was about to open her mouth to speak when she heard her cell phone begin to ring from inside her purse. Glancing at the number as she pulled the phone out, Nicole smiled.

  “Hi Jamie.”

  “Hey darlin’,” came the husky reply. “How’s it going with Nana?”

  Nicole looked across the table at her grandmother, who was systematically picking out the cucumbers from her salad and sitting them on the table beside her plate.

  “Oh, just fine,” she answered. “How was court?”

  “Meh, it was court. So, Samuels’ daughter Miranda called earlier and she has tickets to the Vanderbilt football game this weekend. They’re playing Kentucky. Do you want to go?”

  “Vanderbilt and Kentucky? Why on earth would I want to go see them play?” Nicole asked, furrowing her brow.

  “Well, I know how you like football and all. I thought we could make a weekend out of it.”

  “Jamie, sweetie, I went to the University of Tennessee. I have no interest whatsoever in a game between two random schools. Just because I like football, doesn’t mean that—” Nicole broke off as a thought suddenly occurred to her. “You just want to spend the weekend in Nashville, don’t you? And go to that museum. Again.”

  Jamie had several little quirks and idiosyncrasies that Nicole found endearing. Her obsession with Johnny Cash was not one of them.

  “I can see you’re busy with your grandmother,” Jamie said hurriedly. “We can talk about it tonight. Speaking of which, we’re on the way to the jail right now to do an interview. One of the suspects in the home invasions in Hixson got picked up last night. If it looks like we’re going to run late, I’ll call you.”

  “Okay, be careful. And, don’t think you’re going to be able to sweet talk me into going to Nashville this weekend.”

  “Love you. And tell Nana I said hello,” Jamie replied before abruptly ending the call.

  Nicole grumbled under her breath as she dropped the phone back into her purse. She looked up to see Nana staring at her.

  “Who was that?” her grandmother asked suspiciously.

  “It was just Jamie, Nana. She said to tell you hello.”

  “Jamie? I don’t know anyone named Jamie.”

  “Here you go,” the waitress said, arriving at the table with their pizza. “Anything else I can get you ladies?”

  “No, this all looks good. Thanks,” Nicole responded. As the waitress left to attend to another table, Nicole slid a hot slice of cheese pizza onto a plate and handed it to her grandmother.

  “You do know Jamie,” Nicole continued as she bit into her own slice of pizza. “My girlfriend.”

  Nana chewed thoughtfully on a bite of pizza and then sucked in on her bottom lip.

  “I remember a Carol,” her grandmother said finally.

  Nicole stilled at the mention of her ex-girlfriend’s name. It’d been more than three years since they’d broken up, and while Nicole had moved on and found more happiness than she’d ever thought possible with Jamie, the subject of Carol was still a sensitive one. She had a sudden flash of memory—getting off early from work, walking into the apartment they’d shared on the north side of town, finding Carol in bed with another woman. Nicole shook her head, pushing back the bitter memory, and narrowed her eyes at her grandmother.

  “Nana, you know Carol has been out of the picture for years,” Nicole said, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. “You remember Jamie. Just a few days ago she brought you those flowers you have sitting on the windowsill back at your room.”

  The older woman pursed her lips.

  “The tall police woman?”

  “Yes,” Nicole answered, nodding. “The tall police woman.”

  “Oh. I wondered who that was. I thought maybe that bitch of a nurse called the police on me for throwing apple sauce at her.”

  I don’t even want to know, Nicole thought as her grandmother continued. “And are you still dating girls? I’d thought you would’ve outgrown that by now.”

  “No, I haven’t outgrown girls, Nana. Don’t be ridiculous.” Nicole took another bite of pizza. “And I don’t date girls, Nana. I date women. One woman. Jamie.”

  Nana sucked in on her bottom lip again.

  “Well, I suppose you’re going to do what you’re going to do.”

  “Pretty much,” Nicole answered.

  “Live and let live, I always say. If you’d rather be with a woman than some nice, handsome man, then that’s your decision.”

  “Not that it matters, but I’m happy you feel that way Nana.”

  “Because Lord knows I am not one to harp on things.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “I’ve got better things to do with my time than sit around and point out what you are or aren’t doing right with your life.”

  “That’s great.”

  “I know a smart woman such as yourself doesn’t need some old woman telling her what to do,” Nana said, cutting her pizza with a knife and fork.

  Nicole looked at her grandmother and then took a long sip of Diet Coke before she spoke.

  “Well, I’m glad we’ve got that straightened out.”

  “Panties!”

  Nicole somehow managed not to drop her glass on the table as her grandmother said the word like a declaration of war.

  “What?”

  “Panties. You asked me if I needed anything from the store before you take me back to the prison. I need panties. Somebody’s been stealing mine.”

  “Nana, who would be stealing your—never mind,” Nicole said, waving her hand in the air. That was a question that she really didn’t want to hear answered. “We’ll stop by the store on the way back.”

  Chapter Four

  Jamie strode into the West Annex building of the Hamilton County Sheriff’s Office, careful to walk around the throng of people congregated in and around the main entranceway. The West Annex housed everything from the Investigations Division to depart
mental training offices to the patrol headquarters for the west side of the county, so there always seemed to be a mass of people coming or going. Some days were worse than others, and today was one of those days.

  Placing a protective hand over her coffee, Jamie turned to avoid a large handcuffed man pushing back at two uniformed officers and headed down the side hallway to Investigations. She nodded hello to a few officers she was friendly with as she passed by them, and then walked to the small grouping of desks that sat on the far end of the large, open squad room. She sat the tall coffee down on her desk as she slid into a mid-back office chair with cracked black leather and one arm that stayed permanently higher than the other. Samuels sat in the desk opposite hers, and Jamie smiled as she heard him speaking on the phone.

  “Yes, ma’am, we want to do everything we can to get your lawn mower back as well. I appreciate you emailing me the pictures of your husband mowing the lawn with it, but, to be honest, without a serial number or a brand name or some sort of distinctive description it’s going to be difficult to locate,” Samuels said, rubbing his eyes as he spoke. “Yes, ma’am, I realize that, but ‘green’ is not a brand. Okay. Okay, I will definitely let you know if and when we get any leads.” He hung the phone up and glared across the desk at Jamie, who was openly chuckling.

  “Fighting crime at its grass roots, I see,” Jamie commented as she turned on her computer.

  “Oh, shut up,” Samuels grumbled. “I’m tempted to go buy that woman a lawn mower—a green one—and take it over to her, just so she’ll stop calling me.”

  Jamie laughed as she opened a file on her computer desktop and pulled up the report on the home invasion suspect she and Samuels had just interviewed. Home invasions were, thankfully, few and far between, but simple property crimes like the theft of lawn mowers and weed eaters left unattended in someone’s front yard were a daily occurrence. Almost always untraceable, lawn equipment was easy pickings for a thief looking to score a few dollars at one of the two dozen or so pawn shops in town. Jamie learned early on in her career that Samuels despised being assigned such cases and the endless footwork and phone calls that came with them, saying that they were nothing more than a distraction from ‘real police work’. She’d long ago given up arguing with him that while a lawn mower may only cost a couple hundred dollars it was still someone’s property and should be handled with the same diligence as, say, a burglary. Now she was content with simply goading him whenever one such case fell on his desk.