CHAPTER: 11
Wednesday
"Hey, how’s Joey?" Tara asked in concern once Julian reached their desk, having taken the remainder of the day off yesterday to attend to his delinquent brother.
He heaved a heavy sigh as he plopped down into his chair. "He got suspended for a week."
"Ouch," Tara proclaimed as she winced up her face.
"And that wasn’t even the worst part," Julian said as he rubbed the palm of his hand over his eyes. "I had to get Karen to babysit him every night until his father gets off work."
"Wait. Do you mean Karen, as in your creepy and totally-obsessed-with-you landlord, Karen?" Tara burst into laughter as soon as Julian nodded. He tried silencing her with a glare, but to no avail. She continued to laugh uncontrollably, her arms wrapping around her lower torso as the muscles in her stomach started to cramp.
"Laugh all you want, since I assume your visit with Dr. Rosenberg didn’t go very well." He had a self-satisfied smirk on his face when the laughter from the other side of the desk died out.
The cheeky smile on Julian’s face slowly dissipated as he watched his friend smile adoringly, the mirth from earlier forgotten. "Actually, it went very well." The tables were now turned, with Tara spotting a self-satisfied smirk.
"Seriously?" he asked incredulously.
"Oh yeah, we made peace," Tara replied contentedly. She smiled as she thought back to the encounter. She could still remember the feel of Willow’s soft delicate skin when she took her outstretch hand. The tidal wave of emotions that surged throughout her from that mere touch was absolutely exhilarating.
"Seriously?" Julian asked again, doubling the disbelief in his voice. "How'd you manage that?"
"We just .... we decided to start over. You know, clean slate."
"Wow, this is unexpected." Julian admitted in astonishment. "I never thought I’d live to see the day."
"Well, you did. Let’s go. We’re going banking," Tara said in mock excitement, standing up and gathering her belongings together.
"Can’t you at least wait till my small fragile brain completely processes the bomb you just dropped on me," Julian said as he let out a tired breath.
"I could. But what torture would that be to you?" Tara smiled mischievously at him before walking toward the door with a skip in her step.
888
They stepped into the lobby of a corporate building in the Financial District and approached the reception counter. The woman behind the desk oblivious to their approach as she filed her nails while snapping the gum in her mouth; lazily blowing bubbles.
"Excuse me, we’re looking for Ter-" the overly peroxide-blonde receptionist held out an index finger, silencing Tara while she continued to speak into the microphone of the headset she was wearing.
Tara turned to the side to look at Julian with an annoyed expression, drumming her fingers on the marble counter impatiently as she waited. When the woman continued to ramble on about some high-end designer shoes, Tara played her trump card by flashing her badge. She arched an eyebrow as if daring the receptionist to carry on with her brainless conversation.
"I am so sorry. How can I help you, Detective?" the woman asked after disconnecting her phone call, smiling pretentiously.
"We’re looking for Terry Spencer," Tara answered in a monotone voice.
"Mr. Spencer is on the thirty-first floor. The elevators are right over there." She smiled politely as she extended her hand to indicate the direction in which the elevators were located.
"Thanks," Tara replied as she forced a fake smile toward the woman.
Julian bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing out loud. His partner sure did have a way with wooing the ladies. He lost count years ago at how many people his friend’s gruff and to the point attitude had rubbed the wrong way.
"Bitch," the receptionist murmured under her breath after the two detectives walked away from her desk; heading toward the elevators. Clicking a button on her headset, she resumed her nail filing as the person on the other end picked up. "Ugh, Stephanie, you’ll never believe what I just had to deal with."
888
"Hi Detectives, I’m Terry Spencer, CEO of West Coast Investment Bank." The balding, greying-haired, square-jawed man in a no doubt expensive suit greeted them as he held out his hand. "This is Margarete Thatcher, our new Managing Executive." He gestured to the raven haired woman standing posh beside him.
"Managing Executive? Isn’t that the position Marcus was just promoted to?" Julian questioned quizzically.
"Yes. Mr. Nolan was supposed to be our new Managing Executive but because of the unfortunate accident… " Mr. Spencer sighed, visibly upset by his employees passing.
"Where were you early Saturday morning, around two AM, Ms. Thatcher?" Tara probed as she eyed the new Executive. The woman was currently leading her mental list of prime suspects.
"I was at home alone, reading and relaxing. It’s a very stressful job," she answered placidly. Tara unknowingly entered into a staring contest with Margarete.
"Is there anybody who can confirm your alibi?" she asked, her eyebrow rising slightly in confrontation.
"Not unless you know how to communicate with a cat," Margarete replied snidely as she folded her arms over her chest.
Tara’s eyes squinted at the suspect as her nostrils flared in anger. She was about to cut loose with an equally snarky remark when Julian spoke up, effectively tearing her gaze away from the other woman.
"Did Marcus have any close friends who would know where he went Friday night before the incident?" he asked, his voice low and soothing.
"Yes, he had a few good friends. Fellow bankers" Mr. Spencer said as he nodded his head.
"I can bring you to them, if you want," Margarete said with faux friendliness, smiling in a way that made Tara shiver.
"Sure, that’ll be great," Julian replied, seemingly unaware of the unnerving vibe his partner was picking up or the Executive’s pretend chivalry.
They all piled into the elevator, descending down to the thirteenth floor in a matter of seconds. Compared to the environment upstairs, the thirteenth floor was like olive oil and water. Where upstairs had been spacious with large private offices, this floor was cramped with cubicles filled with desks, computers, cabinets and people alike. The hustle and bustle on this level was unmistakable. Exiting the elevator, Margarete led them through rows of desks, all the way to the other side of the floor.
"Gentlemen, this is Detective Maclay and Detective Wallace," Margarete said flippantly as she introduced the detectives to a group of well-dressed men who were talking amongst themselves as they congregated around the water cooler.
"Are you here to investigate Marcus’ death?" One of the men, olive skinned in complexion asked as he smoothed out his tie against his chest. His colleague next to him checked Tara out rather unsubtly, sending her his version of a smoldering look. Tara grimaced in both annoyance and disgust at the man before looking away; unsparing his feelings.
"Yes." Julian replied simply. "We’d like to know where he went Friday night before he passed away."
"Well, actually, we were with him at a club downtown on the L.A. strip," said a squat, curly haired man.
"We were celebrating his promotion," the second man said as he continued to stare at Tara, his tongue occasionally grazing over his bottom lip.
The first man they had spoken to quickly interjected with a sheepish expression. "But, we were all drunk. We passed out in a hotel nearby. All we know is that Marcus wasn’t with us when we woke up."
"Which club?" Tara enquired as she squinted her eyes. "And we also need to know the name of the hotel you stayed at."
"We went to the Gentleman’s Club ‘Vixens’ on 9th and Hampton. Afterwards we checked into the Best Western three blocks away," the olive-skinned man said as Julian wrote down the information on his notepad.
"Thanks, gentlemen," Julian said as he closed the notepad and put it into the pocket located on the inside of his blazer. "That’ll be all for now."
"I’ll walk you out." Margarete led the way to the elevator and the two detectives followed a few steps behind.
They took the lift down to the lobby in silence. Stepping out of the elevator, Margarete escorted them to the exit, her heels clicking deafeningly against the polished tile. "Good luck with your investigation, Detectives," she said when they stopped at the revolving door.
Tara though she heard a trace of challenge in the tone and frowned slightly.
"Thank you, Ms. Thatcher. Have a good day," Julian smiled politely, watching Margarete walk away. He couldn’t deny that he was at least a little smitten by the dark haired woman, appreciating the way her hips swayed as she walked, the material of her dress clinging to her curves.
Tara slapped his face lightly from the side, jolting him out of his trance. "Hey! What you do that for?" he exclaimed, rubbing his cheek with his right hand.
"You were ogling," she replied flatly as she turned to exit the building. Julian twisted his mouth to a side in response.
Quickly, they got back into the black BMW coupe parked on the side of the road. "Let’s head down to the hotel. See if the men’s alibis check out." Tara proposed, buckling the seatbelt around her body as she adjusted her back comfortably in the passenger seat.
"Yeah, then we can check out Vixen’s," Julian said with an animated expression. "Maybe we can ask Dr. Rosenberg to come along since, you know, the two of you have already made nice," he suggested.
"To a nude bar?" Tara snapped her head to the side to look at Julian. As soon as the question left her mouth, Tara’s mind went into a standstill with an image of a half-naked Willow. Her eyes glazed over instantly, the product of Dr. Rosenberg plus topless, when her mind did the math. This is a really bad idea.
I'm really looking forward to the next chapter!
I hope this means Julian won't be too chrushed when he finds out once and for all that he and Willow will never get together romantically. For his sake I'm kind of hoping that he will first learn that she is gay and have some time to get over the disappointment that will cause him before he finds out that she and Tara fell in love with each other.
and 
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