Title: Chanel No. 5
Summary: Sometimes it's surprising just how much Bobby knows about the most unusual topics. Sequel to "Sexual Kinetics" with the same warning – no plot, just sexual tension, mostly in Ch 2.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em …no money … thanks Dick Wolf … and whatever else is supposed to be disclaimed.
Archive: Anywhere else, just ask
Feedback: Please! It's always welcome – constructive feedback as well as encouragement.
A/N – This is a sequel to "Sexual Kinetics" so it would probably be helpful if you read that first.
5:45 a.m. The early morning light was still murky as Detective Alex Eames walked down a path in Central Park carrying two cups of Starbucks. She rounded a corner and there was no mistaking that she'd found her way to the crime scene. Uniforms were everywhere taping off the area and keeping the small crowd of curious onlookers as far back as possible from the body. In another half hour the crowds would be much larger, and the cops much busier.
Her partner was easy to spot. Bobby Goren's hulking form stood off to the side, waiting for the uniforms to finish up and for daylight to cooperate. He looked anxious to begin and was probably frustrated by nature's tendency to take its own sweet time when it came to moving through the minutes between darkness and dawn.
Alex walked up to him and silently handed him his cup, black no sugar. At some point over the years it had become routine that she was the one to bring the coffee.
But not so routine that he took it for granted.
"What do we have?" she asked while tucking her free hand into her armpit and stomping her feet a little to try and beat back the early morning chill. She'd forgotten her gloves in the SUV.
"Someone out walking their dog early this morning found her," Goren looked at Alex, reached into his coat pocket and tried to hand her his gloves. Alex shook her head – she couldn't see how a pair of gloves three sizes too big for her was going to be much help. Besides, in another fifteen minutes or so it would be light enough to see and she would have to snap on the latex.
"I haven't seen the body yet, but it sounds like she was discovered in the same condition as Lisa Harrison," Goren shoved his gloves back in his coat pocket and took his first sip of the hot, strong coffee, momentarily closing his eyes in appreciation.
Lisa Harrison. Her nude body was found in Central Park last Wednesday morning. She'd been raped and murdered then left posed peacefully with a wild rose bush as her headstone. It was a case they'd caught last week. That explained why Eames was now out here freezing her butt off instead of someone from homicide.
"Where's the witness?"
"Used a pay phone to call 9-1-1, reported it then disappeared," Goren ran his hand through his hair before rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture Alex knew came from aggravation. "We'll put out an appeal for any witnesses to come forward, but I'm not holding my breath."
No witness to question, still not light enough to examine the body or the scene – no wonder Goren was fidgeting.
As they stood side by side sipping their coffees, Alex's thoughts wandered back to that night in the conference room when Bobby had asked for her help figuring out the mechanics of Lisa Harrison's rape. He'd used Alex as the stand-in for Lisa to try and reenact what caused the unusual patterning of bruises on her body. The close contact and suggestive positioning necessary to satisfy his quirk had brought long-neglected feelings bubbling to the surface for Alex. She suspected Bobby had also been affected, but looking back now it was hard to tell. Who knows what she would have done if David hadn't shown up when he did?
The next morning had been a little awkward between her and Bobby, but by the end of the day things were back to normal. Alex attributed the previous night to a combination of fatigue, harmless feelings of affection for her partner, and the fact that it had been too long since she'd been intimate with any man.
She'd met David about two months ago and, in her mind, the dinner at Veritas was going to be the lead-in for a very satisfying night with the very attractive, very successful David Sullivan. But somehow, as handsome as he looked that night and as attentive as he was toward Alex, those feelings never happened. And they continued not to happen the two times she'd seen him since.
What had been happening with annoying regularity was every night just before drifting off to sleep she felt the sensation of a large, warm hand cradling her hip – as though a lover was holding her safe. She was sleeping peacefully through the nights and awakening with lingering images of pleasant, mostly-forgotten dreams – just at the fringes of her memory.
"Eames," Bobby's voice brought her out of her reverie and she realized that it was now light enough to see more than your hand in front of your face. They tossed their almost-empty cups into the nearest trash bin then ducked beneath the yellow tape.
Alex had long ago gotten used to walking at a faster pace to keep up with Goren's long strides. This morning the extra effort was welcome to help warm her.
The crime scene photographers had made their first frantic pass, but were still hovering to take shots if directed by the detectives. As she and Bobby approached the body, Goren's steps slowed – they always did. Alex suspected it was an unconscious act of reverence for the lives that were taken unwillingly from the victims. He spoke softly in their presence, and handled them with care and respect. The first few times Alex had accompanied him to murder scenes, she'd felt a lump in her throat and stinging behind her eyes as she witnessed his tenderness. Anyone who ever had one bad thing to say – one doubt – about Detective Robert Goren should be forced to watch what she was seeing right now.
He crouched down next to the body and, as always, for a silent moment he just looked at her face. Alex sometimes wondered if in that moment he was introducing himself to the victim.
"She has unusual bruising on her body … not exactly the same as Lisa Harrison's," Goren gestured toward marks on her thighs then reached to pick up one of her arms and examine her wrist. "She was bound, but she doesn't have the same bruises indicating her arms were held above her head."
Gently returning her arm to its position, he grasped her chin and moved her head first to one side then the other. "No signs of strangulation … no obvious external injuries that would cause death …" Bobby sat back on his heels, rested his elbows on his thighs and tangled his fingers. "She may have been killed with an overdose … the same as Lisa Harrison …" his voice trailed off as he brought his fists up to his chin and thoughtfully rubbed one finger along his bottom lip.
In a sudden movement, Bobby picked up her wrist again and brought it to his nose. He then leaned forward close to the victim's neck and breathed in deeply, before looking up at Alex with a question in his eyes.
"What?" Alex asked.
"Her … perfume. It's Chanel No. 5."
Alex wrinkled her nose. "Kinda outdated."
"I wouldn't call it outdated … it's … classic." Bobby stood up and cocked his head at the victim, as if he expected her to yield an answer. "It's an unlikely choice for such a young woman."
Apparently finished with his on-scene examination, Bobby turned to walk away. "If the killer chose it for her that tells us something about him," he sounded thoughtful as he peeled off his latex gloves and nodded a greeting to the CSU team headed in.
"What do you mean?"
"It has a certain … style … ideally feminine," he glanced down at Alex as they walked at a slower pace toward the path back to where she parked the SUV. "It's evocative of angora sweaters … and pearls. High heels … and … seamed stockings …" Bobby looked up toward the sky with a faraway gaze, as if envisioning that 'ideal' woman.
"Great. We've got someone out there wanting to kill June Cleaver."