Death of a Washington Madame Read Online Free

shoals of bigotry and strong tides of prejudice to arrive at the other
side of hate and were, therefore, far more worthy of success and the resultant
social cache than their white counterparts. The contemporary subtext was
Secretary of State Powell and Condileeza Rice, plus hundreds of rising and
risen stars.
    They were "better" because it had been
"harder" to become "better." While Gail hadn't quite
expressed herself in that way, Fiona had reconstituted her partner's attitude
into language of her own.
    Having not been corrupted by the crumbs that fell from the
abundant table of the welfare state, Gail's sense of superiority, according to
Fiona's initial interpretation, precluded any real identification with the
burgeoning black underclass with whom the only common denominator was burnished
skin tones and ancestors who arrived in the continent through forced
immigration dressed in rags and heavy chains.
    Lately, however, Fiona was beginning to see cracks in her
initial assessment. Gale was developing what best can be described as an
"attitude" which hinted that perhaps guilt about her fortunate
upbringing was exposing a more militant ethnic stance.
    "These cases have to be thrown in with the whole
homicide spectrum," Gail continued. "Besides, Chief, you know the
odds on finding a drive-by killer, not to mention a crime committed years ago.
It's a bad rap."
    "We are dealing here not with logic Prentiss, but with
politics. We are embattled, surrounded, under attack as if we were the cause
not the solution. In this, one of the worse murder venues in the U.S. of A.,
rebuttal is futile. We have three female bodies and no perps. That is not what
most people perceive we do here. Capeesh?"
    "Are we being scrapped as a team, Chief?" Fiona
asked.
    "The matter is under advisement," the Eggplant
said.
    "By whom?"
    "Them," the Eggplant said pointing upward in the
midst of unwrapping another panatela and shoving it in his mouth. "In
other words..."
    "The enemy," Gail interjected.
    "Another unsolved and its bye bye to the girl's
team."
    "That's patently unfair," Fiona said, ignoring
yet another grating gender reference. She shot a glance at Gail who shrugged.
What could they say? They were a party to the political incorrectness. Indeed,
more than a party, advocates. The fact was that they liked their partnership
and believed implicitly in its intuitive efficiency despite the current slump
in closures.
    "Like life," the Eggplant sighed. Despite his
outward arrogance, his sigh could mysteriously evoke sympathy.
    "What about the Harrison case, Chief?" Gail
asked, referring to their first well-trumpeted success.
    "In this business there are no yesterdays, only
tomorrows," the Eggplant said, shaking his head "You think I like
telling you this. We are not the masters of our fate. Besides, it was my idea,
remember?"
    He stood up and faced the window watching the people
scurrying across the grass of the campus-like complex serene in the glow of the
bright April sunshine, so different from the dirty blurred view of his old
office. But the gesture of dismissal had not changed. It was a clear signal to
retreat.
    "Thanks Chief," Fiona said, understanding his
pain. Nevertheless it was obviously a real possibility. His gender idea was on
the block, the axe poised.

CHAPTER 3
    For the next couple of weeks, Gail and Fiona tried harder,
if that was possible. They broke open two domestics, but that didn't count.
Domestics were easy. They had prior behavior to go by, men who beat their
spouses or girl friends repeatedly, episodes that escalated into murder. With
the O.J. thing, spouse beating and murder had entered a new era of awareness as
a common event. Solving such cases were invariably gender-neutral requiring no
special detective skills.
    Neither of them wanted the partnership to be dissolved.
They had grown accustomed to each other, and were getting especially proficient
at good cop/bad cop interrogation. The two domestics were cracked that