Edwards glanced at the wet floor between her waist and the counter cabinets, and spotted a small spoon protruding from under her body. He chuckled and turned to Sergeant Haldron.
"I'll have my techs bag up the spoon she used against your officers," he said, pointing at the silverware next to her body.
Nobody laughed, and he heard a few mumbled ‘fuck you's’, but he didn't care. They would never respect him, and he would always resent their type. He had better things to do with his time, and one of those things was Daniel Petrovich's wife. When they lifted her off the kitchen floor, he got really excited. She was beautiful, almost exotic, possibly Middle Eastern. Their eyes locked for a moment, and he would have sworn her murderous glare softened. He couldn't wait to break the news to her that her husband was wanted by the FBI for murder and terrorism. He'd watch her world crumble and her self-esteem evaporate, then he'd offer her a shoulder to cry on, and maybe a drink down in that crummy little downtown area they call the Old Port. Maybe this trip wouldn't be such a waste of time after all.
"We're not here for her. Take it easy," said Edwards.
One of the officers holding her hissed in her ear, "We're here for you now. Just make a move and I'll bust up that pretty face."
"Sergeant Haldron!" Edwards yelled, and Haldron walked over to intervene.
"What do you need?" said Haldron, clearly sick of Edwards.
"I just need some professionalism. And I need you to control your men. Now sit her down on the couch and remove her restraints," said Edwards, staring at one of the officers holding her.
"Are you fucking kidding me? We just busted our asses getting this one under control," said the same officer.
"I don't think that would be a good idea," said Sergeant Haldron, and a few other officers chimed in from the kitchen.
Edwards walked briskly past the officers, pushing his way through to the back of the kitchen. At this point, he had experienced enough of their insubordination. They were undermining his authority with the witness, and sabotaging his carefully laid plans to coax information out of her. These goons had no idea that nothing else mattered at this point. Only Jessica Petrovich held the key to finding her husband, and if he didn't play the situation right, she'd shut down for good. He grabbed a pair of kitchen shears from the knife rack, and walked up to Jessica, who was still in the grips of two very large, heavily geared officers.
"Move out of the way," he said, and the two officers let go of Jessica.
Edwards cut her plastic restraints and tossed the scissors to the floor behind him. He lingered close to her, and her smell was intoxicating. He felt himself starting to float away from the scene, and needed to ground himself. She was incredible.
"Sorry about this. Why don't you grab a seat on the couch," he said softly, before turning to Haldron.
"I don't want any of these guys in here. Understood?"
"You want to be in here alone with this one?" asked Haldron.
Edwards considered Haldron's comment, and decided that it held no double entendre. He wanted to be alone with this woman more than anyone could possible know, but that's not what Haldron meant. Couldn't be. They thought she was dangerous.
"I think she'll be fine without someone trying to smash her skull in," said Edwards.
"She was holding a weapon!" yelled an officer from the kitchen.
"She was holding a spoon, dummy," said Edwards.
"Hey. Take it easy on my men. They don't have the luxury of walking into a cleared structure. They go in first, and have no idea what they'll find. I didn't notice you rushing in behind them," said Haldron.
"I didn't want to get shot…by them," said Edwards, and Haldron looked like he might lose his composure.
Standing peacefully in front of the couch, Jessica regarded them both, showing the slightest sign of smiling at Edwards.
"I'll give you some privacy here, but as long as Portland Police officers are required on the scene, I'll keep some of my guys posted to keep an eye on her."
"That's fine, Sergeant," Edwards said, and turned to Jessica.
"Please. Have a seat. Are you alright? I saw some glass on the floor," he said, walking over to her.
"I think I'm OK. I just haven't had any time to process what's happening. Someone said something about my husband being a murderer. What's going on here? Who's going to pay for everything they've broken? Look, I…"
"Take it easy, Mrs. Petrovich. You need to take a few moments to sit back and relax…"
"Is my husband OK? Did something happen to him?" she said, rubbing her face with her hands.
Her eyes were red, and he could see that she was starting to tear up. Fortunately for Edwards, she wore no make up to ruin the face with running streaks. God, she was stunning. Angular face, dark exotic skin, or she tanned a lot. Either way, he didn't care. He didn't care how she got there. The dark skin, killer looks and kick boxer physique was all he needed. He was glad to know that Petrovich wouldn't be fucking her anymore. He couldn't stand the thought of someone else entangled in those legs. He had his work cut out for him, but he was starting to feel confident about his chances of seeing her naked tonight.
"Ms. Petrovich…"
"Jess. Please call me Jess. What's going on with my husband?"
"It's complicated," said Edwards, taking a seat on the leather chair next to the couch.
He could move over to the couch if she started crying, but didn't want to seem eager to get close to her.
"Is he safe? What were these guys expecting to find?" she pressed.
"I don't know how to put this, but your husband is the prime suspect in a federal murder investigation," he said.
"That doesn't make any sense, Agent…?"
"Edwards. But just call me Justin."
"Justin, none of this makes any sense. I think you all have the wrong house, or something isn't right," she said, looking around the room frightened.
At this point, though only a few officers lingered in the family room with them, dozens of officers had poured into the house over the past few minutes, and more were entering. Since the house wasn't considered a crime scene, the Portland police wouldn't tiptoe through her house. This would only get worse as they tore the place apart looking for hidden compartments or clues linking Daniel Petrovich to the murders and the past life he had hidden from his wife. He might need to get her out of here soon. She would find it hard to concentrate on him once his team started taking photos out of the frames for scanning.
"Jessica, how long have you and your husband been married?" asked Edwards, though he knew the answer would somehow eat away at something inside of him.
He glanced at a wedding photo sitting on a dark wood side table next to the couch. The picture had been taken with the ocean in the background. He thought it looked like the East Coast, somewhere north. Possibly right here in Maine.
"What do you…we've been married for four years," she said.
"Have you known each other for a long time?"
"Long enough to know that you guys have made a serious mistake. This is ridiculous. We're talking about having kids, and… does my husband have a lawyer yet? Maybe I shouldn't be talking to you right now. I need to see my husband," she said, stringing each sentence together after the other quickly.
Edwards needed to diffuse the lawyer talk quick. She wasn't a suspect, and technically didn't need one, but if she shut down on him and contacted a lawyer, he knew exactly what kind of advice the lawyer will give her: Shut up. He had limited time to work on this one, and hoped to wrap things up tonight, in more ways than one. He didn't need some lawyer cooling things off.
"Jess, Jess,” he soothed, “I know this is a lot to take in, and I'm sorry you got roughed up here tonight, but we don't have much time to help your husband."