Heroine - Chapter 1

Detective Richards audibly sipped his coffee, his eyes focused on the woman sitting across the table.  His chest pushed outward as air filled his lungs.  Richards hated questioning women.  He always knew when men were hiding something, and he understood their motivations, give or take a couple of outliers.  Like any other woman, the one across from him was a complete mystery. 
         “Ms. -,” he paused, glancing down at the manila folder before him. “Windsor.. There are twelve men dead at Trelon Airfield.  Which is where we found you.  What happened?”
         Windsor, a fairly attractive woman in her twenties, sat with one ankle resting on her knee, and her arms crossed.  “I am not at liberty to discuss what transpired at Trelon with you.”  This was, in actuality, the third time she had answered the Detective. 
         “You need to start talking,” he said flatly.  “Swabs from your hands will likely reveal gunpowder residue, which we don't even need because you had the guns on your person that killed several of the victims.  You will go to prison, and you will stay there.”
         Richards stood up and signaled through the one-way mirror in the room.  An officer escorted the woman from the room.  Richards followed.  “Stick her in a cell.”
         The detective surveyed the small precinct he had been a part of for over a decade.  It was a small building, comparatively speaking.  A single story and a basement level, and a handful of police officers and assorted staff.  His partner, detective Joan Bradley rushed him carrying a stack of folders, each one a shade of yellow.  Richards was allergic to paperwork, and being in mid-drink, some of his coffee slipped into his wind pipe, instantly causing him to go into a coughing fit. 
         “What,” he said, pausing to cough out the last of the rogue beverage, “are those?”
         “Files Kurt,” she had him, like everyone else, on a first name basis. She raised her eyebrows like she always did when she had some news of some sort.  “The vics appear to be servicemen in the Army.”
         “Military?” Richards asked, processing the revelation. “What would they have been doing there?” He grabbed a folder off the stack and opened it.  He flipped through the pages, then closed it.  “Who is their CO?”
         “I called Offutt Air Force Base so they could find out.  They said they would call back when they knew.” she replied.  “Also, Windsor has a military background as well.  She was a marine for three years, and then honorably discharged for not meeting physical requirements.”
         “I didn't know there were any female marines,” he pondered.  “What has she been doing since then?”
         “Furniture sales for the last four years, looks like,” Bradley answered.  “Right here in Trelon in fact.”
         “Bring in the manager of the store, and find any other marines that would have served with her that live nearby, and bring them in as well,” he commanded.  Richards saw the concern on Joan's face.  “Because this crime happened at an airport, and may involve foreign agents, this is a terrorism investigation.  We have the authority.”
         “Yes sir,” she nodded and hurried to her desk.  She had a lot of work to do.  Kurt eyed her as she walked away.  Joan was easy to look at, and the rest of the precinct was male, with the exception of one of the dispatchers.  He had never seen the dispatch, only heard her voice.  Joan kept herself distant from her co-workers, and was considered professional and dry.
         Detective Richards was not as easy to look at, but was well liked by his co-workers.  With his kids finally out of the house, he hosted a poker night despite the disapproval of his loving wife, and often went to Below Deck, a local cop hangout. 
         Kurt looked at his watch, it was time for lunch.  He approached Joan's desk, where she was on the phone.  “No, I do not want to contact Homeland Security, I just need contact information for the CO.  Yes.  Thank you.”  She pressed her forehead into her palm.
         “Let's get some lunch,” he said.  She looked up surprised. 
         “I really think I've got too much to do.  Offutt says deployment information on the vics is not in their files, so they are contacting the Pentagon.  Informing them that it was for a terrorism investigation did not help,” she explained.
         She took a deep breath, “I've also got to arrange the pickups you requested.”
         “I don't want you running on empty, it won't help anyone,” he reasoned. 
         Bradley put down her pen and surrendered, “Where to?”
         The diner smelt of grease and bread.  A small pizzeria called Ice by the Slice sat one block from the precinct.  Outside of those two buildings and a gas station, the area was largely barren.  A few fields and houses decorated the landscape.  A few miles north was the Airfield, where non-commercial airplanes landed, took off, and for the most part collected dust in hangars. 
         Inside the diner sat two detectives, the gas station attendant, and one of the cooks of the establishment.  Kurt skimmed the menu.
         “I eat here all the time, but I can never order a pizza because I know I can't finish it myself,” he said.
         Joan looked up at him and strained a smile.  Looking back down at her menu, she replied, “Why not just take some back to the office and eat it later?”
         Kurt thought about this for a moment.  “I guess I just don't like leftovers enough.”
         “Does that-” Joan was interrupted by the arrival of the waitress.
         “Hi, here you go,” she chimed, placing two waters at their table. “Are you ready to order?”
         “Yes,” Joan replied before Kurt could say anything.  “We'd like a large pizza.  I'll take meatball on half, and whatever he wants on the other half.” 
         Kurt was dazed for a moment.  “Meatball's fine.” The waitress took their menus.
         “Well I didn't say I was sure I wanted a whole pizza,” he said.
         Joan smiled.  She had a very large smile, but one that was very tight lipped.  “Well I knew what I wanted,” she said, emphasizing the 'I'. 
         Kurt smiled back. “Well next time I'll do the ordering. 
Richards sat and drank his water while waiting.  Bradley played with her short brunette hair.  Their pizza arrived, and they ate it quietly. 
         Back at the precinct, Kurt had their new prisoner put back into the interrogation room.  Joan immediately picked up the phone and started dialing the number of a local furniture outlet.  Kurt took his boxed up leftovers, two pieces of meatball pizza, into the interrogation room with him.
         Windsor was already sitting at the table when he entered.  He sat down across from her, and slid the pizza across the table.  “You've got to be hungry,” he said. “You like pizza? I hope you are at liberty to at least tell me that.”
         “Who doesn't,” she replied, finally saying something new.  She opened the small box and stared at the food for a moment, before taking a bite. 
         “The pizzeria down the street is actually pretty good,” he informed her.  He took a few moments to look at her.  She was fairly attractive, had a small nose and pouty lips.  She was thin and her arms showed some visible muscle tone.  Her hair was short and a very light brown.  Kurt looked at her chest, which he judged to be 'adequate'. 
         When it looked like she was done eating, Kurt asked, “What's your first name?”
         “It doesn't say in my files?” she looked confused.  “It's Carrie.”
         “I didn't bring any files with me, and I didn't recall ever seeing it anywhere.  My name is Kurt Richards.  You don't look like much of a terrorist, Carrie.”
         “I am not-”
         Detective Richards interrupted, “I know right whatever OK.”  He stood up and paced towards the window and back to his chair.  He stood behind his chair, and leaned forward on the backrest.  “You can't tell me anything, then who can you tell?  Who is authorized to debrief you?”
         Windsor looked down at the pizza box, which contained two pieces of crust.  “I don't know if I can tell you that either.”
         “You've got to give me something.  Do you ever want to get out of here?” he asked her.
         Both were silent for several minutes.  Carrie cleared her throat.  “General Adams knows who I am and most of what has happened.  I don't know if he's interested in exonerating me though.”
         “Thank you, Carrie.  We are done for now.”  He left and signaled for Windsor to be taken back to her cell. 
         Joan beckoned Richard to her desk.  “The suspect's manager will be here soon.”
         “Good,” he replied.  “Maybe we'll finally get some answers.”