Naughty Little Secrets. Mary Wilbon
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“They’re eating heartily and the drink is flowing. Most are mingling in the Grand Assembly Hall. Those preferring a less raucous evening have gathered in the north sitting room, enjoying the stringed quartet and the Dickensian Carolers. A few are in the Billiard room. All are quite comfortable.
“I’ve instructed a few of the staff to remain on hand to answer the door for late arrivals, and to keep the food and beverages replenished.”
“Thank you, Judson, for overseeing things until we arrived. I think we can manage from here,” said Laura.
“Very well, Miss.”
“Merry Christmas, Judson,” said Laura and Slick together.
“Merry Christmas,” he replied with a bow. He turned and was gone.
Slick and Laura were about to enter the assembly hall when they heard voices calling their names.
“Slick!” “Laura!” “Hi!” “Merry Christmas!”
They looked around and saw the “Three Little Pigs” rapidly approaching them. Slick and Laura looked at each other and smiled.
The three guests removed their masks.
It was Sam Billingsley, Cathy Simpson, and Paula Rafferty, three cops from Slick’s old precinct.
Sam and Slick had attended the academy together. They liked each other instantly because they shared the same belief that police officers should be model citizens, good and true.
After the academy, they were assigned to different precincts but they stayed in touch.
The night they came out to one another, they knew they’d be friends for life.
They started a chapter of the Fraternal Order of Police for black and gay police officers in Newark. They called themselves “The Homey-sexuals.”
They both applied for and entered plainclothes school at the same time and ended up as partners in the same precinct.
When Slick left the force to start her own detective agency, Sam had given her whatever support she needed; access to police leads, crime photos, witness statements.
The Department would have prohibited the sharing of such information, but in the end it benefited everyone. Many cases that had remained open or had been considered unsolvable were closed as a result.
The precinct’s conviction rate had risen substantially with Sam working inside the law and Slick now free to chase down every lead and get into areas forbidden in the regulations.
Word quickly spread about Slick’s success rate, and soon cops from other precincts were unofficially cooperating with her and she with them.
Cathy and Paula were partners on the job who had taken over the helm of “The Homey-Sexuals” after Slick left.
Cathy and Paula had instituted a big campy award ceremony every year in tribute to the best and bravest of the gay and lesbian police officers. The recipients of these awards were simultaneously honored and roasted at these events.
In recognition of Slick’s outstanding contribution to the force and the community, there was an award presented every year in her name. Over the years this award came to be known as the “Dyke” Tracy or “Dickless” Tracy award.
Laura and Slick exchanged hugs and kisses with all of them.
“Are you crazy, dressing up as pigs?” laughed Slick.
“Hey, it’s Christmas time. Everyone has a sense of humor at Christmas,” said Sam. Paula put her arm around Laura and asked, “When are you going to stop living off this woman’s money and get back to some real work, Slick, detective work?”
“Managing Laura’s company is real work,” she replied. “Do you have any idea how many crooks are out there disguised as businessmen?”
“Sounds pretty cushy to me,” said Cathy. “You get paid to do nothing. I never thought I’d see the day that you’d become a ‘kept woman,’ Slick. If you moved to Vermont, you could just marry Laura for her money.”
“I keep proposing,” Laura smiled. “She keeps turning me down.” They all laughed.
“Seriously, Slick, we miss you out there. We all sit around sometimes and talk about those cases you solved that no one else could. Remember that one about the nearsighted, suicidal twin? She killed her sister by mistake. That was a thing of beauty, Slick.”
Sam took a long pause to make sure he had everyone’s attention. Then he continued.
“But the best, the all-time best…was the earlobe.”
Sam’s demeanor changed from jovial to reverential.
He raised his glass in tribute to his former partner and started to tell for the umpteenth time how Slick had reconstructed a crime scene where the only thing left of the murder victim was his right earlobe.
An anonymous untraceable phone call was made to the police station saying a murder had been committed. The caller gave the address where the murder was done.
By the time the police arrived at the scene, there were no witnesses, no fingerprints, no suspects, and more important, there was no body.
The blood evidence and DNA was inconclusive because so many police officers hadn’t spotted the earlobe. It was stepped on repeatedly by everyone investigating the scene.
The newspapers were crawling all over this story, calling it a real-life whodunit. It was a reporter’s wet dream. The press was giving the story all the attention of an international manhunt.
They thronged the police station every day asking hard questions of whatever spokesperson du jour was sent out to them as a sacrifice at press conferences.
All the major journalists were vying for an exclusive.
Words like Mysterious and Puzzling were used on the front page headlines everywhere. “Baffled!” read the New York Post.
It had been a particularly gruesome crime. After the initial discovery of the earlobe, the murderer left various body parts in various locations. And always, the locations were wiped clean.
Privately the police referred to the crime as the “Immaculate Dissection.” Many were skeptical about ever catching the killer.
But Slick solved the crime in three days without causing embarrassment to the force, the coroner’s office, or the DA.
When the press finally got hold of the break in the case, Slick shared the credit with everyone. She faulted no one and insisted that solving the case had been a joint and coordinated team effort.
She never told anyone that she alone was responsible for finding the rest of the victim’s remains and capturing the murderer.
Years later the case was still being taught at the academy in the crime scene analysis course.
The cops never got tired of hearing these stories or telling them.
Cathy and Paula respectfully raised their glasses to toast Slick and then they all took a drink.
Slick tried to look modest but failed.
“Until I met Laura, my life was filled with daily run-ins with winos, freaks, degenerates, and other assorted lowlifes,” Slick said, trying to change the subject.
“You miss it, don’t you?” asked Sam
“Every day,” said Slick. “But Laura wanted me off the street and managing her company. Laura has a way of being irresistible. We talked about it and we agreed it was time for me to quit.”
“You are so whipped,” laughed Paula.
“Every night,” winked Slick.
“Okay,” sighed Sam. “Since we can’t change your mind, we’re gonna go eat some more of your gourmet food and drink