Der Crisscross

"Sergeant Terry, did you want to talk to me?" The velvet soft tone of a woman’s voice came from behind the detectives. Although they were straining to study the homes high above, it awaken them to the moment and they turn to greet her. Chuck knew what to expect, but Jim never fathomed from the pleasantness of the tone of her voice, there would be a woman whose appearance was even more delightful to enjoy. Before him stood a confident woman in a nurse uniform and was of such exceptional beauty, she took his breath away. Standing erect, poised and waiting, she was in total control.

"Good morning Nurse Kimble. Yes, if you’ll give us a few minutes of your time." Chuck steps aside, continuing, "I would like to introduce Jim Hall, a special FBI agent from Washington, D.C. He’s here in Wheeling to take charge of the Zagaris investigation."

When Jim’s eyes met Margo’s, mixed signals seemed to pass between the two of them. Her soft hazel eyes hinted a sign of recognition, but only for a second, followed by a compassionate smile of proper demureness. Jim was unable to exhibit similar control, for he had started with a chivalrous grin, followed by a stare of astonishment and then a moment of speechlessness. When he finally realized they were no longer shaking hands, but had remained clasped together, lingering for one infinitely brief second, exchanging gentle pressure, he felt embarrassed.

She broke the tension with a polite, "Hello."

He smiles and nods in return, while trying to speak, but his dry voice box is paralyzed with long forgotten puberistic contractions of fear. Jim can not speak, although his eyes are devouring her. He keeps hoping she will not sense how the impact of their meeting is affecting him as he studies her for a reaction, something more than the slight natural flush in her cheeks. When she notices Jim pretending to be reading her plastic name-tag, which is strategically, if not conspicuously displayed on the breast flap of her uniform pocket, moving as she takes each breath, she slowly pulls away.

Jim notices that she is not wearing a wedding band, along with the manner which her nurse uniform keeps clinging to her body, stretching with her every movement, giving him the impression it is seeking an opportunity to burst free from its restrictive confines.

His voice finally returns and he says, "Miss Kimble, I have read your transcript and the police reports of the events which occurred on the day of the murder. I would appreciate an hour of your time, at your convenience, to go over the information you have discussed with them. I’m confident the local police have been thorough in every respect, but I would like to hear more about your observations first hand, ask a few questions. I would really like to get your impressions, input, on a couple of matters."

She is moving across the terrace to the wheelchair, listening as he talks. She grips the chair by its back bar before speaking, and then said, "I’ll be on duty until three. You can come around after church tomorrow, when I’m not busy or we could talk, after three on Monday. Whenever, but please call me first. If you’re finished with the wheelchair, I’ll return it to my office, where it will be safe."

Jim raises his hand stopping her, asking, "One question, please. This chair can easily be moved. Could you or anybody, have moved or twisted the position of the chair while covering or examining Mr. Zagaris?"

Margo ponders the insinuation with a frown, glances down at the painted markings for an instant and then nods, "Perhaps. Are you finished now?"

Jim says he is and Chuck agrees as both officers follow her indoors. They watch her shove the wheelchair into her office while they wait in the hallway for the elevator. Jim glances up and smiles as she looks at him; their eyes meet thoughtfully, exchanging pleasantries, knowing they will be together again, soon.