Discretion: The Secrets of Cameron Rigby

By S.V. Worthen

Officer Cameron Rigby, a 27 year old woman has remained silent about her past for over 10 years. After being dispatched to assist with an investigation of a rape case she finds herself having to rely on her old partner Jake O’Neal, who is the last person she wants to confide in. As the chain of events go from bad to worse she finds herself with her back against the wall in a search for a man with no name, while discovering the identity of the one who is taunting her. As the hunt is on she finds her feelings for Jake isn’t the only twist she uncovers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.V. Worthen
• Release date: Feb 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370496679

S.V. Worthen

S.V. Worthen is a fiction writer who enjoys a good intrigue. She loves the mysteries in human behavior and believes that there is always a reason why people do what they do and it shows in her writing. If you're not paying attention you will miss the small hints the characters in her stories give off in their body language and tone. She is very descriptive and detailed in her writing. S.V. really paints the picture for you with words. Most of her work consist of the characters overcoming fears because the stories stem from her own fears.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Officer Rigby, do you copy? The female voice stretched over the radio. Placing a hand on her chest as her other fingers which had bitten nails grasped the radio. She pressed the button on the side.

Officer Cameron Rigby, Charlie Romeo four-two-five copy, She responded.

There was a pause. All she could hear was a static noise before a response finally came.

What is your twenty?

Since she was already familiar with the town landmarks, Cameron placed her right foot on the accelerator as she headed to the next intersection a few blocks away.

The beams on the headlights pierced through the darkness. Lighting up half the signs on the road as they drew near. Cameron eased off the pedal as she came to a traffic light at the intersection. Since her eyesight was not perfect as her optometrist had made her realize a few days back, she squinted. She was able to see faintly, the numbers on the block sign that was before her.

For a moment, she struggled to get a grip of the speakerphone. Pressing a button indicating that dispatch should be activated.

Heading South on State Street and Eighty-Sixth.

A scratchy noise ripped into the silence before succumbing to the sound of the thoughts in her head while she was waiting for a response. Taking a deep breath she slowly let it out. I should’ve stayed in bed tonight. She considered to herself. As she glanced into the rearview mirror, the road was vacant. The rays of light from the street lamps splashed onto the asphalt that lay resting behind her.

Using her hand to adjust the mirror so she could see clearly, her fingers couldn’t stop trembling for some seconds. The lack of nutrition has left her edgy and jumpy with caffeine and energy drinks that have slowly become the main part of her diet in the past year. Eventually, her hands steadied and wrapped themselves around the long sleek frame of the mirror. With a slight tilt of her head, Cameron looked into the mirror with her wide bright blue eyes, the whiteness in her eyes had turned into a fiery red in protest with the lack of sleep. The gray clouds that encircled made them look different from every other pair of blue eyes.

She who used to have plump cheeks had high cheekbones which made her face gorgeous. However, they were now protruded above her cheeks perhaps because of the strain she was experiencing at that moment.

"Yup! Should have stayed home," She retorted as she stared at the stranger whom she saw through her mirror. As she scanned the strange scrawny faced, she could see that her full lips were red with chaps at both the upper and lower parts.

Though she applied some balm religiously to soothe the lips, there was always a protest as it burned once the moisture had contact with the rough canvas. With that they became darker in color, creating a contrast with her pale skin and black hair color.

The mirror was slammed into a vertical position as static came back over the radio. She tried to readjust the mirror only for it to pop off the window. She stared at the broken mirror for a few moments before tossing it on the empty seat beside her. There was a female voice uttering some sound over the radio.

We have a Two-Sixty-one, report of rape. The victim is sixteen-year-old Abby Martin at Eight-Six-Two-Zero Monroe Street.

Swiftly, she guided the car towards the curb and applied pressure on the break as she parked the vehicle. Trying to maintain slow and steady breathing. She sat there pinned to her seat, unable to move. The sound of her heartbeat could be heard if someone passed by her car. Though things around her appeared blurry, she was able to use her fingertips to glide across the power window button. As the side glass rolled down, the summer chill from outside had hit her. Closing her eyes her head bowed. The beads of sweat on her face were magically dried up right from the pores. The cool air was able to soothe her lungs as they expanded while she gulped the air.

Lifting her head she opened her eyes slowly only to find that her sight was again, blurry. The leather on the steering wheel gently pressed against her forehead as she leaned on it to rest while trying to focus on breathing. Get a Grip Rigby. She muttered to herself. Trying to pull it back together she reminded herself that she had a job to do. After a few moments she started to regain focus, the blur ceased and her breathing steadied as she concentrated on the one thing she lived for, her job. Mapping out the location of the address dispatch had given her, she concluded that it was only minutes away from where she was. Raising her head she nodded to herself, pressed her lips into a hard line as she decided it was time to head there since she was needed.

Picking up the radio speaker microphone she confirmed. Ten-four, in route.

CHAPTER TWO

Cameron maintained the required speed limit as she drove. No rush, the suspect is gone, odds are it happened days before, and the victim is just barely notifying the officials. She thought to herself.

Recalling her own experience, it had been days after that she was able to summon the courage to confide in another person and file a report. A lot of good that report did! She said angrily to herself.

A teenager at the time, barely sixteen. She recalled the fear, the thought of people staring whispering and judging haunted her imagination. The doubts exhibited by the officers at the time who took down her report disturbed her. Confiding in her Mother would have left her feeling disappointed in herself.

Indeed, that was an experience she wishes she could get off her mind but it just wouldn’t go. Reports were only made and records documented because it was procedure. No arrests let alone convictions, followed the so-called investigation.

Cameron had been working for the Unified Police Department for the past five years so she was used to the routine. She knew what needed to be done and what evidence needed to be taken to get a conviction. None of those was made available in her experience years prior.

As her heart raced like it was going to jump out of her chest, her fingers which appeared chomped, started to wobble. Calm down Cameron, it’s a rape call not an active shooter.

From her training she knew that it was unnecessary to get worked up by every call received.

Only be alarmed when the situation calls for it, She said out loud to herself.

However, this small pep talk wouldn’t calm her nerves or her knotted stomach.

Mindlessly, she made a right turn off to the next street since it was not strange to her. She proceeded down to the residential zone just off the main street that made a divide between the East and the West.

The intersection brought back memories of when she was in high school where the East and West were usually a point of rivalry. Though only a separating road, none of her classmates could deny the raging tension. She could not help but laugh as she couldn’t fathom the reasons for the side wars she had with the kids. She shook her head as she wondered if high schools were still like that.

Since the residents were asleep, the street was dark and the homes couldn’t be seen clearly. Though there were flickering lamps every five feet, they didn’t produce much light across the roadway.

This is a breeding ground for criminal activity. She mused, shaking her head in disdain as she realized that the persistent complaints of officers and residents had yielded no results. There were not enough light posts in the zone. Moving carefully along the road, she shifted her gaze from left to right as she tried to make out shapes and shadows.

The neighborhood was quiet but she knew that things can become escalated within a twinkle of the eye.

Stopping at an intersection of a four-way-stop she saw the sign read MONROE STREET. She continued to go right as the sign had directed.

The headlights of her car splashed onto the cruisers a few houses ahead causing the word, POLICE to glow in reflection. As she pulled closer, the inscription grew brighter. Pulling up in front of the house she found a perfect spot to park along the curb in front of a white unmarked dodge charger.

The house was strangely protected as white poles were erected as a form of barricade alongside some gigantic white chains. The whole place looked like a recycling factory as old junk lay everywhere. It was an improvement of the surrounding houses though as there were no garishly colored tires doubling as yard art or pottery. This house was the only one in the neighborhood that was breathing in life and chaos in the midst of a dark slumbering town.

The lights squinted through the windows that seeped through the drawn blinds. The porchlight flooded the yard where the long grass peaked and fell where footsteps have trenched through and created no sense of desertion.

It was 1 a.m. She took out her notepad to take note of the time and the exact address of the house. There was already an officer standing watch on the porch. Cameron had a disgusted look on her face as she opened the door to her car. Probably a rookie not knowing what the hell he’s doing, she thought to herself. Making her way out of the car she trucked her way through the break in the fencing and up to the house. As the long grass caved in at her feet, she spotted the watchman and observed him. He's short. She couldn’t help as a chuckle slipped through her throat. Then, she noticed red strips on his shoulders and collar as he came into view staring at her from the top of the stairs. Yup, I was right…a damn rookie.

So, what do we have going on here? She asked, attempting to hold back the irritation that surged through her.

A rape case, the victim is sixteen-year-old Abby Martin. Mom came home from the store to her daughter crying in the bathroom. He placed his hands on his belt as though, to complement his puffed up chest.

Cameron shut her eyes for a split second and rolled them. He’s getting a real kick out of this, isn’t he? Taking the three steps up to the porch, she got a better look at him in the light. He’s young. She thought. Probably twenty-one.

As she looked him over his blonde hair and blue eyes, he had an angelic face that starred questionably back at her. Fucking pretty boy. She mused as her thoughts created impatience that met her irritation. Be nice Cameron, I’m sure the public will listen to him.

Seems like a hothead too: an easy target for sure. She shook her head at her own thoughts, and smiled instead. He cocked his head to the side as he raised his brow at her.

She managed to keep a fit of laughter at bay when the thought of a lost puppy came to mind. Clearing her throat, Can you provide me with any additional information other then what dispatch can tell me? The words came out more cold then she had intended. His eyes lowered and he started to rub his fingertips over the grains on his duty belt. She watched as beads of sweat glossed over his forehead just below the hairline of the slicked back hair.

Well, um, there is a detective inside with my Field Training Officer, he finally muttered.

Nodding, she walked past him towards the door feeling a slight sting of regret. He’s got a lot to learn she thought trying to fight off the urge to apologize. If he’s wanting to make a real go at this he’s got to develop some thicker skin. Taking another glance at him his eyes met her, sad puppy dog eyes. Grinning she winked at him and his face brightened with a crooked half smile. Turning her attention to the dark wooden door she took a deep breath, turned the handle and went inside.

CHAPTER THREE

The entrance opened into the living room, it was clean and simple having bare white walls that continued to the ceiling. There was only one light in the room which was attached to a fan in the middle of the ceiling that bounced off the walls.

Cameron squinted as she tried to get her eyes adjusted to the erratic contrast from the dim porch light to what could be considered as looking directly into the sun. By the wall across the room a single large sofa lay nestled between another wall and the two stairs that led to the kitchen. A woman sat on the faded gray sofa with a ball of used napkins waded into her palms. An older officer sat next to her pen in hand and notebook jotting down notes while another stood in between the woman and herself with his back facing her.

An empty tissue box lay undisturbed after being gutted from its contents with balled up tissues spread all around it. She was a mess. The Mother. Cameron assumed, by the look of the woman she felt it was a safe assumption. She was thin, having brown hair that showed signs of aging as the grey stripes in her hair glistened with every turn and shake of her head. Her skin looked like leather with an unnatural bronze. Though quietly, she sobbed uncontrollably. Cameron stood there watching the woman for a moment and wondered if her own Mother would’ve acted the same way.

It was only after some seconds that the two officers noticed Cameron’s presence, the older one nodded to the detective in a gesture that someone was behind him he started to turn around as she shut the door behind her and began walking toward the trio. Stopping she stared at him as he came full circle and faced her. Detective Jake O’Neal, the resemblance on his face is to that of a man to have seen a ghost waltz in. Dark green eyes were wide as he stared at her. The look of surprise took over the look of shock that was etched on his face. His dark skin and tousled chocolate hair made him look like he just got finished with a day in the mountains. He surely was fit for duty. Watching him as he stepped toward her she noticed he was a lot bigger than she remembered. His polo shirt nearly ripping at the seams hugged his arms that strained and relaxed when he placed his pen into his right arm pocket. She studied him carefully, not sure what his reaction would be.

With her heart already maintaining a quickened heartbeat adrenaline surged through her veins on impulse to anything with uncertainty. Her hands began to tremble as their eyes locked on each other. Grasping her duty belt as if for support she laced her fingers underneath it and held on tight.

"Damn, Jake." she whispered under her breath. The sound of her heart pounding drummed through her ears.

He smiled at her revealing his pearly white teeth, as he kept her pinned with his eyes on her. Her brows creased and a chuckle escaped her as she attempted to respond with a cool smile. You’re a dumbass Rigby! Jake is the same arrogant ass who you were in the Academy with!

Dismissing her thoughts, she turned and walked towards the stairs before he could reach her.

Catching a whiff of smoked cigarettes while stepping into the kitchen, she waived the uneasy scent off her mind as it knotted her stomach. One side of the kitchen had cupboards that were plastered white, the other side held more equipment with the sink, a stove and open shelves that held pots, pans and spices. Cameron had a feeling that she had been to the kitchen before but before she could grasp the memory, the glimpse disappeared.

The floor was ornamented with hardwood of various shades and textures. A simple fit for purpose wooden table that created seats for four, stood in the center of the kitchen. Everything had a place, or it would seem. By the edge of the table furthest from her was an ashtray and a cocktail glass with melting ice in it, just lying there. The air reeked of stale smoke and whiskey. Once again, her mind began to reveal a memory which sooner than expected, was all gone. A dream perhaps? She considered the option to herself. No, a dream wouldn’t be as vivid as this.

She walked towards the table and examined the cigarette butts smashed in the small glass tray. Sliding her hand into the side pocket, she retrieved her latex gloves and slid them on. Picking up a butt, she examined it. Marlboro, most likely reds.

It’s good to see you Rigby. His voice was low as he gave his expression questionably. Putting down the burned-out cigarette, she removed her hand from the gloves and tucked them inside the other pocket of her pants.

Be sure to find out if the Mother smokes. She snapped If not… well, you know where I’m going with that.

Finishing her round at the table she stopped right in front of Jake. Standing firmly she grasped her belt again as she stared up at him. Her heart had steadied with the distraction of the kitchen and her mind cleared as she stared at his face. He had high cheek bones an angled jaw with plump lips that were never dried or rough looking. Unconsciously, she licked her lips before pressing them in a hard line to hide the unsightly redness and rough patches she adorned on her face.

So, what do we have, Detective?

He heaved a sigh as he shook his head. Arching a brow she cocked her head to the side trying to figure out his mood. The thought of him irritated amused her and brought a smile to her face while he continued to gaze at her.

Janet, the lady in the living room, was the one who called. She claims she went to the store and left her daughter, Abby, home with her live-in boyfriend. His name-Michael Smith.

Drawing out her notepad and pen, she started to write. MICHAEL SMITH. Ha, I was right about her being the Mother. She thought proudly to herself.

"AND?" she said as she glanced at him, motioning with her hand that he should continue.

Anyway. He started shaking his head. Placing his hands inside the pockets of his tactical pants. She said he was the one that raped her daughter. At least that’s all we’ve been able to gather before you came in.

So this Smith guy, was he the boyfriend to mother or daughter? She asked looking from her notepad up to him.

We haven’t found that part out yet.

So, I can assume no description either?

He shook his head. Not at the moment. We arrived only a few minutes before you. Taking a deep breath, she let it out fast and quiet.

Have you spoken with the victim?

Shaking his head again, "No, I tried to get her to talk but she won’t. In fact, she hasn’t come out from the