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The Flanagans of Fairfield  County, Connecticut - Chapter 11

The Flanagans of Fairfield County, Connecticut - Chapter 11

Cromstock and Lang entered the police station fresh off of their pit stop at The Diner to find Ellen already seated in a conference room. An entire wall of the room was made of glass and Lang could see that Officer Nutbeem was seated and speaking to her. It appeared to be a friendly conversation, and Ellen was laughing with her hands propped up under her chin like a schoolgirl talking to a crush at the water fountain.

“Crommy, will you get Nutbeem out of there, please? God only knows what the hell that idiot is saying in there,” said Lang.

“Yeah, I’ll grab him,” said Cromstock. “I’ll come in about five minutes after you and see what we can get out of her.”

Inside of the conference Ellen appeared calm, munching on an egg salad sandwich she had brought in with her and drinking a cup of coffee that the handsome rookie cop had gotten for her from the kitchen. Cromstock popped her head in the room and asked for a word with Nutbeem, letting Lang slide in right after she had successfully drawn the unwanted rookie from the room.

“Mrs. Flanagan, my name is Tom Lang, I’m a detective here in Darien. I hope Officer Nutbeem wasn’t bothering you too much, he’s new around here and sometimes he can be a bit over eager.”

Ellen took a bite of her egg salad sandwich. Crumbs from the sourdough bread fell effortlessly onto the table in front of her. With a mouth half full of egg salad Ellen managed to get out a few sentences while placing her hand in front of her mouth so that Lang wouldn’t see her chewing.

She had driven 90 the whole way from Storrs and had thought aloud to herself on the way over how best to appear in front of the cops when meeting with them. Putting on an overly dramatic crying routine could draw suspicion from them just as much as anything else, and she ultimately decided that it’d be best to let on that the news of her husband’s death had not really hit her yet. In her mind, the best way to accomplish this was to bring a prop - hence the egg salad sandwich from a gas station and acceptance of a cup of coffee.

“Oh, no not at all. I actually found Beaufield quite charming, Detective. He was just telling me about his upbringing down south. Could you please tell me where my husband’s body is, though? I need to see him and Beau didn’t have the slightest clue where your guys took him.”

“Well, ma’am I’m afraid he’s down at the coroner's office. As soon as they’re finished with the autopsy we’re going to need you to go down there and identify the body. I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Mrs. Flanagan. I know this is probably a shock to you and your family.”

Ellen looked Detective Lang in his piercing blue eyes. Even in a brown trench coat and what appeared to be a very cheap suit, Ellen could tell that the detective worked out.

He no doubt had a beautiful wife at home, and yet she found herself now, here in a conference room at a police department, imagining what he was like in bed. A passionate lover? Aggressive? Unattentive? Ellen was sure that she could seduce this man. She imagined herself with Lang back at her home on the kitchen floor - his body pressed up against hers, whispering filth in her ear while his hands made their way from breast to nether region. A carnal scene where nothing was off limits.

“You’re sweet,” Ellen said, placing the sandwich down on the table and now kicking herself for ever thinking it was acceptable to eat fucking egg salad in front of a man as attractive as this one. “Have you got any leads on who could have possibly done this?”

“We’re still very much in the beginning stages of the investigation. Would you mind terribly if my partner came in and just got a timeline of your whereabouts last night? We’d also like to get your prints...just to officially rule you out and get that out of the way early on. Standard stuff, really.”

“Do your worst, Detective,” Ellen smirked. “You’ll have to forgive me for saying so, but you have the nicest eyes I’ve seen in quite some time. They’re just...striking really. Mesmerizing.”

Lang wasn’t positive, but he was fairly certain that this woman was hitting on him. He found it odd. Off-putting even, especially in a situation such as this one. Cromstock should have been in the room by now playing the suspicious, accusatory sidekick role. She was good at it, and Lang preferred to treat people in ongoing investigations with kid gloves whenever possible.  

“Thank you, ma’am. I don’t know where my partner is. Just excuse me one moment while I go and grab her. Did Officer Nutbeem get you that egg salad sandwich? It looks delicious.”

The Flanagans of Fairfield County, Connecticut - Chapter 12

The Flanagans of Fairfield County, Connecticut - Chapter 12

The Flanagans Of Fairfield County, Connecticut: Chapter 10

The Flanagans Of Fairfield County, Connecticut: Chapter 10