Disclaimer:All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them is motivated only by my fond admiration.
AN: This story is not set entirely within the accepted "canon" or strictly within the "storyline" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series.
Oh the ultimate hubris…a trilogy…follows from "A Wide Open Country" and "A Friend Of Mine" but is a darker story and my own spin on the Nicole and Frank part of Bobby's life.
ENCORE FOR ADRASTEIA
Friday 28th December
1643 Waterloo St, Cedar Rapids, Iowa
The body of the woman was fairly slender, the dark hair cut short and it swung from side to side for only a short time. A stain began to appear at the crotch of her light blue pants. The bladder often emptied spontaneously with a hanging. It was why they sent the condemned to the gallows wearing a diaper.
Suspended from the rail of the second floor landing, the rope round her neck creaked softly against the white painted spindles and then stopped. There was a slight trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth where she bit her tongue or lip at the last minute. The figure in the lower hall stood watching for a moment, smiled and then went out of the rear door.
In the following days the local community was to express its shock and surprise. Especially that part of it associated with Taft Middle School. Trish Sewell had been an English teacher there for only four semesters but she was a popular member of the faculty. Many of her students cried at the news she was dead. It made a couple of lines on the KWWL 7 news and a short paragraph in The Chronicle.
Sunday 30th December
St. Anthony's Church, Brooklyn
John Dwyer felt guilty. Some said it went with the territory when you were Catholic and doubly so for a priest it seemed at times. It had been one of those dilemmas so beloved of the Jesuits, who probably had worked out the number of angels that could dance on the head of pin. Centuries ago but kept the information to themselves ever since.
The man who had come to him was desperate. As usual for money and for some information. The first was easy to fix. Father John gave him sixty bucks from his own wallet. For the sake of charity and their shared history. They had grown up together, taken First Communion together and attended the same High School, though it was the man's younger brother John Dwyer was to become fast friends with.
The priest wasn't sure how the money was going to be used. On drink or gambling or perhaps to pay off some of a debt. Any of those things were possible and judging by his highly anxious state, the last seemed probable. A debt owed to the sort of people who would not be too particular how they collected it. The sort for whom taking a pound of flesh, quite literally, was an every day occurrence.
Denying him the information he wanted was harder. The Church saw itself as a family and Father John came from a close and loving one. The instinct of the priest in him was not to withhold. To hope and pray, that with it might come some kind of re-union, an understanding and a closeness that could develop again between the man and his brother.
A bond that John Dwyer watched begin to fracture when they were in their teens. Not the sort of childhood squabbles and sibling rivalry that was normal, but something more than that. Two very different individuals they say is often the case with just two kids. Starting to go in opposite directions in their lives and brotherly love not nurtured by the wider family problems.
But Father John had sworn an oath. Not of the sort it would be a sin to break but still one he felt he could not. To keep an address and telephone number in Massachusetts from the dishevelled man before him if he should show up looking for his "kid brother". With his fingers wrapped tightly round the cash, his pleading and cajoling had turned to cursing before he left the church.
He would pray for him. That his soul would see the light someday and that the money would, for once, be put to the good use was sorely needed. Just looking at the man he seemed close to vagrancy. Perhaps he would seek the help Father John had also provided him with contacts for. But he doubted it. And understood more than he perhaps had before. Why his friend felt he had to make a final break after close to thirty years of trying to keep his brother on the straight and narrow path.
Thursday 3rd January
Tremont St, Cambridge, Massachusetts.
He suddenly realised why the book was getting harder to read. The afternoon had gone suddenly dark and glancing out the window, more fine snow was falling. Typical. Like he'd not shovelled enough that day already? And cleared more than their "share" of the sidewalk.
Goren reached for the lamp behind him to start the next chapter and then thought twice. Maybe it was a bit "geeky" to have read the whole of a set text before the class even began? Not only that, there were still several things on his daily "to do" list of household chores.
He left the book on the side table, collected the vacuum and a box of cleaning supplies and went upstairs. Twenty minutes later the master bedroom was tidier, lint and dust free and he was smoothing fresh sheets onto the bed. Sheets perhaps they would rumple together later? If his back held up after all that snow shovelling. That didn't rule out some options though…if he could convince Caro that the twinges were genuine.
Not that "excuse" needed to be found. Just wished she wasn't liable to tease him he should expect that kind of thing "at his age". Could still give her a run for her money and it wasn't like she ever ran away that fast.
Monday 7th January
Major Case Squad Room, IPP, New York
The blond detective read every word of the report from Cedar Rapids, Iowa, a second time. To be sure she took it all in and was not imagining what it said. Detective Kate Fox had responded to the finding of a body on Waterloo Street. Done more than a usually thorough job for what looked to be a suicide.
Nothing the medical report or she turned up said otherwise, but it was when she came to contact relatives of "Trish Sewell" it all became very strange. At first she thought she might be dealing with someone the Feds or the US Marshals had put into witness protection. When nothing about the schoolteacher was checking out.
But DNA didn't lie and eventually they came up with a match for some on the system. The NYPD detective felt only relief. That, finally, it was over. Whether Trish Sewell as she was calling herself at the time killed herself or was somehow murdered, she didn't care either way.
What mattered was she was dead and gone and if she was finally a victim herself, there was a poetic justice in that. She reached for a thick file on the shelf. It wasn't quite covered in dust but it had been there a long time. Since the first time that woman came into their lives. Though it was that of her long-term and regular partner, the dead woman was to plague and once came close to destroying his career.
Never mind what she cost Bobby in frustration and private worry about what she would do next. And at least he could return from his sabbatical in a few months, safe in the knowledge that was one problem he did not have to concern himself with. He was free from her twisted fascination with him and the world was a safer place.
As she opened the file with a frown, suddenly some of the answer was there. To that name had a strangely familiar configuration to the letters. "TRISH SEWELL" and "CHRISTINE FELLOWES". It could be a co-incidence of course, but it was a strange one if it was. She double-checked the letters in the two names. The professor of literature that bitch had used as part of her own clever scheme the first time they met her.
"Well those days are over for you at last Nicole" Eames said quietly.
To be continued…
AN : If you want to know why Bobby is in Boston you might want to read "A Wide Open Country"