A/N: I don't own them. Just playing for a while.
A/N2: Attempting the multi-chaptered case file again. Reviews, comments and constructive criticism welcome.
The sharp trill of a telephone woke Alex Eames from her sleep. She reached for it before opening her eyes but when her hand couldn't find it she raised her lids warily. It was when her eyes couldn't locate the phone that she realized she wasn't in her own bedroom. This coupled with the fact that the room before her felt like it was spinning made her aware of the fact that this was a night of drinking gone awry.
Extricating herself from the unfamiliar arm of her unknown bedmate she stumbled towards the sound of the ring.
She found it in the living room in her jacket pocket. The jacket had been deposited over the arm of the couch and two empty wine glasses remained on the coffee table. Clearly, she had thought it wise to come up to this person's apartment for a nightcap.
"Eames." She answered the phone as soon as she located it, hoping that she wasn't slurring her words.
"Eames, it's me."
"Bobby? I thought it was our night off?"
"It is. Was. Ross just called. They found a body in a brownstone in Brooklyn."
"Sounds like something for Brooklyn Homicide."
"Yeah. Except there's a baby missing."
"Who found a body in an apartment this late? What were they doing in the apartment this late? Never mind. I guess we'll be finding that out."
"So, you want to pick me up? Or should –"
"I'm not at home. I… And I don't have my car."
"Oh." Goren paused, not quite sure what to say at her revelation. "Well, we'll just meet down there."
"Okay. Good."
"Eames?"
"Yeah, Goren?"
"How much have you had to drink tonight?"
"Excuse me?!" It was hard for her to hide the anger in her voice.
"I just… I don't want you to come down there if you've had a lot. I don't want you to get in trouble. I mean… come on, you've had my back so many times. I'm just looking out for you here."
"I'm fine. I'll be fine."
After listening to her partner relay the address she closed her phone and took a brief inventory of her surroundings.
The place was decorated in a very sleek matter. Leather furniture, big screen T.V., and… oh, wait there it was. The requisite picture of the woman Eames could only assume her bedmate was in an actual relationship with.
"Shit." Under her breath the swear came out at the realization that she had managed to be 'the other woman' again.
Since she had fallen asleep wearing only her shirt Eames was unable to just leave. She stumbled back towards the bedroom and crept around looking for her clothing.
Making her way back to the living room she paused one more time before leaving her unnamed friend's apartment. Walking over to the desk where Mister Whatever-his-name-was had left his cell phone she perused his contacts list and deleted her number, which had been newly added earlier in the evening.
& &
She stepped out of the cab on Clinton Street. and moved past the police barricade that was cordoning off Livingston Street. Diving deeper into her wool coat she tried to shield herself from the November chill.
As she approached a brownstone halfway down the block she could see a handful of cops loitering around the stoop smoking cigarettes and warming their hands with cups of coffee.
She jogged up the concrete steps and into the interior of the building, where another cop pointed up the stairs.
"Top floor, detective."
Moving up four flights of stairs each level seemed to rise steeper and creek more as she worked her way through one of the cities many historic buildings.
When she entered the apartment she could see a bedroom door immediately to her left, and another further up the hall. Towards the back of the apartment was a kitchen and living room.
Her partner was leaning over the couch, inspecting the body in that 'way-too-close-for-comfort' manner that he had.
"Hey."
"Hello." His response came without him even looking up.
"So. What do we got?"
He was playing with her eyelids now. Forcing them open to look into the victim's eyes.
"Blair McKee. Female, age 35. Single mom, works for a small investment bank."
"Who found her?"
"A friend. Well, he says he's a friend and while I haven't spent any time with him yet I want to know what friend comes calling at 3 a.m. and can just let themselves in."
"You said on the phone something about a child?"
"Yeah. The friend told Officer Johnson, of the first unit that responded to the 911 call, that the victim has an 18 month old daughter."
Eames glanced over to the bookshelf that was against the far wall of the living room. A simple silver frame sat on the shelf that was at her eye level. The photo was of a young girl but the girl in the picture looked nothing like the victim.
"This is the daughter?"
"Yeah. I know. Mom's dark haired, dark eyed and kid is blonde with green eyes. Recessive jeans really came through in this case I guess."
"Where's dad. All we know so far is… not in the picture."
"Right."
"Where's the friend?"
"Giving his statement and his information to a uniform downstairs. He knows we'll be paying him a visit when morning comes."
"You didn't want to question him now? While the scene is fresh in his mind?"
"Trust me, Eames. This guy is not good for it. He looked so taken aback by the scene. Almost scared of it. Plus, it's not something he's every going to forget. Look at her… she's gagged, her eyes clawed at. And her throat's been slit. There's blood everywhere here."
Eames moved back towards the front of the apartment, towards the bedrooms.
"No blood in the crib. Doesn't even look like the struggle got that far."
It was as if he was reading her mind, knowing where she was going next.
She whirled around on her feet, turning once again into the scene that the living room held.
"Bottle of wine on the couch? Maybe she had been drinking alone. She looks like a strong girl… maybe the wine made her sleepy, slowed her down?"
"Could be. I smelled her mouth though. I can smell the wine, but it's not overly potent. She certainly hadn't had that much."
Eames paced around the apartment. It had an eerily familiar feeling to it. Lots of books. Lots of pictures of family and friends on the walls. Warm, inviting colors. Soft, cozy furniture to curl up on. A lived in feeling with a lonely quality to it.
It reminded her of her own home.
"There's a lot of pictures here, Goren. It looks like she was well liked."
"Yeah, a lot of friends. A lot of different locations. Also looks like she was well traveled. In the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom, and the entryway all have antique maps on their walls with the language native to the location on them and she's got a shelf full of travel guides to boot."
"I wonder who watches the baby while she travels?"
"I'm more concerned with who was drinking out of the other wine glass this evening,"
"I'm sorry? Goren, there's only one glass on the table."
"Yes, but from where you're standing on the other side of the room you can't see what I see."
She moved closer to the coffee table, staring at it impatiently.
"There's two coasters. Not only are there two coasters, there is liquid in the formation of a circle, where some would have spilled, on both coasters."
"Yes, although it is baffling me how both would have spilled. Either way… someone else was here with our vic tonight."
"Maybe her friend isn't just a friend after all."