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 stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for).

AN: This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!!

(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron...if you want egg plant parmesan again cook it yourself...and try learning how to spell aubergine)

ALPHA

Friday 9th July

The Beeches, Long Island

It had started in the usual way.

A seemingly random group of people moving in unpredictable ways across the room. Some in uniform appearing to guard doors or spaces. Others in civilian clothes talking to each other and what looked to be servants, notepads and pens in hand. Whilst the wearers of the CSU windcheaters flashed cameras, placed items in plastic bags and tried not to fall over the gurney the impatient medical examiner's people had placed near the door.

Eames and Goren made their way through the chaos helped by the senior detective on scene, who indicated what could be witnesses should be removed into the cathedral like space of the hallway.

"Expected to see Major Case" Mallory shrugged. "Phoebe Walters being the wife of a deputy mayor and all"

Eames moved her foot out the way less it be trampled once again by her partner's keenness to see the body as soon as possible.

"I guess our prime suspects could be the angry teachers of Queens" she said.

Ed Walters had made himself very unpopular during the recent controversy about school re-organisations and closures in the Borough, though it seemed unlikely a redundant biology teacher would exert revenge on Phoebe Walters. She kept a low profile and was more likely to be seen at a pool party than addressing an angry picket line.

Mallory grunted "Your problem now Alex"

He went on to tell her Mrs Walters had spent most of the morning at the Country Club and returned home to take a sandwich lunch just before one. In what was apparently her morning room. Eames tried not to smile as she listened. Not at the fact Phoebe didn't respond from the butler's knock to retrieve the tray, nor at the information he tried another hour later and finding the door locked, accessed this room via the open doors to the terrace.

It was at the sight of Goren, almost hopping from foot to foot with impatience and visibly holding gloved hands behind his back to stop himself reaching out. Between Mallory's voice she could half hear him asking questions the unfortunate ME stood little chance of answering at this stage. And her replies growing more and more tetchy in tone. Add another to the list of doctors Goren had annoyed the heck out of, even if he had gone on to date a couple of them in the past.

With the news there was no obvious sign of break in or threats to the owners of "The Beeches" that the servants knew of, Mallory excused himself and Eames re-joined her partner.

She knew the body of Mrs Walters had been found slumped over the desk as if in a faint or asleep. But now the victim, subjected to the initial exam was slumped like a rag doll in the chair, a trickle of blood coming from the corner of her mouth.

A mouth Goren's gloved hands pried open and peered into before the hapless new ME had a chance.

"Bit her tongue" he said in that tone told you a suspicion had been confirmed but without any hint of triumph or boasting.

Eames had come to the view long ago that Goren was either so often correct he'd used up his lifetime supply of "gloat" or just took "being right" for granted. She almost squawked in unison with the ME as he poked a finger in and hooked some glutinous glob from the victim's jaws. Not sure as the sound came out of her mouth if it was empathy with the lady whose professional territory he was trampling upon. Or an "eeeurgh" moment of minor revulsion she had mainly learned to keep under control these days. Even when he sniffed it.

"Tuna" Goren said with a gesture at the desk.

Amongst other things there was a plate containing one wholemeal sandwich with a pinkish filling and one with bites out of it. Positioned oddly as if pushed there by the victim or another during a brief struggle. It pointed to a surprise attack whilst she was eating and probably from behind, given the position of the chair relative to the terrace doors seemed to be the obvious point of unseen entry.

"Signs of manual strangulation and with a ligature judging from the bruises starting to show" said the ME to Eames.

As she went through the classic signs on the body and confirmed a TOD consistent with the rough outline of the butler's statement, Eames realised why she wasn't getting the benefit of additional comment from Goren. More of that anatomical and physiological detail Eames didn't need to know or often didn't want to know.

He was standing with that slightly baffled expression on his face. The one that alternated with almost bashful recognition he'd done something wasn't a good idea. Because he now had a glob of evidence that should be saved stuck on the end of his finger and no-where to put it.

The ME finished by asking if they could remove Mrs Walters and flourishing a bag under Goren's nose.

Eames noticed him try hard and almost succeed. To keep the "guilty schoolboy" expression off his features as he removed the glove and dropped it in with a regretful little murmur.

Since he carried more gloves than loose change, Goren's left paw was covered by a fresh one by the time the body was being removed and they went to look at a sports type bag left beside one of the sofas.

Eames pulled on the handle of a tennis racquet.

"Jives with how the butler said she spent the morning" she said peering at it.

Then added "Wonder if a thousand buck bat improves your game?"

"Dunno" replied Goren with a slight frown.

Though Eames guessed what he didn't know and was really puzzling was if she was right about the cost of the racquet. And, if so, how she came by that knowledge. She chose not to enlighten him.

Goren was arranging some other items that you might expect a woman to be carrying for a morning spent playing tennis and passed to Eames a small roll of fabric.

Unfolded it turned out to be Calvin Klein, definitely male underwear containing a gold watch claiming to be made by Cartier.

Eames handed the watch over "Has a serial number we can trace Goren"

"Wonder if tennis was the only thing she was playing this morning" he replied.

"I'll put out an APB for a man wearing no shorts or watch" snorted Eames.

It was on the tip of Goren's tongue to point out he rarely wore a watch. But that was one trap he did see coming and neatly avoid stepping into it.

"So why has Mrs Walters got these things?" Goren asked hoping for one of those insights into the feminine psyche occasionally eluded him.

"Trophies? Souvenirs of some energetic mixed doubles?" shrugged Eames. "Did you never discover any small items missing?"

She never got an answer to that as she saw that invisible light go on in her partner's head. Goren dived across the room saying something about the torn sheet in the blotter.

As he eased it from the leather binder and tried to make out the backward smudges, Goren tried not to think about his underwear drawer or to inventory tie clips and cufflinks that may have vanished over the years.

To be concluded...