Backstrom: You've Got to be Kidding Me!
Author: TnJAGAz – also a Backstrom Fan!
Rating: PG
Classification:
Spoilers: Everything from Season 1 :D
Summary: Revelations on the last few episodes of this series lead to this story. Detective Sergeant Nicole Gravely and Gregory Valentine find out information that blow their whole known worlds apart, while Backstrom discovers threatening letter that will change his life. My thanks to Mislav for his patience, ideas, and prodding to get this story posted.
The characters in this piece are the property of Fox Television, Hart Hanson, Far Field Productions, SoulPancake Productions and Fox Television Entertainment – this story is for non-profit entertainment of Backstrom fans only. No copyright infringement is intended or implied.
A/N1: This story is second episode in a seasonal arc for Season Two. Patrolman Gray was featured in Mislav's Backstrom story "The Last Patrol".
Detective Lieutenant Everett Backstrom was still thinking about Patrolman Gray. Backstrom, was still dressed in his usual uniform for the day, brown slacks, rumpled red plaid shirt, dark brown sports coat and his almost ever present Sea Dogs ball cap, as he got into his car. He was headed back to Special Crimes Unit (SCU) after finding a letter at his house addressed to him. He glanced over at the tissue-covered letter he had just laid on the seat next to him. "Sorry, Dad," the disheveled head of the SCU snorted as turned over the ignition and started the car. At that moment, the early evening sky opened up and a heavy rainstorm began. Backstrom backed out of the gravel driveway next to the pier and pressed on the accelerator and noted how sluggish the car was in responding. Surreptitiously, he glanced at the gear shift to make sure he had put the car in drive. Yep, it was, okay, so what was wrong? Suddenly the car backfired. The rain seemed to respond to the noise by coming down even harder.
"What the hell?!" Everett noted the odor of gasoline filling the car. "Oh dammit!" he yelled as he flung open the door and tossed himself into a large puddle. The car bucked and snorted away from him before coughing flames.
SCU Head stared dumbly at the flaming car for a moment before launching his mud covered and soaking wet self back at the open door of his car which was now wrapped in flames. "No, no, no!" he moaned as greedy flames filled the interior of the sedan.
Unimpeded by the torrential downpour, the flames began to take their toll on the car's interior, eating at the upholstery, causing windows to buckle and snap in the intense heat. Melted plastic fittings looked like strings of molten lava as they dripped into the flaming smoky interior. The car sputtered to halt as one, then a second tire let go with bang as they deflated. As the third and four tires let go, they were joined by the mournful wail of the car's horn.
A sports car vibrating from the heavy bass of a rap song pulled up next to a mud covered Backstrom and rolled down his window. "Hey man, you all right?"
"Just dandy," Everett growled looking the burning mess. There went his evidence – not to mention his mode of transportation. "Can you turn down that jungle beat and call the fire department?"
The guy in the sports car smiled at him. "Chill dude, you got out okay, man." Backstrom gave the man a surly look.
The man's eyes flared and he held up his hands in surrender. "All right, all right, I'm callin.' Man, you need a chill pill."
*x*x*x*x*x*
Nicole Gravely was trying hard to put the finishing touches on a passable report that Everett Backstrom could scrawl his signature on. Concentration…any kind of mental concentration was out the window though, at least right now. With the Patrolman Gray case wrapped up, her mind had time to wander back to other mysteries. She still couldn't believe what ADA Steven Kines had told her, not that she would believe anything that came out of that lying creep's mouth, but this…this was too big to ignore.
Who was that 25th John?
And just what was so freakin' important about him that got me drummed out of Vice and my 24 convictions overturned?
Maybe a better question [a little voice in her head warned her] was what kind of dangerous big-shot was this that she almost nabbed? And, just who did he have in his back pocket?
Her mind started going into overdrive as it examined possible suspects and motives. She quickly ruled out anyone in Special Crimes Unit. Even Everett Backstrom. Sure, he did odd things, but this was not his style. So whose style was it?
The Head of Vice…maybe
The Precinct Commander? that's big…not likely though…then again…
The Chief…whoa, …this is getting scary…
Someone on the Police Civilian Oversight Board? Yikes!
The Mayor?! Holy Cow!
Calm down, Gravely, maybe it's not that bad…
But that would mean Steve *was* trying to protect you….
Or maybe he was just trying to protect himself, and in order to protect himself, he had to protect you as well…
He could have left you hung out to dry…
But he didn't …
But he could have…
Maybe he had a good reason…
The only way to find out is-
Arrrrggghhh! This wasn't getting her anywhere! She needed to stop thinking about this and concentrate on her work.
*x*x*x*x*x*
Greg Valentine wearing a black long sleeved sweatshirt with white accents, black skinny jeans, and no shoes was sitting in the easy chair next to Backstrom's, drinking a beer and thinking about what had learned in the past week. So what if Everett came back home right now and told him to stop drinking all the beer. That would be just like a big brother….
I have a brother… How weird is that? And the weirdest part of all…my brother…oops, make that my half-brother is none other than Lieutenant Everett Backstrom of the Special Crimes Unit of the Bureau of Police for Portland. I always figured I'd have a little brother…not a big, hulking cigar-smoking Neanderthal….
No wonder he always was always curious about what Backstrom was up to. Not that he wasn't an attractive guy…in his own unique, disgusting way. But Greg always knew there was more there to their odd-ball relationship than just mere attraction...however warped it might be.
Not so odd-ball now is it?
"Boy, I need another drink…" Where the hell did that come from? Next, he'd want to smoke or start walking around with three day beard growth and wearing an orange rain-slicker…
He rolled his eyes heavenward. Oh God, don't let me start doing that…
Even worse I might start running around saying 'I'm you…'
That made him smirk, but only for a moment. Wait a minute…maybe that wasn't so bad an idea after all. Lots of TV detectives have brothers who follow in their footsteps. Surely, real cops have the same thing happen.
Monk had his hoarder brother….
Michael Weston had his prodigal ne'er do well brother…till he got himself killed….
Dick Tracy had Junior, his adopted son….
Batman had Robin….
Sherlock had his brother who took over his cases…what was his name…?
Greg smirked and shook his head. "Wow, I'm even starting to think like a detective…or like a TV one, anyway….."
*x*x*x*x*x*
Nicole picked up her phone and began punching numbers. Halfway through, though, something stopped her and she cut the connection.
She listened to the buzz of the open line for few moments, not really listening to it, before punching in the numbers again. She almost got to the last number when she slammed the receiver down in its cradle with a bang. John Almond shared a look with Frank Moto as she picked up the phone again and began dialing only to hang up again and shake her head.
John got up and walked over to her desk. "Problem?" he asked the petite strawberry blonde who was wearing a gray sports jacket, olive drab t-shirt, and black skinny jeans.
Nicole whirled around in her seat like she had been shot. "John! No, uhmm, no problem." She looked back at the phone as if contemplating picking up the receiver again.
Nattily dressed John sat on the edge of her desk facing her. "Trying to dial someone?" he asked as only John could.
Detective Sergeant Gravely started to say that 'no, she wasn't' but the look in his kind, concerned eyes shot that to hell.
She looked up at him and sighed. "Do you…do you think Steven…Assistant District Attorney Kines…do you think he can be trusted?"
The tall detective studied her for a moment. "Is that who you were trying to call?"
"Yes," she said in a miserable, quiet voice.
John looked at her some more. Finally he said "Nicole, sometimes you just have to trust the Lord."
"The Lord doesn't know Steve Kines the way I do," she said wearily.
John gave her a paternal smile. "I think you'd be surprised at what the Lord knows." While Nicole was chewing on that, SCU forensic specialist Peter Niedermayer, wearing his typical well put together three piece suit, happened by with a medical report in hand.
He smiled at both of them. "Hey John, is this a private meeting?"
John and Nicole glanced at each other. "I'll let Nicole decide that," he said.
Peter gave Nicole a concerned look. "What's going on?"
Nicole flushed crimson. "Nothing important. I need to get back to work, guys." She opened up a blank report template and began typing.
John looked at Peter. "Detective Sergeant Gravely is unsure about whether or not to call ADA Kines about what he told her earlier today."
Peter knew immediately what he was talking about. In fact, the whole unit knew. He walked over and sat on the edge of the desk to the right of her, giving her an intent look. "What does your heart tell you?"
She stopped typing and gave him an irritated glare. "That's the problem! My heart says 'Call him!' while my brain says 'Are you crazy!? Have you forgotten what he did?!'"
Peter nodded. "The 25th John. Trust issues can be very bad karma for a relationship," he said sagely.
She smirked at him. "Bad karma? Steven admitted that he had deliberately informed my 25th potential bust that I was Vice! And the result was that my 24 previous convictions were overturned and I was drummed out and reassigned here by the Chief!"
She turned back to her screen and began typing furiously. "Besides, there is *no relationship*. That boat sailed when he let that guy, whoever he was, off scot free!"
"But you still have feelings for him." Nadia Paquet was standing looking at her over the top of Nicole's monitor. Nadia may have been the SCU's research and cyberspace expert, but she made Nicole envious with her elegant outfits. A little out of place in police squad room, but Nadia was a civilian administrator hired by the Chief for Backstrom's unit, so she got a pass for dressing to the nines.
She looked around. Trapped. John on her left, Peter on her right, Nadia in front of her, now joined by Officer Moto.
At that moment, her phone rang. Saved by the bell, sort of. "Special Crimes Unit, Detective Sergeant Nicole Gravely speaking."
"GRAVELY! Backstrom bellowed on the other end of the line. "Get your butt over here to the 500th block of 23rd Street. I need a ride!"
"Uh what? Why? What's wrong? Where's your car?" Nicole looked around at the others as they all came closer to her to hear what their boss was saying.
"Just stop babbling and get over here! And tell the rest of them to stop eavesdropping and get over here too! We've got a case!"
"Whose case?" she said as she gathered her purse and jacket and motioned for the others to do the same.
"Mine! Someone just tried to kill me!"
*x*x*x*x*x*
Greg looked blearily at the clock by the television. He could have sworn it said 55544:00000. Okay, time to stop drinking….
He started to get up from the chair, only to have gravity defeat his efforts. Well, gravity and one too many beers.
Whoa, better to just sit here and watch the room spin….he thought hazily.
While sitting and waiting for his equilibrium to stabilize enough for him to make it to his bed, he wondered when big brother would get home. He found himself chortling about that one. Oh man, what a day. Idly he wondered what kind of case his half-brother was working on now. Probably some byzantine murder plot that left a hand or finger of the murder victim and nothing else to go on but big brother's powers of deduction to figure out who the bad guy was. A finger or hand?! Ugh, that was gross! Wonder if he ever got any simple, straightforward cases? Then the logical part of his mind, drowning under booze, but nevertheless able to muster a coherent thought told him if it was simple and straightforward then they wouldn't send it to him….
He looked again at the clock. The numbers that had been so jumbled before were looking more normal 606:0609 Okay, maybe not so normal, better shut my eyes until what they see make sense….
*x*x*x*x*x*
On the way over, Nicole had debated about putting on her lights and sirens, but then she remembered how old Everett Backstrom's car was and decided against it. John, who was seated next to her, also said nothing about it. In front them, Moto also did not have his lights or sirens going. They were all thinking the same thing Probably just an electrical short or fuel leak…
The heavy downpours seemed to be coming in waves. Nicole kept having to shift her wipers from low speed to high speed to keep her windshield clear.
It wasn't long before they reached the 500th block of 23rd street only a few blocks from Backstrom's house. A PFD pumper truck was across the street from what remained of Backstrom's car with its emergency lights on, along with an ambulance, but the fire crew didn't seem too much in a hurry to unroll hoses and hook them to the truck since they were in the middle of fierce downpour. The car itself was still smoking, but the fire had pretty much been extinguished by the rain.
Everett marched over to Gravely's unmarked car as she pulled up. "What the hell?! No lights or sirens!?"
John leaned over and looked up at the Head of the SCU with his usual benign, friendly smile. "There was no need. Traffic was pretty light this evening-"
Backstrom savagely cut him off. "I didn't ask for traffic report, I asked why you didn't have your lights and siren on! Somebody tried to kill me in my car!"
"What happened? Are you all right?" Nicole asked hoping to distract his boss from his anger as she put her dark blue jacket hood raincoat over her head and got out of the car. Detective Almond, wearing his black raincoat and trademark matching fedora, got out on the other side and walked around to where Nicole and Everett were standing.
"I'm fine. No thanks to them," he said pointing at the EMS crew who was standing next to the firemen. "I was driving along when I noticed the car was acting sluggish. I gave it more gas and the interior began to fill gasoline fumes and then smoke! I got out of the car and called the Fire Department, but you can see what a great job they're doing."
Nicole looked over the firemen standing in the pouring rain. "We figured the rain would take care of it," one of them, probably the captain, yelled at her.
She then looked in askance at the EMS crew. "We checked him out, but he was okay," they shouted back.
Everett turned and gave them a scowl. "There was a fire in the engine and flames in the interior of the car!"
"We lifted the hood and cut a hole in the roof," one of the firemen shot back.
"Morons!" Everett growled. As Moto and Peter walked over, he stabbed a finger in Peter's direction. "Niedermayer! Go see what evidence you can get from the car!"
Peter looked at the smoking ruin and then back at Nicole and John. "He's kidding, right?" he asked in an incredulous voice.
"C'mon man," Moto said urging him toward the burned out sedan. Peter tugging his driver's cap down tighter on his head reluctantly went along with Portland uniformed officer.
"Did you lose anything of value?" Nicole asked, becoming all business.
"I did. I had a threatening letter that was mailed to me this evening," Everett reported snippily.
"You did have? What happened to it?' Nicole asked in her all-business 'just the facts' voice.
"What do you think happened, Gravely?" he said snidely. He looked over at John. "Call an arson investigator, John. Those clowns think the car malfunctioned!"
"It's almost twenty years old!" one of the firemen shot back.
"Are you sure it wasn't just something wrong with the car, Everett?" John asked.
"It was working just fine this morning," Everett said testily and loud enough for the firemen to hear.
Nicole could hear them swearing and a couple looked like they wanted to fight.
"You can go now," she told them hoping to keep them from coming over and pummeling her boss into the pavement.
The fire captain waved at Nicole. "Great!" He looked at his crew. "C'mon guys, we'll have chili tonight."
"I hope you get indigestion!" Everett shouted at them as truck turned off its emergency lights and pulled away from the scene.
"Don't antagonize them," Nicole warned.
"What about us?" the EMS technicians yelled over at Nicole.
"He's okay?" John asked.
"As far as we could tell," one of the techs shot back.
"Go ahead, go," Nicole said unenthusiastically as she waved at them.
"Thanks." The two technicians got in the ambulance, turned off its emergency lights, and pulled away into the developing darkness.
Peter walked back to Nicole's car with Moto in tow.
"What did you find?" Nicole asked.
"The interior is charred," Peter reported unnecessarily as he stripped off his soaked blue surgical gloves.
"The engine compartment isn't much better," Moto added.
"Could you tell anything?" Nicole asked in a hopeful voice.
This time Peter nodded. "I think I might have spotted the source of the ignition, but I won't be able to tell for sure until we get it back to the garage where I can take a closer look at it."
"Everett, are you going to be all right?" the tall black detective asked.
Everett nodded. "I'm fine, John. I just want to find out who did this and why. Moto! Call-"
Frank Moto finished his thought. "Already called them. They should be here in few minutes."
"How long was it before the car started acting sluggishly?" Nicole asked trying to get him back on track – the more they learned about what happened the quicker they could solve this case.
Backstrom obviously didn't see it that way. "What do you mean?" Either that or he was suffering from an adrenaline crash.
Nicole gently prodded him. "I mean, was it acting sluggish from the moment you started it, or did it start acting sluggish later on-"
Nicole didn't get to finish her thought as the Head of the SCU seemed to come back to life. "I first noticed it as I came down this street. And no, I didn't flood it or floor it."
John exchanged a look with Nicole. Maybe there was more to this than just an old car giving up the ghost.
Before Gravely or Almond could ask their boss anymore questions, a flat bed tow truck pulled up with its emergency lights on. The rain had settled into a light, almost foggy, drizzle.
The driver put it in park and stuck his head out the passenger window. He was wearing a Seattle Seahawks ball cap and gray rain slicker. A cigarette hung from the corner of his grizzled mouth.
"Car fire, eh?" he said to Nicole.
"We need it taken back to the precinct garage," Everett told him.
"You suspect arson?" the tow driver said with a hint of a smirk in his voice.
"We suspect attempted murder," Everett shot back.
"Really?" The driver said in disbelief "Whose?"
"Mine," Everett said in an even more irritated voice.
The driver looked at the smoking wreck and then back at Backstrom. "It's awful old. Are you sure it just didn't have a short in its electrical system or a fuel leak? That does happen with these older cars-"
"It didn't have a short in its electrical system or a fuel leak!" Backstrom snapped. "It was working just fine!"
"Just take it back to the precinct garage," John said in a calm voice to tow truck driver.
He looked doubtfully at the wreck. "Okay, I'll try, but it might come apart when I pull it up onto the flatbed."
"Just do your best," Nicole said wearily.
*x*x*x*x*x*
It took a little effort, but she was finally able to get the small kitchen window open. She wanted to be sure she did this just in case their spirits became trapped in here so that they would have a way to leave.
Nodding in satisfaction, she headed back through the living room past the body of man dressed black slacks and now stained yellow dress shirt sitting in his easy chair, his bloody head leaning forward as if he were unconscious or asleep. She headed back to the bedroom where her second victim was laying face down on the bed.
She looked at the woman for a moment, wishing she hadn't put up such a struggle. Her once pretty face was now mottled with red and blue marks, some turning deep purple. Blood leaked out of her ears and nose onto the bed, making small stains on the fresh linen sheets.
"I'm sorry, Amy, I truly am," she said to the brunette haired body. Amy had been a 'bottle-blonde' but after getting married; she had decided to go back to her natural hair color. The killer smiled, she had to admit she did look better as a brunette.
Amy's sightless eyes were focused on the clock, as if trying to see how many more minutes she had to live.
The killer sighed and went over to the dresser and began pulling valuables out of the drawers and ransacking the jewelry box looking for anything of value.
Sitting in the hallway, she already had two canvas grocery sacks filled with small appliances, their smart phones, and a laptop. The flatscreen television had been too big to carry out, so she just dumped it onto the floor in the living room, making it look like it had been smashed in the fight.
She gave the body on the bed one last look before heading back to the hallway, where she picked up the bags and made her way back to the living room.
When she got there, she set them down and walked over the table next to the dead man's chair. Without hesitation, she picked up the glass he had been drinking from when she had surprised him.
The vodka felt good going down her throat. For a moment it chased away the demons that were haunting her. At least she had done the right thing where Michael and Amy were concerned. She didn't so much regret killing him. He was a chauvinist pig who didn't know how good he had it with Amy, but now that he was dead, maybe he understood that. Amy, though, she regretted killing her. It had been a heat of the moment thing. Amy wouldn't stop crying about Michael, even though they were enjoying themselves. She kept telling her stop, that they had to help Michael.
She had just wanted her to stop crying. That's all. Well, she probably understood that now. Michael was in a better place and so was she. Better this than to go on living the way they were. Oh they said they were happy, but Michael…the things he did to her…how could she be happy with that?
She drained the last of the vodka and carefully put the glass back on the table. She adjusted her gloves and thought about spitting on Michael, no, that would leave DNA evidence – and Michael and Amy didn't want her doing that.
She was going to miss seeing Amy in her cute little outfits.
The angry buzz of the dryer interrupted her thoughts. She walked out to the laundry room and opened the dryer. Everything was still nice and toasty. She quickly put the items in a nearby clothes basket and carried it into the bathroom.
Next she went back to the bedroom and gently lifted lithe Amy off the bed and using a fireman's carry, got her to the bathroom. It took some effort, but she got her into the tub, propping her up at the end away from the faucet. When she thought she had her seated just right, she turned on the water and then went back to the basket and pulled out a bra and pair of panties and laid them on the bathroom sink. Then she took Amy's jeans and t-shirt and put them on the hanger on the back of the bathroom door.
Sighing, she went back to the living room, picked up the bags, and made her way to the wide open back door.
As she got in her car and turned over the ignition, she could hear sirens in the distance getting closer and louder. The 911 call that Michael made must have gone through!
She repeated her mantra whenever things like this happened. Don't panic…just do like we've practiced. Now, just like we practiced-take the next alley up ahead and drive over to the next street, then follow that alley until you get to the freeway….
To Be Continued...
