So I decided to go for a little more angst and adventure in this story. Hope you all like it! It starts a little slow, but it willpick up pretty rapidly.
For our story purposes, Bobby D has not left for Chicago, and Eleanor did not go work for the FBI. It's just more fun having them around, don't you think?
DISLCLAIMER: I own nothing at all related to IPS except for my DVDs and the hope of finding out that Marshall is real.
"No, Mom, I will not help you pick out drapes for Brandi and Peter's place…because I couldn't give a damn on if they have drapes or not! Put bars on their windows so Peter can't escape, that's my suggestion." Mary threw her bag on the floor by her desk, ignoring her partner's bemused stare from across the room. She rolled her eyes as her mother continued to rant into the phone. "No, Mom, no, no, no, no. How many no's do you need to understand?" The tirade continued into her ear and she held the phone away and looked at it incredulously. "Brandi won't care that I don't care, Mom. She should be doing this anyway, not you. I have to work now, bye." With a heaving sigh she closed her phone and tossed it onto the desk, then flopped her body into the chair, closing her eyes.
"Ah, morning conversations with Jinx," Marshall said with a smile, leaning forward on his elbows. "My favorite breakfast side dish. There's no better way to get you in the mood for Monday."
"In the mood for dismemberment, maybe, and hey, why not on a Monday?" She sat forward and looked at him. "And you don't have to take such pleasure at my crappy family moments."
"I know I don't, but I do," he said, his smile growing. "It's almost like an addiction. I know I shouldn't, but it feels so good when I do. And I think you would be a big help to Jinx on the draperies selection. I said as much when I saw her last week."
She leveled a glare at him. "You need help."
He shrugged, still grinning.
"Inspectors, we've got a situation," Stan announced as he came out of his office.
"Yeah, we do," Mary agreed, still glaring at Marshall. "Marshall is about to get his face rearranged."
"Bring it on," Marshall taunted, waving her forward.
"Easy, kids, I mean it," Stan scolded, trying not to look amused. Eleanor snorted from her desk and shook her head, her eyes never leaving her computer screen.
"Yes, Father," Marshall said with more than a hint of irony.
Mary didn't respond, but continued to glare at her partner.
"Jason Goring aka Jason Garritt," Stan said, looking at both of them in turn.
A furrow creased Marshall's brow. "That name sounds familiar. Why do I know that name?"
Mary groaned and rubbed her eyes. "Because he was one of my witnesses four years ago."
"Was?"
"What, he decide death was more desirable than having you in his life?" Eleanor muttered loudly from her desk.
"Eh heh heh heh heh," Mary sneered, then turned back to Marshall and Stan. "Remind me of the details, Papa Smurf."
"Witnessed a mob shooting in Gary in 2003. Victim was Jason's girlfriend, Melody Harrison. Jason was their escape artist, so to speak. He got them in and got them out. Not the sharpest crayon in the box, but…" He shrugged.
"But all crayons taste the same," Mary said with a grimace.
Marshall gave her a look. "You eat crayons?"
She ignored him. "Jason was devastated by Melody's death. Had to be one of the clingiest witnesses I ever had."
Stan showed Marshall the picture from Jason's file and Marshall's frown deepened. "Oh, yeah, I remember this guy. Fell in love with Mary and started calling her several times a day. Went over to her house a total of four times. Somehow he found out her identity and personal information, and used it to stalk her."
Mary was surprised, a little impressed, and more than a little wary. "How do you remember all of that?"
Marshall flicked his gaze to hers, and then back to the photo. "Because I'm the one who called Seattle to get him relocated."
"What?" She hadn't known that. She thought it had been some big emergency involving his case and the trial, and sure, she'd been pulled off so that someone with whom Jason had no ties could step in, but she had no idea why.
Marshall wouldn't look at her, but she could see his jaw tightening. "Sometimes partners act in the interest of each other, Mary, without the other knowing." He looked up at Stan and handed the picture back. "What about him?"
"He's missing."
There was a moment of no sound, not even from Eleanor's keyboard.
"Missing?" Mary repeated, not in confusion, but in disbelief. "Seattle lost a witness?"
Stan nodded. "Three weeks ago, his inspector went to his apartment to check things out, hadn't heard from him in a while. The trial was last year, so there shouldn't have been any trouble. When he got to the apartment, there was no sign of him. No signs of struggle, nothing missing, not even a suitcase. No one has seen or heard from him since."
"So why call us?" Mary asked, feeling irritated beyond belief. She'd never lost a witness. Any witness who tried to get lost, she found. It couldn't be that difficult.
Marshall stirred in his seat, but said nothing, as Stan looked through the file. "Oh, you know," Stan began, almost absentmindedly, "they just wanted our cooperation."
"Our help, more likely," Marshall murmured.
"Forget help, they want us to find him because they're too inept to do it themselves," Mary retorted, standing up and taking the file from Stan roughly. "This guy helped take down one of the most dangerous mobs in the states, and they just lose him? Who the hell was working this case, Barney Fife?"
"He's also psychotic, Mary," Marshall said quietly, looking at her intently. "Let's not forget that little piece of information."
"The guy just needs help, Marshall. He's harmless."
"I'd go with psychotic," Eleanor offered, bringing a fax over to Stan. "That would explain a lot."
"So would calling you Medusa, but that's a little beneath me," Mary replied instantly.
"It is?" Marshall queried, looking surprised.
She considered that. "Oh, yeah, I guess it's not. My bad, Medusa." She looked back at the file, rifling through the pages. "There's nothing in here to go on. Seriously, how long has this inspector been with the marshals?"
"Inspector Donaldson has been a marshal for twenty-two years," Stan answered calmly, removing the file from Mary's grasp and placing his new fax into it. "And has a spotless record."
"Had," Mary corrected, placing her hands squarely on her hips. "Not spotless anymore when an important witness goes missing without a trace right under your nose."
Stan gave her a look and sighed. "Anyway, I have already told the Seattle office that anything we can do will be done."
"Which isn't much," Mary grumbled as she made her way back to her desk.
"Regardless," Stan overrode, "we will do anything we can. Follow up on any leads or hints of leads, anything that might help us find out what happened to Jason. Understood?"
"Understood," they responded, Mary reluctantly, Marshall determinedly. Stan nodded and returned to his office.
Mary groaned and put her head down on her desk, then banged it repeatedly.
"Oh, come on, is one missing witness enough to make you send shock waves into those valuable parts of your head that you still have?" Marshall asked as he picked up his phone. "You have more tolerance than that."
"How about you find him and I do all your paperwork?" she asked, her head still on her desk.
"Tempting, really, but I know how you do paperwork, and I know how I do paperwork, and the idea of someone mistaking your poor excuse for chicken scratch for my meticulous observations makes me a little nauseated."
She raised her head to look at him. "Really, Marshall? Why don't we just put a sticker on your forehead that says, 'Here sits a geek'?"
"Haha," he scoffed. Then he turned back to his computer screen. "Hello, this is Inspector Marshall Mann. I am calling in regards to a Jason Garrit."
Mary turned to her own screen, dreading anything to do with this case. Jason was harmless, she believed it. His stalking, as Marshall had so bluntly called it, had really been nothing. Jason was just lonely and sad, and yeah, it was a little annoying, but for some reason, she genuinely felt sorry for the kid. He was twenty-one when he was brought in and from what she could tell, had the worst sort of upbringing. If he did have some mental issues, they really couldn't be considered his fault.
She pulled up his file and looked at the picture again. He had been such a scared-looking kid. She remembered that had been her first impression when she saw him in their conference room that first day. He had been absolutely petrified, which seemed to suit his wiry, maybe 5'6 frame. Those big, sea green eyes that could actually be a little creepy if you stared at them for too long, combined with the mousy brown hair made him look like he was 14. In fact, she remembered with a smile, she'd made him pull out his ID to prove that he was a legal adult.
And, aside from all of the creepy attachment he'd had with her, he had followed the rules to perfection, which made him a hell of a lot better than many of the other witnesses she had to deal with.
He was just a troubled kid who needed help and no one had ever given him a break. She suspected that no matter what the court decided, there were still some guys out there who would love to shut Jason up. And some idiot son of a gun in Seattle had let this kid slip through the cracks.
She clenched her jaw and shook her head. She would find Jason, and she would give his marshals hell and then some when she found him, and then she would make sure he was relocated again. Yes, he had made her a little uncomfortable with his attention, and yes, now that she knew, she was grateful that Marshall had moved him. But he had still been her witness; it was on her word that he had come in on. She still felt responsible for him, especially now that he was missing.
"Where are you, Jason?" she murmured, almost to herself, looking at the picture.
"We'll find him, Mary," Marshall said softly from his desk, watching her.
She returned his look with a half smile. "I thought he creeped you out."
"He does. But so do you, on some days."
She made a face, which made him chuckle.
"Seriously, Mare, I know how liable you feel about your witnesses. I know he hasn't been your witness for years, but even so, I know that you feel somehow that this is your fault, that it is your mess to clean up. But it's not. There is no possible way that this could be construed as your fault."
"Tell that to Jason," she said, running her hand into her hair. "He might have worked with the mob, but you know and I know what that skinny little runt was really like. Biggest chipmunk of a guy I ever met. If he's not dead now, he will be soon."
"We will find him, Mary." She met his deep blue eyes and saw the earnestness in them. "We will."
She nodded. "Ok. Where do you want me to start?"
He smiled. "Coffee? We're going to be here a while."
She threw a wad of paper at his head, smacking him dead on.
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