H is for Habeas
firechild
Rated T
Disclaimer: I own my antacids--want some?
A/N: This is a continuation of my letter series for the alphabet challenge...
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"So, what else can I do here?" Detective Galvin hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her plum slacks, the edge of her badge glinting from underneath her open jacket.
"Uh... I'm not sure yet. Megan, why don't you go down to the kitchen, grab a cup of coffee--you look like you're about to keel clean over."
"Don--"
"That wasn't a suggestion, Agent Reeves." Don was careful to keep his words firm and his tone unpatronizing, and his partner nodded, acknowledging his effort and his order.
Galvin held up a finger, trying not to be intrusive. "Uh, excuse me, if I may..." Don nodded to her, his eyebrows raised. "Since Mitchum, here, timed out as the first vic, and the lockdown's got more than half of the guests down in the lobby, the guests in the suite next door offered to duck out a couple days early and let us use it as a command center--it's not an anchor location, but it's paid for through the weekend. They're just waiting to be cleared so they can head up to Napa for a vineyard festival. The hotel manager is supplying us with coffee and sandwiches for the duration--it's not much, but it's better than cop coffee and donuts, and you and your agents are more than welcome to whatever you need."
"And again, we appreciate that. Detective Galvin, any chance we can bottle and sell you?"
Galvin laughed softly, then turned to Megan. "Just show your badge; if any of 'em in there give you flak, send 'em to me."
The profiler nodded gratefully, then turned to her lead. "What about you?" Megan couldn't pretend she didn't appreciate the idea of a coffee break, but she wasn't about to leave her partner without cover or caffeine.
Don's lips quirked up a bit on one side. "Nah, thanks, I'd better lay off for today--I'd like a little lining with my stomach. I want to get this information to David and Colby, see what they can fish out down there. It helps that someone with a brain has already compiled the pertinent from all three scenes for us, but I still want to see all of them for myself. I'll tag you when I'm ready to head down to the sauna." She nodded and headed next door, raising her own wrist in response to his silent reminder to keep her wrist 'link on.
"She's a good partner, I can see." Galvin watched Megan take out her badge with one hand and knock lightly on the suite door with the other. "Listen, Agent Eppes, you really don't have to thank me--I'm just doing what I can for the job. Besides, I don't think you could get me into a bottle, unless it was full of Flaming Angel, in which case I might consider not dismantling you for trying."
Don grinned, making a mental note to research 'Flaming Angel.' "You think I was joking..." He sobered, but something in his eyes had lightened slightly. "So what's the story on the couple who had the suite?"
Galvin shrugged a little. "Retired Air Force Major and his wife--they said they'd been separated by circumstances for a long time, so they're taking a road trip around the country to 'tour the less-toured,' as he put it, just taking time to enjoy each other, see a little nature, and to meet up with their kids along the way. I got the impression that the last couple of decades have been pretty rocky--they both look worn out, and I'm pretty sure they've lost a kid at some point."
"Yeah? What makes you say that?" Don reached into his pocket for his cell, wanting to be as discrete as possible in case their killer was watching his guys, but his eyes were still on the detective.
"The wife--she has one of those necklaces with a chandelier pendant, the one that's so popular for mothers because they can have each kid's birthstone put on it. Mrs. Stone had five drops on hers, and she spent our whole conversation fingering one of the birthstones--the second one, an amethyst. I think they lost their February kid; either that, or she's just really worried about him or her. And the husband, he's a really big guy, you know, tough and bulked out, like he's still on active duty; I could tell he was tired, soul-tired, like she was, but he still looked... angry, like he had some unfinished business with someone. He didn't make a show about it, but his voice was tight and it was there in his eyes, like something he carries with him, the way she carries those birthstones." She shrugged again. "I could be way off, it happens occasionally, but that's just my take on what I saw. They seemed a little frustrated that we couldn't tell them much. They're down in the lobby, probably trying to score some information off of some unsuspecting staff member. Really, I think she's nervous about being here in the middle of this--who wouldn't be--but she really just wants to get out of here; he's the one who volunteered the suite, and he's been the one asking questions. If I didn't know better, I'd think he got his wings for schmoozing interrogations."
"Hmm. Interesting." Galvin could literally see the agent filing away her speculations for future study. "Good eye, Detective. And I'm Don, by the way."
"A.P."
Don gave her a small smile, speed-dialing with his thumb and waiting distractedly while the line rang. "A.P.?"
She nodded. "A.P."
Don gave her a sideways nod, frowning a bit as he disconnected and re-dialed the same number. "Stand for something special?"
"Well, something, anyway."
"Oh, really?" Don scowled at his phone, and she could feel the tension building around him as his spine straightened; she watched as Don stepped back and Agent Eppes took the helm. She actually saw the moment when she ceased to exist for him. The agent turned and strode across the threshold into the hallway, glaring at his phone and dialing again, then switching it to his right hand while raising his left wrist and activating his 'link. He whispered stridently into it three times, calling for a response from his male team members, while still listening for an answer to his repeated phone calls. With a low growl, he switched tactics, paging Dispatch and asking for locations on agents Sinclair and Granger, only to hear after a few tense seconds that the satellites were unable to downlink to them because there was no signal to capture from either link.
Agent Eppes again raised his left wrist. "Reeves." That single syllable, delivered in something between a bark and a shout, had his partner emerging from the command center and catching up to match his stride, instantly attuned to his tone. "Check your 'link."
Agent Reeves quirked an eyebrow but didn't hesitate to comply, recognizing the power, fed by anger and concern, that crackled around Eppes like a halo of danger. "All checks out; why?" She watched her partner go through the tandem phone-and-'link process again as they neared the elevator bank; when he obviously got no answer on the phone, he used the cell antenna to punch the down button, and Reeves winced a bit as something inside the device gave a faint crack.
"I can't get a response from Sinclair or Granger. Sinclair's phone bit the dust this morning, Granger's not answering his, and both their 'links are dead."
"Dead?" The profiler positioned herself so that she could watch both sides of the elevator bank, and also so that she'd be ready if her team lead opted for the stairs--in his current mode, six flights of stairs would only stoke the rage he was visibly keeping in check.
"Dead--as in, satellite can't find them."
"And Colby never ignores his cell." Some of his angry power was beginning to gather around Reeves, subtly shifting her into threat-assessment mode. The protectiveness they shared added scissor-edges to her clipped words. "Would you believe that one of the guests sent the hotel manager up to the command center to demand a hearing on habeas corpus?"
Agent Eppes clenched his left fist at his side so tightly that one of his knuckles popped; the idea of someone harming his agents, especially in a building full of people sworn in one way or another to protect and serve, drew his nerves tighter than a bowstring. He ground out through his teeth, "Oh, if our boys don't respond, like, yesterday, I'm gonna habeas something, alright."
"Do you see them?"
Reeves pivoted to pin Detective Galvin with a sharp look, which was acknowledged and then deflected as the detective crossed the last few steps to stand before them and held up a single finger, the universal sign to wait. Galvin stood with her own cell phone against one ear, her free index finger now tapping off the seconds against her thigh as she waited for a reply. When it came, she sighed, but said, "Keep looking. Tag Newhart and Stenz, I want them canvassing the docks where the second vic was found--if there are holes in our lockdown, I want 'em found and filled; anything happens to those Feds, I'll make sure whoever let it spends the rest of his life eating through a straw." With that, she disconnected, and when one of the elevator doors trundled open, she stepped on with the agents.
Reeves glanced at Eppes, who shot the barest of sideways looks toward Galvin before turning his attention back to his cell, which was currently re-dialing. It cut off with a series of beeps, and he swore under his breath. "No signal." Both women reflexively checked their phones, running into the same problem, but before they could discuss it further, the elevator shuddered to a halt.
The power was out.
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Ah, the genius that was himself. Even without a solid plan for this part, everything seemed to be coming together for him; he would have to wait until the idiot police gave him some breathing room before moving on his next five--this lockdown business really was the height of disrespect for his mastery--but Idaho, his challenge, the only really interesting element in his task and his growing collection of filth, was right here, so close that he could almost reach out and touch the traitor. Oh, the beauty of it all. Idaho, such a prize, such an attractive trophy, still somehow familiar--and thanks to the dying of the light in this place, echoed with jubilation by the darkness within him, now nothing would stand between him and his victory.
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