A/N: sorry about the long wait, but i've been having a pretty crazy few weeks on this end, so it couldn't really be helped. so here it is, and i hope it was worth the wait:)
P.S: this chapter has been reposted since i now have a working spellchecker:)
Chapter 2 - Monday: The First Day (7:30 A.M.)
Within half-an hour the scene was swarming with armed FBI agents, some taking pictures, a few more examining the bodies, a few more examining the scene, and more still guarding the perimeter against the swarms of reporters that had somehow caught wind of the incident. And, in the centre of all the chaos, Don and his team had each been taken aside separately, answering questions rather than asking them, Don working at fighting back what he was sure would not be the last of the migraines to come as he related his version of what had transpired. The inane details did nothing to help his head but the agent questioning him was, in Don's opinion, less sympathetic than he should have been, continuing to press for answers on where he'd been when the shots had been fired, who had been with him, why he'd come to the office as early as he had, etc, etc.
He barely noticed when the man, who Don thought had introduced himself as Agent Spinlie or something close to that, thanked him, telling him that that was all for now before taking his leave. His attention was focussed mainly on using one hand to massage the bridge of his nose. Of all the times to get a damn headache...
"You might want to use this." Megan's voice startled him from his stupor and he looked up at her sharply, taking a moment to notice that she held a damp towel out to him, most likely from the woman's washroom inside. He followed her gaze down to his own hands, wincing as he realized that they were still painted red before seizing what his partner offered, not caring in the least that he was probably staining it permanently as he scrubbed his hands clean, as an afterthought using a clean corner to wipe off what was now probably on his nose.
"Thanks," he said flatly, tossing the ruined cloth to the pavement at his feet before resuming watching the agents processing the car. For the longest moment they looked on in silence, each wishing that they could be assisting in some way right then but at the same time not knowing what they could possibly do; they had all but witnessed the crime, so there wasn't any other questions that they could ask, and they weren't trained to process crime scenes, which is the one thing that did need to be done. Don shook his head angrily; he hated feeling, and being this useless, especially for something like this...
He was interrupted in his mental rampage by the shrill ringing of his cell phone but he ignored it - until a disapproving look from the profiler beside him prompted him to retrieve the device from its belt clip.
"Eppes." His voice was clipped but also tired sounding, making it seem like he hadn't gotten any sleep the previous night instead of the eight hours that he had managed to rake in. The last thing he had been expecting however was to hear his brother's frantic voice respond.
"Don?" The tone in which Charlie spoke caused Don's heart to flutter unpleasantly.
"Charlie? What is it? What's wrong?" A brief, scared chuckle sounded over the other line and Don frowned in confusion, avoiding Megan's questioning stare.
"Nothing's wrong with me - I was calling to see if you were alright." Even more confused than before, Don held up one finger to Megan, indicating that he'd explain momentarily.
"Why would you do that?" There was a long pause on the other line, and he could he the mathematician draw in a slightly shaking breath.
"I turned on the T-V and... it's all over the news Don - they were saying that an F.B.I agent working in your division had been shot and killed in the building's parking lot a-around the time you said you were heading in, and I guess I just..." Charlie's voice trailed off nervously, waiting for his older brother to say something. Don heaved a sigh and once more massaged the bridge of his nose, though this time with a clean hand. He hadn't even thought about the possibility that someone from his small family would catch wind of this incident just yet, let alone think the murdered F.B.I agent to be him.
"It's okay Charlie, I'm all right - so's everyone else," he added, referring of course to the rest of his team in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. At this point, he wasn't at all sure if his act of being the cool-headed, strictly professional Special Agent Don Eppes was up to its usual flawlessness. However, it was apparently good enough for the young man on the other line, for Don could hear a held breath being let out.
"Good. That's...that's good." Hesitation. "So, who was the agent?" He really didn't feel like having this discussion, his head feeling ready to burst with the pressure that this latest tragedy had brought on, but the logical part of his mind told him that he might as well just get it over and done with, wondering vaguely why Charlie would want or need to know.
"Brad Trenton," he said quietly. Though Charlie had never met, or even heard of the man, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness for his brother who was obviously taking Brad's death a little hard. "It was Trenton and his wife who were killed." This statement was first met with shocked silence; Charlie hadn't heard about that second murder, and Brad's wife at that. He swallowed, glad that Don couldn't see his shocked expression; this just kept on getting worse and worse. All he could do was hope that it wasn't what he thought it to be...
"Do they have any idea who did it? And why?"
"No - only that there were two, maybe three men in the car, and that only one jumped out and did the shooting." Don hoped that Charlie had caught the tone of that last sentence and interpreted it as it was meant: to tell him that that was all that he would be hearing about the matter. Though obviously he couldn't be seen, Charlie nodded his acknowledgment.
"You'll call me if you need my help?"
"Yeah buddy, I will." Not unless I have no other choice, he thought to himself; cases such as these, ones of brutal and cold execution, were ones that he preferred, if at all possible, to keep away from his little brother - he didn't need to see the things that Don dealt with, the things that kept him up most nights.
"Right. So I'm guessing that you won't be stopping by for supper tonight?" Don winced at the slightly disappointed, yet all too knowing tone; did he really dive that much into cases every time that his family had become use to his absence?
"I, uh, I'll see if I can drop by later, okay?"
"Okay. I've got to head over to CalSci right now, and supper's going to be around eight-ish tonight, so I'll see you...whenever?" If Don didn't know any better, he'd guess by the soft, slightly monotone expression in his Charlie's voice that his brother was stressed over something, probably hadn't been sleeping properly in his quest to solve whatever the newest problem was. Don bit his tongue on the matter; he'd have to deal with that later - he didn't have time right now.
"Yeah."
"Alright, well, good luck then."
"Thanks. Bye Charlie."
"Bye." Click.
And that was it. Don stood there for a long moment listening to the dial tone, contemplating his relationship, or perhaps lack there of with his brother and his father of late and wondering what he'd missed these past three months before finally giving up, at least for the moment, and sighing yet again as he hit the end button and replaced his phone in its clip. He suddenly found that he had no desire whatsoever to continue to watch the proceedings, wanting instead to be inside, doing something proactive with the information they had collected from the interviews with the guards and the initial examination of the victims' car - in short, at the moment Don just wanted to feel if not actually be useful.
Pushing himself off of the car which had become his support, he took on his typical authoritative stance as he turned to Megan who already stood at attention, ready to listen to and carry out his orders.
"Common, let's go nab Colby and David and head inside with whatever preliminary reports and pictures we can get our hands on, as well as the guards' interviews; we've got work to do."
Half an hour later, all four had settled once more into their workspaces with each of their given tasks, the levity of earlier completely wiped away while they worked, Megan going over the accounts of the guards as well as security tapes of the lot to set up a profile on the killers' characteristics and actions, Colby working on tracking down the type of gun used in the murders, David looking for hits on the partial licence plate the had gotten from the guards and the tapes, and Don taking a close look at all of Trenton's case files for the past year, for a start, for perps who might have gotten away or been released from prison recently, still carrying a grudge - and it was one hell of a long list of possible candidates. And yet so far, no luck.
"Well, I got a gun to go with the bullets." Colby's voice broke through their intensely concentrated silence, making the other three jump just a little in their chairs before they looked over at their co-worker. Upon seeing that he had their attention, he continued. "According to records, the bullets are a match for a Glock .45 auto, the type of gun used by most law enforcement because of the convenience in being a lightweight, and having a thirteen bullet cartridge." Colby frowned slightly. "But without the gun to compare the bullets to, this information is basically useless in finding out the 'who' and the 'why' in this mess." In his mind, Don agreed avidly if not grudgingly with the man, but outwardly he merely nodded and bit his lip, turning towards his other two agents for an update on their progress, Megan opting to go first.
"Unfortunately, I don't have all that much to go on, or as Charlie would put it: 'I don't have enough data'," she started, making air-quotes with her fingers for effect. It worked too - the comment and accompanying gesture caused her team-mates to give brief but genuine smiles and chuckles, Megan smiling to herself as well; score one for the profiler. All too soon, they lapsed back into attentativeness and she carried on with her report. "So at this point, I can hardly even be sceptic as to how these guys are wired, except to say that based on the smooth, quick, and obviously calculated moves reported by the guards and seen on the tapes, these guys have got some experience; the car pulled up right as soon as Trenton was parked and the shooter was out of his car and beside the driver's side door the second it opened and was shooting a second later, not even hesitating at all." She shook her head grimly. "He just got out, did the deed, got back in, and they sped off. One thing is for certain though: their attitudes are cold, and all business. These guys are pros." This revelation only served to put the team even more on edge as David cleared his throat cautiously.
"I've got a little ways to go with that car. The partial on the licence plate we got, P2R-4, was a match to one-hundred vehicles in the L.A. area, fifty of which match the visual description, and thirty out of those that aren't in the police or local impound." His fingers started fidgeting with the pen he was holding. "It'll take me a while to track down the owners of each and a while longer before we can start ruling them out as suspects." Don considered this for a moment.
"Alright, Colby, you start helping David with tracking down and interviewing those owners. Do it over the phone if you can, in person if you have to." Both men nodded and Colby joined the agent at his workstation, tossing his jacket aside and rolling up his sleeves before digging into the piles of owner's names. Satisfied, Don then turned to Megan. "You're with me - we're on case file duty."
Despite the situation, Don couldn't help the grin that erupted at the look of disgust that shone in Megan's eyes. But again, the moment of release was gone all too quickly, and they were soon settling down in the layout room, readying themselves for what was certain to be a long Monday.
It was past ten that night by the time Don pulled his SUV carefully into his brother's driveway, immediately turning off the engine and removing his seatbelt, but staying sitting for a moment as he tried to subdue the pent-up frustration that had increased exponentially throughout the wasted day. Colby and David had spent until nine that night tracking down each car owner, only being able to contact a few out of their long list before Don had ordered them to go home for the night, getting to sleep early enough so that they could get an early start tomorrow at eight. He and Megan had stayed almost an hour longer, continuing their search through the agent's case files that had occupied their day as well, their work equally if not more fruitless than the others'.
Don shook his head angrily, dropping his gaze from the lit windows of his childhood home to his hands in his lap, angry at the fact that they had hardly gotten anywhere in the investigation of the two murders as well as frustrated with himself for being angry when it had in fact only been one day of investigating and as a senior agent and team leader, he should know better than to expect results so quickly - he just couldn't help it. Something about this whole thing just didn't feel right; he'd had the worst sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach since that morning that he just couldn't shake, as though it wasn't just that an F.B.I agent and his wife had been murdered in front of a federal building, but it was or was going to be something much worse...
With one final sigh of resignation, Don exited the vehicle and strode towards the house, not bothering to knock before entering and tossing his suit jacket onto one of the hooks inside the entrance enroute to the living room where he found Alan Eppes seated in the easy-chair, reading his newspaper with an intense concentration that led Don to believe that it wasn't actually being read so much as giving the eldest Eppes something to grip tightly as well as something to glare down at. All in all, the end result on his father's general appearance was enough to make Don cautious as he sidled over to the couch.
"Hey dad," he said as he sat down heavily and reached for a magazine on the coffee table. He managed a casual tone though he was in the beginnings of curiosity and slight apprehension, both of which raised slightly when his greeting was met by a rough grunt, or harrumph more like, the man not looking up from his printed pages. The two sat in silence for a long moment, both not actually reading the words in front of them, until Don finally threw caution into the wind, deciding to simply come right out and ask. "What's up?" He swallowed almost imperceptibly when the glare shifted from the sports' page over to him, the expression on Alan's face making Don, an F.B.I agent with countless years of experience in life-threatening situations, shift nervously, wishing that he were anywhere else at that moment. He would have chuckled if he weren't so nervous: Alan Eppes seriously missed his calling as an interrogator - that look alone would make any man want to spill whatever information he could. His response bore a tone to match.
"Your brother." Those two words alone spoke volumes, and would have convinced Don to hold off questioning a little longer to wait for the man to cool down, but he continued with an explanation without being asked. "He's been spending every minute away from CalSci for the past month locked up in the garage with his equations. It's a battle just to get him to come in for meals every day and to get some sleep every night, and I know that he's got to be working on another one of those consulting projects, but the only thing he'll say about it is that this one isn't for you and your team - yet." Alan's eyebrows quirked, saying for him that he was waiting for Don to explain what Charlie would not.
Don blinked but for a moment was too lost in thought to speak. Charlie'd been working on a project for a month? How could he have not known? Oh, right, he'd hardly seen his brother for three. But what was the project? And what did he mean by saying that it isn't for me and my team yet
The sound of Alan putting down his newspaper and sitting forward in his seat brought Don back to reality, and he met his father's gaze, already knowing what he was going to ask before he came out and asked it, his tone clearly concerned.
"Please, could you talk to him? He'll give you a straight answer - you're one of the only people he'll give that to." Don rubbed his face tiredly before finally and wordlessly standing up and heading for the door that lead to Charlie's sanctuary, mentally preparing his nerves for a fraying while already coming up with arguments to use to get some solid information.
Nothing could have prepared him, however, for the sight that met his eyes when that door swung open.
Papers and files upon files were stacked, opened, and scattered on every surface, including the floor in some places, a lot of them covered with finger-shaped chalk smears. Every board Charlie owned was stacked or hanging from somewhere, almost every one of them covered in some obscure formula or other. What got him the most however, what made him suddenly feel saddened was the fact that his little brother was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, his piece of chalk still clutched in the hand that was aiding the other slightly shaking one in gripping a photo of gore, the image being one of a man in a patrolman's uniform lying dead beside his squad car, blood having poured onto the pavement beneath him from wounds that Don couldn't pinpoint from this angle. However, pinpointing such mundane facts was the last thing on Don's mind at the moment as he slowly approached the slightly shaking form on the floor, making sure to scuff his feet on the ground in order to try and give Charlie notice that he was there.
It didn't work; Charlie never ceased staring down at the photograph, his mass of dark curls shielding his face from Don's view as he gave no indication that he had noticed that he was no longer alone in the garage. Stopping a few feet in front of him, Don decided that it was best if he knelt so as to be more down to Charlie's current level before he chanced clearing his throat loudly. Still no reaction.
"Charlie?" It was as though a gun had gone off next to him. Before the last syllable of his name had come out of Don's mouth, Charlie's head had shot up, closely followed by the rest of his body in what turned out to be a full jump backwards and to the side so that he was 'protected' by the side of the couch. Don could only stare in obvious shock as he finally caught sight of his brother's face which was tear-streaked and haggard, his brown eyes wide with fear for the split second that it took for him to recognize his visitor as being Don, after which a mask of wan professionalism took over. The transformation was so sudden and in such sharp contrast to what Don had just seen that he stood quickly, startled. Neither spoke as Charlie made quick work of wiping his cheeks dry and rubbing his eyes, after which he cleared his throat and met Don's stunned gaze.
"Hey Don. Didn't hear you come in. Is dad still up? He would probably get you some of the leftovers heated up if you asked him," he stated casually as he slipped the photo he'd been staring at into a folder and continued scribbling out numbers. Charlie's evasiveness combined with the reaction he had witness just a few seconds ago left the normally smooth talking F.B.I agent speechless, the only sound to fill the air being the harsh scratching of the chalk and the occasional sniff from the one wielding it. When he finally broke out of his trance, Don strode to his brother's side, staring again at the now apparently concentrated face for a long moment before chancing speaking.
"Charlie...Charlie, look at me..." He apparently hadn't heard him, which under other circumstances would be believable, after all: this was Charlie. However, right at this moment, Don seriously doubted that the math genius was as absorbed in his work as he appeared to be. Decidedly giving up on being diplomatic, Don reached over and snatched the piece of chalk from his brother's hand with his, using his other hand to grab firm hold of Charlie's shoulder and turn the man to face him. The fact that Charlie made not a sound, made no move to object to what normally would have been Don interrupting an important train of thought only strengthened Don's belief that something was seriously wrong; now if only he could get the young man to talk to him about it. "Charlie what's going on? What happened?" He shot a quick glance at all the files. "Is it the project you're working on that's got you so upset?" At that last statement, Charlie looked up at him sharply, suddenly straightening his previously slumped shoulders, forcing himself to stand taller than he had been as he met Don's concerned expression.
"I'm fine. I...I'm not upset - it's...it's nothing, I'm fine." Charlie found himself unable to maintain eye contact and he dropped his gaze to his fidgeting hands. Don's grip on his brother's shoulders tightened a little, and the professor looked back up at him, an odd pleading look in the backs of his eyes as though he didn't want to talk about it, and didn't want Don to ask because he knew that if he did, his carefully constructed self-control would crack. And if past intel is anything to go by, then that is the last thing Charlie would want to have happen in front of the older brother whose approval is something he's held precious to him since that first case, Don thought. On the other hand, whatever it was that was on Charlie's mind was clearly eating away at him and could not be left to fester, if Charlie's appearance and demeanour were anything to go by.
Before he could come to a decision however, he felt a sudden grip on his forearm, looking over to see that it was Charlie's hand, still covered in chalk dust.
"Please Don, not tonight. It's not as bad as I thought, and I promise I'll tell you later, just not right now. Okay?" The tone of the question was so quiet and small, sounding so much like it had been posed by the ten-year old Charlie that was still afraid of the dark rather than the now usually confidant and stoic, F.B.I consulting mathematician that Don felt all will he had to force his brother to share right then leave him, and his expression softened completely as he nodded his head.
"Okay Charlie, okay," he said quietly, and he immediately felt Charlie's grip on his arm relax, along with his entire body in relief, making Don even more sure that he had made the right choice - he and Charlie could talk later, he just had to give him time. "But you gotta do something for me." Charlie nodded, looking at him expectantly. "Take a break on whatever you're working on, and get a decent night's sleep - we'll talk in the morning. Alright?"
Again Charlie nodded and wordlessly allowed Don to steer him back into the house, closing the door behind him before continuing to guide his worn body to the stairs where Don let him carry on unassisted as he looked over at his father who was standing in the living room, regarding him with a proud and grateful smile. Returning it, Don made up his mind to stay the night so as to be able to make good on his agreement to talk to Charlie in the morning, and, knowing that Alan wouldn't question it, Don carefully made his way upstairs after his brother, suddenly looking forward to being back in his old room. After checking to make sure that Charlie had actually gotten into bed, he climbed into his own, falling asleep the second his head touched the pillow.
The shrill ring of his cell phone woke him from a pleasantly dreamless sleep and Don groaned, glancing over at his clock as he reached for the offending phone: it was seven in the morning. His vision still blurry, Don didn't even bother to check the caller I.D before answering, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
"Eppes."
"Don." The voice belonged to Megan who was obviously tired from the previous day's stress, but also freshly grim. Don suddenly felt his exhaustion leave him.
"Megan? What's wrong?" A pause, followed closely by a weary sigh.
"You're not going to like this..." Her voice trailed off.
"Spit it out Reeves." Another pause, this one longer, more drawn out, successfully elevating the tension on the line to bursting point before she spoke again, quieter than before.
"It happened again Don," she all but whispered. The statement resulted in Don vaulting out of his bed, standing in the middle of his room as shock and anger boiled to the surface. "Two more victims: F.B.I agent Tracey Polind, and her husband agent Tyler Polind, both from the missing person's division. They - they both received a single shot to the chest and temple." Neither one of them wanted to voice the conclusion that was already forming in their minds: We've got serial killers on our hands - and they're going after us
Don staggered over to his jeans which lay on the floor, at the same time as contemplating the note he would have to write to Charlie, explaining why he'd had to take off early, and requesting that they finish their talk later. It was not going to be a pretty one, but Don had no choice, and no time to have it now. He sighed and checked the clip in his gun.
"I'm on my way."
TBC
