Detective Tim Roberts smiled tightly. He grew impatient, but he didn't want her to notice. He was sure Vanessa wasn't telling him everything. She was hiding something from him. She looked tired, and he couldn't blame her for her exhaustion, after all she'd been through.

"Are you sure he never mentioned the kind of lab he worked in?"

She shook her head. They sat at her kitchen table. Her knee bounced up and down rapidly, her arms crossed; a mixture of defensive and anxious body language.

"We weren't really together that long," she said.

"Right, but you're the closest person to him that we know of right now." He glanced down at the cell phone she'd given him. It was likely any calls made to and from that phone would be to burners like this one. They probably wouldn't figure out much, but it was strange that Gale only had one phone number stored: G.F. No family numbers, not even his girlfriend? None of the techs scavenging Gale's apartment for evidence had found any other phones. Right now, the techs were in the process of analyzing data on his computer: emails, website visits, and social media.

"And you can't think of anyone Gale mentioned or alluded to that would want to do him harm?"

Vanessa shook her head again, her bouncing knee relaxing a little. Maybe she was being more truthful that time.

Roberts finished scribbling his notes and stood up. "You will contact me if you think of anything, right?"

"Of course," she said, standing and walking him to the door.

As Roberts turned to leave, a thought struck him. "Vanessa, is Gale's dating site profile still up?"

"No. He took it down after we started seeing each other."

"Okay. Well, I'll be in touch." Roberts walked out to his car, and drove away. He knew she was hiding something, but he had to be careful not to press her too hard. She was mourning a loss, after all. He couldn't help the nagging thought that Gale Boetticher may have been involved in some illegal dealings. He took out his phone at the next stop light and dialed the local DEA office.

"Detective Hank Schrader, please."

"I'm sorry, he's out on medical leave," the receptionist replied. "I can put you through to his partner, Steve Gomez, but you'll have to leave a message."

"No, that's okay. This is Tim Roberts with the Albuquerque Police. Do you think maybe I could get his home number?"

Vanessa shut the door behind the detective and went over to her bookshelf. She wondered how much jail time she would serve for withholding evidence as she pulled Gale's "Lab Notes" from behind her collection of Renaissance art books. She'd seen it the night he went to the hospital and quickly put it in her purse. She'd gathered up anything Gale would need as if he would be leaving the hospital, alive and well, and coming home. She didn't want the police to see the notebook; she felt obligated to protect his secret.

She sat on her couch and flipped through the notebook again. It was filled with formulas, lists, numbers, and sketches. On one of the last pages, the blue ink still bright and fresh looking, he'd written "V.A.M." with a heart around it. Her initials, Vanessa Anne Meyers, and below it a Lord Byron poem, "She Walks In Beauty." She knew he'd been memorizing it, like he memorized Italian songs and Walt Whitman, to recite to her. Vanessa held the notebook to her chest. It was like he was still alive. In a few minutes, he'd come to her door, with flowers maybe, a huge grin, and they'd watch foreign films. Everything would be just like it was.

She didn't know why she was hiding his notes from the police. Just like she didn't know why she couldn't cry. The horrifying image of the hospital staff trying to shock him back to life and the long, high-pitched beep of death haunted her dreams. But she'd been unable to cry since the night he was admitted. She felt like she was behind and needed time to catch up to what had happened; as if she hadn't had time to process each individual event to her satisfaction. Now, she felt compelled to protect his secret until it was all processed and filed away. It was hard for her to reconcile the Gale that had trouble unhooking her bra to the one that created a deadly and addictive drug. Maybe that was why she held on to the notes: it wasn't him. He wasn't a Mad Scientist Drug Overlord, which would be exactly what the police would see in these notes. They wouldn't see how he blushed every time he saw her naked, or how he liked to sing karaoke, or how he giggled at The Three Stooges.

Still, she would have to eventually give them up. Just not now. On a tiny slip of paper in the notebook she'd written the phone numbers for G.F. and W.W. She was sure no one would answer if she called them, if they were still in use at all, but she wanted all the information the police had for herself. She carefully put Gale's notebook back behind her own books. It would have to stay hidden for now.

"Hi, can I help you?" Marie asked as she answered the door.

"Hi, I called earlier. My name is Detective Tim Roberts with the Albuquerque Police," he showed Marie his badge. "I'm here to see Hank Schrader."

"Oh! Yeah, he'll be happy to have company," Marie welcomed him in.

Hank was examining rocks/minerals when Roberts walked in the room. Marie came in as well. "Hey, Hank look who is here to see you!"

Hank looked embarrassed as he pushed his rocks aside. Roberts sat down. "I won't take up too much of your time, Hank. I just wanted you to take a look at this case I'm working on."

"Oh yeah?" Hank went back to looking at his rocks.

"Yeah. This guy, Gale Boetticher, was shot in his apartment a few days ago. He died in the hospital the next morning. No one saw anything or heard anything other than one gunshot. According to his girlfriend he worked in a lab." Roberts gave Hank a picture of Gale.

Hank looked at it disinterestedly.

"I'm pretty sure his girlfriend isn't being completely honest with me. She said he never elaborated on his job. He had degrees in chemistry. Very intelligent guy. The thing is — we found hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash hidden around his apartment."

Hank paused with slight surprise, then shrugged. "And?"

"And I'm wondering what kind of lab tech has that kind of money just laying around. I heard you were the expert on the meth trade in this area. I have a feeling Gale Boetticher may have been involved somehow."

Hank picked up one of his rocks and turned it around in his hand. "I don't know. Seems kind of a stretch."

Roberts looked at Hank. This guy was completely housebound and had nothing to occupy his mind other than all those rocks. Roberts had heard about what happened and felt sympathy for Hank, but he hoped Hank didn't really believe all this was a stretch.

"Well," Roberts said. "I'll leave this folder here for you to look at. Gale's girlfriend, Vanessa's, info is in there, too. Maybe you can talk to her and get some more out of her. Like I said, I'm pretty sure she's hiding something."

Hank nodded. "Yeah. Maybe. But I think it's a real stretch."

Walt waited until Victor went to the bathroom, then whispered to Jesse.

"Jesse."

Jesse had his ear buds in as he cracked the sheets of blue, not hearing Walt at all. Walt went over to him and pulled out one of the ear buds.

"Hey,"

"What?" Jesse snapped. He had been acting strangely over the past week or so. There was a darkness behind his expressions and words now. Although concerned, Walt thought it was best not to prompt Jesse too much into talking about that night. He knew killing Gale had to be fucking with Jesse's head, but how does one begin to even process that?

"After work. We need to talk," Walt whispered.

Jesse nodded numbly, put his ear bud back in, and turned the music louder.

After work they both made their way outside of the facility. Jesse went to his car and Walt went to his. They both stood, silently challenging the other. Jesse rolled his eyes and gave in, getting in Walt's car.

"We need to figure out what our next moves are going to be," Walt began once they were out on the highway.

Jesse said nothing, leaning his head back on the seat.

"Gus is going to kill us. We can be sure of that. Once he's done with us, he will kill us. So, we need to strike first." Walt glanced to Jesse to see if he was listening. He looked as if he was going to sleep. "And we need to find that girl Gale was seeing."

"Are we gonna waste her, too, yo? Shoot her in the face?" Jesse glared at Walt.

"No," Walt said, taken aback. "No. Of course not. We just need to make sure she doesn't go to the police."

"Maybe she already has."

"No. We're still cooking. Something would have happened by now."

Jesse looked silently out the window, watching the desert landscape flash by. A crazy thought struck him for a second: it really didn't bother him if Gus did kill them or if The Girl went to the cops. Neither dying nor prison really scared him anymore.

"I'm thinking poison for Gus," Walt was saying. "Make some more ricin."

Jesse was still silent, thoughts tangled up in his brain.

Walt glanced at him. He had to get Jesse to trust him again and respect his judgment; otherwise neither of them would survive this.

"Jesse," Walt ventured. "The only reason why you and I are here right now is because Gale isn't." He paused. "It had to be done. Gale was a good man, but it was our only option."

"Oh, really?! Was it?" Jesse's voice had an icy edge to it, like the sharp tip of an iceberg. "No other options, really?!"

"He would have done the same to us, if the situation were different."

"No," Jesse shook his head, a rage rising within him. "He wasn't capable."

"Everyone is capable of killing," Walt retorted darkly. "Anyone who believes otherwise deserves what they get."

The coldness in Walt's words and logic made Jesse nauseated. "Take me back. I need to go home."

"Not until we're agreed on what to do."

"Turn around, okay? I don't want to do this now."

"Oh, okay, Jesse. When should we do it, then? When Gus has Mike and Victor tie us up and dump us in a hole? Or maybe after he's sent someone to gun us down in the lab for easy clean up? How about then?"

Walt's tone made Jesse furious. "I said turn around, bitch!" He grabbed the steering wheel. The car began wildly zigzagging on the two lane road as the two of them fought for control. Walt slammed on the brakes and the car spun in a circle, coming to rest just before tumbling down a ravine. The two men caught their breath for a second, looking at how close they'd come to rolling down the hill.

"Jesse, we have to have a plan." Walt said finally. "Or else we might as well shoot ourselves."

"What does it matter!" Jesse snapped. "What the fuck does it matter what I think? Huh? We're going to do what you want. What you think is the best."

"No, we're partners. We have to agree."

"Well, I don't agree, okay? I don't agree we should kill anyone. How's that, bitch?"

Walt was quiet for a minute or two. "Fine. If you don't agree, then we won't do it. But you have to think of something else. We have to do something, Jesse. Not wait around for something to happen to us."

Jesse didn't trust him. He was doing some mind game shit. Some kind of manipulation. Whatever Jesse suggested, Walt would find fault with. The sad part was that he would be right. Gus hated Jesse, had never liked him, and now Gus hated Walt. There was no way he was going to let them live.

They sat in silence for a long while. Jesse tugged at a hole in his jeans, making it bigger. He didn't have a plan. He didn't have any other suggestions, but he wasn't ready to admit that yet.

"Well," Walt began. "I see you're just full of great ideas. But we can't do them all. We only have to pick one." The sarcasm in the man's voice made Jesse want to push him down the hill, watch him roll over the terrain, smash his head on rocks until he was a broken heap at the bottom.

Walt put the car into gear and began to drive back. "Then we are agreed. We poison Gus, then we find The Girl and make sure she doesn't talk to the police."
Jesse tugged at the hole, pulling away threads.

"Okay?" Walt said.

Jesse put his face in his hands. The fight left him and he felt helpless, defeated.

"Okay."

"Hello?"

"Can I speak to Ms. Vanessa Meyers, please?"

"This is she."

"Hello Ms. Meyers. This is Detective Schrader with the DEA. How are you today?"

Vanessa rolled her eyes and sat down at the table. Why couldn't they just do their thing and leave her out of it?

"I'm okay. I've already talked to Mr. Roberts…."

"Oh, I know. Just wanted to clear a few things up, if that's okay?"

Vanessa hesitated. No, it wasn't okay. She was tired of talking about Gale. She was tired of the effort she had to put into making sure her story was the same every time.

"It's fine."

"By the way, I'm very sorry for your loss."

Vanessa said nothing.

"So, did you and Gale ever go out to eat anywhere?"

"Yeah."

"Did he have any particular dietary restrictions or habits?"

Puzzled at this line of questioning, Vanessa thought for a moment. "Well, he's vegan. I mean…was. I am, too."

"Ah, so I guess sometimes that's hard to accommodate at like a fast food joint, right?"

"Yeah. It is a lot easier to just cook your own food."

"Hmm." Detective Schrader paused for a minute. "Well, I'm wondering then what Gale was doing at a chicken place, Los Pollos Hermanos? Heard of it?"

"Yeah…" Vanessa was confused. What did this have to do with anything? She could hear Schrader shuffling papers through the phone.

"Yeah. That place really isn't vegan-friendly. There's a bag from the place among the evidence in Gale's apartment. I'm just curious why he would have that."

"I have no idea," Vanessa said truthfully. "I don't know why he would have been there."

"Did he know someone there?"

"I don't think so. He didn't seem to have too many friends."

"I see."

Vanessa waited for him to explain, but he didn't. "Detective Schrader, I'm not sure what this has to do with Gale's murder."

"Just trying to get a better picture of the guy. That's all." A pause. "He never explained to you what kind of work he did?"

Vanessa sighed. This again. "No. He didn't talk about it."

"Okay. Well, thank you for your time Ms. Meyers. We'll be in touch." He hung up.

Vanessa stared at the phone for a minute. What was Gale doing at Los Pollos Hermanos? She remembered the recipes he'd written in his notebook, all vegan. She never once saw him consume anything from an animal of any kind, including honey. Nothing was making any sense.

Hank looked at the paper bag. He purposely didn't tell Vanessa about the number written on it. She seemed very confused by the fact that Gale had been to a chicken place to begin with, so she probably would have no idea what the number meant. He already knew, anyway, and it left no doubt in Hank's mind that Gale was involved in the meth trade. If Gale Boetticher wasn't Heisenberg, then he probably knew who Heisenberg was. At the very least, Gale was probably only one or two steps away from the guy. Hank could also detect what Roberts did: Vanessa wasn't being forthright for some reason.

The doorbell rang and Hank could hear Marie cheerfully greeting his physical therapist. He carefully tried to get off the bed himself. He had to start walking. Now.

Vanessa knew she didn't really need to get the pregnancy test. It would just confirm what she already knew. She sat on her bathroom floor, the positive test at her side. She pulled up her shirt and looked down at her round, white belly. How much bigger would it get? When would she start to feel it move? She was stunned at how alarmingly calm she felt. Like this was just normal and expected after all she'd been through.

She tried to think of which time it could have been when she conceived. When did they stop using protection? It must have been the day before he was shot. Had they really forgotten the condom? She thought about how attentive he was, how awkward, fumbling, and intense it was with him. She could see his need to please her all over his face. He never said it, but she could tell by the way he touched her and kissed her that he loved her. She decided that would be the night she conceived.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine him here now. He would be so happy, smiling, tears in his eyes. "I'm going to be a father," he'd say as he wrapped her up in his arms. He would obsess over the details, the science. He'd know more about the mass of cells multiplying inside her than she would. He would sing in Italian and Spanish to her swollen stomach. She placed a hand over her womb. He was gone, but part of him was not. If she was going to be deprived of the father of her child, then there needed to be something to replace the loss. She stood up and splashed cold water on her face. She looked at herself in the mirror. The baby would probably have his eyes, brown eyes, and her red hair.

Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at her reflection. Whoever was responsible for taking Gale from her and their child was going to suffer for it. They had to. She would make sure of it.

Mike was parked across the street from Vanessa's apartment. He watched a light go out in her window. Victor and him had been taking turns watching her over the last few weeks. No visits to the cops or DEA. She was getting boring, but at least her predictable routine made Mike's and Victor's job easier – until tonight.
Vanessa never just left her home in the middle of the night. Mike had followed her to the drug store. He watched her as she went over to the pregnancy tests, and he cursed under his breath. He waited a few minutes after she bought the test, bought himself some gum, and then went back to her apartment.

He had watched the light from her window, wondering if he should tell Gus. If she was pregnant, this would change everything. He suddenly felt angry at Gale. Who could have known that nerd would get a girl pregnant and screw with them long after he was dead? Mike counted down the weeks since Gale's death. At the very least, Vanessa was 7 weeks pregnant. She could still have an abortion, or an unexpected miscarriage…

Mike shook his head. They had to know if she really was pregnant before he started planning something like that. Mike took out his phone and dialed a number.

"Yeah, looks like Gale might have left us a gift."