Beth stood behind Brandon's parents as they sat. His father rubbed the tensioned shoulder of his mother as she sobbed uncontrollably into her leather gloves as the American flag that had draped his casket was folded and handed to her by the Fire Commissioner. Brandon's helmet sat in his father's lap. She was numb inside, Beth, and that was thanks to the double dosage of anti-anxiety and anti-depressants she had taken along with the three shots of whiskey she slammed in her car before walking into the cemetery where her partner was being laid to rest. Beth was filled with an unimaginable amount of guilt. She had been shot in the back which would have killed her instantly had she not been wearing that vest. Before their shift had started, Brandon had laughed at Beth for putting it on after she nearly begged him to do the same.
Listening to the cries of Brandon's mother would have put Beth over the edge had she not been as doped up as she was and it was painfully obvious to several of her EMS and fire brothers how drugged out of her mind she was. They didn't necessarily blame her; they all had their own ways of coping with the job and while others turned to healthy path of weekly therapy, there were those who enjoyed indulging in the world of pharmaceuticals and alcohol. It was cheaper.
As Brandon's casket was lowered into the ground, Beth closed her eyes and bowed her head as she couldn't come to terms with the fact she'd no longer hear his voice, laugh at his jokes or drag him out of bars at three in the morning. They had been a dysfunctional pair and everyone knew it but everything they had done wrong that would be considered rather unethical was gladly swept under the rug as they had more life saves than any other medics on the FDNY. Brandon had been admired by countless teenagers, who fought their way through medic school, hoping to one day be only half the paramedic he had been. Not to mention all the people who were still up and walking around because they had been lucky enough to have Brandon and Beth respond to their 9-11 call.
Beth only opened her eyes and looked up when she felt a hand on her own shoulder. Kelly Daniels (one of the few other females Beth worked with) offered a light, reassuring squeeze before whispering into her ear.
"You know we're all here for you. We love you."
Beth gave her a nod as she couldn't find any words to say. Kelly wiped the single tear that managed to sneak its way out of Beth's eye as the Priest concluded the service. Snow had begun to fall halfway through the service and as the light snowflakes fell onto the ground, Beth realized she would never feel the same way about the season of winter again. Instead of seeing the innocence of the white fluffy powder covering the ground, Beth saw it stained with the spilt blood of Brandon. As she took a deep breath, the cold air stung her lungs. She looked forward to heading to the bar and warming her body with several shots of Jameson. Putting her hands into the pockets of her wool department pea-coat, Beth managed to force a slight smile as her brothers gathered around her to give condolences. She could feel a set of eyes burning a hole into the back of her head and when she turned around to see who was staring at her, Beth wished she hadn't.
Standing in his own dress uniform, he nonchalantly held up his right hand with his index finger and thumb resembling a gun.
In interrogation room one sat a patrol officer with a look of unhappiness on her face. She had been brought in for questioning as she attempted to hail a cab to bring her to the bar/restaurant where she had dinner plans with her girlfriends. Eames entered the room first with Goren behind her as they each took a seat on the opposite side of the table and opening the appropriate folders.
"Do you recognize this gun?" Goren pulled a photo of the Glock out from his binder and placed it in front of Officer Michelle Morrow.
"Yeah, that's my Glock." Her Boston accent was demanding.
Without another word, Eames tossed the autopsy photo of Brandon Meyers beside the photo of the weapon she had admitted to being hers. "It was used to kill a paramedic the other night. Where were you Wednesday night between the hours of ten pm and one am?"
The color from Michelle's face drained at the sight of Brandon's photo and the revelation of her gun being used to kill the man she was looking at.
"Hold on, I had nothing to do with this. That gun was stolen from me three weeks ago and I even filed a report. I came home after drinks with a few of my girlfriends one Friday night to find the place ransacked. A few pieces of my jewelry were taken, cash from under my mattress and my Glock—which I keep in a safe. I…I don't even know who that guy is."
Goren jotted a few notes down on to his legal pad as reference for when he pulled the police report to see if what was in the statement matched what she had told him. He leaned over and whispered into Eames' ear that he would check it out while she finished the interview. Before he left, however, Eames got one more question in.
"Do the names Brandon Meyers or Beth McFadden seem familiar to you?"
Michelle snorted. "Beth McFadden. What does the skank sleeping with my fiancée have to do with this?"
Goren stopped from exiting the room and sat back down. He had remembered how defensive Beth had gotten when he had asked if she was having a sexual relationship with Brandon, and he thought he would get his answer through Michelle. Hearing the word skank come from Michelle's mouth had made him shutter. Eames just looked over at Goren as if their suspicion of Beth being a department whore had just been answered.
"How do you know they're sleeping together?" Goren asked.
"I don't know if she still is." Michelle licked her lips. "But rumor has it she was sleeping with Chris before we got engaged. Some people have told me she was doing it to get to his stash of painkillers."
Rumor has it. Goren knew he and Eames would be in for a long night of digging and fact checking. If there was anything he had learned over the course of his decades of experience of solving crimes was that women were known for not being so nice about each other's reputation when it came to one of three things: sex, money and simple dislike of one another.
"Why would Beth need or want your fiancée's painkillers?" Eames took control.
Shrugging her shoulders, Michelle filled the photo of Brandon over, no longer wishing to look at it. "I don't know. Apparently she developed an addiction. Chris told me that when he partnered with her, he saw her crush up Percocet's and put them in her coffee while they were on shift."
"Look, I know nothing about what happened, my gun was stolen from my house. I've answered enough questions for today, if you'd like to speak to me, you can call my lawyer."
Getting up, Michelle grabbed her belongings and headed out the door leaving the detectives with more questions than they had started with.
"It doesn't make sense."
Eames grabbed the files they had on the case as they headed back to their desks where she fired up her computer. Goren looked back over his notes knowing that his partner was intrigued to hear what he had to say.
"Let's say everything Michelle says is true; Beth is addicted to pharmaceuticals and from the amount of pills we found at Brandon's, it's safe to say he was too. If this was a drug deal gone badly, it's quite a coincidence that the gun used to kill Brandon happens to the same one which was stolen from someone who clearly doesn't like Beth."
"What are you thinking?" It took Eames by surprised by suddenly Goren seemed to be bottling a slightness of anger.
"I think the bullets that killed Brandon were meant for Beth. Michelle has the motive; Beth is having sex with her fiancée and she thought she could use Beth's addiction to point us in another direction and she could have ransacked her own house and reported her gun stolen to use that as a cover."
Eames looked through the file once again and found the toxicology report. Sure enough there had been a combination of drugs in Brandon's system that should have killed him regardless on getting shot. "But every drug that was in his system, he has a prescription for."
"And I when I was at Beth's apartment, she had prescription bottles lying all over the place. I don't think they were buying anything off the street."
Goren's train of thought had been put off track when out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure walk into the room. It was nearly ten at night; no one really had reason to be at One PP. Both he and Eames looked over to the right and saw a clearly intoxicated Beth McFadden leaning against a desk to keep her balance. Despite her eyes red and raw from the crying she had done while at the bar, Robert Goren was a hot blooded man and couldn't help but notice how beautiful she looked with her dark red hair pulled back into a low, tight bun. Getting up from their chairs, Eames rushed to Beth and grabbed her arms lightly.
Rapidly blinking, tears trickled from Beth's eyes and down her cheeks. Although her words were slurred, Eames could hear the lump in Beth's throat as she spoke. Her words were simple and easily understood.
"I'm ready to talk."
