Chapter 6
Goren was subdued during their drive to Rebecca Stone's "real" apartment. Finally, as they neared her block, he cleared this throat and said,
"That was…uh…deft, the way you played Streeter. Did you have to do that to get the other warrant as well?" Mentally panicking, Eames put on her game face and said,
"I don't need to tell you that a little charm goes a long way with our friends in suits." She was hoping that he would remember his shenanigans with Judge Sabatini, Ron Carver, insert attorney's name here, and maybe he would just let it go. Besides, there really shouldn't be all of this angst surrounding her flirting with someone, should there?
Goren nodded.
The crime scene team had beaten them to the apartment, and no one was three, nor had anyone been there for a while. A layer of dust covered the antique bedroom furniture, and the more modern living room pieces. The doorman couldn't positively remember having seen her within the last 6 weeks, but this was the sort of building where the staff were expected to be discreet and uninquisitive. It wasn't that much of a disappointment, as they hadn't really expected much from the place she had abandoned. Goren did, however, upon arriving in the apartment, march straight back into the her closet. He emerged carrying two more pairs of open toed slingbacks, in navy and gray. It was as close to glee as she had seen him come recently.
They spent the next hour building up their knowledge of Rebecca Stone herself. Eames found the Dartmouth yearbook, while Goren rearranged the photos on the bookshelf, creating a sort of chronology. The man on the sailboat appeared in many of the post-college pictures. An older woman, who looked like Rebecca was featured in a few of the photographs, each a few years apart. He began rifling through her desk – stationery from the firms listed in those newspaper articles, tables clipped from Barron's, a couple of what looked like contracts in folders. He had them bag everything for Josh, the forensic accountant, and really, the busier Josh was, the happier everyone else was. He didn't do well with idle time to speculate.
Eames had moved on from the yearbook to a dayplanner.
"I should have this woman come organize my life. Gym, important meetings, dental appointments, dog grooming, birthday reminders, all color-coded. The entries end about two months ago. Just before that there's an entry 'C. dinner'." She flipped back through the previous pages. "There are a lot of entries with C here. Could be Roth."
"Or the man on the sailboat. There are a lot of pictures of her mother here, none with both parents."
"Sailboat man is too young to be her father, but not really in her age range either." Eames bagged the daytimer. "I think we really need to get some info from people who really knew her. Call it a day?" Goren nodded. It was after nine.
As they headed back downtown, Eames looked over at Goren. He seemed to be fading. They hadn't eaten since two. Maybe she should get some food into him.
"I could really use a bite. The diner could probably squeeze us in, if you bribe the maitre d'," she ventured. He smiled and nodded. Eames worried that he was still brooding over her earlier encounter with Streeter, but then she stopped herself. Why would he care about that, she wondered.
As they wearily leaned into a booth, Eames was buoyed by the sight of the familiar laminated menus, ketchup-stained though they were. The Forty-niner Diner was around the corner from 1PP. Eames had no idea where the name came from, since there were no other tributes to gold miners in the restaurant. About half of the time that a case dragged them out past nine or so, they ate here. Eames wondered if Goren identified the things on the menu as comfort food, the way she did. His tastes were a bit more sophisticated, and she wasn't sure what kind of comforts his childhood involved. He always seemed to relax when they ate there.
"Waffles, I think," she said. Here, Bobby usually interjected something about the origins of the waffle or a little known fact about maple syrup. Tonight, he just ordered a steak sandwich.
"You know, on the surface, she seemed to have everything."
"Rebecca? Everything money could buy."
"That's just it," he continued, "if her life was so good, how could she just walk out of it? There was something missing. I think if we find that, we find her."
After dinner, Eames insisted on driving him home. Ordinarily, she would have continued home, but her battery had other plans. They tried a jump start from Goren's car, but the battery was beyond hope. Goren paced around Eames' car.
"I don't think you should wait around for a tow. Why don't you…uh…stay. You can call Triple-A in the morning, and I can drive us in."
"Alright," said Eames, surprised at her own quick acquiescence.
"I can take the sofa," he said, holding the door of his apartment open for her.
"No you can't," she said, decisively. "I actually fit on your sofa." He held his hands up to indicate no further objections. She had that look on her face. Goren put a sheet and some blankets on the sofa. After rummaging in his drawers, he came up with an old shirt that had shrunk enough to fit Eames. He let her use the bathroom first. When she came out, he had changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants. She felt her heart skip a beat, less because he was attractive than that it had been quite some time since she had shared a scene of simple domesticity with someone. She looked up to find him staring at her.
"Goodnight, Eames. If you…uh…need anything, let me know."
"Goodnight, Bobby."
She woke up at 2:30, panicking slightly at being in unfamiliar surroundings. Then she remembered where she was. She saw a light coming from under Goren's bedroom door, and heard a dull thud. She knocked softly.
"Bobby?" She entered. Goren looked up from where he was lying on his side.
"Sorry. Did I wake you. I dropped my book."
"No, I just woke up. Probably the unfamiliar bed and all of that. Have you slept at all?"
"Have you ever felt too tired to sleep?"
"It usually happens when I can't turn off my thoughts, when my mind is still racing." She moved over to sit on the bed next to him. She turned off his reading lamp. "I don't think all of this light is helping matters." She spoke quietly, in a tone he found soothing. She put her hand on his shoulder. "You know, when I did those therapy sessions,"
"With Olivet?"
"Right, " she said ruefully, "I forgot you'd been down that road lately. Did she have you do that exercise where you picture yourself in your favorite place,"
Right here, right now, thought Goren.
"Eames, you don't have to…"
"Let's just give it a try." Goren shut his eyes. He could feel Alex's hand on his back, gently rubbing the spot between his shoulder blades. He just concentrated on that. He wasn't sure where, in the last 24 hours, he had become Fortune's favorite son, but he made a decision to not question things, for once.
Eames was operating on instinct now. She wasn't sure what had made her think she could or should approach her partner so intimately, but she finally knew that it was exactly what she wanted to do. She didn't know where all of this might go, but she trusted Bobby, so it really didn't matter. She continued rubbing his back until he was asleep. She walked over to the other half of the bed and lay down. She reached up and stroked his hair. "You took care of me last night, Bobby. I'm glad I got to take care of you." The day caught up with her eventually, and she drifted off herself.