A/N.- The chapter's title says it all, so please forgive me if it is too much for you. The story demands it.
Thank you Wendie, your observations were highly useful.
Chapter seven. Gruesome, grotesque, sickening, fake, hell.
From the spot where Mr. Green took the mask off of her head, and as they drove down Commonwealth Avenue, getting closer to Arlington St, Jordan recognized Back Bay, at the west side of the Public Garden. She had always been amazed with the mix of big luxury and history this side of the city had. It certainly was one of the wealthiest neighborhoods of Boston, and probably of the country, home of local and national politicians.
Big city lights blinding people to what really mattered, if anyone would have asked her.
She was wondering if one of these high class people was the target of Mr. Green and his team.
They finally reached a classic Victorian residence. Police had secured the whole area, and it was, as she had feared, a high profile crime.
She sat inside Mr. Green's car and watched out the window as Detective Elliot Chandler got out of his car and went into the house. So he was the 'unfamiliar' detective she would be working with. The only time she had worked with him, she certainly hadn't been her real self. She had come back to work from her brain surgery's recovering two weeks earlier than she was supposed to, trying to change everything about herself. She had been nice, had cooked some nasty-taste cookies for everybody, she freaking-feng-chui-changed her office, and she wore a black onyx necklace to somehow 'restore her inner balance'. However, she hadn't even been back yet twelve hours, when she had already attacked a homeless man. The case had made her snap, turning her into the 'pushy, difficult, angry, and cynical woman' she really was.
This second time didn't add any good points to his appreciation of her persona, if she was going to help these criminals, and she stared at Mr. Green as she was reflecting it. She certainly wouldn't have cared in a normal situation, but this situation wasn't normal at all. Mr. Green had selected the only person she wouldn't be able to communicate with if she really wanted to. However, the old man had warned her enough about the consequences of not doing as she was told with this assignment, so she had given up trying to find a way out of it. She wasn't about to endanger Woody, not for anything.
The moment had come for her to play her role, and she knew it.
"You know what to do, Dr. Cavanaugh. This is simple. If there is something you can't handle, go to Pete for direction. You'll come with us after this, in the morgue van with the bodies. And when everything ends, you and your boyfriend will be set free at a convenient hour and place. You see? Simple. See you later, dear." Those were the words Mr. Green said to her as Pete was opening the car's door for her.
She took a big breath, nodded, and got out of the car. Pete handed her the medical bag she used for gathering evidence in a crime scene, and then he escorted her into the house. He was wearing Woody's badge on his chest, hanging from a cord, as she had seen Woody wearing it a million times before. Pete's characterization of a police officer came natural to him. It was as if he had done it forever. When he and Jordan caught up with Chandler in the foyer of the house, Pete introduced himself as 'Detective William Hoover, transferred to the BPD from Worchester last week.'
Jordan greeted the detective with a monosyllabic, "Hey." She was struggling to keep her acting as low profile as she could.
"Hello Jordan," he answered. "You're not using any onyx stone today?"
She shook her head and shrugged. "It wasn't for me."
"I hope it doesn't mean you're ready to kick somebody's ass, like the last time we met," he warned her.
Oh! He couldn't possibly appreciate all the sarcasm implied in those words. If somebody's ass was going to be kicked tonight, it was hers. Jordan frowned at him, took a deep breath and opened her mouth to say something, but then realized she didn't know what to say. She ended up looking at him with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment.
Detective Chandler dismissed the conversation, getting into business. "These are high upper class casualties we have now, and people from the press will be arriving pretty soon. This is about to become a circus if we don't hurry up." He beckoned to them to follow him upstairs, so they did.
"You mean, there is more than one body?" she asked him, as if she was clarifying the point. She already knew it.
Detective Chandler sighed. "Two children and their mother. Pretty gruesome. The father killed them all and then, it seems he attempted to commit suicide. He was grabbing the gun when we found him. He missed. Paramedics are with him already," he replied wearily. "I really don't get used to these kinds of things. Your family should be what you want to protect with your life, not this," he added.
"Do we have any witnesses?" Pete asked him, as they walked through the corridor that led to the bedrooms.
"Yes, 'the girlfriend'," Elliot said, pointing at someone in front of them. "She was the one who called 911."
Jordan's heart sank, imaging that said 'girlfriend' would be Debra, but instead she saw a beautiful blonde woman crying miserably as she sat on a chair at the front of the room. A police officer stood next to her. Jordan wondered whose girlfriend she was supposed to be.
When they reached the witness, Elliot addressed Pete, "You handle the bodies, with Dr. Cavanaugh. I'll question the witness and escort the husband to the hospital. You have to be very careful. It's Senator Bloom we're talking about."
In that moment, the paramedics were wheeling the Senator out of the room. He was on a stretcher, unconscious, shot in the chest. A uniformed cop came out of the room too, and he handed a bag with a gun inside to Elliot. The detective took the bag and nodded to the officer.
"I have to go now," Elliot informed them. "Jordan, please test her for gun shot residue before my men take her to the station," he requested, tilting his head toward the blonde as he hustled along with the paramedics. He suddenly turned to face them and barked an order at them as he walked, "Ah! And don't talk to the press about anything!"
Jordan made a sarcastic military salute with her hand. "At your command, sir." Detective Chandler didn't hear her last comment, as he was already gone, but Pete did. He stared at her with a warning look.
"Sorry," she spat out and glared at him. "I forgot to tell you I don't follow orders very well. But I'll behave, I promise." And she focused on the witness.
Pete went into the room to 'collect evidence', along with the CSU people --they were already there doing their job--, while Jordan was testing the blonde for traces of gunpowder on her hands. She examined her scrupulously, her mind running at lightspeed, trying to figure out which piece of the puzzle this woman was. She certainly had to be in collusion with Mr. Green's band.
When she thought nobody was paying attention, she asked the blonde, "Relax, hon. Could you tell me what happened here?" Jordan observed the woman's eyes with a penetrating gaze, alert for any signs of deception.
The blonde didn't seem to acknowledge Jordan's presence, let alone her touch during the GSR test or her question. She continued to cry and then glanced at Jordan sadly. "He...he killed them. He killed them all!" she answered with difficulty, struggling to get the words out as she cried.
If she was acting, she was doing amazingly well. Or she could have been telling the truth. Jordan didn't know.
Pete poked his head through the door and compelled Jordan to come with him into the room with a head movement. She collected her things and prepared to walk. It was then when she saw it. For a millisecond, a looked passed between the false detective and the 'witness'. It was so fleeting that she wondered if she might have imagined it after all.
Two police officers accompanied the blonde to the exit, and Jordan gave the sample she had taken from her to one CSU as they were leaving too. The evidence would arrive at its destination at the same time that the witness, but she already knew she hadn't pulled a trigger.
Jordan finally joined Pete in what was obviously a girl's room. It was fairly large and decorated in pastel colors. The sight was horrible, a slaughtering. There was blood spread everywhere.
The first body she saw was Helen's, lying on the floor, motionless, all covered in blood and bruises. Although her eyes were closed, her face showed the pain and agony she must have felt when she came upon the horrid scene.
There was a huge bed at the center of the room. On it she saw a child, a little girl around eight, also covered in blood. She was so still. If she hadn't known otherwise, she would have believed that mother and daughter were as dead as they appeared, and it was sickening.
The third body was a boy, around six, resting on his front over the floor, one little arm trying to reach the next room that turned out to be the bathroom. It seemed like an unsuccessful escape. He was also all covered with the nasty red substance. Jordan felt nauseous. This was going to be one of the most difficult crime scenes she had worked, ever. Even with her highly trained eyes, it was almost impossible to tell what was real and what wasn't just by looking, but Jordan knew it was all fabricated. At least, that was what she had been told.
She knelt down beside Helen's body and examined her. She was cold and didn't seem to have a pulse. On closer inspection, Jordan discovered recent bruises beneath Helen's blouse that were not part of the simulation. They were surely the result of a fight and seemed to be defensive injuries. She also found a lesion that appeared to be a bullet wound. She discovered that this last damage was not real, but it looked just like a freshly opened hole in her flesh. It was a remarkable imitation of a bullet entry wound. So, that was how they wanted everyone to believe she was killed, with a gun. She was making her 'observations' out loud for Pete –at least the ones that had to do with the simulation-, the same as she would have done if he were a 'real' detective.
After Jordan finished with Helen, Ray and a uniformed cop came in with a stretcher and lifted the body onto it. As they rolled the stretcher away, Jordan avoided making eye contact with Ray. A couple of uniformed cops were guarding the room's entrance, and she didn't want to risk destroying the illusion.
She continued with the girl. She looked so delicate and so beautiful, and her skin still smelled like she had just come from an orange-scented bubble bath.
The little girl was wearing a pink nightgown, so it was possible to appreciate her legs. This child also showed dark bruises on her body. It was strange that her face was untouched, no sign of a hit or anything. Lifting her nightgown to examine her abdomen, Jordan froze. What she saw couldn't possibly be made up. There were nasty, old bruises between her legs. Jordan breathed heavily and gulped. She made a closer inspection beneath her underpants, and she discovered a disgusting gash.
The little girl had been raped.
She struggled to keep her emotions at bay, not knowing exactly how to react.
Pete glanced at her worriedly, expectant. He seemed to know what Jordan was dealing with.
Jordan's hands were trembling, unwilling to obey her unspoken commands for them to be still. Who the hell was responsible for this?!? She managed to take the rape kit out of the medical bag and lift some samples from the little girl. Her voice came calmed when she announced her discovery, so Pete knew she had controlled herself.
Jordan hated being forced to be a part of all this, but she thought she was beginning to understand why Helen was doing it.
She also found a very well-faked bullet wound on the girl's chest. So, she declared her another victim of an angry father, victimized by a gun. Ray and the cop came with the stretcher and took the little body off from their view.
She went to examine the last body. She gently touched the child's neck, striving to find a pulse. Just like when she found it on Woody, and on Helen and her daughter, the pulse was there, but almost imperceptible. Anyone else wouldn't have found it at all. Had it not been for her previous experiences, she might not have found it either.
She lifted up his pajamas to take a look on his little body. The boy had lambs on his pajamas, just like the ones she had on hers at home. She caressed his soft skin while she observed him. The same pattern of old, real contusions was on the little boy's body, and none on the face. The bogus bullet wound was there too, on his back.
She was having trouble remaining unmoved; the implications were overwhelming. Her heart couldn't take it anymore. An embarrassing tear escaped from her right eye, and she dried it off as rapidly as she could with the back of her hand.
Ray and the cop came with the stretcher for the last time. Her only wish now was to escape the house without having to face the reporters. Pete helped her gather her things and then led her gently but firmly to the front door. The reporters were there, as she had feared, hurling questions one after the other. Spotlights illuminated the entrance to the house. Pete shielded her with his own body and escorted her to the morgue van. He opened the door for her and when she was secured in her seat, Ray started the engine. As they drove away, Jordan felt like she'd escaped from hell, or at least the closest thing to hell she had ever seen.
Her part in the façade was done. She was going to meet Woody, and they were going to be OK.
So why did she feel so awful?
