... And here's the latest contribution. Thank you for the ongoing reviews, they're encouraging me to keep writing. GEM8 and crazy10, I'm glad to know you're still reading!
Any mistakes in this chapter are my own, as I've made some edits after Mariel kindly took time to beta this. Mariel− you know how great you are :p
Chapter 7 - Chocolate
Same day
"Justin's alibi checks out," Martin informs them. "So does Claire's. Most of his comrades are on the base; the few of them who had a leave of absence yesterday have an alibi as well. And Ryan's parents were indeed at a business dinner."
"I've narrowed the timeline of his disappearance to a half hour," Vivian stands up and turns to the white board. "Jarvis Douglas confirms Ryan left around 7:20. The waitress at Starbucks said he showed up for a coffee at 7:30− it was the beginning of her shift." She points out at a line, 7:30 – orders coffee. "Now, the customer who recognized Ryan and said he was sharing a table with a woman who came in around 7:40. Ryan got up around ten minutes later."
"If he left alone," Danny points out, "Why are we looking for this woman? She didn't kidnap him, did she?"
Jack rises. He's been unusually quiet since they began this team meeting. "She could've put something in his coffee."
"At seven in the morning?" Martin ponders. "It's more probable that he got run over by a car."
"I've checked all the morgues and hospitals again," Danny shakes his head. "No John Doe matching Ryan's description."
"Yeah, but a woman who drugs a Marine at a coffee shop?" Martin goes on. "It just doesn't happen."
Vivian looks at them thoughtfully, then turns to Jack. "You're thinking serial killer, aren't you?"
Jack nods slowly. "Mathew, then Ryan. Let's not ignore it."
Refusing to meet his eyes, Sam keeps her gaze on the white board. She knows he'll have to tell Danny, Martin and Vivian about Irina Connelly. Having the team concentrate on her without giving them the details will work for some time− not long, unfortunately. They're going to have questions, and eventually they'll figure it out.
Jack checks his watch. "Grab lunch, then get back to work. We're going to presume that this woman drugged Ryan, then waited for him to leave. She followed him while waiting for the drug to be effective. Then she abducted him, either by force or after offering him a ride. Unfortunately, our chances of finding Ryan's trashed coffee cup to test it are nil. So Danny, Martin, work escape itineraries: find out which road she could've taken. Interview half the city if you have to, or check all the security cameras in a three blocks perimeter."
He turns to Vivian. "You and Sam can keep working on the Starbucks' customers. Get more information on who had a direct view on Ryan's table, find out which door they came in through, if a woman was parked nearby. We can only assume she used a stolen car. I want to know everything: its color, its plates… when she last washed it."
They all push back their chairs, aware of their respective tasks. When Sam's cell phone vibrates, she checks it and finds a text message from Eric.
"Guys, I'm out for lunch."
She meets Jack's eyes rapidly, praying that her plan will work out. Danny throws her a quizzical look, so she smirks and adds for his benefit, "I haven't had French fries in a while."
o o § o o
"I had lunch with my contact. I convinced him that Ryan was going to be found dead sooner or later. He said that as soon as they open an investigation again, he'd lead his team to Irina Connelly without it looking suspicious."
Jack blows out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Sam."
She simply nods. It wasn't easy to convince Eric, especially when she couldn't give him any details. But there's something changed about him, something… grown up. The sarcasm, the twisted NYPD cop humor and the playful tones are gone, replaced by a vague hollowness, an empty hole where his partner used to be. She'd only met Alex a few times, in between bars, but Eric and he had a bond that went beyond friendship− a bond that came from a same passion for the job, hours spent in the same car, saving each other's life more times than they could remember. She's lost an acquaintance, but Eric… he's lost a brother.
"You want something to drink?" Jack heads for the hotel room's mini-bar, unaware of her train of thoughts. "Soda? Or something else?"
She has whisky in mind, but tonight isn't about getting herself drunk. Tonight, she's just here to learn more about Irina Connelly in a strictly professional way. "Soda's fine," she tells him.
When he comes back, he draws a third chair for his legs, extending an arm for her to take her glass. She chuckles and he looks up at her, before promptly taking his feet off the chair. It's something he used to do and she's not sure how she feels about that. Trying to lighten the suddenly tense atmosphere, she says with a half-smile, "I guess guys always do that."
"Yeah? That gives the girls a reason to complain," he supposes, giving her a smile that quickly fades when he opens an old, brown folder. He tastes some of his drink− whisky. Clearly he hasn't hesitated twice before filling up his glass with something strong.
"It's… strange to see her again," he says to himself. Seeing Samantha waiting, he hands her Irina's picture.
The woman who looks back at her is medium-built, with long, curly brown hair. Honestly, she half-expected her to be some kind of monster, with evil eyes, a wicked smile. All she has in front of her is a young woman in her late twenties, with light blue eyes and delicate features. Normal, and had she not known Irina was a killer, Sam might even have hazarded good-looking.
Jack explains, "This picture's fifteen years old. Back at the time, it was just me and John investigating routine stuff. Mostly, some bar brawls, drug runners, a couple of isolated murders. I was barely more than a rookie at the time."
"John?"
"He was my boss. He's retired now, must spend the majority of his time walking to and from the beach in Hawaii…"
"It must have been a shock to find out Irina was involved in a murder."
Jack clenches his jaw imperceptibly. "It was." His voice softening, he goes on, "She's not crazy, Sam. She's a sane person with a traumatic past, but she's not like the other serial killers."
"Because you knew her?"
He acquiesces in silence. Sifting through the files he's brought, he starts filling her in on the Jeremy Holloway case, Irina's first murder. These folders have the feel of sleepless nights, and she trails her fingers along the handwritten reports, along his scribbled notes. There are a few press articles and newspaper cuts depicting the murder, and several reports to go through.
A couple of hours pass, but not once does she ask if Irina might have been innocent− the disturbed look in Jack's eyes when he talks about her is enough.
"What about her accomplice?" she thinks of who might've taken the pictures while Irina was in jail. "It must be someone she trusted."
"And someone she could manipulate easily."
"You know, we're going to have to talk to the rest of the team. Investigating other leads is a waste of time."
He shuts his eyes briefly. "I know."
She has a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. It's only now that she realizes what it is they're doing. Investigating on their own, pulling back files that are more than a decade old… lying to the world, hiding from the world, and they're probably soon going to be breaking more rules than at any point during their affair.
Trying to get a feel of this woman, she gets back on topic. "If you had to depict Irina in a few words, what would you say?"
"Maniac, obsessed," Jack doesn't hesitate.
"Why abduct Ryan and wait before killing him?"
"I'm not sure. Hell, for all we know, she might be trying to understand what prompted her father's robbers to kill him." Pausing for a second, he then adds, "She's careful, meticulous. She'll probably plan all the murders in advance, instead of acting in the heat of the moment. She's had a long time to think about why she got caught after killing Jeremy. She won't make the same mistakes twice."
As he describes Irina, Sam is glad to see some of his tension ease off, as he makes himself more comfortable, leaning an elbow on the table. They both continue to go through his past reports and notes, then, when they're both relaxed enough, he gives her his impressions on the younger Irina, how he remembers she behaved back in College.
"This case changed a lot of things for me," he confesses.
"Changed how?"
"I started to look at people differently. I never knew Irina was a killer. So I started to be more observant, I stopped judging people at first sight. I took more notes on the cases, became more organized." Pointing at a stack of reports, Jack retrieves a blue paperclip. An amused smile pulls at his lips. "I began to use paperclips."
Sam laughs. A conversation that dates back years finds its way into her mind.
She blinks, trying to chase away the memory of that evening− a missing kid, a body, and it was easier to point at Jack's papers and wonder why the hell he couldn't use staples like everyone else than to talk about why the case had gone wrong. So the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice, the sad smile on his lips when their eyes met, everything about that day now rests in a few sentences, a few words. They're not just paperclips, Samantha; they're colored paperclips, and it makes all the difference. And after that evening, the $2.49 boxes of paperclips on his desk were never quite the same again, and neither was her relationship with Jack Malone.
Oh, God. She pushes away the forbidden memory, pushes away the thought and concentrates once more on reading the files, picking up useful details here and there. Jack finishes his whisky, now completely at ease, the sun long gone and the room comfortably silent.
Putting down her pen, she finally looks up to find him observing her. "I think I should−"
"Right," he rises quickly.
Her legs bump against the bed when she moves to get her coat, and she can feel the heat radiating off his body as he helps her into it. It feels strange to be here this late, with him in a hotel room. It feels… frighteningly good.
It takes her longer than normal to wrap her scarf around her neck. "I'll try to be in the office early."
"Me too."
She starts walking to the door. "Bring in donuts?"
"It's Danny's day off tomorrow."
She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, well there's always Martin to complain that there's nothing to eat…"
He follows her to see her out, massaging the stiff muscles in his neck. "Chocolate frosting?"
"As long as they don't forget the chocolate," she jokes.
He attempts a brave smile, but it's strained, and when he starts to move again, she stops him. "You're going home too, right?"
"No." He shrugs casually, but not convincingly. "Maria's away for a couple of days and the girls are at her parents'. I don't see why I should be home if they're not."
She hears the bitterness in his voice, but chooses not to comment. She wishes she could make the guilt on his face go away with a warm embrace, a kiss, a few more hours in this room with him.
He leans against the wall, inches away from her, so incredibly close. And before she opens the door, his mouth finds her ear.
"Chocolate it is," he whispers.
