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New York City
July 2005
"What exactly do you mean by 'impersonal'?" Ross asked the following morning as they relayed what they had found at Gabrielle's apartment.
"She doesn't live there," Bobby replied. "There were no personal items, no indications of a life…someone was trying to throw us off the scent."
"Meaning what?"
"Meaning that someone wants us to think that Gabrielle was something that she wasn't. A good girl."
"Maybe she was," Ross said, "maybe you're choosing to overanalyse this."
Bobby shook his head, "I'm not overanalysing…"
Ross ignored him and looked back down at the report. "It says here you found a vibrator. The Rampant Rabbit 220 to be precise." He looked up with a deadpan expression. "How does that fit in to your impersonal theory?"
"I was thinking about that last night," Alex said, glad to break the tension. "It's the most normal thing there." Both men looked at her. "A lot of women have vibrators."
"They…uh…they do?" Bobby asked.
Alex ignored the question. "My money's on a woman doing this. Only a woman would appreciate how normal that would be. A man would just consider it kinky."
"Ok," Ross replied slowly, "so, who do we think? Have any women come up yet in the investigation?"
"No," Alex replied. "There are female members of the Task Force of course but no-one…"
"Well, you can always ask Detective Slater when he comes in later this afternoon. What about Paul Roscoe? Any connection showing up yet with his death?"
Bobby shook his head, "They were killed in two different ways. The only connection is this unswerving belief amongst everyone that Carlos Sanchez is responsible for both murders."
Ross glanced down again, "What about Roscoe's widow?"
Alex glanced quickly at Bobby who just as quickly responded. "Emily?"
"You say that like you know her/"
"Well, I…uh…I do know her. From a long time ago."
"I see," Ross raised an eyebrow. "Have you spoken to her?"
"Yes."
"Does she know anything?"
"No. She's still coming to terms with her husband's death. She knew Gabrielle but…"
"Could she have been the one to fix up the apartment?" Ross directed the question at Alex.
"She's not involved," Bobby said.
"It's unlikely, Captain," Alex replied, "why would she? She has no stake in this."
"I want to be able to tell the Chief of D's that we have covered every angle in this investigation," Ross replied, "if we need to get Emily Roscoe in here to do that, then let's do that."
"You know Emily's not involved in this, right?" Bobby asked his partner as they walked back to their desks, "I mean, you know that, right?"
"I don't know the woman, Bobby. I've never even seen her remember?"
"But you trust me when I tell you she's not involved, don't you?"
"Look," Alex leaned forward, "I understand that you're overwhelmed about seeing her again and I understand that it's a big thing for you to find out that you have a daughter. But Bobby, if you're not telling me something because you want to protect her…"
"There's nothing to tell," he replied, "she's a woman who lost her husband. She doesn't know anything about Gabrielle." He paused and then opened his folder. "Well, apart from this." He pulled out the anonymous letter Emily had given him and passed it across to her.
""How stupid are you if you can't see it? Your wife, your Emily, has been putting it about with another man. Didn't you realise when you came home? How can Amy be yours?"" Alex read the letter aloud. "Where did she get this?"
"Someone sent it to Paul a couple of weeks before he died. It's how he knew that…" he tailed off, remembering that he hadn't shared the intimate details of his conversation with Emily with her. "Well, it's how he suspected that Amy wasn't his."
Alex turned the letter over and looked at the printed name. "You think Gabrielle sent this?"
"There's no evidence of that."
"Maybe we should get a handwriting analysis just to be sure. I'm not…" she put her hand up at his expression, "I'm not suggesting anything. I'm just saying that if Ross finds out that we had this and we didn't follow up a legitimate line of enquiry…"
"No, you're right," Bobby said. "I've…uh…I've got a friend at Princeton. He does a lot of handwriting analysis. I'll…I'll send him a copy."
"Bobby," he looked up at her, "even if it does turn out to be Gabrielle's handwriting, it doesn't mean that Emily's involved in any way with her death."
"Of course she isn't!" he replied, "she wouldn't have any reason…"
"But if she knew that Gabrielle had destroyed her family..."
Bobby was prevented from replying by his cell phone starting to ring. He didn't want to think about what Alex was suggesting. There was no way that Emily could be involved. He knew her, knew every inch of her, and knew that she wasn't a killer. Couldn't be a killer. But maybe, his conscience said, maybe she knows someone who could.
"Hello?" he answered the phone, eager for a distraction.
"Bobby?" His heart thudded loudly, "It's me. Emily."
"Hi," he replied, pushing all his previous thoughts to one side, "Hi, how are you? How's Amy?"
"We're…uh…we're both ok," she sounded hesitant. "I'm actually calling because…well…" she appeared to be fighting for the right words. "Amy enjoyed having you for lunch yesterday and last night she reminded me about her kindergarten picnic."
"Picnic?" he replied, stupidly.
"Yeah, they hold one every year in the park. Anyway," she paused again, "well…Amy wondered…I guess we both did…if you wanted to…you know…come along."
"Uh…well…I…"
"It's next Saturday," she continued, "I understand if you're busy."
"No, no!" he replied quickly, "I'd love to. I…I'm just surprised that you asked me, that's all."
"If I'm being honest," she replied, "I wasn't going to. But Amy was so determined and she…well she seems to have taken a real shine to you. I'm not sure how I feel about that right now to be honest…" he could almost imagine her struggling. "But I want her to be happy so…that's why I'm asking."
"I'd love to come."
"Great," he could hear relief in her voice. "Well, why don't you stop by here around eleven on Saturday and we can…well…head down there after that?"
"Ok," he replied, "I'll see you Saturday. And, thank you for asking me."
"You're welcome, Bobby," she replied, "See you Saturday." With that, the line went dead.
Bobby clicked off the phone and sat pondering for a moment. A whole afternoon with Emily and Amy. A whole afternoon with his daughter. A few days ago, he wouldn't have thought it possible. But for all the joy that the 'family' side of him was feeling at the possibility, there was a small part of the 'business' side of him that knew it would be the opportunity he needed to ask Emily more about Gabrielle Lewis.
XXXX
Owen Slater arrived smugly at precisely two-thirty-five that afternoon. He was clearly aware of the gentle ass-kicking that both Alex and Bobby had received and as they walked into the interview room, they found him sitting comfortably with his arms folded.
"Detectives," he greeted them formally.
"Thanks for coming in," Alex said. "We're sorry that it was necessary. But after you cut short our meeting last time…"
"I'm sorry about that," Owen replied, "I just felt that you guys weren't respecting what had happened."
"You mean losing two members of your squad within a week of each other," Bobby said.
Owen nodded, "Exactly."
"Well, if we could just run some things about Gabrielle past you, we'll try and not keep you too long," Alex said.
"Fire away."
"Where did Gabrielle live?"
Owen laughed, "You guys are Major Case and you can't even work out her address?" He stopped on their looks. "As far as I know, 82nd Street."
"As far as you know?" Bobby asked.
"Well, it wasn't the kind of job where you hung around each other's apartments. At the end of the day, we all wanted some space from each other."
"But, you couldn't have seen Gabrielle every day, could you?" Bobby asked. "I mean, not when she was working undercover."
"I was her handler. She checked in every hour."
"Every hour – wow. That's a lot of commitment."
"Meaning what?"
"He means that that didn't give Gabrielle a lot of time to 'bed in' with whoever she was 'bedding in' with. Not if she had to call you every hour. Wouldn't that have looked suspicious?" Alex cocked her head on one side.
"It was up to Gabrielle how she worked it. So long as I heard from her every hour, I didn't care how she did it."
"Gabrielle…" Bobby mused, "she wasn't the only woman on the Task Force, was she?"
"No, there's three others."
"Do they have names?" Alex asked.
Owen glowered at her, "Jenny Patrick, Lisa Henderson and Charlie Mayer."
"Any of them particularly close to Gabrielle?"
"Like I said, it was work, not a sorority."
"Is there any reason, Owen," Bobby asked, "that you're so defensive whenever we ask you about Gabrielle?"
"I'm not defensive."
"There you are!" Bobby pointed at him, "right there. Why is that?"
"Two of my colleagues, two of my friends, have just been murdered and instead of going straight for Sanchez, you guys are wasting time asking me dumb questions. I'm starting to think that you think that I did it!"
Alex looked at him, "Did you?"
"I'm not even going to dignify that with a reply. If you want to talk to the other members of the Task Force, feel free. I brought over as much of the paperwork as I could and I let it with your Captain. If you have any questions about it, then please give me a call, but unless I hear that Sanchez has been arrested for this, I'm done." He stood up. "If you'll excuse me, I've got business to take care of."
"Business, like…what?" Bobby asked.
"If you must know, I'm going to visit Paul Roscoe's widow."
Bobby paused, "Emily?"
Owen nodded. "Despite what you might think, Detectives, we do take care of our own." With that, he left , crossing the squad room back to the exit.
"Well," Alex said, "that went a lot better than last time, don't you think?"
"He's still hiding something," Bobby asked, watching him leave, "otherwise why would he be so touchy about everything?"
"At least he gave us the names of the women on the squad. Perhaps we'll get more out of Detectives Patrick, Henderson and Mayer."
Brooklyn
July 2005
Emily was wearing a old sweater and a pair of marigolds when the doorbell rang. She flushed the toilet and hurried downstairs, pulling them off as she did so. For a fleeting moment, only a fleeting moment, she hoped it was Bobby. When she opened the door, however, she saw it was Owen Slater.
"Owen!" she said, surprised, "what are you doing here?"
"I stopped by to see how you and Amy are."
"We're fine, thank you. Getting there." There was an awkward silence, "Do you want to come in?"
"Yes, thank you." She opened the door wider and let him enter, then she led the way through to the kitchen.
"Coffee?"
"Please." He looked around, "the house is looking great."
"I've gone into a bit of a clean-freak mode," she replied, "it helps me to…well…to forget."
"You shouldn't forget, Emily. You shouldn't forget Paul."
Emily turned at this, "I'm not. I've no intention of forgetting him. It's just…" she sighed, "if I don't keep busy then I end up sitting and dwelling and that's not good for me or for Amy." She handed him a cup. "Anyway, how are things your end?"
"Apart from being questioned twice by those idiots at Major Case, fine."
"Major Case? Bobby and Alex?"
"On first name terms are we?"
"No," Emily blushed, "I mean…I know Bobby from a long time ago. We worked together. Anyway," she tried to cover it up, "what have they been asking you?"
"Dumb questions about Gabrielle. Where did she live, who was she friendly with on the squad…" he shook his head, "they're fishing for something."
"Maybe they're just doing their jobs."
"No, they're not 'just doing their jobs'" Owen replied, "there's more to this than they're letting on."
"I thought…" Emily said casually as she wiped the kitchen table, "I thought that it was pretty much a done deal that Carlos Sanchez killed Paul and Gabrielle?"
"Exactly," Owen replied, looking at her over his cup. "And if you're asked, just remember that that's what you say. Ok?" Emily's heart was pounding in her chest, so loud she was surprised he couldn't hear it. "Ok, Emily?"
She nodded, suddenly, and unexpectedly, wishing with all her heart that Bobby was there. "Ok."
