Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.
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Chapter 10
Saturday
"Marshall! Marshaaallll!" Mary screamed pounding on the passenger window. "Damn misogynistic excuse for a car! You really are out to kill me." The window wouldn't open. The door was stuck. Outside the steamy window she saw half a dozen men in dresses and heels ignoring her. She knew they were men because of their broad shoulders and hairy legs. "Marshaaaalll!" Her pounding was frantic. She was screaming at the top of her lungs.
Mary heard her own mumbled groan and the tail end of what sounded like her partner's name as she rolled over, waking. Nightmare. Crazy ass weird nightmare. She laid still, ears alert, silent and sweating. Nightmares about shootings, near misses, and her kidnapping, weren't uncommon, but weren't anything like this. Finkel would have a field day. Finkel would dig her teeth into the cross dressers and never let go. Not that Mary would ever tell her.
Throwing the sheet aside Mary struggled to get up. "Damn bedding is out to get me," she growled as she removed the fabric encircling her ankle. Feet finally fabric free and on the floor, Mary sat on the edge of the bed. She put her elbows on her knees and breathed deep trying to calm the quivering leftover from the dream. She was grateful to be in her own bedroom. Her boots on the floor. Her clothes in the closet. The laundry basket in its usual place. Gotta do laundry. Everything normal.
Mary showered and dressed quickly then headed for the office. She had been spending too much time on Mike Washington. She vowed not to ask Marshall for help, but if she was going to keep up with all her witness reports, budget requests and filing she needed to be at the Sunshine Building. It was better than being at home.
Four hours and 3 cups of coffee later, Mary pushed her chair back. The reports were printed and signed. Time for a break before tackling her files. For the past three weeks she had been looking over the ABQPD documents from Roxanne. Whenever Marshall or Stan would suddenly come close to her desk she had to quickly stick printouts willy-nilly into her files. She needed to straighten out the mess. After checking the locked box, she pulled out her active files checking the contents of each.
Seeking additional confirmation for one of the documents, she opened the browser on her computer and was greeted with banner for an Albuquerque news story about city officials. Mayhem Mike had been linked to several city officials, so she needed to check. The story had Talltrees in the headline. Mary read the latest story on Kyle's trial, relieved Mike was not mentioned. Her hand was on ABQPD patrol car logs extracting them from a file labeled Child Witnesses Protocol, when the elevator dinged. Mary straightened and glared at the security door. This was supposed to be her quiet time, time to get her shit together without interruptions.
Evidently Stan had the same idea. His greeting was friendly, but irritated. "Mary! What are you doing here? It is the weekend Inspector."
Staring at her boss Mary leaned back and twirled her hair around her finger. "Yeah, well my life is just sooo exciting lately; I came in for some quiet time." Glaring at him she taunted "That must be why you're here."
"Hmph." Stan moseyed to her desk, looking at the computer screen. "What's so damn important that you are in the office on a Saturday?"
Pointing to the news story on her screen, Mary asked, "Did you know Kyle Talltrees is currently on trial?"
"Finally," Stan exclaimed with disgust, shaking his head. "His lawyer used every delaying tactic ever invented. The kid will be collecting Social Security before he's sentenced."
With a few key strokes, Mary changed the screen and pointed. "Especially when the chief prosecutor was shot."
"What?" Stan muttered suprised. "When did that happen?"
"Last week."
"You think the shootings and the trial are connected?" Stan didn't believe in coincidence but violence didn't fit Edwin Talltrees. Behind the scenes witness tampering, jury influencing, buying a judge or two, maybe. Shooting the DA seemed too obvious for the likes of Talltrees.
"It's too damn convenient." Mary concluded. "I made a few calls and found out where Flores, the prosecutor, is being treated. I'm going to the hospital." She locked her desk, stood, gathered her things and then looked back at Stan.
Stan accepted her invitation. "I'm coming with you Inspector." Stan thought this was a better use of his time than what he had planned. He could never predict how Mary would act with other agencies. Couldn't hurt for him to tag along. It would be good to get out of the office.
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It took their marshal badges and some name dropping at the hospital's security desk to get to see Daniel Flores, the prosecuting attorney. A uniformed police officer reached for the door handle with the greeting, "Marshals."
Entering Flores' hospital room, Mary was surprised to see the attorney sitting up, smiling and chatting on the phone. No wires, no tubes, just a finger tip device, monitor screen and the ever present call button. "I'll call you later," he said nestling his phone in the sheets. The smile was replaced by cautious curiosity.
Stan saw Mary put on her 'make nice' face as she stepped forward, presenting her badge. "Daniel Flores? I'm Marshal Mary Shepard and this is my Chief. . . ."
Mary stumbled. She'd never been in the field with Stan before. What was his cover name?
Sensing her dilemma, Stan stepped forward, extending his hand. "I'm Chief Inspector King. Nice to meet you sir although the circumstances aren't the best." The prosecutor shook his hand and stared at the two marshals.
Mary had to ask. "Weren't you shot three days ago?"
Resting against the pillows of his raised bed, Flores smiled. "My medical condition is not general knowledge," he admonished. "Neither are my whereabouts."
Stan assured him, "Your secret is safe with us, sir. We're good at keeping secrets." Mary bit her lip to hide her smile. The Secret Service were blabbermouths compared to WITSEC.
Realizing the marshals must have been cleared to see him, the attorney relaxed. With a watery grin he answered her query. "Ah the wonders of technology – Kevlar at its best."
"You were wearing a vest? That standard procedure?" Mary didn't think DA's were routinely issued such gear.
"Yes, I was wearing body armor and no, it's not standard. My personal life insurance policy, purchased last year. The cartels have threatened all DA's in New Mexico, Arizona, Texas and California."
"Looks like it was a good investment," Stan chimed in, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "If the bullet hit the vest, what are you doing here?"
"The first one hit the vest, square on. I've got the bruise to prove it. I raised my arm as I fell," he lifted his left arm, exposing the gauze and bandage near his armpit. "The second hit just above the vest. Not serious but more than a graze. Lucky shot."
"Or a well trained sniper," Mary muttered.
"They figure I'm safer here than at home." Flores nodded. He looked at Mary, then Stan. "I'm sure you're not here to discuss the efficacy of Kevlar. You here about the Talltrees case?"
"Yes." Mary put her lips together in a thin line and nodded.
"Will your shooting affect the trial?" Stan quickly asked.
Flores sighed and ruffled his hair with his good hand. "It shouldn't. I fully briefed the Assistant DA on the case. I won't be in the courtroom, but I'll be watching and advising every step of the way." He looked at Mary and Stan appraisingly. "I always wondered why there were US Marshals at Kyle Talltrees arrest"
Stan mumbled something about federal marshals, federal lands, treaties and Native Americans. Mary didn't think Flores bought it, but he seemed to know not to ask.
"You investigated his father, Edwin Talltrees." Mary didn't frame it as a question. "Find anything interesting?"
Flores blew out in frustration. "Nothing. Lots of circumstantial 'coincidences' but nothing we could take to court."
"What kind of coincidences?" Stan asked.
Flores rolled his shoulders, wincing when his stitches pulled. "Real estate buys that suddenly went his way when the other bidders dropped out. Work done by a union contractor that was billed at less than half what it should have cost. I've seen Talltrees house. No way that pool went in for $60K. That's a $250K installation minimum.
At their raised eyebrows, Flores volunteered, "My brother in law's a contractor. Specializes in outdoor pools."
Mary looked at Stan wondering if that was an angle they could use to connect Talltrees and Washington. Washington's mob contacts were associated with several trade unions. Would Washington take the risk of exposing himself to the men that wanted to kill him just to help Talltrees? Not likely.
"Anything else?" Stan asked.
"I never could make sense of the Native American jewelry shops." Mary cocked her head and gave him a puzzled look. "Talltrees owns several plots of land. .."
Mary interrupted. "He's a real estate developer," she snarked. Stan didn't approve of her tone, but at least dumbass remained unspoken.
"These are small plots, house size, no room for development. Several of the plots have shops. They're located on major highways in and around Albuquerque. They sell Indian style jewelry and fake artifacts, y'know, replicas," he explained. "The employees are all Native American but don't know the owner. Talltrees doesn't get much income from the stores. Doesn't make any sense."
"He doesn't strike me as the altruistic type," Stan acknowledged, rubbing the side of his nose.
"Me neither," Mary agreed. After Stan indicated he had no more questions, Mary said, "If you think of anything else, please, call the marshal's office in Albuquerque. It could help with an ongoing investigation. Thanks for your time. Glad to see you're doing . . . ." she tapered off, uncertain.
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Later Saturday
The office was quiet when Marshall dragged himself to his desk. He'd hardly slept a wink last night. He couldn't get the picture of Mary kissing the other woman out of his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, there she was. Grabbing the blonde, planting a passionate kiss right on the lips. The sort of kiss he'd dreamed of for years.
He had spent the night reviewing his every interaction with Mary. He needed the quiet of the office. Being near Mary's desk, but not the woman herself, might prompt some connections, some conclusion as to her current sexual preference. Mary seemed unaware of the effect she had on men, but she knew how to use it. That time in the barn where she pushed him into a stall with their witness and three killers then got them all out alive was seared in his memory. Especially the part where she pushed the diamond dealer's face into horseshit. The intensity he felt from her when she 'smeared lipstick' all over his face - was just an act, he reminded himself. Maybe that was the point. Could all her talk about 'doing some cowboy' be a cover for her actual preferred sexual partners. Cowgirls?
The last few weeks she had kept to herself. There was an outburst or two, but, he realized, always aimed at inanimate objects. No individual had gotten the Mary Shannon treatment. Not even her nitwit witnesses had sparked an angry tirade.
Mary's personal space bubble had expanded. She kept her distance, even from him. She still chewed her lip, nibbled on the tops of pencils. Her oral activities had been the focus of many of his dreams. He remembered seeing her start to tap a pencil recently, a practice she knew irritated him. Before the pencil had hit the desk twice, she clenched her jaw and put the pencil down. She was making an effort. She was self contained, not engaged with her partner.
What was wrong with Mary? Why had her behavior changed? Marshall was sure there was a connection to her kidnapping and possible flashbacks, but that didn't explain her visits to the Pagoda. True, she was sometimes courteous recently. Her politeness seemed to come and go. What caused the fluctuation? Why was she soft-spoken and polite sometimes and not others? What triggered it?
Then there was the other woman in his life. Abigail. Abigail was upset that he had missed their dance classes. She had a hard time finding a partner when Marshall wasn't there. The other men in the class were too old, too handsy or terrible dancers. He had missed two weeks in a row. He remembered her adamant refusal to dance without him. "If I had wanted to take dance classes with someone else I would have asked them!"
Marshall thought about the differences between Mary and Abigail. Upset. Abigail had been upset about dance class but she didn't seem to have it in her to be really angry. Mary on the other hand, had no problem venting her continually simmering anger. Or at least she used to. Now Mary's perennial anger seemed muted. She was anxious. Instead of anger, it seemed these days Mary Shannon was running on fear.
What scared Mary? She was the bravest person he knew. Confronting her sexuality? Looking over at his partner's desk he realized her computer was on. She must have been in earlier today. Checking the security gate and keeping an ear peeled for the elevator, Marshall moved the mouse and checked to see what she had been working on. She'd been catching up on news. And looking at pictures. The screen cleared showing several photos, one of Mike Washington, a photo Marshall hadn't seen before. The faces of the other men in the photo looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place them. Was she stalking Mayhem Mike? The elevator dinged. Marshall scrambled back to his desk, hands on his own keyboard.
Stan followed Mary through the security gate. They hadn't come to any conclusions about the Flores shooting. Marshall heard Mary say, "It looks like a professional hit. Flores just got lucky."
"If you're going to come in on a Saturday, the least you could do is to bring coffee," Marshall yelled over his shoulder by way of greeting.
Mary answered him by glaring and pointing to the coffee pot. She tossed her messenger bag on her desk and headed toward the coffee. Stan's head was down and he was mumbling, but Marshall couldn't make out the words. What the hell had happened?
"Stan?" Marshall broke the other man's focus. "What's going on?"
Stan registered Marshall's presence. "We just came from the hospital."
Alarmed, Marshall checked his boss and his partner for injuries. Stan assured him. "Not us. We went to talk to Dan Flores."
Who was Dan Flores and why would his boss and his partner go to the hospital to see him? Where had he seen that name? Marshall turned over his mental trivia trove and came up with the recent news report on Mary's computer.
Furrowing his brow and squinting he asked, "Is that the lawyer prosecuting the Talltrees boy?" He had only had time to skim the article.
Mary handed the Chief a mug of coffee and took a sip of her own. Stan croaked a strangled thanks. She never got coffee for anyone. Stan tilted his head to the conference room, and walked toward it followed by Mary and Marshall.
"Close the door," Stan said. Mary waited till Marshall sat, then sat as far from him as she could. Stan looked from one Inspector to the other. Marshall and Stan shared a concerned look. Mary kept her focus on her folded hands and ignored them.
Stan explained why they had gone to see Dan Flores and what it might mean to their witness. Although he paused in his recitation numerous times, waiting for Mary to interject, she stayed quiet. He summed it up with a frustrated, "But there's no hard evidence!"
Mary spoke for the first time. "Mike Washington has to be involved, but there's nothing to tie him to Flores' shooting, or to Talltrees." She was disgusted with their lack of progress.
"How is Flores? I thought the news reported that he took a bullet to the chest." Marshall was surprised the DA was in any condition to talk.
Over the rim of her coffee, Mary muttered, "He was wearing a vest. Smart guy." She took a sip.
"Very smart," agreed Stan.
"Did he have any new information on Talltrees?" Marshall wondered.
Stan told Marshall about Talltrees unusual property holdings. Unusual for a real estate developer who usually dealt with tracts of land not individual small parcels. "Do you know where?" Marshall inquired.
"Not exactly. Flores said they are on major highways. A property title search should turn them up," Stan suggested.
"Then that's where I'll start." Marshall rose and headed for the door.
"What about you Mary?" Stan needed to know his impetuous inspector would not be running into a firefight.
"I" she stood focusing her sharp gaze on Stan, "will keep watching Mike, waiting for him to screw up, waiting for the results of his off shore accounts, doing my damn job," Mary muttered. Stomping over to her desk she muttered, "I hate waiting."
While Marshall and Stan couldn't agree more, it seemed that Mary was willing to wait. At least for now.
Once Mary had settled in to work at her desk, Marshall followed Stan into his office. Stan was studying several photos. Without moving his lips Marshall asked "Did you talk to Shelley?"
Stan pushed a document across the table. Not looking at Marshall he responded, "She's on vacation for the next two weeks."
"Damn."
TBC
A/N: I hope you aren't still too stuffed to review.