Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I don't own.
Author's notes: Thanks for the wonderful reviews. You guys make me smile. Thanks for the many alert additions I received. Reggie the alligator really does exist and really did grow two feet in Harbor City, Los Angeles. The chicken thing was inspired by a late night conversation. And...I want to say that I am surprised this turned out happy, especially since I finished it at night, when my mind was not in a happy place.
"Getting too busy to make amends, I should try to make it right"
-Snow Patrol-
"So, this is it?" Colby cut the engine, peering over the steering wheel at the small hole-in-the-wall diner.
"University Café. 429 Hoover Boulevard," David read off the white slip of paper in his hands. "Yes. This is the address she gave me; Peyton said the L.A. Crime Lab went through Aaron's bank history. The last transaction was made on Wednesday, April 4th at 8:35 pm."
Colby undid his seatbelt, his words muffeled as his body turned. "I don't know how much good this is going to do. It's been a whole six weeks since this kid went missing and then ended up dead under a pile of gravel. I doubt these people are going to remember anything new. They've probably forgotten all about it."
"Yeah I know, but Don said he wanted to go over everything again. Peyton and the others are taking another look at the body and the reports. That leaves us with canvassing and retracing Aaron's last steps." David slammed the door shut.
Colby shook his head and nodded towards the café. "I guess we'll start where he ate his last supper. Brings back memories of my own college days. What about you?"
David laughed. "Are you kidding? Man, I could barely afford to pay the rent, let alone eat out anywhere when I was in school."
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"It's so sad what happened. Aaron was a good friend. Always willing to help me out with my environmental ethics class. Excuse me for a moment." The girl spun back to the cash register. With a smile on her face, as if their conversation was not about the death of her friend, she rang her customers up and gave them their change. She even added in a cheerful "come again".
She spun to the other side of the counter, back towards them. "Sorry about that."
David nodded and asked, "No problem. Do you remember anything from that night?"
Her ponytail shook from side to side. "I wasn't working that night. Huge statistics exam the next morning. Bianca was working that night, but she already talked to the other detectives. Told them that Aaron came in, ordered a burger, ate, paid, and left."
"And she didn't see anyone follow him? Anything that looked odd?" Colby asked, trying to find something. Anything that would be helpful.
The ponytail shook again. "Nope. She told them that too. But you might want to talk to Mrs. Hernandez. She was the last one to see Aaron that night. He went in to pay a receipt or something. She runs the laundry mat three stores down."
David thanked her for her time and help, Colby mimicking his words. When they turned around at the door she was already back to smiling and giving out change, ponytail happily swinging from side to side. It would seem that after six weeks life had returned to normal in University Park, the death of their fellow student forgotten as they each went back to their own stressful lives of simply trying to stay ahead and pass their next exam.
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The laundry mat smelled of chemicals and sweat-stained clothes. It was not a pleasant smell and their noses wrinkled as they entered the store, silver bell jingling over head.
"The carts are not to be played with or to leave the store!"
A frazzled, middle-aged, Hispanic woman- presumably Mrs. Hernandez- jumped out from behind a row of washers, barking at them and wielding a rather deadly looking broom.
"We're not here to take a spin on the carts, Ma'am." Colby said, his palms extended outward against the raised broom in her hands.
The broom was lowered as she eyed them. "Sorry," she sat it aside and walked back to the counter, swinging her head to eye what few students were in the store, "These hooligans cause more trouble than their quarters are worth. Is there something I can help you boys with?"
She moved behind the counter and bent down to retrieve a stack of receipts.
"Actually, there is something you can help us with, Mrs. Hernandez. About six weeks ago a boy disappeared and was later found murdered. We were told that you were the last to see him." Colby stated, trying to gain eye contact with her.
Despite his efforts of bobbing his head up and down, she didn't look up to meet his gaze. Hoover Boulevard was a busy place it seemed. She continued to read the receipts, every few seconds laying one to the side as she spoke. "I already talked to those other police officers about that."
"We're not police officers, Ma'am. We're with the FBI. The death of Aaron McCullogh is part of an on going investigation. We just want to know what happened that night and what you remember."
She made a clucking noise from somewhere in her throat that reminded him of the chickens his neighbors owned back home in Idaho. Those chickens had been mean; chickens that liked to poke little eight year old boys on the feet. He had decided back then and there that he didn't really like chickens and would much rather eat them. "FBI, hunh? He was a good boy. Didn't play with the carts. He had pretty eyes. Doe eyes. He was in here that night. Paid for a receipt that he walked out on a few days earlier. I do repairs as well. Nice boy. Most students would not have come back. Hooligans the lot of them."
"So, he was here that night?" he asked, amused at her obvious disdain for the college students that seemed to plague her store.
"He was here. Around 9:15. Or maybe it was closer to 9:30. I don't remember. It was somewhere in between there. But it was definitely before 9:30. That's when my show comes on."
Colby grinned and then asked, "Did you notice anything else?"
She looked up for the first time, receipts forgotten as she licked her lips. "He paid and left. He was one of the only ones in that night and I was up front when he left. I was putting up a new sign. He walked across the street and took a turn into the alley right over there," she pointed out the window in the direction of the alleyway. "A lot of students use it as a shortcut back to the campus. A few minutes later a black car pulled into the entrance. I didn't see anything after that."
"A car? Did you see anything? Anyone?"
She shook her head. "No. The phone rang. I had to answer it. I told those police officers about the car, but they didn't seem too interested after I told them that students park there all the time."
He nodded. There was only one other thing to ask. "Do you have a camera for surveillance, Mrs. Hernandez?"
She laughed at him. "Cameras. As if we could afford those." She shook her head at him again.
Colby nodded, exchanging a look with David. Well, they could only have hoped.
They said their thanks and left Mrs. Hernandez to her receipts and immature college students.
Peyton was not hiding out in her office. Huntzbergers did not hide. She had just chosen to do her work in the basement instead of upstairs. And it was not because she was avoiding Don Eppes because of last night. Because she wasn't. Not at all.
The pad of her thumb brushed lightly against the wheel of her iPod, changing the song. Some song of Bono's came on, the lyrics wailing in her ears.
The orange light on her desk phone lit up and she tugged one ear bud out and picked up the phone.
Pressing the talk button, she answered with a pleasant tone that was noticeably forced. "Speak." Her thumb hit pause after a few seconds as she listened and her other hand grabbed a pen and the stack of post-its. She folded the phone into her neck, saying, "Hold on. Repeat that last part…Are you sure? Right…Yeah…No...Thanks." She returned her phone to its cradle, writing furiously on the yellow sticky note.
Finished copying the address, she tore it off and raced out the door. Ten minutes later found her bursting through the doors leading to the outside walkway and wishing that she wasn't running in heels and a leather skirt. Her feet were going to hurt like hell later.
She skidded to a halt, standing on her toes, searching for him. Someone in the bullpen had relayed to her that Don had stepped out with his brother to grab lunch down the street. Apparently she had just missed him and stupid her had left her phone downstairs in her mad dash.
Her eyes spotted the curly hair of the shorter one first; those curls were a dead give away. "Don!" she hollered, relieved when he heard her the first time and turned around.
The three of them met in the middle, her hands trying to keep her hair out from her face as the wind whipped between the two buildings. Charlie smiled at her and said 'hello'. She returned the greeting and turned back to Don. Her face must have given it away, but then again he was a smart man. His eyes shot to the post-it in her hand and he asked, "I'm not getting lunch am I?"
She shook her head. "No, sorry." The two of them stepped a few feet away from Charlie, who looked on curiously from behind his brother. "Another one. LAPD found it."
"Right," he sighed. "Well, I guess we need to get over there."
She handed him the address. "Mm-hmm. We could really use his help too, if it's okay with you. I think he could probably find something we're not. He sees things differently than I do. A new perspective could help." She said softly, nodding over his shoulder to his brother.
He looked at him too. "Yeah. He's real good at doing that."
Peyton was crouched down in the ditch, amid the dirt and their newest victim. Don hovered above, watching and waiting, not quite ready to venture down there yet. "Well?" he called out.
"It's definitely one of our guy's victims. Same markings, same coloring. You can come down here and take a look yourself." She shot back all brisk and business like. It seemed that Peyton was upset with him over the events of last night. Or, he speculated, if her professional demeanor was anything, she was trying to avoid the subject and not talk about it. "…Reggie the alligator is not going to come out and get you."
At the challenge in her words he joined her, his feet sliding a bit on the loose topsoil. "Didn't they catch Reggie?"
"No. Last I heard he got away. They said he grew another two feet though."
He crouched down beside her, copying her stance. Her fingers traced over the body, gloved fingers pale against the backdrop of the dirt and dark clothing on the body. It was a boy, around the same age as the others too. The eye sockets were empty once again. A cut marred his forehead, blood congealed. The blood was no longer a pure red. It was mixed with dirt and other things that he couldn't name. Another cut peeked out from underneath the collar of his shirt, jagged and long. It was deeper than the one on his forehead, but cleaner. He watched as she reached over the chest and lifted his left arm. There was air where his hand should be.
"His wrist was cut off?" he asked, not believing what his eyes were seeing and what his mind was telling him.
"Not cut off. Amputated. There is a difference and this guy apparently knows what it is." She shook her head and carefully laid the arm back down, being mindful of the dead. "Medical Examiner says he's been dead for about twenty four hours."
He peered out over the ditch at the surrounding area. "Harbor City is still in the same area as Wilmington and the San Pedro Bay. He likes to stick around here. What I don't get is why he continues to dump the bodies. We're finding them. They're not in very good hiding places, except for Sofia Friedman's body. Is he trying to show them off? Seeking attention for what he's doing?"
They were out of the ditch now, and walking back up the pathway they had come down. Two other CSI's passed by them, nodding as he greeted them. After a moment she answered his questions.
"No. I don't think so. He doesn't want attention. It doesn't feel like that. No, he's ditching these bodies because it doesn't matter if we find them. He's cleaning up after himself so well that it doesn't make a difference when we find them. He leaves nothing behind for us to trace. It's all we can do to even find the names of these victims. Face it, we've got three bodies now and are nowhere closer to finding this guy than we were four weeks ago. He dumps them after they die because it doesn't make a difference. Not a damn bit of difference."
He stopped as she continued towards his Suburban. He watched her as she walked. Last night he had used that cold beer and a place to put his feet up to think about her words. His mind could have interpreted it wrong, but she had made it seem that she was interested. And after careful consideration, and weighing the scales, he had come to the conclusion that he was interested as well. He liked her and was interested in knowing just who she was.
Peyton turned around, taking notice that she was alone and cocked her head to the side. "What are you doing?"
He shook his head; not hearing her words, he came back to the present and said, "Sorry?"
She gave him an odd look, clearly implying she thought he was weird. "You went into your own little world on me."
"Sorry about that. Just thinking." He jogged and caught back up to her. His fingers crept to the back of his head, running through his short hair. "About last night-"
Peyton stopped and turned to him. "Oh. Look we can just ignore-"
He rounded on her and interrupted her. "No, you look. You got to talk last night. Now it's my turn."
Peyton looked affronted for a moment, but didn't say anything. Don continued on, "I shouldn't have ended things last night like I did. I should have said something, but I didn't. I should have said…that I care what you think about me too."
An eyebrow rose as she stared at him, understanding what he was implying. Whispering, she said, "Don't say that. Don't say that unless you mean it. It changes everything."
The CSI from earlier walked past them, eyeing them as he picked up on the fact that something was transpiring between the two of them. Don waited until he passed and said firmly, "I do mean it."
Her foot scuffed the ground. "So…what does that mean?"
"Mean? It means you let me take you to dinner."
She grinned at him. "You're asking me out while we're talking about the mutilated corpse of our third victim?"
"Well, when you put it that way, it's not nearly as romantic."
They were walking again. Peyton rubbed her chin thoughtfully and then declared, "Dinner…Hmm… You can take me out as soon as we catch a break in the case."
He came to a halt. She had said yes. He gave himself a mental high five and swore he could hear his father congratulating him as well. Imaginative Alan said something along the lines of 'finally and it's about time.' All they needed was a break in the case. Wait-
"A break in the case? With the way things are going, that's going to be never."
Peyton stood on the running board of the Suburban, one hand holding the door open, the other resting on the top. "In that case we better find something."
Hmmm? Review...
So, I don't know when exactly I will have the next chapter up. My grandfather passed away last night and my mind is kind of running in some pretty dark places; I'm trying to come to grips with it, and help my younger sister as well. I'll try to have it up soon.
Next time: we get three new breaks as Charlie comes up with something, Peyton comes up with something, and Don comes up with something. The car that Mrs. Hernandez saw will come back, so don't forget it.