Sotto copertura

Chapter Eleven: Uno (And Then There Was One)

By LoveAnimeForever

Stella, Danny, and Don stood before Mac's desk in his office a bare five minutes after they left the observation and interrogation rooms respectively. He sat opposite them, preliminary reports from the autopsy room still freshly-read on his desk. He had been waiting on the full reports from Sheldon and Sid focusing their energy on the two newest victims – …victims… – while turning over a few leads over again in his head, but this was certainly an interesting turn in the investigation. Sadly –

"Even I can't tell you straight off if his story is reliable, you know that."

Don smirked, though it looked more like he was baring non-existent fangs. "Then there's only one way to do this."

"…No, we're not sending you in. It's already enough of a risk letting you back in the labs."

"And if we get seen, blah, blah, blah." Danny rolled his eyes, though there was a hint of a smile in his voice.

"If anyone asks, you came to visit Hays and McLean's bodies one last time."

"Got it," came the reply, before Don could protest, "it's Wednesday today, anyway."

Stella flashed the two undercover agents a maternal smile. "There's a good boy, Danny. Don?"

"As long as you don't start pulling out the dog treats, fine." Resignation hid behind exasperation, and genuine exhaustion hidden behind that, but his colleagues let it slide.

"You two leave Herring's boss to us; go and pull off a convincing tea party."

"A tea party, huh."

Absent shrug from beside Don, as he and his partner took the walk back to their apartment.

"Well, a tea party's gotta have food, right? We finished all the beer last night."

"Beer en't food, Don." But he changed course with the taller man, and now they were heading to the nearest supermarket.

"Says the one who lives off it."

"I don't! Not often."

Laughs, that rang slightly hollow as they remembered the pair who would be absent from tonight's meeting.

They should get over it; it was interfering with their work. They could mourn after all this was well and over, after they didn't have to live together anymore, and after Dominick Flynn and Deyon Marx disappeared off the face of the earth. After the vague warmth at the back of their minds had faded back into brotherly affection as it had been, and as it should always be – the mission was just screwing slightly with their emotional boundaries. Living together with a person and going undercover as a couple did that, didn't it?

They kept their eyes resolutely away from each other's, preferring to look straight ahead even as they subconsciously walked a little closer beside each other.

"This… should be the place."

Stella had had Adam search out the website of Herring's company, then had had a map and an image of its office front printed out. It was to these two sheets of paper that she referred to now, and true enough, this was the place. The archery range had been much easier to find; after all, despite its slightly more removed location, it was a unique wood-and-paper traditional Japanese affair – this building was simply another tinted glass tower in a town full of them.

"Impressive," Mac commented absently, and they entered through the automated sliding front doors.

His partner refrained from reminding him that she knew they both couldn't care less about appearances or airs. He knew that, too; it was a habit he had, for the benefit of any more… politically-oriented… co-workers or witnesses. Up the lift, and straight for the receptionist's counter, gaze barely drifting from elegant minimalist black surface to elegant minimalist white surface.

"Hi," Stella started, despite the formal atmosphere, "We're here to see a Mr. Gregory Young?"

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Sadly, no."

"I'm sorry, you can't see Mr. Young without an appointment. He's a busy man."

"Oh, we were hoping this" – flash of Stella's smile along with Mac's badge beside her – "would suffice."

The receptionist, dressed in a starched white blouse over her dark-gray pencil skirt, dissolved from her stiffer-than-an-angry-Mac attitude to a flustered guilty suspect within the second. She dialed up the intercom, and after announcing their presence, she led them through the main area, populated mainly by employees' cubicles, to a personal office at the back of the floor. The glass door was frosted in two stripes at eye level, bordering text – also frosted – that read "Gregory Young".

"I apologize for my attitude, officers… This way, please."

The characteristic sound of glass as she knocked on the door, then stood aside to let them in. She returned to her post, and Mac and Stella found themselves in the office Herring had neglected to describe in favour of more… important… events that had happened. The floor was carpeted an understated gray, and the walls opposite the door and adjacent weren't so much walls as windows that looked out onto the street. The last wall was lined with shelves that were themselves lined with books, and there was a potted plant up to about chest-height in the corner.

All in all, a generic but relatively tasteful office. In the middle, was a large mahogany desk, designed suitably to impress, that may or may not have been real mahogany, but neither detective was very interested in that. Instead, they focused their attention on the man sitting behind the desk; as Herring had described, this time, his build was rather lighter and smaller than most, and his hair was as long as his management privileges allowed. He stood to greet the officers, rounding his desk and extending a hand to shake.

"Officers."

Stella declined, holding her ground. "Mr. Young."

Mac smiled inwardly at his partner's childishness, accepted cordially but stoically. "Mr. Young. I am Detective Mac Taylor; this is Detective Stella Bonasera. We're here to investigate a harassment case filed by one of your ex-subordinates."

Thinking back to their encounter with the Yamazaki brothers, the female detective recalled her impression of the younger Yamazaki. Slender and graceful, he had brought up the image of a geisha during a sacred tea ceremony. The man she was watching disdainfully now left no such notion of elegance or poise; perhaps it was that Americans simply didn't have the genes for it, but if she summed him up in one word, it was definitely not one applicable to most of the American population: snake.

She easily hid her most of her disapproval from Young, but her partner caught it, and she could have sworn the edge of his lip twitched upward.

Young paled. "Might I ask which ex-subordinate?"

"I'm afraid we can't tell you that."

"Although it seems you already have someone in mind."

"N-o one, of course. I don't harass my subordinates."

"…We didn't say the harassment charge was against you, Mr. Young." Smirk on the male detectives face that would have made a murder's blood run cold.

Stella gladly played along. "Now, what could have given you that idea?"

As Young's already light complexion paled even further, it vaguely occurred to the detectives that maybe, just maybe, they were being a tad vindictive. The moment passed, mostly due to Young being so obviously guilty – if there was anything the police force could agree on, it was that harassment that sort was second only to murder or manslaughter. Originally intending to get a search warrant just in case, Stella had ended up with an arrest warrant as well – and she was glad that she had.

"I- Look, the man was asking for it. You should be going after him, instead. He attacked me." Voice slightly lower, slightly smoother.

So Herring wasn't lying. Stella had to admit, though, the man had charisma when he needed it.

Mac rolled his eyes. "Gregory Young, you are under arrest for the harassment of a subordinate and using intimidation tactics on said subordinate with intention to exploit.

"Damn it, aren't Christians supposed to be fucking forgiving or something?"

A sharp jerk, along with handcuffs. "You have the right to remain silent."

As they escorted Young out of his office and across the main floor, nearly every head turned to watch – and not all of them were of simple shock. One in particular allowed his hackles to rise and it was evident in the sneer on his face. Frowning, Mac left their suspect to Stella with instructions to get him to the car first, while he stopped to talk to the man, who'd caught his gaze and was already walking over.

"Detective Mac Taylor," Mac greeted, showing his badge-

"Matthew Jones. I'd say it's nice to meet you, officer, but honestly? It's nicer to see that bastard getting what he deserves."

They headed for the less crowded reception area, Jones actually taking a slight lead. The man was certainly very blunt; Mac figured he should be able to get some information out of him – a witness' testimony, perhaps, for this arrest, and hadn't Stella mentioned a Jones from Herring's account?

"Oh, wait, I know what you're thinking." Jones grinned. "Yeah, I'm Frank's best mate from around here. He told me not to report the boss so I didn't, but looks like he went and got it done on his own, huh."

"…Not exactly. This came up as a side investigation in relation to a more major case we're working."

"And why would it- Oh. Look, the man may be like this now, but he wouldn't hurt a fly, you gotta trust me-"

"We already know that much, Mr. Jones-"

"Just Jones is fine, man. Anyway, it's good that you know that; for a moment there I thought you'd mixed him up with that White fella' from his church."

"I'm sorry, White?"

"White. Don't know his first name. Ever since the bastard you just took away got at Frank, he changed a lot, y'know? So we go out drinking every Thursday now, and there's this time he told me about a guy called White down at his church. Said it was like all the 'goodness' was getting sapped out of him and transferred to the other guy, like. He shut up after that, though. Good guy. Still don't like badmouthing people, and his swearing still sounds fake after all this time."

Outwardly appearing thoughtfully quiet, Mac was honestly speechless. Perhaps least important, yet the first thing his mind was feeding him, was that the man standing opposite him was very direct, even more so than he'd expected at first. Second, was that Jones considered Herring's swearing unconvincing; he thrust both thought trails aside for the crucial one: the information was good, and… Thursday nights… Wasn't the first time of death a Thursday night?

"Every Thursday night?"

"Every Thursday night. You have no idea how hard it was to get him to come drinking at all, but now he has, he's pretty good company."

"What time do you usually meet?"

"It depends? I knock off at six-thirty, so it's dinner with the family, and I meet him at our usual place at about… eight? He starts feeling guilty at about ten, but me and his wife usually manage to keep him out until midnight. He needs the break, trust me."

An unlikely alibi. "Thank you for your co-operation, Jones. The department may contact you soon-"

"No problem, detective. Anything for a friend. But do me a favour and make sure Young gets what he deserves, yeah?"

A nod, and mutual respect between the two men despite their day-night personalities and backgrounds; Mac headed for the lift to catch up with his partner and Jones returned to the office floor that was currently in something of a celebratory uproar.

Suave in the meeting room and even charming when he needed to be, Young was still unsurprisingly quiet in the back of Mac and Stella's civilian vehicle. The detectives also refrained from discussing any case details, though Stella was half-dying for news from the impromptu interview that'd happened in her absence – she could just sense it in her partner's demeanor that he'd hit gold. Or a very good lead.

The drive was uneventful, as such, and they handed Young off to a uniform officer at the precinct before returning to the interrogation room at their own headquarters.

"We got Young."

Herring, deep in thought and not having noticed the detectives' entrance, started at the sound of Stella's voice. "Beg pardon?"

"We got Gregory Young, on harassment charges, and he's at the precinct right now." Slowly, with a hint of a smile in her voice.

"…O-oh. Go easy on him, I guess. I didn't think you'd actually go get him…"

"Go easy on him?" Just how much can a guy change in a few hours?

"I guess. I've been thinking, while you were out, and I figure I've been throwing my life away these few months; I don't want to disappoint God any longer…" He noticed the second officer as they rounded the table to sit across from him. "I'm sorry, Detective…?"

"Mac Taylor. We just obtained an alibi for you, from a Matthew Jones?"

"Ah. Matt. I should've told you that from the start, huh. But I'm not proud that I drink so regularly now… It's on Thursday nights, and I usually stay out past any respectable hour."

A lot, apparently. Mac folded his arms. "He also mentioned something about a White from your church."

"Trust the dolt to spill everything." But it was rather affectionate than angry; his tone only morphed to seriousness when he continued. "It's Moses White, from the cell group Howard, Gray, Hays, and McLean are from."

Stella's eyes widened in surprise. Mac had mentioned White, but neither of them had expected… "What about him?"

A wry smile. "You could say we switched personalities, even. He used to be a radical, and a violent one, too. But at about the same time I started to go haywire, he got inspiration from the Spirit, and, well, you see where he is now. I suppose I told Matt while I was drunk; I hope I wouldn't have brought it up otherwise."

"…Thank you, Herring. You're free to go, but try and stay in town for a while."

"Still not off the suspect list, am I?"

"On the contrary; but having you on the witness stand will prove to be convincing."

"If ever," the man retorted, an actually genial smile on his lips, "thank you, Stella Bonasera. And it was nice meeting you, Detective Taylor."

He got up and left, but both detectives could just barely here his whispered prayers of thanksgiving as he walked out the door.

So they'd saved a soul, in a way. But there was rising panic about White, who seemed more and more like a possible suspect – inspiration from the Holy Spirit or no. It wouldn't require a meeting with the other CSIs, but Mac and Stella knew they would feel much more at ease after a conference; they split up, Mac to pathology and Stella to trace, to gather their colleagues.

Back at their apartment with arms full of groceries – and thankfully ample time for Danny to cook them – the undercover agents were surprised to find one of their cell group mates already at their door. White, still dressed in his carpenter's simple clothes, turned to greet them with a smile as they neared. They immediately slipped into what could've been called "couple-mode", naturally adjusting within each other's space to give just that impression.

"I was wondering if this was the right address. How are you two today?"

"Great, thanks, White. Me and Dey were just getting the ingredients for tonight's dinner. You don't know it, but he's a great cook."

"And Dom is hopeless in the kitchen, trust me." Couple talk. Couple talk. "What brings you here so early? Cell group isn't for another few hours."

"I was in the area, and I don't have any more jobs for today, so I figured I'd drop by and give a hand."

"Nice of you. Come in."

And Don placed one of the bags he was carrying on the floor to unlock the apartment door, and they entered.