"We shouldn't be doing this, Boss."
"Should, shouldn't, what are these words but the same exact thing, tied up in different - but only aesthetically different - packages? They're limits, intended to suck the potential out of life and constrain you to a tiny, set, controlled little area. Like chains, or ropes, or handcuffs, or any other binding. So really, when you say shouldn't, you might as well be saying should, because it's the exact same thing."
Shaft wished he could record that single spiel of Graham's and keep it with him, because it so perfectly encompassed every single reason why attempting to talk to the man was utterly hopeless in every possible way. So next time someone asked him - "why didn't you just stop him?" - he could play back that rant and have all questions and doubts dispelled. It'd probably be great for court, too, when Graham inevitably got them detained at the hands of the law.
In fact, he feared that their current misadventure would be the one to land them there. Graham had shoved him out of bed early that morning, chattering on about some call Ladd placed to them. They had to leave now, at that exact moment, at six in the morning. Tired, Shaft would have complained, but he'd still gotten more sleep that night than in the entire past week.
After some frustrating inquiry, he figured out that Ladd had told Graham the autopsy on the homicide victim was set to take place that afternoon. At that, Shaft suggested that they didn't need to actually be present at the autopsy. He could simply come into possession of the report shortly after the medical examiner filed it, and they could work off the notes there. Easy enough, since he maintained multiple intelligence contacts in the examiner's office. However, Graham quickly dismissed this notion with some clamoring about needing to see the body in order to fully comprehend the manner of death. One failed argument later, and the two were walking from the parking lot over to the medical examiner's place of work.
"Why isn't Boss Ladd attending the autopsy? Technically, that's his responsibility."
Graham thrust his hands upward in excitement, nearly whacking Shaft in the head with that conspicuous wrench that he'd practically begged Graham not to take with them. Nothing shouted 'we don't belong' louder than a giant mechanical tool.
"Who are we to question the greatness that is Boss Ladd? Here's a sad, sad story for you, Shaft. Boss Ladd is filled with countless responsibilities, to a degree that we mere consultants can't even comprehend, and he asks me in his trust and in his kindness to take care of one itsy, little thing for him. And you here - you insist that I deny him that singular request. Like a traitor."
"Yes, one itsy, little thing. Meaning, an entire case."
They entered the building, and Shaft sighed. He already knew he wouldn't be able to talk Graham out of this task. He just couldn't resist giving his last futile efforts, trying to yank them from the inevitable mess they encroached upon. It'd earn him more pain, in the end, but he wasn't only trying to get himself out of trouble. With Graham's eccentricity, the man was bound to get himself into wrapped up in danger sooner or later. Shaft's frustrated attempts at caution were just as much about protecting Graham as they were about keeping himself safe. Maybe even more so, since he hadn't up and left in an attempt to make his life easier. Yet.
The two earned strange looks as they made their way towards the medical examiner's section of the hospital. Beads of sweat gathered on Shaft's forehead as they underwent intense looks of scrutiny, especially from the security staff. This was a most inopportune time to get caught. Shaft fit in just fine, with his casual suit and tie, calculated to let him blend right in with the environment. Graham, on the other hand - well, what would one expect to see a mechanic in a hospital for?
Of course, Graham remained blissfully unaware of the tension his presence brought to the area. Rather, he let the elation run through him, the promise of fulfilling an assignment given to him by none other than his hero, Ladd Russo. When he looked at the future, he saw the gleaming light that came at the end of a happy story. In good spirits, he clasped one hand down on his partner's shoulder. He didn't understand why Shaft flinched at the touch. He did that a lot, these days. It confused Graham; he only wanted to share his excitement with his companion, the only one who'd understand it.
To compensate for his puzzlement, and to take his mind from the matter, Graham turned his abundance of energy elsewhere and spouted some philosophy about the hospital environment and the state of health in the world today. Shaft barely commented on the rant, for once, even to insult it. He was too irritated with his boss's lack of willingness to discuss the issues with Ladd's latest series of orders. For the duration of their walk to the medical examiner's workplace, the two carried on a one-sided conversation, with Graham growing progressively louder, and Shaft's decorum progressively deteriorating into weariness.
They met their first obstacle - a bored-looking receptionist holding court over the area - with ease. Shaft had prepared an excuse if someone questioned them, a false technical explanation which relied entirely on the other party not knowing that consultants didn't actually gain temporary departmental privileges. Which, given the state of most employees, Shaft believed was a safe bet. However, it only took one minute of Graham's talking, combined with the careless swinging of the wrench, for the receptionist to push them along to the coroner's autopsy room without so much as asking for their identification.
Inside, Ennis stood in front of a counter with her back to the door, gathering up her array of gleaming, silver scalpels, scissors, and tweezers. Dressed in blue scrubs, her hands covered with white latex gloves, she looked focused and prepared to work on the task ahead. On the table in the center of the room, the body of the deceased laid stretched out, eerily intact save for the destruction of the cranium.
Upon hearing footsteps enter, she glanced back, expecting to find the primary detective there. She'd been waiting on him to begin the autopsy, though he'd failed to make contact with her after she informed him of the scheduled time. Instead, two unknown persons caught her eye, looking entirely unlike any detectives she'd seen before. Slowly, and keeping her fingers wrapped firmly around one of her scalpels, she turned around to face them.
"This area is off-limits to non-personnel. You will have to leave."
Worried about losing control over the situation, Shaft stepped forward. Laying his sharp eyes on the coroner, he slid on a polite grin and tried to pull back together his composure. He opened his mouth to begin his prepared explanation, when a hard swat to the forearm had him wincing and shutting up.
Graham glared at his partner for a brief second, the volatile motion of his emotions swinging to anger. He'd already said that he'd handle this part, at least a dozen times. Sometimes, he wondered if Shaft even listened to him. The man could be horrendously predictable at times, and so Graham already knew what strategy he'd picked to swindle the woman. Deception through technicality - how utterly boring. Fortunately, Graham had just the solution to break down that tedium.
"Now, now, now, that's a little presumptuous of you, don't you think? Say, for instance, we are actually personnel, and you've just gone and dismissed us based on our appearances alone. How insulted, I should feel. Oh yes, yes, that's very upsetting. Will you offer an apology, to us?" He said, the wrench swinging to point at the doctor.
Ennis didn't bat an eye. "Do you have proper identification?"
"Well of course, certainly. What kind of officers would we be if we didn't?"
Shaft stared at his partner, eyes wide. He had no idea what Graham was trying to pull, but he saw no possibility of their claiming to be police officers ending well. His bafflement increased when Graham pulled out an identification card from his pocket and held it out to the woman.
Ennis took the I.D and inspected it, still dubious of the 'officer' and his story. She'd met some strange officers during her time as a coroner, but this man outdid all of them. However, she could find no faults with the card, no discrepancies that hinted towards a counterfeit job. She could not fathom why someone would go through all that trouble to attend an autopsy, anyway. Satisfied, but still harboring suspicion, she returned the card to the man.
Graham beamed as he placed it back in his pocket. "There, you see? Now we've cleared up our misunderstanding and can make our way to a happier story. I'd ask for an apology for your insult, but now that I think about it, I really should have presented the card first thing. Yes, yes when I think of it that way, it's me who was at fault for criticizing you. I ought to be apologizing to you, and begging for forgiveness."
Was everybody in the Russo department this strange? Ennis didn't usually end up with their cases, so she had to wonder. Whatever the case, she just wished to get through the autopsy as quickly as possible. As long as the duo did not interrupt her work, she could deal with them, whatever their strangeness.
She turned her back again, getting together her tray of medical instruments. "Alright. Please stand back and do not disturb me during the autopsy. I will let you know my observations."
"Well, in that case - we'll be sure to grant you the peace your work deserves. My words will be a sacrifice for the importance of this case." Graham said, miming clasping a hand over his mouth.
Shaft shook his head, knowing what the probability of that particular promise coming true was - approximately zero. As soon as the medical examiner shifted her attention elsewhere, and he deemed her properly distracted, he turned to his partner.
"Where did you get that identification?" He asked.
Graham shrugged. "Boss Ladd gave it to me for cases like this. Wasn't that thoughtful of him? He really does think of everything. Another indicator of his brilliance."
The answer failed to alleviate any of Shaft's troubles. So now, Ladd Russo wasn't just sliding them cases under the table, he was actually giving Graham illegal documentation for it. Shaft held no particular qualms with breaking the law, and he personally ventured into illegal realms with much of his work, but this was on a whole different level. Mostly because it could very well land them in prison.
Despairing, he tried to reason with his partner. In a hushed tone, Shaft urged, "Boss - impersonating an officer is a felony. If she decides to run that identification number, we could go to federal prison."
Aside from raising an eyebrow, Graham's expression remained unperturbed. "Now, now, don't be absurd, Shaft. Really, I expected better of you. Impersonating an officer is a class A misdemeanor."
"Not if we're commissioning a crime with it."
"And what crime do you suggest we are commissioning? I see none here. In fact, we're helping the law, and fighting crime. They ought to give us accolades, awards for our work. Can you imagine that? Ah, how exciting!"
"Please keep your voice down, Boss. And of course, you're right. We're only trespassing, is all. No crime in that."
"Sarcasm is quite ugly on you, Shaft. Fortunately for you, I have the courage and the kindness to look past that and accept you regardless. So our companionship ends as a happy, compelling tale."
"Happy isn't the word I'd use right now, to be - "
From across the room, Ennis cleared her throat and interrupted. "Excuse me. Can you two please be quiet now? I am about to begin the autopsy."
She'd only caught snippets of their conversation, mostly from the louder man, and she could not make sense of what she heard. Still, it gave her a distinct sense of unease. It was rare for officers to quarrel like that in the autopsy room. Especially with the deceased laying right there. The callousness of it struck her as either incredibly careless, or horribly cold. Ennis made a mental note to ask Firo if he knew the pair when she returned home, just in case.
When Ennis received silence in return, aside from a mumbled apology from the plainer-looking man, she picked up her recorder and clicked a button. Standing over the body, she began her report.
"Dr. Ennis, about to begin autopsy on deceased, Maddock. Step one, basic external information is as follows..."
By the time the autopsy neared completion, Shaft had filled several pages of his portable notepad with observations. He'd jotted down the key points, though almost none of them came as a surprise: "Time of death at least twenty-four hours prior to discovery. Manner of death: Homicide. Cause of death: gunshot wound to the head. Fatal injury sustained to the back of the head. Bullet removed, .22 caliber, ballistics testing to be scheduled. No defensive wounds. Evidence body was moved, but not substantially. Evidence of prior long-term drug abuse. No drugs found in system.'
The last piece of information made Shaft feel a twinge of sympathy, when he remembered the car theft group's comments on the man's addiction. As a person of checkered history, he was not one who believed a man should be judged on the contents of his past.
To Graham's credit, the man remained quieter than usual during the examination. Though he could not hold back a couple lengthy speeches, and he posed a new question at least twice a minute, it still beat Shaft's expectations. Graham found himself fascinated by the autopsy, enamored with the process of taking the corpse apart and breaking it down into its basic parts. To him, it was the same as watching a broken machine being dismantled to determine the root of its malfunction. The whole procedure filled him with excitement.
He tried to share this sensation with his partner, but Shaft barely acknowledged him, too busy taking notes. Determined to win back Shaft's attention, he reached upward with the intention of snatching the man's collar.
However, his attempts were thwarted when Shaft sidestepped the grab without realizing it, perfectly and unconsciously in tune to Graham's whims. Still looking at the notepad, he walked towards the door, leaving his partner behind.
"I'll be back in a minute, Boss. Just going to see if any progress has been made elsewhere in this case." He said.
Though he was dissatisfied with the explanation, Graham didn't have time to express it before Shaft was out the door. Despite how close the two had become, Graham still had no idea how Shaft obtained his reports and information. Over the years, their lives bled into one another, every thought and secret and habit shared between the two. And yet, there was always a small section, a locked part of the man, that Graham felt he could not reach. Because he trusted Shaft, he refrained from questioning about it. He could not, however, refrain from wondering, from theorizing, from becoming frustrated.
"If I took you apart, would I be able to discover the secrets you hide somewhere inside yourself? Questions, questions, so many impossible questions this life offers me." Graham mused to himself, staring off into space, just quietly enough for Ennis to ignore.
Outside the room, leaning against the hospital wall and trying to remain inconspicuous, Shaft found two messages left for him. A pleasant surprise - his first of the day. His network obtained documents quickly, but this was still sooner than he'd anticipated.
The first message contained the psychological profile on their mystery killer. Shaft thought it strange that the case should warrant a profiling; after all, a single hit on a known criminal and addict wasn't an extraordinary occurrence, nor did he suspect the motives would be complex. Combined with their lack of any substantial evidence, the profile seemed entirely unnecessary. But then, it did make sense, considering who the profile at the department was: Lua Klein, fiancé to none other than Detective Ladd Russo.
Shaft had no idea what to make of Lua Klein. On one hand, his interactions with her were always calm and pleasant. And he'd plenty of them, since whenever Graham decided to get together with Ladd, Shaft ended up ignored and stuck making conversation with Lua. She was a quiet woman, serene nearly to the point of emptiness. Distant almost to the point of vapidity. Oddly wise, at the most unexpected times. Always keeping an eye on Ladd, always moving in time with him, so oddly and intricately connected. A strange woman, one he did not quite understand. If Shaft hadn't seen her work, he'd never have pegged her for such a brilliant psychologist.
Regardless, however, of his personal opinions on Lua Klein, the swiftness of the report bothered him. The report should not have been drawn up so soon; the autopsy report hadn't even been finalized. Not enough evidence existed to make an accurate assessment. This caused Shaft to believe that Ladd had spoken to the profiler about the case, and it was his influence that led to the report's existence and its quickness. Though not technically wrong, Shaft disapproved of Ladd's actions. Especially since Ladd had barely touched the case, and therefore held considerably less knowledge than the consultants.
Nevertheless, Shaft possessed no power to make that judgment, much less to do anything about his discomfort. Since the report was in his hands, he might as well read it. Speedily, he scanned through the profile, hoping to extract new information. Lua's profiles were always golden, however unusual the circumstances.
The report exceeded his expectations. The woman drew conclusions even Shaft hadn't come to yet, intelligence network and all. The profile revealed several key aspect of the killer: definitely a male, probably middle-aged, experienced in terms of murder, few if none in terms of family, possible sociopath, and most importantly - a professional killer.
These basic facts, which Shaft jotted down in his notepad despite having the report on him, did not do justice to the eloquence of Lua's work. Even going off of just one kill, she utilized the environment, the time of day, the juxtaposition of the crime scene, the position of the body - all those small, minor details, she constructed into a logical and realistic psychological profile. She wrote simply, in terms of fact, without an iota of judgment or criticism for the subject. It was almost as if she was inside the person's head, lovingly studying their inner workings. In that regard, her writing always chilled Shaft to the bone.
Satisfied, he moved on to the second message. A report from one of the officers working with Ladd Russo, who'd run the crime through some local databases. The man came up with a name that best matched the description of the crime and included it in the report. Frowning, Shaft tried to place where he'd heard the name before, but drew a blank. Perhaps Graham would remember better.
Though he'd finished his work and could return inside to Graham, Shaft decided to take another minute away. He hadn't gotten more than a few seconds to himself since they began the investigation, and it was beginning to take its toll on him. Even now, Graham's incessant chattering lingered in his mind, an echo of the inescapable sound that filled his days. Would he ever be able to feel at peace again? Or was Graham's presence like a stain, one that he could never scrub clean? An interesting dilemma for him to consider.
Interrupting his thoughts, Shaft caught sight of a familiar-looking figure out of the corner of his eye. Or, he believed he did, since when he glanced over at the spot, no one was there. Shaft stared at the spot for a few more seconds, hoping the person would reappear. Who had it been? He wasn't sure, only that it sparked recognition. An intuitive unease, that sense of being followed, crept up on him. Shaft placed a hand against his head and sighed, dismissing the irrational fear. Maybe he was seeing things. Maybe Graham had finally driven him completely insane.
As if summoned by the mere contemplation of his name, the swung open as Graham exited the autopsy room and walked over to his partner. He'd grown tired of waiting, especially since Ennis refused to engage him and his long-winded rants. Plus, the medical examiner had more or less told him to leave at once, or else she'd call security. Apparently, dismantling her medical equipment was against the rules of the hospital.
He reached out a hand to his partner and lamented, "Shaft! What a woeful story - I've been kicked out of the autopsy area, prohibited from coming back inside. How terrible of me, what a crime I've committed, to inconvenience the woman who has shown me so kindly the means by which to dismantle the human body. I must apologize to her, no, the receptionist too, no, no, the whole hospital. No, no, wait, no - the whole medical profession!"
Reluctantly, Shaft grabbed the woe-stricken man's hand with his own. Graham's fingers latched onto his like an iron vise, as unyielding as the wrench he carried. He glanced around the hospital and said, "I don't think that's necessary, Boss."
"Oh, and what would you suggest instead, Shaft? Oh, I know! How about you deliver whatever news was so important you had to leave me there alone? Tell me, is it enough to turn this tragedy into a happy story after all? Tell me, Shaft!" He cried.
"Well, since a happy story for me would be finishing this case, and I've figured out who our murderer is...ow!"
Graham's fingers clamped down tighter still, sending a spasm of pain through Shaft's hand. "Why didn't you start off with that? To delay is to waste time, which is to waste energy, which is to waste the essence of life. And every second we delay is a part of Boss Ladd's life we've wasted, keeping him waiting for the answer. Who killed him, Shaft? Who? Don't tell me unless you're certain."
Shaft winced, wanting to escape, but only able to press his back tighter against the wall. When Graham's response was to lean in closer and clutch onto his hand tight enough that he could feel his bones close to snapping, Shaft let out a yelp of pain and spat out the answer.
"Raz Smith! It was Raz Smith, the professional killer. I'm certain, Boss. Just please, oh God, please stop that before you break my hand."
"Huh? Your hand?" Graham said, tilting his head. Then, at the flash of understanding, he let go of Shaft's fingers. He hadn't even realized he'd been squeezing that tightly; he'd just been so caught up in finding out the answer that his intense anticipation had dictated his body movements.
"Thanks, Boss." Shaft muttered, gingerly rubbing his opposite hand over his sore and swelling knuckles. "Do you recognize the name?"
"What? Oh, oh, yes. The name. Of course I recognize the name - don't you? We've worked with him before, back on some of Boss Ladd's more exciting cases. When he needed someone taken care of, if you know what I mean. Which you better, because I'm not explaining it."
Shaft nodded, the identity of the person coming back to him. They hadn't worked together in a long while now. "Of course. I must've repressed those memories. Wonder why." He said, remembering how he'd pleaded with Graham not to get mixed up with the professional killer. Last thing they needed was murder on their records, haunting their pasts. His urging hadn't worked, but fortunately, their work with the man hadn't caught up with them. Until now, apparently.
"So now this puts us in a terrible, compromising position. Do we stick to loyalty and let Boss Smith go free? Or do we obey our duty to the law and place him under arrest? Truly, this is the dilemma of life itself. Which is stronger - our ties to our comrades, or our ties to our society?"
With a shrug, Shaft cut off the line of philosophy. "Doesn't matter. He's dead, Boss. Murdered just after making this kill, it would appear."
"What? But, no - how can that be? Just yesterday, it was like he was by our side. And now he's dead? His life extinguished forever? How very, very sad this makes me. How many tears must I shed for companions lost? How many, Shaft?"
"Not as many as I shed over not having lost my companion."
"Cruelty. Cruelty added to my grief. And yet, your familiar mockery brings me out of the grip of mourning, back to the light of day. So perhaps I ought to thank you. Yes, you truly are a savior, Shaft."
Ignoring the mood-whiplash, Shaft studied his partner's hazy eyes. Was there true grief, hidden there amongst the dramatic sorrow? After a second, he caught a glimpse of it, that recognizable hint of loss that imbedded itself so deeply into the black pits of the pupils that its identity was unmistakable. He felt relief at this - the reminder that Graham still held onto some trace of humanity, despite his overt lunacy. For the first time in a while, Shaft wrapped his arm around the shorter man's shoulders.
"I'm sorry, Boss."
"Don't be. Death is the unavoidable flip-side to life, the contrast that makes living a valuable experience. Without one, the other would not exist. In that regard, it make me happy that Raz Smith died, because it means that at one point, he really did live. But, wait, wait, I let me commend you on solving the case, Shaft. And without my assistance at that. I must know - how did you do it?"
"The M.O matches up. Every assassin has his mark, like an advertisement. So it's easy to determine when it's a specific assassin's work. And an officer back at the precinct found a deposit made into Smith's account at around the correct time. Though he never got the chance to use the money, of course. Let's put this case to rest and go home, Boss."
Graham shot his partner a confused look. He'd already been baffled by Shaft's gesture of affection, which was a rare occurrence for the composed and somewhat distant man. Especially while they were in public. He appreciated the touch, but didn't understand the motives. His grief at Raz Smith's death fled as quickly as it'd overtaken him, as fleeting as any other emotion. And now Shaft was talking about being done with the case? Clearly, a miscommunication had occurred.
"No, no, wrong, Shaft. Utterly wrong. We aren't done with the case. It's only just begun, you see? Like this was the prologue to a greater story, and now we've finally gotten to the thick of the plot. Isn't the next move obvious? We have to find out who murdered Boss Smith."
Shaft was already regretting his attempt at comfort. "There's already a detective assigned to that case, Boss. We can't just take it over."
"And has he come up with the killer yet? Yes? No? No, I didn't think so. We'll just have to figure it out for ourselves. We're the narrators of this story, after all."
A hundred protests entered Shaft's mind, each logical and soundly backed enough that he could argue them with marginal success. Not only were they crossing the line into illegal activity at this point, but now they were playing games with another detective's case. One who hadn't asked for their help, and probably did not want it. Not to mention, they had no place to be investigating Raz Smith's murder, given their history with him. This wasn't the case they'd been assigned. To investigate would be absurd. It'd be needless. It'd be painful. It'd be absolute foolishness. And, Shaft knew, it'd be exactly what they were going to do next.
Because Graham looked up at him with those bright eyes that brimmed with the vigorous excitement that Shaft coveted but never achieved, and the ensuing combination of admiration and envy never failed to swallow him whole. He opened his mouth, intent on refusing, but he could not force the words from his lips. Stuck, he could neither agree nor disagree with the awful plan, and he knew he'd regret his inaction later.
For now, Graham took the silence as acceptance. He slipped away from Shaft's hold, grabbing the man by his uninjured hand instead and pulling him towards the hospital entrance. They had no time to waste, not now that they were competing against another investigator.
This case had finally gotten exciting, and Graham was more determined to get to the bottom of it now than ever - for Ladd's sake, and Raz Smith's. Whatever the danger their intrusion may bring.
A/N: I'm sorry this chapter is so long. Well, anyway, I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading!