Disclaimer: I do not own them, just borrowing them or previous events for a while to have some fun..
Thank you to Lily Moonlight for the review of this chapter as usual.
Sorry for the delay in posting this, I'm still fighting the muse to write the next part, the good news is that the ideas are there and the next chapter is part written, I just need to make sure everything is tied together! The bad news is that I'm going away this week with no computer!
Chapter 21 – Fowl Play
It was getting late and Flack was sitting at his desk going over the files on the evidence warehouse once again. He'd started this task several hours ago hoping to stumble across something that would help their case, but all he had got so far was a headache. The squad room was hot and stuffy and most of the guys on duty were out, so at least it was quiet. Several fans wafted the stifling air around him, serving only to make it almost impossible to breathe. He tossed his pen onto the pile of files and sat back in his chair, linked his fingers and stuck them behind his head as he stretched his aching muscles.
Shifting in his seat, he dropped his arms and glanced at his watch, technically his shift was over, but for the last few weeks he had been burning the candle at both ends. He was anxious to make some progress on the case, while at the back of his mind he was puzzled by the sudden cessation to the attacks on the FBI agent who was invading his thoughts more frequently. He hadn't seen her since she started working the night shift at the warehouse.
Flack scrubbed his hands over his face as he tried to get his head back into the files he was reviewing, but the sound of the door creaking drew his attention and he looked up. A tall dark-skinned officer entered and approached Flack at the only occupied desk. He carefully flipped over a couple of files so that the information could be kept under wraps as he observed the burly stature of the officer, his long hair in dreadlocks, held back by a pony tail.
"Lookin' for Sean O'Reilly, was told he works outta here and he's on tonight." The guy hadn't waited for any acknowledgement or introductions before opening his mouth, making demands.
"He's out right now, what d'you need?" Flack offered no introduction either, recognizing the officer and trying to play it cool despite his heart skipping beats. The officer and O'Reilly? He instantly thought of Karla.
"Sergeant over at the evidence warehouse sent me to take his sister home, but she's insisted on being dropped here, she's busy puking in the john."
"Oh," Flack answered non-committally, "what happened?"
"Dunno, she seemed okay a few hours ago when we started, then she just keeled over and spewed her guts, tell ya, I can handle a lotta things, puke ain't one of them so I'm glad she held it in on the ride over. You know where her brother's at? Can you call him or somethin'?" The officer ranted. Flack almost turned green as his stomach churned.
"Yeah, who shall I tell him brought her in?"
"Sorry, Dwight Farland, she's recently been assigned to our shift, says she's been bunking with her brother since she hit town."
"Yeah, I'd heard something, don't worry we'll get a message to him, he's on scene right now."
"I gotta get back, tell her I hope she feels better soon," he gabbled and hurriedly took his leave.
Flack reached for his phone and dialled a number as he cleared his desk and locked the files away. The voicemail picked up the call as he headed into the corridor.
"O'Reilly, it's Flack, when you get this call me, … your sister just got dropped off at the precinct, she's sick, I'm guessing you're still tied up with the case, I'll do you a favour and take her home." The message was simple, the pretence of the relationship kept up just in case anyone ever eavesdropped the call. He slipped his phone into his pocket and headed towards the women's' bathroom.
...
Vincent pulled his cell phone from his belt and reviewed the caller ID. He was looking forward to a quiet night, but there was only so long he would be able to ignore the person currently wanting his attention, even if only at the end of a phone call. Finally after staring at the screen for a moment he answered, a scowl embedded across his face.
"I told you not to call while I was working, make it quick, Sarge is about to appear with new orders." He snapped at the caller. He listened intently for a few moments before running his hand through his hair and responding. "It's not going to be easy, we're a man down and we're already being watched by Internal Affairs. You're going to have to make it worth my while." He was silent for a few seconds, "I get that, so what do you need now?"
Conversation was stilted for a minute or two longer, before Vincent saw their sergeant and Horton conversing in the delivery bay, obviously the Sarge was doling out new orders since their new rookie had been taken home sick. Unfortunately Farland was given that duty, pissing him off a little, she needed someone to take care of her and if he'd have taken her he could have found out where she lived. He still hoped she'd be worn down by his requests for a date, working the night shift didn't really allow for such things and he liked her, it would suit them both. He'd zoned out of the telephone conversation and yelling in his ear brought him back to why he was standing in the parking lot pretending to be on a cigarette break.
"I told you it won't be easy, but I'll see what I can do, just wait for me to call you, it could take a couple of days. ... yeah you always want it yesterday, but this time I'm going to have to handle this a little more carefully. ... Be patient." With a round of goodbyes he cancelled the call and wandered away to join the others, wondering just how he was going to extract himself from the latest request.
...
Karla leaned over the sink as the water ran from the tap. Swallowing a mouthful of foul tasting bile she reached her shaking hands under the flow and slowly raised them to her face, letting the water refresh her before falling back into the sink.
She wasn't sure if she heard anything at first, but turning off the tap she definitely heard a voice.
"Hey Karla, you in here?" She realised he must be standing at the door. For a split second she wondered how he had earned the job of checking on her, but it was soon over taken as she was torn between letting the sickness consume her so he would take care of her or suppressing everything so that she could keep the distance they had been forced to maintain for the sake of the case. She needed time to work out what was going to be best.
Another sense of bile rising in her throat had her swallowing hard, not wanting to wrench her stomach muscles any further by throwing up again.
"Don?" She began hesitantly, "You're safe, there's no one else here." She informed him, letting him make the decision on whether he entered the bathroom or not. Leaning on the sink she wasn't sure if she could stay upright without support after the way the sickness had so violently consumed her in the last hour.
"Farland came looking for O'Reilly, but he's out, you've got me," he replied, she allowed herself a brief grin at the offer he seemed to make, but it was short-lived, to be replaced by the thought that he was a little wary of the situation.
"My hero," she responded with a touch of sarcasm. "If you're staying out, make yourself useful and find me some 7-Up," she instructed.
"Are you alright? You need me to find Hawkes or anything?" She was beginning to sense his nervousness as her stomach slowly settled, partly, she felt, because she wasn't going to have to struggle alone, he would look out for her and make sure she was alright. She always hated being sick when there was no one around to take care of her, show her a little sympathy and TLC.
"I'll be okay, … just the 7-Up," she answered weakly as her stomach churned again.
Taking her uniform jacket and tie from the shelf where she'd pushed them when she rushed in, she tried to keep her breathing even as she made her way to the door.
As she emerged into the hallway Flack was returning from the vending machine with the requested soda. She leant against the wall and waited, watching him snap the can open as he stopped next to her and held it out.
"Thanks," she whispered, taking the can with a shaky hand and raising it to her lips and sipping a little of the cold liquid.
"I talked to O' Reilly, I'm going to take you home, he'll see you in the morning ... you feel okay to move?" He asked, his eyes never wavering from her. She took another sip of the drink and nodded.
"I'm feeling a little better, hopefully it'll pass soon."
"You get sick often?" it was a strange question, but she could understand, it might have a bearing on how quickly she would recover.
"Can't remember the last time, I can handle being ill, just not sick," she muttered as she pushed herself gingerly away from the wall, pausing for a moment while her stomach settled again.
"Yeah, I get that," he smiled wryly, "you sure you're okay to go home?"
She nodded briefly, her eyes focused on the door as she turned to leave the building, Flack at her side. She didn't need to look to know he was somewhat uncertain, she guessed he was afraid that she might throw up in his cruiser. She couldn't blame him for that, she knew she looked frightful and since she'd emptied the contents of her stomach she was probably a little dehydrated too, which meant that she should think about getting something inside her to stave off any light-headedness.
She must have veered off their destined path as she felt his hand on her back, "Car's this way," he nodded down the street as they emerged into the muggy night air, sending another wave of nausea over her.
...
Hawkes entered the morgue and cast his eyes around; the temperature was several degrees colder than was normal which was probably explained by the gurneys lined up in every conceivable space, the gaps between them just enough to squeeze through. No wonder it had taken Sid most of the afternoon and evening to get to his victim. But they were there now and Sid stood in the middle of the chilly morgue looking exhausted, his glasses hanging limply from his neck; his hands supporting him as he leaned on the edge of the table bearing the victim from the alley earlier.
"Busy night?" Hawkes asked by way of greeting, nodding his head towards the sheet covered trolleys.
"Yeah," Sid sighed tiredly, "Gang fight in the Bronx left 3 dead, drug deal gone bad in the east village sent me another 2 and two multiple pile ups on the freeways left another 7 not to mention the mummy found in a basement of a refurbishment. The weather's making everyone a little cranky. Sorry it's taken so long to get to your man here." He acknowledged tipping his head at the body resting between them, the sheet only covering the lower half of his body.
"So what can you tell me?" asked Hawkes.
"One would think with all those stab wounds COD would be sharp force trauma, but it's not."
Hawkes frowned, his eyes meeting the ME's, "it's not?"
"Everyone of those wounds missed a vital organ, of course had he lived long enough he would have bled out, but he died before that could happen."
"How many did he have? I thought I counted about 5 at the scene." Hawkes clarified for his report.
"Actually there were 7, it would have been a slow painful death and certainly left him incapacitated for what came after. I also suspect that he was tasered first, size and position of the marks" he paused to point to the victim's lower right rib cage and the two tiny pink marks there, "would have given your perp enough time to inflict the wounds before starting on the main event." Hawkes eyed Sid suspiciously before looking again at the body on the table between them.
"So if that wasn't enough, what came after?"
Sid looked up at a monitor at the head of the table, and squinted at the image of the man's torso. "You'll never guess."
"Am I going to have to play 20 questions here or are you going to cut to the chase?"
"Why shouldn't I make you feel my pain?" Sid smirked, readjusting his glasses and peering once again at the images on screen.
"Okay, I'll bite, this our vic?" Hawkes asked stepping over to the screen and casting his professional eye over it. "As you said all his organs are intact. Looks like there could be fluid in his lungs," Hawkes surmised as he carefully observed the image and using his little finger to indicate the area he was looking at.
"That's what I thought, in fact the lungs were pretty clear except for a small amount of pulmonary oedema, but I did find something else." He handed his colleague a petri dish with a few fibres inside. "I pulled those from his nasal cavity and between his teeth," Hawkes held the dish up to the light and studied the object for a moment.
"I'll get them up to trace, see what we find. …. So what have you determined as COD?"
"Fowl play," Sid deadpanned, removing his glasses and letting them rest against his chest.
"I think that's pretty obvious with all those holes in him."
"Wrong fowl, I'm talking birds. There was evidence of duck feathers in the folds of his clothes, probably from a pillow or something as they were pretty clean, I sent them up with his clothes a while ago."
Hawkes eyed the contents of the petri dish he was holding, "these could be fibres from a pillow case. Are you suggesting that he was suffocated?"
Sid shook his head, "Whoever your perp is he meant business, these wounds were meant to disable, the pillow was only a means to an end. I found traces of salt water in his stomach, I think your boy was drowned, but that doesn't explain how he's got virtually no fluid in his lungs. I sent his stomach contents upstairs to make sure."
"Dry drowning? I've seen a few cases, any signs of laryngospasm?"
"As a matter of fact there was, now you mention it, if the airway constricted then it would explain the lack of fluid. You know what I think, it's going to be nigh on impossible to prove, but I think your vic was tortured."
Hawkes looked puzzled. "Tortured?"
"I've read about cases where a cloth is place across the nose and mouth of a victim and water poured over them, in this case your man would have been totally helpless to defend himself. This was a well orchestrated attack by a very sick individual," Sid announced sombrely.
"Then we'd better do something to catch him fast," Hawkes agreed, turning to leave. "Thanks Sid."
…..
While he waited for her to clean up and change Flack wandered into her kitchen and started to make himself some coffee, but then stopped, figuring that Karla would probably feel sick again with the smell. He decided to keep things simple and poured two glasses of 7-up from the bottle in her fridge. Feeling his stomach rumble he realised he had been so engrossed in the files that he had missed dinner. Not wanting to leave her alone, he hoped she wouldn't mind if he helped himself to something.
He had just set two plates and the glasses on the coffee table when he heard the squeak of her bedroom door. Looking up he noticed the baggy Rangers sweatshirt and leggings, allowing his eyes to linger on her face he was relieved to see her looking less worn and pale. The moment she had emerged from the restroom at the precinct had his stomach churning at the thought she was suffering. She had almost been the same pale colour as the hallway walls, dark circles under her red eyes a stark contrast to her washed out face. Now she looked better, still pale, but less corpse like.
"How are you feeling?" He asked stepping towards her.
"Better. I see you followed my instructions," she commented eyeing the table briefly.
"Yeah, hope you don't mind I haven't eaten since lunch," he answered a little bashfully.
"There's stuff in the freezer too if you want something more than cheese on toast."
"I'll be fine, you should try and eat a little too, just some lightly buttered toast, at least then if you're going to puke you'll have something in your stomach." The caring tone all but disappearing as he mentioned puke.
"Thanks!" she groaned taking a seat on the couch and reaching for the glass of soda. "I feel like my stomach has been ripped inside out and you want me to eat."
"I'm just sayin'. My Ma swore by it when we were kids, soon as our stomachs started to settle out would come the toast. You don't want to eat it that's fine." He wasn't sure if he'd offended her in some way with the suggestion, so his tone was a little more clipped than it could have been.
"Don, I'm sorry I didn't mean it like that ... it's probably a good idea, but I'm always wary about eating for a few hours after."
They lapsed into silence for a bit as he ate his snack and she appeared to doze. He was thankful, she could probably use the rest, but curled into a ball probably wasn't the best option. He was starting to wonder if he should move her when she opened her eyes and looked at him.
"You don't have to stay you know,"
"I know, but I wouldn't feel right desertin' ya when you're not feelin' so good." He answered seriously, feeling the frown on his forehead.
"I'm probably going to sleep the rest of this off soon, by morning I'll be fine."
"You sound pretty confident," he smirked, wondering when she became clairvoyant.
"It's how it goes, I've got an intolerance to soy products and all they had to make coffee earlier was MacCroaker's soya milk, I didn't know until I'd downed half a cup."
"Did they know it would make you sick?" His mind whirled that this could have been a deliberate attack, trying to get her out of the picture at the warehouse and if it was then perhaps Warner's death wasn't so clear cut.
She leaned forward, a flash of discomfort crossed her face as she rested her hand on his arm. "I know what you're thinking, I can almost hear it, they didn't know so they couldn't have targeted me. ... As far as they're concerned I'm the dogsbody who answers the phones and does most of the paperwork and filing."
He felt himself relax a little and she sat up again another flash of discomfort at her sore stomach crossing her face.
"Can I get you anything for your stomach, there must be a drug store around here that's open if you need some medication." He didn't want her to suffer unnecessarily.
"I'm fine, just sore, most of the nausea's gone ... tell me how are you getting on with the little information I've been feeding Sean?"
Flack shook his head, "not good, we've got IA on our side and they're digging a little deeper into the guys, but on the surface they all appear above board. You pick up anything at all?"
"Horton and Farland think they run the place, Vincent is hiding something, he gets a lot of calls on the job, usually takes them outside where he can't be overheard, MacCroaker is months away from retirement and doesn't have the balls to stand up to the others. I'm sure he's clean, but the rest, I can't rule them out and with no activity so far I've found nothing."
"You sure you can handle going back in there? If not I'll have you pulled out right now."
"Don, it's the job, we agreed it's our best shot to get the guys, their two week self-imposed silence is up something's going to happen soon. We'll get them this time."
"I hope so, but you do something for me, you take care of yourself, anytime you think it's all going south you get out of there." He offered seriously, fixing his eyes on her.
...
Mac unlocked her apartment and Stella followed him inside as he switched on the light and cast a glance around her apartment. Turning to face her again he took her hand and gently placed her keys in the palm before taking a step back allowing himself to see her standing before him. Out of the dim restaurant light he was able to get a better look at her; the dress had been a perfect choice, fitting her like a glove. He watched, mesmerised as the skirt swirled around her knees as she walked across the room and lay down her purse and keys on the table. Memories of the way she moved in his arms as they danced. It had been a perfect evening.
"Mac!" Her hand waved in front of his face drawing him from his thoughts. "Coffee or a nightcap?" she asked when he returned his focus to her face.
He shook his head, "No, it's late and we're both on early, I think I should go." He offered weakly, not wanting to leave.
"Always the chivalrous one, what's this now you've walked me to my apartment you're going to desert me?" she teased.
Mac allowed a grin to form across his face. "Isn't that what courting is all about? I ensure you're safe return." He paused for a moment then taking her hand and raising it to his lips he deposited a light kiss. "I've had a wonderful time Stella; please tell me you'd like to do this again."
Her brilliant smile was enough to give him the answer he wanted, but when she stepped forward, closing the gap between them he raised his eyebrows. "I had a wonderful time too Mac and I would love to do it again."
Their lips met in a gentle exploratory kiss, lasting a few seconds before he pulled back. Her smile sending a shiver up his spine as he also noted the darkening of her eyes.
"Next time is my choice of date."
He agreed wholeheartedly, after all it was only fair that she got to surprise him once in a while. "Tell me where and when, I'll be ready," he confirmed seeking her lips briefly once more before whispering goodnight and turning to the door to let himself out.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I will send replies later today, have to go deal with some RL stuff for the vacation now. I still love to hear from you and would welcome your thoughts on what you think is going on.