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NOT A CARE IN THE WORLD

John Wayne was arraigned the next day for shooting Eames, but the murder charges were still being worked out. Carver didn't have enough evidence to charge Jonathan Waynesfield with the murders of Copland and the stockbrokers, so the detectives continued to look into his past and present for something new to appear.

Goren had watched Nichols and Stevens interrogate John Wayne the previous day and took notes as he sat alone. The captain only periodically stopped in, and Carver left after a few hours. It was in those hours alone that Goren prepared for his shot at John Wayne. As Goren stared through the window, he despised John Wayne and envied Nichols and Stevens.

When John Wayne reappeared after arraignment, Goren collected his notebook and proceeded to the interrogation room.

Goren was simultaneously in his element and an outsider—in a place he was in most control and most at ease, he was uncertain.

"Jonathan," Goren opened his notebook slowly. "You didn't know that Erin had betrayed you."

"What?" John Wayne asked.

"You went to school with Erin Copland, didn't you?"

John Wayne was silent.

"It's okay, John, I have your records. You attended Kingsborough Community College together, and had several classes together."

"There are a lot of people at that school. I don't remember who I sat next to in world history."

Goren shuffled through some papers. "You had classes with her and a broker named Romano. Romano, as you know, is dead. Copland is dead. They were murdered on the same night, and they both knew you."

Wayne's lawyer chimed in: "Mr. Waynesfield has already discussed this with the other detectives. He went to school with Copland and Romano, but he had no ties with them other than the coincidence of having classes together."

Truth was that they had gone over this many times with no avail.

"Your gun," Goren continued, "the gun you used to kill the brokers, was the same one you used to shoot my partner."

"Like I said to the other detectives, I gave that gun to my girlfriend. She was supposed to keep it in a safe spot—for protection. She gave it back to me the night before I saw you and your partner. I don't know where it was before that. Maybe she killed them."

"We know that the three stockbrokers were blackmailing you. We have the emails and the phone records."

Truth was they had none of those things. They were still being collected and sorted through.

"You don't have those things."

"Well," Goren said, "yesterday we didn't. But today, after looking through one broker's apartment, we found it on his computer. He taped conversations, saved emails—he did it all as insurance. In one of his emails to Romano, he writes about how scared he is of you. He thinks you'll kill them or have them killed. He talks about the kind of power you have in this city. He wants to back out."

John Wayne sat completely still.

"Tell us how you managed to kill them and leave the Stock Exchange undetected, John?"

The lawyer took a deep breath. "Produce the emails and we'll talk. Until then, not another word."

Goren stepped into the observation room where the captain, Caver, Nichols and Stevens waited.

"It's a step forward," the captain said. "Let's just hope we get some real incriminating evidence."

Nichols chimed in. "Tech teams are still going through their computers."

"Okay, we'll wait."

They all left the room and Goren, for the first time, felt like they were on the final stretch of the case. He didn't need emails or phone records now, he just needed space to work. Goren had finally made a tiny crack in John Wayne's exterior.

He went back to his desk with the intention finding an edge—the kind that put John Wayne in his hands—but instead his mind wandered to personal troubles. He looked at his watch: it approached 9 p.m..

There were still piles of papers on Eames' desk. He shuffled through his own papers and couldn't shake the aimless feeling that overcame him.

He looked over to Stevens and Nichols at their desks. They didn't look aimless at all. Stevens noticed Goren.

"Goren," she said as she approached him, "can I have a word with you?"

She walked into an interview room. He followed.

"I talked to Eames yesterday. I told her we had John Wayne."

Goren nodded.

"She asked me how you're doing."

"I'm fine."

"I don't know you, Goren, but I don't think you're fine."

"I'm just tired."

"If Zack were injured or shot or harmed in anyway, I wouldn't be fine."

"Your point?"

"I'd feel lost without Zack. I'm a better cop because I know he's there for me and that I am there for him. Goren, her injury is not your fault."

He rubbed his eyes. "I just want to close this case, okay."

She held up her hand. "Why don't you work in this room? You can shut the door and concentrate."

He nodded; he was surprised she understood his aimlessness. "I was best when I worked with her," he admitted.

"I know."

"How did she sound—on the phone?"

"She sounded a little upset."

He shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Goren, I don't get upset over people I don't care about. I get upset over people I love."

Goren took a deep breath.

Stevens nodded. "You'll work better in here."

She was right. He was able to concentrate in his enclosed space. He made a timeline of events, gathered pictures, and made notes about John Wayne. As he shuffled through a box of photos Erin Copland's parents provided, he came across one of her and John Wayne. It was a Polaroid of them standing next to each other in front of what could have been an entrance to Kingsborough College. Copland stood straight and looked into the camera and Wayne leaned into her so that their faces nearly touched.

He ran his fingers along the edge of the photo.

That was all he needed.

By the time he worked into a comfortable place, a confident mindset, the atmosphere in the room seemed to change.

He looked up. Eames was in the squad room in her work attire and a sling. People began to crowd around her and smile. He couldn't hear distinct words, but he could see their faces. They all seemed genuinely happy to see her. Most did not know her, but it didn't matter. It took a while for the crowd to die down, but eventually it did and she sat down at her desk.

Goren smiled. It was such a familiar sight. He imagined that the image of her sitting at her desk in the Major Case Squad room would be imbedded in his memory forever. That image was with him in dark times and he knew it would comfort him in the future.

Finally, he came out of his den, crossed the room and sat down across from her. "Hey."

She looked up, "hey."

"You feeling okay?"

"Yes. I hear John Wayne is in custody."

"Yep. Are you sure you want to be here?"

"I have a case to wrap up."

"But you don't want to be here."

"No, I don't, but tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I want all of my paperwork done so I can spend the weekend with my family and be done with this case."

He looked at his watch. "I understand. But it's kind of late."

She nodded, "I haven't been sleeping well, and sometimes it's harder to leave Grace during the day than at night. This way she'll never know I was gone—" Eames smiled, "except I did tell her I was working tonight."

"She's with your sister?"

"Yeah."

Goren looked around as if everyone where watching them.

Eames asked, "How's the case going?"

He shrugged. "He admits to shooting you, but not to the other stuff."

"I'm sure you won't have any trouble with that," she said sincerely.

He appreciated the confidence. "We'll see."

"You're desk is overly clean," she noticed.

He pointed to his fishbowl office. "I'm working in that room."

"Oh. Okay."

"If you have a chance to join me, I could use someone to help bounce around ideas."

"Maybe," she said.

He nodded and went back to the other room and his work.

About an hour later she opened the glass door and sat in the chair next to him.

"Well," she said, "fill me in."

He smiled.

It was the unobstructed activity of creating ideas and structure that brought each of them solace and stimulation—just talking through the case. They didn't leave out any details, and where facts were slim, they constructed a plausible scenario. They asked questions, gave answers, and found—and sometimes created—pieces to the puzzle.

"Do you think the captain will let me into the interrogation room with you and John Wayne?" She asked.

"I don't know. Probably not." He lowered his head. "I don't think you should be there with him."

"Why?"

"You know why. He shot you." He said softly.

She looked away.

"I know you can handle yourself professionally in a situation like this—better than I can—but it's probably best if you don't."

"I know," she said. And she did know. Now as a lieutenant, she wouldn't let one of her detectives interrogate their own assailant.

"I want to try him again tomorrow morning." Goren said.

"Are you going home?" She asked, "Or are you going to stick around until morning?"

"I think I'll stay. Getting paperwork done sound like a good idea." He took a deep breath. "I've spent more Thanksgivings in this building than I'd like to admit—there's never anyone around. Maybe we can clean this up by noon tomorrow? Then maybe I don't have to spend all of Thanksgiving here."

"That's wishful thinking."

"Never the less," he said, "I think I'll stay through the night and start with what I can of the report."

She pointed to her desk, "I still have to finish my report, too. I'll end up staying late, I'm sure."

"You are rather slow with your reports."

She couldn't tell if he was joking or insulting. "It's called being thorough."

"It's called procrastination."

"Look," she said forcefully, "make sure you pull John Wayne into one of your traps."

He smiled half-heartedly.

"I hear Caver is around."

"Yep, just for us."

"I can't wait to see him," she said.

Through the glass walls and door that divided them from the rest of the Major Case squad room, Eames could see it begin to clear out. It was late. Everyone was preparing for the next day with their families.

"You know, Eames, you were right to think that our case and the stockbroker case were tied together."

"Did I say that?" She asked.

"When we went to the Copland crime scene a few days ago, you pointed out that we were not far from the Stock Exchange and that it was a possibility. I dismissed it."

"Oh, that's right."

"Sorry."

She shook her head.

He looked at his watch. It was just past midnight. "Happy Thanksgiving," he said.

She looked at the wall clock. "Happy Thanksgiving."

They were carefully avoiding the trap of more sensitive topics. On one hand they were grateful to not deal with it; on the other hand they were ready for resolve.

"Coffee?"

"Sure."

He left the room in search of coffee. It was the one thing, without doubt, that he could give her with perfection. He never messed up her coffee, he never got it wrong.

"Alex," Nichols said as he stepped into the room, "Where's Goren?"

"He just stepped out. He should be back soon."

"Okay. Give him this." He gave Eames a paper. "It's a text message from Romano's phone to Copland's phone the night of the murders. He asks her where they're going to meet. She tells him they'll meet where they planned. He asks her to remind him where that is. It was sent at least an hour after his death."

Eames nodded. "The killer sent it."

Nichols smiled. "Yep. Copland was expecting Romano but got John Wayne instead."

"Then he killed her."

"Goren will be happy to see that." Nichols turned to walk away, but stopped. "Alex."

She looked up.

"The other night I had a drink or two with Goren—" He smiled, "I can't remember everything, but I know I told him about our—you know, relationship. I didn't think it was a big deal at the time, but now I'm thinking maybe it was something I should've kept to myself."

Eames thought about it for a moment. "Zack, it's fine that he knows."

"I'd assumed he already knew—but I guess not."

"I never told him."

Nichols smiled, "why not? Are you ashamed of me?"

Eames laughed, "Yes, I am, actually."

"That's it, Eames," Nichols pointed a finger at her jokingly, "If you're so ashamed of me, then we are done."

Eames smirked, "fine. You really were not that good."

"Ahh. You think I'm joking, Eames, but that's it—" he pointed to his flexed arm, "you can't have any more of this."

"Get out of here. I need to work." She couldn't hide her grin or pleasure with him.

He smiled back at her.

She was grateful for his willingness to make her laugh. She could always count on him to make her forget—if only for a moment—all of her troubles.

She thought about Goren's demeanor that night. It was all clearer now. "Zack, did you tell Goren that we were engaged?"

He shook his head, "No, I don't think I did."

"I was just wondering."

"Do you want me to tell him? I can."

"Zack, leave me alone," she said with a dismissive wave of the hand and a smile. He amused her.

She watched Nichols walk away with his long strides, well-fitted jeans, and not a care in the world.