Camouflage

Chapter 37

Don stayed at the hospital long enough to witness the first transfusion. Coincidentally, Charlie was awake when they came in to give it. Alan tried to explain to him that they were trying a new treatment to speed healing, but he didn't elaborate on what it was, and it was unclear whether Charlie was able to comprehend him anyway. He couldn't speak due to the breathing tube, and was too weak to move or to make any kind of acknowledgement, and a minute or two into the transfusion he dropped back off to sleep.

As soon as it was done, Don headed for LAPD headquarters. Merrick had lined up a meeting with Don and his team, minus Megan, plus the head of LAPD, Chief Sam Winston, the lab chief, Roger Watts, and the US district attorney and Robin's boss, Bob Patrick, to discuss the DNA findings on the items relative to Jackie Gruselli.

Don was finding that he was beginning to feel disconnected from the case proceedings. As intent as he had been on advancing the case on Friday, a weekend spent concentrating on Charlie and his condition had made him feel distanced from the case somehow – as if it was something that sat in the past, rather than the present. Maybe days of extreme stress were wearing him down. Whatever the reason, he walked into the room feeling unfocused, without his usual intensity.

Luckily, he didn't need to present anything – the lab chief, Roger Watts, took the floor. He was a beefy, florid man, around 50, with a penchant for speaking bluntly.

Watts put a slide up on a screen in the meeting room. "So here's what we got," he said. "We were asked to evaluate several items for DNA comparable to a sample taken from the suspect, Jack Gruselli, and to a sample taken from Jeffery Dugan, the stabbed firefighter."

Merrick frowned. "How'd you get a sample? Gruselli gave one willingly?"

"Water bottle," said Sam Winston. "We confiscated it after he drank from it. If these preliminary results are good, we'll be able to get a warrant for a swab."

They looked back at Watts, who continued. "My lab was asked to check DNA on gum from a crime scene, and DNA on hair found inside a firefighter's helmet to the suspect, Gruselli. We were also asked to check DNA from blood residue on a knife to the firefighter, Dugan, and for contact DNA on said knife to DNA from Gruselli. We were also asked to check for contact DNA on a football from the suspect, Gruselli. These are our findings."

He displayed another chart. "On the gum, positive for DNA for Gruselli. On hair samples found in the helmet, positive for DNA for both the victim, Dugan, and for Gruselli. On the blood residue on the knife, positive for DNA for the victim, Dugan, and also positive for contact DNA on the handle, from Gruselli." He looked at them. "Considering you found Gruselli with the knife, his contact DNA was not as important as the other tests we decided to do when we saw that it came up positive for them. We added some tests to look for contact DNA from anyone else who might have handled that knife. None was found, just Gruselli's, so it'll be tough for him to claim someone else used it to stab the guy. You didn't ask for that, but we did it anyway, because that's how we roll. You can thank me later."

He turned his attention back to the screen, obviously satisfied with himself. "Finally, concerning the contact DNA on the football – positive for Gruselli – it backs up the fingerprint data."

"That's a home run," said Bob Patrick. "We can easily prosecute him for the firefighter's murder based on that evidence. You can also show from the gum that he was at the scene where Frank Sczechnewski and Mike Dellarocco were shot. Did you do ballistics on the guns you found? Did one match up to the murder weapon?"

"No," said Watts. "He must have gotten rid of that weapon, along with the wallets and cell phones of both of the victims. But we did find a pre-paid Visa card in his possession. You can buy those over the counter, so Gruselli must have thought it was safe to keep. However, when we checked the serial number on it, we found it had been bought using a credit card that had belonged to Frank Sczechnewski, so you can make a solid statement that Gruselli was the one who took Sczechnewki's wallet. For such a hot shot hitman, he's not too bright."

"So we can prosecute him for those murders also," said Patrick. "I've seen it before; these guys get cocky. And let's face it, we got a break. If the highway patrol hadn't apprehended him and you hadn't made the connection to this case, he would have easily gotten away with it. No one knew who he was until then."

"This is all good," said Merrick, "but we want Murciano. We want the guy behind all of this."

Patrick shook his head. "And right now, you really have nothing. The football, and that's it. Even a crappy defense lawyer could shoot holes in that. There are several other sets of fingerprints on that ball from the players who handled it. All a defense lawyer would have to say is that one of them got the ball from Gruselli, and one of them put the football on Murciano's desk to frame him. Or Gruselli did it."

Colby spoke up. "Don's truck was bugged, and Murciano had equipment for listening to audio surveillance in his office."

"Did you recover the bug?" asked Patrick.

"That one's a no," said Watts, with a scowl. "We had a crime scene go down into that ravine to check out the SUV. It was completely destroyed by fire. No sign of a bug – if it hadn't gotten ripped off in the brush on the way down, it was burned beyond recognition."

"No bug," repeated Patrick, "and even if you had one you'd need more evidence in Murciano's office than just the equipment – you'd need an actual recording."

Don was silent, listening. His initial satisfaction at the positive DNA findings on Gruselli was fading, and frustration was taking its place.

"What we can do," said Sam Winston, looking pointedly at Patrick, "is cut a deal with Gruselli. Get him some lighter charges or sentences in exchange for testifying against Murciano."

Bob Patrick was silent for a moment, and everyone in the office knew why. He would be reluctant to cut deals on two slam dunk cases in exchange for testimony in another case that was unsure. With what he had, he could go after just Gruselli and get three more murder convictions on his record. Politically for him, that was the right decision. Finally Patrick sighed, and said, "I know, damn it, I want him, too. Okay, I can work up a deal. But you need to get Gruselli to agree to testify, and you'd better put him in holding where he'll be protected. Just by the fact that we're dealing with Gruselli, here, you have got to know that you're dealing with the mob. He's connected, and they won't be too happy to know he's in custody squealing on Murciano. They'll be thinking that he'll be talking about them, next." He looked around the table. "So who's going to lean on him? We need to make it good because if he refuses, there will be no case against Murciano."

"I vote for Eppes," said Sam Winston. "He rattled him pretty good in there the other day." They all looked at Don.

"Agreed," said Merrick without waiting for a response from Don. "Get your offer together, Bob; and Sam, get Gruselli in an interrogation room. We'll do it now."

The group rose except for Bob Patrick, who got on his laptop and his phone, touching base with his superiors, making sure he had the backing and approval to offer something to Gruselli. Don found himself wandering out into the hallway to wait, feeling suddenly unsure. His head wasn't in the game today – he had to get himself fired up to do this right. With the threat from the mob, Gruselli had a lot to lose by testifying – enough that even the risk of murder convictions could keep him silent. If Don screwed up or came across as uncertain and Gruselli didn't take the offer, any case they had against Murciano would be finished.

Merrick came up and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah," said Don. "Fine."

Charlie awoke to hands shifting his body, rolling him fully onto his back from the half-propped position he'd been in. He'd been drifting in and out of a trance, and sometimes it was hard to distinguish what was a dream from what was reality. Voices, faces shifting… he felt detached, confused, his mind wandering. He couldn't make it work in a straight line; it floated from one thought or perception to the next with no rational direction, and then, almost as soon as he'd awakened, the need for sleep came over him again. During his brief waking moments, he was dimly aware that his father was with him, and sometimes Don, as well. Don had finally shown up, then – Charlie had been waiting for him – he had something to tell him...

He could see his father now, sitting in a chair, watching the hospital workers reposition his body. His father had tried to explain something earlier to him about his IV, Charlie thought hazily, but he couldn't remember what it was. That tube in his throat was irritating – and it felt odd that the machine breathed for him. He wanted to fight the machine, to breathe himself, to take the tube out so he could talk, but he had no strength. He was so tired...

David Sinclair and Colby Granger waited in the interrogation room and watched Jackie Gruselli through the one-way glass. Gruselli was leaning back in a chair, his body position and expression oozing insolence.

Colby sighed, and glanced at David. "What's with Don today? He was pretty quiet."

"I know," said David. "I'm worried about -," he waved a hand vaguely toward Gruselli, and finished just as vaguely – "this. I think we should offer to go in for Don – maybe do some good cop / bad cop."

He broke off as the door opened, and Don himself walked in. He barely acknowledged them – just headed for the door of the holding room, and David had to nearly step in his way to get his attention. "Don – if you want -," he stopped himself at the look in Don's eyes. They were no longer calm; he no longer looked as if his thoughts were elsewhere. There was intensity back in his eyes, in the set of his shoulders, and something else in his face that David had rarely seen – a look so dark, it was disturbing. He stepped back.

Don stopped and looked at both of them, his words clipped. "You had a question?"

"No, never mind," said David. "Good luck."

Don proceeded through the door, and Colby muttered softly, "Wow. He sure knows how to turn it on. I was scared of him just now."

They stopped talking then, because the door opened and Merrick and Sam Winston and Bob Patrick all filed into the observation room. David could only surmise how Don had managed to turn up the intensity, but it was clear that he had. What he wasn't quite sure of, given the pure hatred in Don's eyes, was whether he'd be able to control it.

In the room, Don strode straight over to Gruselli, quickly and so purposefully that Gruselli's smirk vanished and he sat his chair on all fours with a thump, cringing just a bit. He shot Don a wary look, and then a look toward the glass. "Hands off, Eppes," he snarled. A nasty bit of a smile crept to his face. "You hurt my wrist the last time you were here. I'm thinking of lodging a complaint when my lawyer gets back."

Don's reaction was stunning, and immediate. He grabbed Gruselli by the back of the neck and slammed his forehead onto the table. In the viewing room, there was an intake of breath and a "holy shit," from Bob Patrick, and then Patrick muttered. "I didn't see that." Merrick and Sam Winston were both frowning; David was sure they were both as disturbed as he was at Don's disregard for the rules.

"Is this being recorded?" murmured Merrick, and Winston shook his head.

"No," he said firmly, and then a little more quietly. "Didn't think it was a good idea."

"I didn't hear that," said Patrick.

Gruselli had let out a stunned bellow and sat back up in his chair, rubbing his forehead, and Don leaned down and put his face in Gruselli's. "Damn, what a shame. You should be more careful, Gruselli. Serves you right for slipping and hitting your head on the table, though. You shouldn't have tried to push me."

Gruselli half snarled, half whined, "You lyin' fed. I did no such thing. My lawyer's gonna hear about this, too."

Don leaned in a bit closer and the look in his eyes made Gruselli lean back, away from him. "I'd love to do a whole lot more to you, because it might be the last time I get a shot at getting some justice for my brother. The D.A. wants to deal. And if you take it, you'll be getting off easy – way easier than I want you to. So, I thought before I gave you his offer, I'd just take a little justice of my own."

He leaned back, his shoulder rotating backward as if to prepare for bringing his arm up for a strike, and Gruselli, held his hands up, stammering, "W-wait! What the hell are you talking about? What deal?"

He was clearly already off balance; Don's quick actions and the frightening look in his eyes had wiped the contempt from Gruselli's face.

Don paused, his fist balling, his face contorted with hatred, as if it was all he could do to pull himself back. Maybe it was all he could do, David reflected.

Don straightened just a bit and dropped his arm, his fist still clenched, and then said, his jaw tight, "They've got DNA on you. You spit out gum at the crime scene where Sczechnewski and Dellarocco were shot, and they got your DNA from it. They also found a credit card on you that was bought by Sczechnewski. So they've got you on those murders. Then there's the fireman, and that's even more solid. Your contact DNA is on the handle of the knife that killed him, also found in your possession, and the firefighter's DNA was found in traces of blood at the base of the blade. Your hair was also found in his helmet. You want to know his name, Gruselli? It's Dugan – he was 23, and just about to be married. His finance is a pretty little thing, sure to be sitting there crying during your trial. They'll put you away on that one, for sure."

Gruselli had grown pale, and he licked his lips, his eyes darting around the room, then coming to rest back on Don, suspiciously. "You're lying. They don't have my DNA. I'm not in the system."

Don regarded him, a small contemptuous smile coming to his lips. "Yes, they do. They got it off the water bottle you drank from the first day you came in. They have plenty for a warrant for an official swab. It will be a cinch to run that official sample against the others they have. You're cooked, Gruselli."

A bead of sweat ran down Gruselli's forehead. "So what's this deal?"

Don's expression was tinged with disgust. "The DA wants Murciano. All he's got is the football you stole from the hospital and gave to Murciano – both of your fingerprints are on it, along with your contact DNA. It connects you both, but there's not enough evidence to pull Murciano in on this unless you testify against him. The deal is if you offer the DA enough evidence against Murciano, he'll reduce the charges against you." He leaned down, and his voice softened and turned deadly. "Me, I'm hoping you pass on the deal, so you get what's coming to you."

Gruselli licked his lips again, thinking, and Don sensed what was causing his hesitation, and continued, "Oh, and here's my little present for you. Whether or not you take the deal, I'll personally make sure word gets out to the mob that you turned state's witness against them. The only difference is, with the DA's deal, you get protective custody – and without it, you don't. How long do you think you're gonna last in prison without protective custody, Jackie, if the mob thinks you're ratting on them?"

Gruselli was trying mightily to stay composed, but there was fear in his face and another bead of sweat ran down his brow. "Ok – it's a freakin' no-brainer – tell him I want the deal."

Don regarded him with disgust. "You sure you don't want your lawyer first, Jackie?" He paused. "Maybe I should just tell the DA you said no. He seemed a little torn about this – after all, he can get three sure murder convictions to his credit if he just goes after you and forgets Murciano. Even if you tell him I lied and you said yes from the start, he probably wouldn't believe your word over mine. That may piss him off enough that he withdraws his offer – and that would suit me just fine."

"No," said Gruselli emphatically. He shot a somewhat panicked look at the one-way glass, as if he was hoping someone else was listening. "Tell the DA I want that deal, now. I don't want him to change his mind. I got plenty against Murciano. Tell him I'll waive my rights to my lawyer and talk right now."

Don whirled on his heel and headed toward the door, muttering as if to himself but loudly enough so that Jackie could hear it, "Goddamn scum always get away with it."

As he left the room, a small smirk had started to surface again on Gruselli's face. The group in the viewing room waited until the soundproofed door to the interrogation room had shut, and Merrick clapped Don on the shoulder. "Nice job."

Winston said admiringly, "That's the fastest breakdown by a career criminal that I've ever seen. Look at that grin on his face – he thinks he's getting away with something."

"He is," muttered Bob Patrick, but then he said heartily, "Good job. We've got a bigger fish to fry than Gruselli."

Throughout the congratulations and the claps on the shoulders, Don didn't crack a smile. He was clearly still holding in anger and having a hard time letting go of it. All he did was look at Bob Patrick and say, "OK, you're on," and then walked through the room and out into the hallway.

Bob Patrick nodded and headed for the door of the interrogation room, and an LAPD detective and an officer holding a recorder entered from the hallway and went in with him. Merrick and Winston trailed out into the hallway, talking, and David looked at Colby.

Colby shot a glance toward the hallway. As the door slowly closed he got a brief glimpse of Don, standing near Merrick and Winston, mouth tightly shut, the rigid set of his body still radiating anger. Colby rubbed his head. "Man, I don't want to get on his bad side. Not that I blame him. I'd love to give Gruselli a shot myself." He cocked his head and looked at David. "Did he ever get in trouble for pushing it too far?"

David shook his head. "Not that I know of. But sometimes I wonder if it isn't coming."

End, Chapter 37

Author's note - it does come, later in the television series in the Crystal Hoyle case and others... Don steps over the line more than once in this story, but his penchant for doing so, especially when someone he cares for is hurt, is also canon. By the way, treatments similar to the one Charlie is receiving do exist in real life. I am drawing on research and also the experiences of a (now healthy) acquaintance who had a rather severe case of pancreatitis and ended up in the hospital for weeks as I describe Charlie's symptoms and treatment.