05.03 - Deal With The Devil
Finding answers means we learn the truth isn't always what we want it to be.
Remember, Canadian Thanksgiving is in October, before Halloween.
It was just her bad luck to be working Halloween. Doubly so as a uniform and not in ETF. Triple because McNally was letting Gerald run Parade. The next level of hell was the fact that Vivian had pulled the worst possible of the Halloween shifts.
She was working the night shift.
All she needed was a full moon.
"Kill me," she lamented, as she walked into the locker room with Jenny.
"How come Lara doesn't have to work the street?"
"Detective." Vivian popped her locker. "She gets her suit soon."
Jenny laughed. "You've seen how she dresses. We should stage an intervention." Her classmate paused. "Maybe I should stage an intervention. With your cute friend Matty."
"I'd tell you to fuck off, but he dresses me." At this point in her life, Vivian had given up on any dreams of being stylish. She wore what Matty put in her dresser and memorized his directions about what to wear with what and moved on.
"Who dressed the Inspector?"
"Gail? Uh. I think Holly and Traci helped with that." Vivian recalled a story Traci told about how Gail complained about not having anything to wear. "Lara should use Traci or Chloe as a model, though."
Jenny seemed to agree. "I'm jealous she gets away with so much."
"She's been here for our whole lives. No one has the balls to argue."
As soon as she said that, a towel slapped her ass. "Don't say balls, Little Peck." The annoying smirk of Frankie Anderson punctuated the admonishment.
"This isn't Thirty-Four, Anderson."
"Shocking." Frankie sat on the bench by them. "Moore's in charge tonight?"
"And last night. I think Andy hates us," said Jenny.
"Just wait'll Rich gets to lead Parade." Vivian smirked and tucked in her uniform shirt.
"Oh ew!" Jenny faux gagged. "Rich can never ever be in charge!"
They closed their lockers and Vivian eyed Frankie. "Creeper Anderson, are you here about the drugs?"
Frankie looked innocent. "Me? Never." She winked at Vivian. Ugh. That was absolutely a yes.
"S'cuse me. Drugs?" Jenny raised her hand.
"Traci tasked me to keep an eye on it, and I am in return tasking you two."
Vivian frowned. Why would Frankie jump Divisions for that? It wasn't the lingering unresolved sexual tension between Chloe and Frankie, since this wasn't even one of Chloe's cases. The perky divorcée was working on the underage abusive marriages that Vivian and ETF had stumbled across. That was a shitty job, but Chloe was as good at unraveling the evil machinations of human smuggling and mistreatment as she was at undercover work.
The two were much the same thing, when Vivian thought about it. Why the Disney Princess of Fifteen understood that part of human nature so well was still a mystery. Everyone had their secrets though. Some people were more transparent than others. Like Frankie, who was an open book.
Irascible and annoying, Francine Marigold Anderson (and Vivian was absolutely not supposed to know her middle name) had a chip on her shoulder and an attitude to boot. She'd fallen in with Bibby and Steve in the academy, a trio all sharing different types of abusive parents.
Without saying a word about it, everyone knew Frankie had to have a terrible home life. Why else would she find kindred spirits in child abuse survivor Bibby or emotionally abused and stunted Steve? The exact nature hardly mattered, but it was also why Vivian herself was a little fond of the cranky detective and trusted her with her own life.
But why would Frankie be here?
Trust.
Frankie didn't trust someone (or someones) at Thirty-Four.
Was that related to Holly's off handed complaint that she was working a lot with Frankie lately, even though they didn't have an active case? If it was, then that meant there was some sort of corruption or malfeasance at Thirty-Four. And if that was the case, Frankie was asking two green cops who were the daughters of officers, one lauded and one 'disgraced,' to keep an eye on the situation. Who better to help hunt down corruption than people who had everything to lose if they even dipped a toe on the side? People who knew the cost of betrayals first hand.
Vivian turned to Jenny and gave her a slight nod.
Jenny's eyes widened. She understood the way the dark side of politics worked. This was a special deal. "What are we looking for?"
"Right now, I'd like the name of the drug."
"Wait you don't even know that?" Vivian was surprised.
Frankie looked at Vivian curiously. "We know this. If you take it, you turn to Jell-O from the inside out. One dose."
Peevish, Vivian pointed out the obvious. "I don't live with my parents, Francine."
The detective pointed at her. "Watch your ass, Little Peck." But then she spread her hand out, palm up. "Point taken. You should have more Peck Private Parties, though."
As of late, all Peck Meals had been with Jamie around. And they did curtail private conversations about the inner workings of the force. Well. Vivian could sort that out later. "We don't actually control the universe, detective."
"Pity," said Jenny. "The world would be more fun."
Frankie rolled her eyes. "Find me a drug name, legacies."
They both gave Frankie a jaunty, insincere, salute.
Gail yawned and draped herself over Holly, feeling the lingering sweat cool between them. "I hate Halloween," she said, lazily.
"Me too," replied Holly, equally languidly. "All those people, being fake and happy. Yuck."
She smothered a laugh into Holly's boobs. "I like our party better."
"Mmmmm. Private. Girls only. Perfect." Holly's fingers traipsed up and down Gail's spine. "Who called?"
There had been a phone call while they'd been occupied. "Really?" Gail lifted her head up and glared. "We have mind blowing sex and you want to know who called?"
Holly gently shoved at Gail, rolling over. "I do. Because it'll keep me up all night and I won't be able to sleep wondering who called."
"I married an obsessive woman." Gail groaned and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.
"You love it. Unlock your phone."
The cold plastic and metal dropped onto her stomach. "Ugh. Why?"
To Gail's surprise, Holly kissed her hip bone. "I'll reward you."
Gail had never unlocked her phone faster. There was no message, but the call had been from Vivian. The girl kept resetting her ring tones. And she'd left a text. Gail swallowed as Holly caressed her thigh. "Viv texted," she managed.
"What does she want?" Holly kissed her again.
"Uhhh. Oh. She wants to have Peck Dinners. Or lunches. Because Frankie is being a jerk." Gail turned her phone off and tossed it onto her night stand. "No more phone."
Holly laughed and did not disagree.
The next morning, Gail found the other reason Vivian had contacted her. It was nine, but a very exhausted duo of Vivian and Jenny had a name for the mystery drug. And two more dead people.
"It's called the Crave," explained Frankie, who looked nearly as tired as the kids. All three were sucking down coffee. "And they were giving it away for free."
Gail blinked. "Sorry... what? How the hell aren't the morgues filled up?"
"It's not actually fatal," Vivian replied. "I mean, it is, but not always. Only five died, though I think the stomach pump saved that girl from Seneca."
Jenny flipped open her log book. "Four kids from UoT are in the ER. Six from a party on Dundass. Right now it's a total of ... uh..."
"Forty-one," said Vivian and Frankie at the same time.
"Forty-one people in the hospital. Five dead. And a few who are having some real bad trips in lockup." Jenny snapped her log book closed.
The number swirled around Gail's head for a while. "Crave. Tell me you got samples of this shit."
"Already in the lab," Vivian said, stifling a yawn. "Pills."
Pills. Gail flashed a smile that made both Jenny and Frankie startle. "Good. Frankie, got their full report?" All three nodded. "Go home rooks. You did good."
The two patrol officers made their way out, not even Vivian bothering to give her mother a sign as to what she really felt. They were exhausted. "It's fucked up, Peck," said Frankie, her voice low.
"Forty-one is massive, Frankie."
"That's not the ... It's the tip of the iceberg." Frankie gestured at Gail's wall, which Gail unlocked. Immediately, a map of the city displayed, with markers for locations. "We caught a hotspot tonight. Someone passing out drugs like fucking candy. But look at the pattern."
As a Peck, Gail had the city's layout memorized. She checked construction news every morning, like some people checked the weather, and she knew what Frankie was driving at the second she saw it. "They didn't hit up anyone outside of those four— eight— ten parties?"
"Not a one. Even the dead were at the parties." When Gail gave her a look, Frankie elaborated. "Wristbands."
"Someone at the parties were handing out ..." Gail trailed off. "Did they all have the same wristbands?"
Frankie flashed an exhausted but pleased smile. "That's why I like you, Peck. You're not slow." She cast another set of pictures. "I've got folks tracking down the sources for the wristbands and the kegs."
"Good. Fifteen?"
"Fifteen." Frankie's expression shifted into grim. "I think you're right, you know."
"Just please don't tell me Sammy was dirty."
"No, but he was oblivious."
Gail winced. That was nearly as bad in so many ways. "Christ. Thirty-Four. How far up?"
Frankie hesitated. "Galbraith's a giant asshole, so I really can't tell."
True. She huffed. "How much passes through him?"
"Most. Not all. I think it's confined to the staff sergeant and the uniforms." Frankie looked at the wall. "How does Holly put up with you obsessing over this shit?"
What? Gail eyed the other woman. "Well she is one, so..."
"I mean... this shit. This is worse than the nightmare cases, Gail. All night I'm trying to figure out how this shit happened, how far it goes, who I can trust in my own damn division." Frankie covered her face. "This is crazy. How do you live and care so fucking much without going insane?"
"This the reason to a Peck's cold and icy demeanor," confessed Gail. But then she thought more about what Frankie said. "Mac's not a fan?" Frankie shook her head. "I mean... I don't know, Frankie. I have no fucking clue why Holly sticks with me over this shit. But she does."
Looking up, Frankie was clearly despondent. "But she does. And you do. That headbasher?"
Gail nodded. "I do. Because ... Because I do, Frankie." She looked up at the wall again. "Are the deaths last night in your territory or mine?"
"Two to one, mine."
"You taking them?"
"Bristol is. I've got Jayden watching him."
Gail flashed a grin. "That spy working out?"
The other detective returned the same smirk. "Yeah. Thanks for that. Between 'em, your little plants are helping me a lot."
It was Gail's subversive idea. She had long suspected shenanigans at Thirty-Four, but no one there was high ranked enough and on Gail's Peck Payroll for a long, internal, con. Frankie, though, had done it before. She'd done it on Steve for god's sake. So when Gail nudged her old nemesis into Inspector and head of homicide at her division, she did it with the goal of figuring out what the fuck was going on.
Was Thirty-Four corrupt?
Neither Sam at Twenty-Eight nor Traci at Fifteen had been positioned in a way to get that information. Sam had been oblivious and honestly he was not the guy anyone with a brain grabbed for that kind of job anyway. Traci ... Gail was still reluctant to sully her sister-in-law's soul. She liked Traci but more important than that was the fact that Gail needed a clear and honest Peck around.
The reality was that Frankie was perfect for the job. She was good at it. She was inherently a good person, too, something Frankie would abjectly deny but it was true. Within a week she twigged to the discrepancy of solved and unsolved cases between the Divisions. Gail hadn't even needed to mention it, and Frankie had gone to Holly on her own.
"I hate even suggesting you use this case as bait," admitted Gail.
"I hate considering it. But it's the perfect one. You take the homicide here, I oversight the two at mine, we can compare notes."
"Provided they aren't smart enough to catch on."
Frankie shook her head firmly. "The closure rate hasn't changed since I started watching. They haven't noticed."
Well. Thank god for small favors. Gail squinted at the wall and the small map in the corner. "That's weird," she muttered.
"What?"
"Your deaths. They're not at the parties."
Frankie sat up and stared. "They were near," she said hesitantly. "They all were seen in attendance."
"Yeah but when they dropped dead? They were very much not at. And both the deaths we had before were solos." Gail drummed her fingers on her desk. "What made them special..." She'd have to ask Holly. "Come on, let's go to the lab."
"You just want to see your wife."
Gail smirked. "I want the sharpest mind in Toronto on this one."
"They were sober," said Holly as soon as Frankie and Gail walked in.
Frankie, who looked like absolute shit, froze. "Sober?"
"Everyone who died was sober. Which is possibly the weirdest commonality, but it's what I've got right now."
Gail, sharp as a tack, made the jump first. "Combination? Booze plus drugs means super high. Drugs sans booze means you die?"
"Nice rhyme, Peck," snarled Frankie.
But Gail ignored the jibe and her bright blue eyes were locked on Holly. It was totally a turn on. Then again, Holly knew she had a weakness for Gail at her smartest. And Gail in general. When Gail quirked one eyebrow up, Holly knew her wife caught on to the fact that Holly was distracted.
She cleared her throat. "That's the theory. Wayne and Ananda are running some tests, but it's definitely plausible."
"Plausible." Frankie sounded annoyed.
"Holly's plausible is better than anyone else's facts," rejoined Gail.
"While your flattery is weird and welcome, Gail, we still don't know how all this got started. They had to test this on someone, so they'd have to know about the mix."
Gail nodded. "Otherwise why target parties."
"You mean besides the fact that college students are idiots?" Frankie snorted.
"You don't have to show up at a party to convince college kids to do drugs," pointed out Gail, acerbically. "Who's running the autopsies?"
The way Gail said it, Holly caught the nuance. "I was going to. Are you using this as a bellwether or a canary?"
"Canary," said Gail, and she beamed.
"Sorry... what?" Frankie scowled and looked more annoyed.
Gail explained, in her most snarky pedantic, "Bellwether is a prediction, Canary is a sign of something wrong."
Frankie flipped Gail off. "I get that, asshole. I mean why does the Doc care?"
Shooting Gail a cautionary look, Holly spoke. "If it's a bellwether, me doing the autopsy is fine. I can compare your predictions. If it's a canary, I should have someone else do them all, because my closure rates at Thirty-Four will curve the score."
"Oh." Frankie sighed. "I'm too tired. Your fucking kid called me at three."
"She was right," pointed out Gail. "Come on, Inspector Crankypants. Let's get you home."
Shaking her head, Frankie went to the door. "No. I'll take my own ass home. You can get a ride from Dr. Love there."
Somehow Holly managed not to laugh until Frankie was gone. "Is it that obvious I find your brilliance attractive?"
Gail rolled her eyes and kissed Holly softly. "Why do people think we screw in our offices?"
"They heard about you and Chris in the squad? Oh or you and Nick in evidence."
"Or us in interrogation?" Gail smirked, cheekily.
Holly sighed. She was never going to live that down and she knew it. "Nevertheless. Stomach contents will be top of my list."
Her wife had no problem shifting back into work mode. "That's a hell of a drug. Kills you if you're sober. Would explain why everyone who took it was at a party."
Wincing, Holly walked to her laptop and pulled up the files. It also explained why the child died so quickly. A human adult male dressed as a pirate probably had some alcohol in his system. There might be a specific amount of alcohol to make the combination non-fatal. She made a note to that effect and then thought about assigning Pete to the case. His name was next up, and he wouldn't be suspicious.
She tucked her hair behind her ears. "Alright. Are you going to do the autopsies?"
"No," said Gail, looking out the window. "Power behind the throne on this one. Mayhew will be my face. He's not as overtly mine."
Holly smirked. "How do you figure?"
"Butler. He was promoted by David all the way up. Capped out at his current rank by choice, but not everyone knows that."
"Ah. So he looks like you're holding him back?"
Gail nodded. "God, I hope I'm not oblivious."
Holly studied the way Gail was standing. Just from her shoulders, Gail was worried. "You're not," offered Holly carefully. "I honestly don't know a more observant person."
"Yeah, but I have blinders," Gail remarked. "I'm human."
"Glad to hear you say that," she joked, and was rewarded with Gail laughing. "Look, be practical, Gail. You grew up around deceit and corruption. You know it when you see it."
Gail snorted and turned around to smirk. "That's funny."
"Oh?" Holly was sure she missed a joke, based on Gail's face.
Her wife caught on. "Who did you just quote?"
"Strom Thurmond?"
Flashing a scimitar smile, Gail shook her head. "1964, Jacobellis v Ohio." She paused. "Justice Potter Stewart."
Potter Stewart.
Okay, fine, Holly chuckled. "I'll probably never forget that now."
Gail beamed and kissed Holly's cheek. "I'm going to go ferret out corruption and try to draw connections between the dead, in a non medical way."
"I'll save the world with science."
Raising her fist as she walked out the door, Gail shouted, "Science!"
Holly laughed softly as the woman left the floor. She closed her door and went to the window. It was stalker levels but she loved watching Gail walk out of the building and down toward the station. Gail's brilliant hair was noticeable. Even in the cool of October, with her warm coat on and the collar up.
"Hate it when she goes, love to watch her leave," said Ruth, abruptly startling Holly out of precisely that thought.
"She has a great ass," Holly confessed. "What happened?"
"Nothing unexpected. Rodney needs some help if you have the time."
Holly sighed. "I really want to say no."
"Oh, I think you'll want to." Ruth held out her tablet and Holly, insatiably curious, took it. "There was a fire at a warehouse, bunch of dead squatters."
She couldn't refrain from a wince. "Ruth. A hundred autopsies —" Holly stopped and stared at the notes. "Shit."
Because Rodney, the ME for Ontario, had found a bunch of dead people with symptoms including partly liquified eyes. Ew. But that... That was possibly ground zero for any tests.
A warm hand was on her shoulder and a familiar voice was whispering her name. "Viv, are you up?"
It shouldn't have startled her from sleep, and really it didn't, but it did wake her up. "Yeah? S'wrong?" Vivian rubbed her eyes and half rolled over, only to find herself facing a very naked firefighter, with damp hair sticking up, the harsh light of morning creeping around the heavy curtains.
Jamie was backlit, her dusky skin shining, glowing. Healthy. Beautiful. For a moment, Vivian forgot that there were words in the world. Her brain simply stopped processing anything other than the girl who was half sitting on her bed — their bed — and Jamie didn't look hurt or upset.
Nope, it was that other look. The one Vivian liked a lot, and blushed to her roots every time Jamie made it. And it did today.
"Oh," said Vivian quietly, and she pushed her own hair away from her face.
Something had happened at work. Or not. It was hard to tell. Moods after work were chancy, when people worked the sorts of jobs Vivian and Jamie did. And now was not the time to ask about it or press. No, clearly Jamie had an intent.
"Sorry," started Jamie, pulling away. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Vivian shook her head. "No. No, you didn't." Well. She had, but that was much more a feature of her own crappy sleep behaviour than anything else. Jamie could have closed a door or the wind could have rattled the window and she'd be awake.
There was very little convincing need to get Jamie to understand her overtures were both welcome and wanted. A discarded shirt and a slapped alarm later, they lay on the bed, in the deliciously boneless state that followed good sex. Heavy limbs and lazy smiles, Jamie draped half over Vivian, unwilling to lose their connection just yet.
"What time is it?" Jamie's voice was airy, light. Untethered.
"Bit after eight," Vivian replied without looking.
"Mmm. You only slept four hours?"
"Says the girl on the night shift."
Jamie laughed softly. "I can sleep at work."
Well that implied whatever made Jamie horny wasn't a near-death or weird work experience. Vivian's fingers found Jamie's tattoo on her shoulder and asked, "Did you?"
"A bit. Until Mac came in." Jamie hesitated. "I don't mind that you're obsessive."
Huh? Vivian opened her eyes and looked down a bit at the brown head. "I'm what?"
"Obsessive. A little. Like all coppers. You get on a case and it worries you. Day doesn't end at five."
"I feel like I've missed a chapter... I'm barely obsessive compared to my moms."
"Mmmm, that too. It's ... I don't mind it."
"Jamie, honey, you're gonna need to unpack this one."
Her girlfriend sighed deeply. "Mac and Frankie are going to break up."
"Well that was fast," muttered Vivian. "What happened?"
Jamie shifted her weight before explaining. "Apparently Frankie is too obsessive and caught up in her work."
"Uh. She just made Inspector. Of course she is." It was odd, feeling defensive of the irritating Anderson, but Frankie was a good person, and a good friend of the family.
"Right, I know. But Mac's on the other end. Y'know? She's retiring soon and I guess she thought Frankie was, and now they're all over the place." Jamie sighed again. "Which is terrifying."
"Kinda normal." Vivian closed her eyes again and resumed caressing Jamie's back. "Most cops end up like that."
Jamie didn't seem to like that and grumbled. "Holly said it was hard, loving a cop."
"It is. It is. And she should know. She loves two."
"Two?" Jamie stiffened and pushed herself up.
Vivian almost laughed. "Gail and me, you dumb ass. Mom loves me."
"Oh," said a flustered Jamie, and she oozed off Vivian to lie on her own side of the bed. "Well okay. That's allowed."
Rolling over, Vivian propped herself up on one arm. "That's an opening for you to say you love me."
Her girlfriend laughed and moved to kiss Vivian, slowly. Deeply. "I do love you, you gigantic, silly goon."
"Goon means silly," noted Vivian, before kissing Jamie's neck.
"No entomology lessons." No doubt Jamie was intentionally using the wrong word. She liked doing that.
"Etymology." Vivian trailed kisses down to Jamie's chest.
She didn't get into the details of the words. Who would when a beautiful woman was in bed with them?
Watching her wife on television was one of Gail's secret joys. She didn't tell Holly about it, as the doctor was a little self conscious, but Holly had so much poise and brilliance that getting to see her talk to the masses was a delight.
A joint press conference, not so much. Especially when stupid Howard of the CDC was with them.
"Dr. Stewart, are you saying this is a one-use fatality?" Ioan Carson From CTV looked innocent as he asked the question.
No one believed it. Except maybe Howard. "No," said Holly. "What we know is that in certain situations, the drug has a near immediate fatal reaction. The younger you are, the more likely it is."
"So it kills on first use."
"In specific circumstances," repeated Holly, coolly.
"But it does."
Holly paused a moment. "A car hitting you can be fatal in specific situations, Mr. Carson. The odds of it happening when you jaywalk are higher. If you are given to high risk behaviors, the circumstances are different than for someone who properly looks both ways and is aware of traffic."
There was a ripple of laughter among the news reporters.
Carson bristled. "So your wife's presence doesn't mean there's an epidemic?"
Gail could feel the chill settle in the crowd. Everyone knew they were married. It wasn't a secret. But Carson was the sort of dick who brought it up. Gail glanced at Holly and widened her eyes slightly. Just for a second.
"Detective Inspector Peck is the head of Major Crimes and the Organized Crime division for the area in which these incidents occurred," said Holly, her voice measured and calm. Dangerous as fuck. "Her presence indicates that the police force is aware of the situation and taking it as seriously as warranted."
Gail flashed the most dangerous and deadly smile in her arsenal. Multiple reporters flinched. Hell, Carson snapped his head back. But she said nothing. As much as she wanted to take him on, rip him apart and neuter his objections, he was a troll. And Gail just couldn't rise to the bait.
In Carson's hesitation, a woman from MSNBC raised her hand and, when Holly nodded, spoke up. "Dr. Stewart, can you or Inspector Peck disclose the number of fatalities?"
Glancing at Howard, who didn't seem to be paying attention, Gail quickly reviewed what she was allowed to say. "The current estimate is 35," she replied calmly. "Two suspected related deaths turned out to be ... ah ..." Gail looked at Holly.
Her wife half smirked. "Death by misadventure. The drug was in their systems, but not the cause of death." In the pregnant pause, Holly added, "Vehicular incidents. Golf carts are not for racing."
The tension in the room faded with a chuckle.
A man from another local station lifted his hand. Gail gave him a nod. "Inspector Peck, how worried should people be?"
Gail exhaled. "Well, don't do drugs and you'll be fine," she said drolly. Over the slight laughter, she added, "I would be worried. Obviously young adults are being targeted, groups known for being open to experimentation. Illegal or otherwise. They're less like to watch ... well. This."
The reporters took that seriously. Even stupid Carson. They answered a few more questions, Howard bothering to speak up a little. Finally they were done and the masses left. Finally alone with just her wife, Gail leaned against the wall in the hall and exhaled.
Holly frowned. "You okay?"
"Yeah?" Gail frowned right back, feeling a bit confused. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"You look wrung out."
Why was Holly worrying about that? "Well those things are fucking tiring, Holly."
Her wife just looked at her for a while. "Don't be walled off Gail. Okay?"
And like that, Gail caught on. It was because she'd thrown up a couple months ago after the stupid hostage incident. It was also because Gail used to get really sick to her stomach speaking in front of people.
"I'm not, Holly. I swear. I'm just tired." Gail grimaced. "I'm not being stupid Peck. I'm just ... I don't like this case. I have a bad feeling."
"It's not your first drug explosion," pointed out Holly.
"I know. It's not even as bad as some. It's just... my gut. My gut tells me this is bad."
Holly sighed. "Well. How about we feed your gut and you think about that?"
It took two more days before Gail's gut caught a break. Her hostage taker, Keith, had seen the press conference and asked to speak to her. So Gail let John drive her out to Millbourne, arguing that she shouldn't be going to that prison on her own, and stood sentinel as she made herself comfortable in the chair.
"You came," said Keith, surprised, as he was led in.
"You piqued my interest."
He looked chagrined and sat, waiting until he was shackled to the table to speak again. "That Howard guy is a moron."
Gail smirked. "He is. He is."
"How'd you not kill him?"
"I don't look good in orange."
That brought home the reality of the situation. Keith looked at his own arms. "Ah. Yeah. I'm safer here," he pointed out.
He was in isolation. Not quite solitary confinement, but he was restricted from doing most things. He ate all his meals alone. He got books delivered from a select list. He didn't get much yard time, and what he did get was away from gen pop.
In short. He was cut off.
And he was safe from his gangs.
"So SSG really is into drugs?"
Keith shook his head. "Drug. Singular. Crave."
Fuck. Gail felt her blood run cold. They'd not named it at the press conference for a reason. "Why'd you have the pill casings?"
Keith's expression brightened, as if he was delighted she'd caught on. "Samplers. The cases. I don't do drugs, and that shit is as nasty as they get."
"2% fatality," said John from the back. He was almost distracted in how he said it, too. God bless him.
"Yeah, you gotta be drunk to get a good high. Which is scary as anything." Keith nodded. "I wouldn't even try it, man."
Gail studied Keith's face. What kind of man worked for a gang but didn't do drugs? That wasn't what she asked, though. She wanted to know, but Gail had to ease up to that. So instead she asked another burning question, "What the hell does Squeaky Shoe Gang mean?"
The man looked stunned. "Oh. Well. I don't know."
With a deep sigh, Gail pulled out her wallet and handed a fiver to her sergeant. "Asshole."
"Told ya." He pocketed the money. "It's a dumb name, Keith."
"We call it SSG for a reason." Keith shrugged, but his eyes stayed on the money.
Gail did wonder why Keith didn't know. She and John played up the bet for effect, to lower Keith's guard, since practically no one had a gang name and reached any height within without knowing the meaning. So Keith's lack of knowledge still bothered her. His tracking of the money though...
"You were pretty shit at the drugs, huh?"
The prisoner jerked his head back. "What- What?"
"Selling. You were shitty at it. I thought you stole the goods, but you, nah, you lifted the dough." Gail shook her head. "So you stole money. And pill casings. How much money and where is it?"
Keith shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."
John sighed and handed the five dollar bill back. "Crap."
"Thank you." She plucked the money out of his hand. "Alright, you won't tell us where or how much. Enough they wanted you dead, even know. Or are they worried you're gonna tell us about the drugs?"
That was a hit. Keith sighed. "What do you want to know about Crave? I can tell you where they get it from but not who."
Gail smiled and rested her elbows on the table, leaning forward. "Start there."
It was wonderful that Gail was excited and felt promising about her case. Holly just wasn't a fan of the timing. But Gail finally had a break of her annoying case, and she was thrilled to have a direction at long last.
On the other hand, Holly was worried about their dinner guests.
The dinner was cooked, at least. Holly had picked up the deserts. The house was clean. Everything looked like a picturesque home fresh out of the fifties. Except for the bouncy cop with short hair and her wife. Yeah, Gail didn't fit anywhere but where she was.
"You're dressed like that?" Holly's admonishment caught Gail short.
The blonde looked down at herself. "Jeans, clean top. Did my hair. Yes, I'm dressed like this. They're not assholes like my family, Holly."
"Our daughter is bringing over her girlfriend's parents, Gail," said Holly sternly.
"And I have a lead on the drug! And an ID on your pirate, who was a supplier of the pill casings. Apparently he thought drugs were okay but was against drinking."
Holly made a face. "That's like the Mormon I treated back in my ER rotation. He was fine with cocaine but against masturbation."
Gail smirked. "Got stuck with a coke stiffy?"
"Priapism," corrected Holly, primly.
"Isn't the cure for that jerking off?"
Holly rolled her eyes and looked at the ceiling. "Gail. Please go change into a nicer shirt."
The blonde leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Okay." And she trotted up the stairs.
Alone for the moment, Holly picked up the abandoned oven mitts and tidied the kitchen. Gail was a good cook, but not a particularly neat one, a fact Holly had forgotten. When Vivian lived with them, the girl had been given to cleaning up after Gail while they cooked. Apparently Gail had fallen back into old habits, lazily relying on the kid.
Holly could live with cleaning up after Gail if she kept cooking like that, though. The pork smelled amazing and the sides (including fingerling potatoes) were divine. Making sure Gail was still upstairs, Holly snuck a taste of the smallest potato and sighed happily.
"No sampling," teased Gail, bouncing down the stairs. "They're here. I could see them from the window."
"I love your cooking, Gail," admitted Holly, wiping her face off.
Gail beamed and took the time to kiss Holly a little more seriously, hands wrapping around Holly's waist to tug her close. "Hi."
Smiling back, Holly gave in to Gail's gravity and relaxed. It was soothing to have Gail right there in her space. Everything was calmer and better. The tension of meeting her child's girlfriend's parents faded a little. They kissed again and Holly leaned against Gail.
"Better?" Gail's voice was soft.
"Yes." Holly closed her eyes and sighed.
The doorbell rang, and then the door unlocked. "I see our daughter doesn't trust us," said Gail, laughing. She let go of Holly and laced their fingers together, tugging them towards the door.
"She's met you," teased Holly.
They were both still grinning when Vivian opened the door. "Oh good, you're being sappy," she said dryly.
Holly beamed and let go of Gail's hand to kiss Vivian's cheek. "You wouldn't have it any other way," she said seriously. And then she looked past her daughter to see a nervous trio of McGanns.
The smallest was Jamie. Considerably. And if she hadn't looked so much like her parents, Holly might have suspected the lineage. Jamie had her mother's face and her father's eyes. Her father's build as well. The physique Jamie sported was clearly the genetic inheritance of Jason, just not the height.
"Keep saying it, and it ain't true," replied Vivian drolly. "Angela, Jason. These are my Moms. Gail and Holly. Moms, Angela and Jason McGann."
Smiling, Holly tugged Vivian in. "Come in in. I promise, she doesn't bite."
"I've been defanged," drawled Gail, gesturing for everyone to come in.
"No problem knowing which is which," said Jason, extending a hand towards Gail. "You don't look much like your father."
"It's a bottle." Gail grinned and shook his hand. "Nice to finally meet you. Jamie has told us nothing."
"And you didn't look us up?"
Gail snorted. "I didn't even run a background on my wife."
Shaking Angela's hand, Holly felt rueful. "I'm sorry, I married a 6 year old."
The return smile from Angela felt ... off. Not that it was unkind, but Holly abruptly understood why Vivian was unsettled by her. There was something about Angela. "That must be draining," said the school teacher.
"It can be, but she's one of the best things that ever happened to me."
"One of?" Vivian looked amused.
"Second to getting into med school and adopting you, loon."
Angela looked surprised. "Med school?"
"Being a doctor was her fondest dream," said Gail, and she was entirely amused.
Teasing, Vivian asked, "Isn't yours to win the burger challenge at Fredrickson's?"
Gail mock growled. "Two pounds of ground chicken and beef, cheese puffs mixed in, bacon, Swiss and cheddar. God, one day you'll let me try again." Then Gail explained. "When I was thirty, she let me try it. Once. Now Holly's using my mom's heart attack as a reason to deny me sweet, sweet revenge."
Jamie giggled. "How close were you?"
"She was a quarter pound away when she gave up," replied Holly. "The one and only time Gail Peck was defeated by food."
"Thankfully I'm a better cook than they are. They over seasoned the beef."
Holly smirked. "It was not too salty. I ate the last bit."
"It was too, and you're an jerk, Ms. Stewart."
By reflex, Holly replied, "Dr. Stewart."
"Mrs. Dr. Stewart," concluded Gail.
Vivian sighed loudly. "They always do this."
"Well," said Jason. "At least they're consistent."
Vivian watched Jamie kiss her parents and they both waited on the porch as the McGanns drove off.
"That went well, right?" Jamie sounded nervous.
"I think so," said Vivian, though she really wasn't sure. "I'm not the best judge of that," she added.
"True... better than when my folks met Dennis's parents, yuck."
Vivian smirked. "Dennis was a douche. I can't imagine how his parents were."
"Boring. They thought a fun afternoon was having a soak," said Jamie, her tone flat and unamused.
"What?"
"Literally they drew a fucking bubble bath and sat in it together."
It was impossible for Vivian not to break up laughing. "Oh my god. How the hell did you find him attractive?"
Jamie sighed, overly dramatic. "He could be really sweet when he tried."
"You shouldn't have to grasp for crumbs, Jamie."
The firefighter looked up at her, smiling. It was a look of admiration a little, but also affection. The rawness of it, the clear honest 'like' within it, warmed Vivian's heart and made her blush. She couldn't remember a time anyone had looked at her like that. It wasn't a want or a desire. Those she'd seen before. This was something even more simple, more basic.
Was this what love was like?
"Grasp at straws," said Jamie, wrinkling her nose a little.
Vivian felt off kilter. "What?"
"You grab crumbs, you grasp straws." Jamie was, clearly, teasing her.
"Potato, tomato," replied Vivian, rolling her eyes and still feeling entirely weird.
"Goon." And Jamie stood on her toes to kiss Vivian's cheek. "I'm cold. Let's go back inside."
For a moment, Vivian was prepared to do just that. And then she wrapped her arms around the shorter woman and ducked her head down to kiss her. Because after a look like that, a look of love and affection, it was the right, best, thing to do. God help her, it's what Gail would do. "I could warm you up," she murmured softly.
Jamie smiled into Vivian's lips, reaching up to loop her arms around Vivian's neck. "Yeah? Could you?"
"Mmmm hmmm."
They stayed like that, kissing in the late October chill, until they were both a little warm. "Your moms are gonna tease us."
"Eh. Tell me something new."
Jamie laughed and let go, nudging Vivian away. "I want your Mom's cocoa."
"You just love me for Gail's cooking."
"It's really good," admitted Jamie, tugging Vivian back up the steps. "I might leave you for her."
"You'll have to arm wrestle Holly for her."
"I could take her," Jamie said, scoffing.
Vivian laughed as they stepped inside. "Okay, butch. Keep telling yourself that."
"Do I want to know," asked Gail, putting two mugs on the kitchen island.
"McGann here thinks she can beat Mom arm wrestling."
Gail snorted. "Keep dreaming, Girl on Fire. Holly has super powers."
Vivian smiled and took a cocoa, sipping it and bumping Jamie's shoulder. Her girlfriend bumped back. "So... did that go okay, Moms?"
Her mothers shared a look. "I think so," said Gail. "I'm not the best judge of that, though. Holly?"
The great Dr. Stewart held her hands up. "Sorry, I never pulled that one off myself. My parents never met Bill, and our mothers only met by chance."
Vivian remembered that meeting very well. For a moment, Gail had looked panicked, as if the world was ending and she was fucked. And then she resigned herself to the inevitable fate of Elaine and Lily. Who had gotten along surprisingly well.
Right now, Vivian desperately wanted to know what her mothers really thought. She had no intention of asking if they liked the McGanns, mostly because it didn't matter in the least. Nor was it something she expected from them.
Liking random strangers wasn't something either of her parents were much given to. Gail, in general, had a low opinion of everyone who wasn't Holly, or possibly Traci, and even then the fact that Traci had married Steve marked her down in Gail's book, not up. On the other hand, Holly was just a peculiarly brilliant person whom many people didn't understand, so she was given to not liking nor disliking people as it was doubtful they were going to have enough in common.
They were each other's biggest exceptions. For whatever reason, Gail understood Holly's big brain eccentricities and Holly adored Gail's misanthropy. They were as good a match as anyone would ever find. But they, combined or alone, didn't like people. People betrayed and hurt Gail. People made fun of and teased Holly. At some point, they determined it was easier not to invest.
Vivian was just glad they'd invested in her. But it meant she knew not to ask if they liked Jamie's parents. All she hoped was they didn't spot any massive warning signs.
"Jason's okay," said Gail thoughtfully. When Jamie looked worried, the inspector elaborated. "That's pretty much my first thought about you too, kid, so don't panic."
Jamie laughed uneasily. "My parents think Viv's nice, but weird."
"Accurate," said Vivian, dryly. "No one got drunk or called each other horrible names. So I'm taking it as a win."
Her mothers laughed, as did Jamie a little less tense, and they helped clean up.
As she and Jamie drove home, Jamie asked the one thing Vivian wouldn't. "Do you think they liked my folks?"
"Honest? Jamie, they don't really like anyone."
"I know," said Jamie. "But ... I kind of want them to like them."
Vivian rolled out her most deadpan. "Why? Are we getting married?"
Her girlfriend coughed a laugh. "Brat."
"Look, it's okay if our parents don't get along. Gail barely got along with Elaine until I was pretty much a grown up."
And Jamie exhaled a deep sigh and pulled up at their building. "I don't really get along with mine."
Vivian said nothing at first. She'd pieced together a lot of interesting mentions and thoughts about Ruby and Jamie over the years, but at the end of the day, it was Jamie's life and her story to tell. But as the silence reigned, Vivian understood Jamie wanted her to say that it was okay. To go on and tell that story. "You fake it well," said Vivian softly.
Jamie said nothing until she parked in their spot and turned off her truck. "Yeah but ... It's not like you. You ... you really love your moms. Which I get. They saved you and how can you not love people who did that? It's why Matty adores you, and why C totally is hung up on Gail. Like in a mom way. You've got them, and they'd move heaven and earth and all that shit for you. And... And I don't. I mean. I have them, and I know they love me and want the best stuff for me, but they don't get me. And it's always been weird."
This time, the silence was not meant to be filled by Vivian, so she waited.
This time, Jamie continued on her own. "Half of why I moved out was Ruby. A third. Another third was me being bi and Mom... Mom's not always okay with it. She tries to be, but when she's weird. When she goes off her meds which, God, it's like all the fucking time, she can be mean. And she picks on Dad, because he's kind of a little bi, in the ... he would've. He regrets not. Y'know?"
Nodding, Vivian actually did know that one. "Yeah," she said softly, trying not to cut Jamie off.
"I want my parents to like yours, and maybe see they can be fucked up and still be okay? And I want yours to see that everyone's fucked up, but they're not bad people. And ... And I don't want to be my parents." The last was said with such a thick, wet, harsh finality, Vivian knew Jamie was at the end of her rant.
And oh, did Vivian know that particular fear too well. So she told Jamie the same things Jamie had told her. "Then don't be."
Jamie looked up, startled, and wiped at her eyes. "That sounded like your drowning advice."
When they'd gone sailing, Jamie had worried about drowning. Vivian's advice, naturally gleaned from Gail, had been to perhaps not drown. "Don't drown. Don't be them. Be you." Vivian paused. "I like you, Jamie. A lot. And ... it's okay. Your parents — your mom bugs me a bit, no lie. But I think it's okay. We don't have to love all the same people, even if we're related to them."
"So if I told you I hated Steve?"
Vivian shrugged. "Even if you hated Gail." Then she added, "If you hated Holly, though, that might be a deal breaker."
That made Jamie laugh. "Your mom is one of the most amazingly good people on the planet, Viv."
"Yeah, she is." And Vivian grinned easily. "Look, Moms didn't hate your parents. Honestly, that's about the best I was expecting."
With another deep sigh, Jamie leaned across the console and kissed Vivian briefly. "Yeah. Okay. Guess." She got out of the truck. "My dad doesn't know who his parents are. I mean, who his dad is."
Vivian nodded. "He told me."
"Good." Jamie waited for Vivian to round the truck and took her hand. "I don't want there to be big secrets between us."
"I think you know mine now. At least the ones I know of."
"Ugh. Can your life stop blowing things up in your face?"
"Never. I'm in ETF. We glitter bomb each other for fun."
Laughing, Jamie bumped her shoulder into Vivian's. They were okay.
After the carnage settled, Gail stared at forty-eight faces on her magical wall.
Jesus.
"It's not about the money, money, money," she sung to herself, drawing lines from Keith Doe (still keeping his name a secret) to the dead pirate, who finally had a name and yes, he was a pharmaceutical student.
Keith paid off the pirate for the pills, allegedly not with the drugs but with cold hard cash. That much Gail had verified since, once they had an ID, she tossed the apartment and found the bucks. A paper sack of bills sitting in the kitchen. With a list of what he was supposed to provide. Mostly pill casings, but also coatings.
Of course, popping that open had resulted in the pharmaceutical college finally realizing what had been going on. They'd been losing stock for ages, but it never clicked that a student was stealing. Idiots.
None of that gave Gail the source of the drug ingredients. Holly had given her a list of things, broken down into what one might grab from a school. That was the current theory. The Squeaky Shoe Gang was blackmailing or bribing students into supplying them. But the problem with that theory was the drug was damned high level. A student who could make a formula this complicated was a genius. And the odds of a genius jumping into drugs was a bit low.
John was looking into suspects for the drug ingredient theft. And locations that might be the ingredient source. He had sworn at her, taken Mayhew with him, and headed out to schools. That was as expected. It was a wild stab in the dark to try and figure out where the ingredients came from.
That left Gail with something else, and it was a thing she was damned good at. "Forget about the price tag, gonna follow the money money money," she hummed and re-read the report from the Mounties about the money, which was not stolen nor was it fitting the bill (heh) for any known crime.
Clean money was unlikely. Gail was still waiting on analysis of what the money had on it, but it had strongly smelled like a frat house. Marijuana. Beer. BO. Yuck. Men were nasty.
Gail's phone rang as she ruminated on the source of the money. One of the few men she didn't mind. "Bonjour, Marcel. Ça va?"
"Good afternoon, Gail," replied Marcel Savard, his delightful Québécois accent rolling down the phone line. "Might you have a moment to discuss a peculiarity?"
They didn't have any open cases at the moment. "For you? Always."
"I was reviewing a case, and I came across your pirate."
"Loren Goldberg?"
"Oui. The money of course came through us."
All money went through the Mounties, since they handled counterfeiting. "Oh? Was it counterfeit?"
"No, no it was not." Marcel's voice was tense. "I recognized it."
Gail's brain took a moment to process that. "It wasn't stolen, though. We ran the numbers."
Quickly, Marcel replied, "Correct. It was not stolen. But it was ... it was special." He hesitated, and Gail could feel he wanted to say more. She waited. "I am not as clever as Dr. Stewart," Marcel finally said.
"Few people are," replied Gail.
"I am not as gifted, or cursed, with memory as you."
Gail blinked. "Count yourself lucky."
That made Marcel laugh softly. "I have met Pecks beyond yourself, my dear friend."
She smiled and read between the lines. It was obvious what Marcel was getting at. "You've seen the money before, though."
"Yes."
She frowned and then said, "The serial numbers. You memorized them."
"That ... would be." Marcel exhaled. "Presumptive. But those numbers. Yes, I know them. I know them. I used them three years ago on a Ponzi scheme."
Gail closed her eyes. "Marcel, I believe you. Where did the money go after you bought in?"
Like all inspectors of her rank, Gail had a more than passing familiarity with how UC ops worked. She had run enough of them herself. Unlike a lot of other inspectors, Gail understood the financial machinations of embezzlement, money laundering, and of course Ponzi schemes.
The Armstrongs had set that up, after all. Gail hadn't been permitted on the foundation's board without some in depth of education. She absently filed away a metal note to check into the board. For the last decade, Gail had been ignoring her position on the foundation since it mostly ran on greased rails.
A Ponzi scheme was incredibly stupid and brilliant. Get people to give money, use it to pay off other people, and on and on. Fucking brilliant. Usually easy to crack. Odd to use cash though. At least in Gail's understanding. Cash was primarily found in money laundering schemes. Much easier to obfuscate the source of a hundred thousand bills than a check or an offshore bank account.
"The money, the cash, was my purchase in." He stopped.
"And after?" Gail encouraged him gently.
"It was returned."
"All of it?"
"Oui," said Marcel, trepidatiously. He was scared.
And Gail understood why immediately.
The money came back to the Mounties. And all money that came back was, just like for the police, logged and filed, used in court as evidence, and finally cleaned (literally) before starting over again. Three years was not long enough for that. Three years on a Ponzi was just the start of trials, unless everyone plead guilty.
Even though any case Marcel had three years back would have been in Montréal and not Toronto, a scheme that large, taking buy-ins as cash, everyone pleading guilty, would have made the news. Big time. So that meant the only way the money made it back out was an inside job. Or a case far above Marcel's pay grade.
Crap.
"How... how's the trial going?"
"The class action suit is beginning soon."
Therefor the case wasn't over.
Therefor the money had no business being out.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
"Marcel. Stop." They couldn't do it over the phone.
"I know." His voice was shaking.
"Tonight. Oyster Bar. No wives."
Gail hung up the phone and texted Holly, telling her she'd be home late. Then she stared at her phone.
Okay. So what did she have?
Money that should have still be tangled up in a case was out on the street. It was in the hands of a gang criminal who was hunted by his own gang for theft. A gang member who had no prints on record, not even for petty theft. Which was totally weird, actually. Most gang members had a jacket. Their prints were in file because they had committed more crimes.
"Oh mother fucker," whispered Gail. "I'm an idiot."
Because what made someone vanish from the various crime databases? Either someone was actually the amazingly innocent criminal, which could happen, or Keith was a spy. A real spy would have had a fake past set up, and at least a halfway decent one. Keith had nothing. No fake ID, no fake past, no fake crimes.
When Gail had been undercover with Chloe, John, and Roger the Spy, they'd dished about fake identities a lot. Roger had told them that the only time a person ever saw someone with a scrubbed identity, where they were totally erased, was movies.
What had he said... Gail drummed her fingers on the table. Remember. Remember. She had been drinking a beer, a long neck something or another. Cheap. Dov would have laughed. Chloe had made a joke about that.
"The whole disavow thing is a myth. The way they show it in movies, it's not real. You don't get your whole life erased, you just get the work you've done disavowed and you're liable for the crimes. Which isn't fun."
Okay great, so she could remember that. But why did that matter? Because they didn't wipe someone that throughly. They couldn't. It was impossible without buy in from every single possible law enforcement agency. The Mounties would have had a record, somewhere, of Keith. It could likely be above Marcel's pay grade, of course.
But. If Marcel had run the data on Keith, he'd put himself in jeopardy. And Gail was going to have to protect him.
And to think, she'd wanted this job.
Oh dear. Gail's found herself in a pretty pickle, hasn't she? How much trouble could she and Marcel be in for this one do you think? And what's Keith's long con? Is he guilty? Is he a spy? Is he just really unlucky?
