Taking time to read any fanfiction is a personal choice. To those readers who continue to read and follow each chapter in this story, I can't say it enough - Thank You.
Also, Thank You to ALL those who've taken the time to leave a review.
Trigger Warnings: Autopsy – not graphic per se – just thought it worth noting. Also, use the word queer in a negative context by the person saying it.
All wordsmithing errors are mine alone — notes at the end.
Chapter Title From 'Who Are You' – The Who; Album: Who Are You
This chapter covers non-family events on Monday, after Dave's death. It somewhat parallels the previous chapter.
Oh, I Really Want To Know
Quinn still hadn't come to terms with what she'd heard Dave and Santana arguing about outside at Scandals. Now Dave was dead, in a hunting accident no less. She remembered that night after the officers had left. Santana stayed in her room with the children. Brittany pacing between the living room and Santana's bedroom. In the living room, she'd sit, watching the seconds tick by on the clock before going back to check again. Then at some point, not returning at all, staying with Santana through the night.
The next morning, before everyone had gotten up, Santana had already called Karen, who, as expected, was in shock and disbelief. When she couldn't get a hold of Paul, she called Emma, who said she'd take care of contacting him. When she did, Paul told her the ship wouldn't dock at the next port, Jamaica, for another two days. Quinn couldn't imagine stuck on a cruise ship full of happy people after finding out your son was dead. Finally, Santana called her parents, who would make arrangements to fly to Lima as soon as they could.
Later they all went to the beach one last time. Santana had stayed back on the deck to wash off the sand that clung to Zee like lint on a black jacket. Karen chose that moment to arrive for the evening flight back to Lima. When Santana walked in her thong suit, Karen was appalled — stating that Santana had little regard for her son or understood respect or modesty during such an unpleasant time in the family. Santana shot back, "Dave loved my body. He thought it beautiful. And was proud that I felt comfortable to show it off." Everyone, except Karen, knew it was a bald-faced lie, but it was worth seeing the look of horror on her mother-in-law's face. They all accepted it as 'gospel.'
Quinn tapped on her phone, holding it between her shoulder and ear so that she could pour her coffee. The phone ringing, then clicking over to voice mail. "Morning Cedes. Before you ask, I haven't heard from Santana." Blowing on her coffee, she took a sip. "Mmmmmh hot," she murmured. "Brittany texted that she'd been out to the house last night." Quinn moved her phone to her other hand to hold it. "Call me when you have a chance. Bye"
Putting her phone down, Quinn dropped a cube of ice from a glass she'd dispensed from the frig in her coffee to cool it down. Rachel walked into the kitchen in her bathrobe. Her hair still wet from the shower. She gave her wife a quick peck followed by a "Morning" she walked over to pour her morning coffee, returning, placing an ice cube from the glass into the cup, Rachel scrolled through the texts on her phone. "Any word?"
"No. Called Mercedes, left a VM. That's it. No word from Santana. You?"
"Well, she has enough to deal with right now," Rachel responded, holding her cup in her hands. "Puck wants to know if we want to do Hanukkah with his family tonight."
"Christ, I'd forgotten that started this week," Quinn replied. "I guess it's up to you. I don't have a problem with it."
Rachel typed out a message back to Puck, "Kurt's texted me to call him." putting her phone down. "I thought I'd wait until I see him at Glee practice this afternoon."
Quinn ran her hand through her hair, god she needed a shower, she still could feel the saltiness of the seawater in her hair, clearing her throat. Quinn nodded, "Yeah. Thought I'd check in with San at some point today. Also, stop by Sheldon's place. No one knows better what goes on in our community than the owner of the bar."
Cause I Really Wanna Know
Mercedes looked down on her tray as she waited her turn to pay. Her intentions had been right. Salad, yogurt, and fresh fruit for lunch. Instead, what she saw was fries, fried chicken, and chocolate pudding. Hardly healthy, more self-medicating comfort food. Her mind shrugged it off as a rebound to a week of sushi, fresh pan-seared fish, seafood pasta's, and fresh fruits in Florida. After charging her meal with her badge, she quickly found Tina sitting with Mike, Ryder, Brittany, Kitty, Sam, Jake, and Dani. "Hey, y'all. Mind if I join?"
"Yeah, sure," Mike said as he slid his tray back in front of him.
"So how's everybody's Monday?" she asked, trying to sound cheerful to counteract the gloom around the table.
"Aside from the fact it feels like a morgue around here?" Kitty snapped, "Just another holley jolley December day."
"Nobodies heard anything?" Mercedes asked as she looked around the table.
"Uh… I sent Dottie a text. Her plane is scheduled to arrive in Columbus around three today." Tina replied.
Mercedes hesitated as she pulled the lid off her pudding cup, "Brittany, have you talked with San?" she asked.
"Uh, San's parents are arriving tomorrow night… on Diabla's corporate jet, I guess. Then her aunt and uncle, along with some cousins, are coming from Miami to attend the service."
"I guess I should be content that production doesn't stop even with death," Dani said. "No time to think about it."
"Really. Trucks keep rolling through the gate as if nothing happened." Sam agreed.
"Yeah, well, I'd be happy to trade places, anytime, Sam. You too, Dani," Ryder said.
"It was so weird being in Monday's project meeting and Dave not there. Knowing he'll never be there again. Thinking about his kids and Paul." Tina muttered
"Did any of you guys go out on Saturday? Did y'all see or hear anything?" Mercedes asked
"Jake and I had classes at the studio Saturday morning, we were going to wait until Sunday to go out," Mike replied.
"We asked him to go with us, but he said his camera on the Ruhel farm showed a herd of does, not a buck in sight," Sam answered.
"He wanted that damn head to mount." Ryder slapped his hand on the table, making everyone jump.
"No, he liked hunting alone." Mike countered. "I remember Puck teasing him about it."
"Have you talked to your brother Jake? Does he know anything?" Kitty asked
"Uh… yeah, uh, he and Finn passed his truck around 8:00 that morning and then around noon on their way back. Thought he might be gutting a deer."
"Seriously, you had to say that while I'm eating?" Mercedes said, dropping her fork to the tray, wiping her hands with her napkin.
"Sorry," Jake growled. "Field dressing."
"No, if he'd gotten a kill, he'd be texting a picture bragging about it." Sam said, "That's what he did."
"You know Puck said something else last night, something about a red truck blocking Dave's truck on Saturday."
Mike raised his head, remembering the comment himself "Yeah, and it didn't make sense, the shoulders are narrow, but Carpenter's fields aren't right up to the roadway. Plenty of room to pull off next to the field."
"Who owns a red truck in town?" Brittany asked
"In Buckeye nation?." Dani snorted. "They're a dime a dozen. So are silver and white, but who's counting."
"Tanaka. Hunter. Eli C. Dr. Wui." Sam rattled off.
"Don Barowski, a Toyota, I think," Ryder added.
XXXXXXXXXX
Sheldon at the bar heard his name called. He moved the stool back, his bad knee slow to unlock as he rose. He limped midway down the bar, shouting, "I'm in the front." Waiting for his mystery visitor to come around the corner from the back, a smile crossed his bearded face as he recognized the young realtor. "Quinn! Wasn't expecting to see you?" he asked.
"Hey. Saw your car, thought I'd stop to see if you'd changed your mind on moving the bar to a new location."
"Ya know you can't fool me into believin' that why you stopped." Sheldon grinned. "Have a seat. Not open, but if you want something, it's on the house."
Quinn smiled back as she sat upon a bar stool, while Sheldon moved faster this time around the bar. "It's a little early, but I suppose a glass Chardonnay could be a lunch appetizer."
"Always thought you'd be more Chablis,"
Quinn chuckled. "Chablis is chardonnay. Same grapes. Just grown in a different region of France."
"See, I didn't know that. But not much of wine drinker." Setting the glass on the bar, popping the cork, "I suppose you've heard the news?" Sheldon asked as he poured the white liquid.
"We were with San when she heard," Quinn replied as she took a sip from the glass.
"I felt like a rodeo clown in front of a charging bull. I was so stunned by it."
"About how we felt that night." Taking another sip of wine.
"The bar just became silent as the news passed between everyone. Of course, you know it being Saturday. It soon became an Irish wake." Sheldon chuckled. "The fellas put a chair up on a table, set a beer, and a shot on it. Turned up the country. Wasn't sure if they were celebrating a friend or death of a foe."
Quinn ears pricked up at the word foe, "He had enemies?"
"I liked Dave. Always paid his tab. Generous with the tips, course KEI was a cash cow, so no surprise there." Out of habit, Sheldon took a rag to wipe down the bar, "but not everyone liked him."
Quinn tilted her head interest, "Like?" she asked.
"Well, I won't name names, but a few thought he wasn't true to himself. They didn't like that he floated between two worlds. For others, they were jealous of his wealth. Status. Mostly the money." Folding the bar towel laying it down on the bar counter, "There was always talk that if he'd come out to the town, he could change things with his family's influence." Sheldon snorted, "And a few were resentful that his wandering eye didn't land on them as a partner."
A grin came across Quinn's face, "How some of the women feel about Santana." With her hand on the stem of the wine glass, she twisted it around on the bar, thinking about how silly the expectation that two people could change the opinions of Lima's citizens. From her experiences, a loved one altered a family's belief system. Even when doing so meant rejection, not necessarily acceptance or even tolerance. She was aware, especially now during the holidays, how sensitive the issue of being out could be during family gatherings.
"So now that you've questioned me, missy. It's my turn to ask, what do you know? All I heard was a hunting accident."
"It's under investigation. Dave's body is in Columbus at the state medical examiner for an autopsy. It hasn't been released that I know of."
"That's serious. Usually, the county corner does that. So the Sheriff thinks it was murder."
"I think they're crossing out possibilities." Quinn quick to change the impression that Dave's death was intentional. "Sheldon, uh… do you remember last summer when Santana's car was vandalized? Did you ever hear anything about that?"
Sheldon chuckled. "Uh,… Yeah, I did. Jeff mentioned that Stoner Brett was bragging about it."
"Brett Bukowski?" Quinn surprised at the mention of the name.
"Yeah, I know. That kid lives in the ozone layer. So I didn't give it much weight. My guess Jeff was just as stoned as Brett and misunderstood."
Even as she heard Sheldon dismiss the comment, something in Quinn's mind fired off. What was it? It wasn't a drug deal. Brett was everyone's source. It was his primary income, his lawn mowing/snow shoveling business a front to cover for his drug dealing. She felt like her mother looking for her reading glasses when they were on top of her head. Finishing her wine, "I have a meeting, the old Randolph place, finally cleared probate. Thanks for the wine and conversation."
"Anytime. Oh, and when you see Santana, give her my condolences."
"Yeah, I will. Bye.
XXXXXXXXXX
Rachel sorted through sheet music spread out on the piano, thinking about regionals as rehearsals for the winter concert were in progress thanks to Kurt.
"You haven't called me yet," Kurt said as he strode into the room, laying his messenger bag on the piano, taking off his winter coat and scarf.
"Well, I meant too, but then I found out this morning that Mrs. Coffey had the choir singing 'Good King Wenceslas' instead of In the 'Bleak Mid-Winter' like I told her. It completely ruined my morning. Wenceslas isn't even on the choir's setlist for the winter concert." Rachel huffed as she hugged Kurt.
"Well, just add it."
"No, I know what I want 'Bleak Mid-Winter,' 'Coventry Carol,' 'Sussex Carol' 'Shepherd's Pipe Carol,' 'The First Noel,' and ending with 'Angels From the Realms of Glory.'
"Very British of you. You'll have the entire audience running home to their to Yule log, to eat a traditional English pudding made with suet. While listening to someone read Dickens' "A Christmas Carol." Afterward, they all say Happy Christmas to each other, instead of Merry Christmas. None of which is Midwestern or diverse, Rachel."
"It's a theme, Kurt. And one that their parents and grandparents will be comfortable to hear."
"Come on, Rachel, add a little Bohemia or Feliz Navidad or Stille Nacht or Tayo ay Magmahalan."
"Huh?"
"Oh, Tayo ay magmahalan, it's Filipino for let us all love one another. Blaine introduced the song to me during our first Christmas together." Picking up a page of sheet music from the piano, "It's what we could all use right now."
Rachel let out a sigh, "I'm sorry, Kurt, how are you?" she murmured, laying her hand on Kurt's arm.
"As good as can be expected. I mean, losing an ex-lover and friend is sad, but not compared to losing my mom." He said, tossing the sheet music back on the piano, sighing, "Santana wants me to pick out which Tom Ford suit Dave will be buried in."
"She specified Ford?" Rachel curious about which of the two fashionistas was making that decision.
"Oh, no. It has to be Ford. That was me. The thought of meeting St Peter at the pearly gate and not being the best dressed, well, it would be horrid fashion faux pas. Even for David."
Rachel smiled. "Being a Jewish woman, I wouldn't know anything about that, but I'm glad to see Santana has included you in some way. Have you talked to anyone else?"
Walking over to a chair, Rachel followed to sit side-by-side. "Sebastian, actually told me." leaning over to Rachel, "He had the gory duty to ID Dave's body. Anyway, he didn't want me to see it on the news first. Very considerate of the criminal chipmunk, I thought."
"And Blaine? How's he taking it?"
"We both shed tears together. We remembered a few fun moments with David. Blaine drank a beer in his honor, I, of course, went for a nice dry red. Then we went to bed, cuddled, talked about writing out our wills. That was about it."
Rachel nodded "Quinn and I are each other's beneficiaries, we don't have much. The house is in both our names." Pausing to think for a minute if she wanted to confide in Kurt or not. "Um, I do know that if something were to happen to Shelby and Beth is still a minor, I would become Beth's guardian. That's kinda how I think of a will."
Kurt grinned, elbowing her side, "Rachel, as a mom."
"It could happen sooner than you think. It's all in the details," Rachel replied with a smirk.
"I do feel bad for Dave's children. I, at least, knew my mom. How much do you remember as a four-year-old? Fleeting moments. Ballet class. Riding in a car. A room. The Berenstain Bears. A few seconds of a holiday. You don't remember a voice or a hug or the smell of cologne."
"Wait, Kurt, how come Sebastain ID Dave's body? Jesse knew Dave. And how did Jesse know Sebastain and Dave knew each other?"
"Uh, probably because the family was out of town, so they went to a friend for an ID. I don't know." Glancing over to Rachel, her scrunched brow, pursed lips, "Don't do this."
"Do what?" she asked inquisitively.
"That thing you do where you make a mountain out of a molehill."
"No! No! Kurt, you might be right. I just find it unusual. That Jesse would go to the one ex-boyfriend that Dave maintained an adversarial relationship outside of Santana, of course, to get a positive personal identification."
Well, Who Are You?
"Finn Hudson," Rory said as he put a basket of peanuts on the bar for the tall man to munch on "thought you'd be home with the family since Shuester canceled Fusion practice."
"Nah, some of us thought we'd catch a Monday night game, have a few beers."
"Eagles and the 'skins, might be worth watching. So you want a Bud?" Rory asked with a grin.
"Yeah, make it a pitcher. Blaine, Will, Burt, maybe Puck, and Lauren if they can get away from their Hanukkah celebration."
"Be right back," Rory said as he stepped away.
Finn looked over to his left "Hey Jesse, didn't see you there." Snapping a peanut shell, tossing the nut into his mouth after separating it from its shell.
Jesse nodded as he pushed an empty plate away, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin "Finn." Then finishing off the beer that remained in his bottle of Heineken.
"Any leads?" Finn asked as Rory set the glasses and pitcher in front of Finn.
"Still waiting on the reports from the autopsy. Still in the process of collecting evidence. Trees, underbrush, that cornfield it's a big area to cover."
Finn poured beer from the pitcher into a glass "I heard you found a shell, but not anything else." He said as he felt a slap on his back.
"Hey buddy," Burt said as he took the stool next to Finn, Will, and Blaine next to him. "Jesse," Burt acknowledged the out of uniform officer.
"Yeah, ballistic has it." Jesse retrieved his debit card from his wallet.
"Anything from the truck?" Burt leaned over to look around Finn at Jesse.
Jesse shook his head, "Not really. Some prints, probably Dave's. Mud from the gravel." He said.
Burt nudged Finn. "Did you tell him what you saw?" turning to nod at Will as he walked up behind Finn.
Finn spoke to Burt in a low voice, "Come on, he's not on duty. He's in his street clothes."
"Finn!" Burt growled, "Clothes don't matter, he's an officer of the law. Tell him!"
"What do you know, Finn?" Jesse asked, "If you're withholding information on an active investigation, I can arrest you for obstruction of justice under 18 US Code, Section 4." He said, taking advantage of Finn's ignorance of the law, "That's a felony. More than a night in jail. Money for an attorney. Stress for the wife and kids. Your mom. Registered felon." Behind Finn, he saw Will and Burt give each other a questioning look.
Finn's mouth gaped open as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh,… Uh,… well uh, Puck and I passed Dave's truck, and there was this truck blocking it. You know, like across the back, so Dave couldn't back out."
"What time was that? That you drove by?"
"Around eight, I guess. We were late leaving the house," Finn snorted quietly. "Leia wanted extra Daddy hugs before she'd let me leave."
Jesse smiled at Finn, describing his little daughter's request to revert to the inquisitor, "Did you catch the license?" he asked.
Finn shook his head "Nah, it was a temporary tag from out of state. Puck might remember, I was driving." Taking a drink from his beer glass.
"Make? Model?"
Finn exhaled, "Uh,… Uh, Ram two-door. Short box. Reddish color. I don't think it was a 4x4."
Jesse took his debit card back, signing his 'JSJs' on the receipt, "Tell Puck I'll be looking for him tomorrow." He said as he slid the card back in his wallet. "I'd stick around, but I'm expected in Columbus tonight."
"Yeah, I will. So hot date in Columbus?" Finn asked, relieved to avert jail time.
"Something like that." Jesse replied, "Good night, gentlemen."
Come On Tell Me Who Are You?
Sydney stood by the door, gazing into the parking lot. He checked his watch, then grabbed his flip phone out of his pocket to check the last message. Mumbling to himself, "frickin' kid is late! I'm too old for his clandestine bullshit." Startled by a knock on the glass, Sydney looked up to see a man dressed in black with a toothy grin staring back. He unlatched the door, "You're late!" he growled.
"Couldn't be helped. Ronnie was all over me tonight."
"Ronnie? Who's Ronnie? Another floozy you picked up over a speeding ticket?"
"Uh, no. Ronnie's the 911 operator whose hot for my bod." Jesse replied with a wink. "And can you blame her?"
"I've seen better cadavers of 90-year-old men." Sydney gruffed, "Come on, I want to get this over with before Kimmel comes on." Syndey tottled over to the elevators, pressing the down button, he and Jesse entered the car as the doors opened. "Ya know this report will be available tomorrow. Why the sudden need for it now?" He asked as the car made its way to the lowest floor, the ding sounded as it reached its destination.
"This is a big case, Uncle Syd. It could make my career." Jesse replied, following the older man out of the car.
"What you suddenly have aspirations beyond arresting whacked out toothless meth dealers and cattle thieves?"
"Not much cattle thieving these days. But yes, I'd like to move out of the patrol car."
"You should have thought about that before you flunked out of Kent," Sydney replied as he used a keycode to unlock the lab door. Flipping on the lights, he went back to another set of double doors, pushing on one, he entered a room where a body covered with a sheet laid.
"Do I need gloves? A mask? A gown?" Jesse inquired as he took his place opposite his uncle across the table.
"Why? All the fun stuff is over. But if you want, I could pull back the skin on his head. Saw off the top of his skull to show you his brain." Sydney said as he grabbed the sheet to pull it down to Dave's waist. "Stitched up 'Y' incision. A thing of beauty. Not many plastics that can stitch like me." Sydney moved his hand over the new incisions on Dave's chest, "Thought I'd show some respect considering all the ice cream of there's I've eaten over the years."
"Uh, the family will never know," Jesse answered with a grimace as he looked down at Dave's chest. The skin completely swollen, colored in shades of black and blue.
"Thought that counts. Anyway," Taking the file from under Dave's leg, his reading glasses from his shirt pocket with a shake, he set them on his ears to read the file. "David James Karofsky, Lima, Ohio. Age …"
"Don't worry about that, I know his age, height, and weight, get to the details if you don't want to miss Fallon." Jesse waved off his uncle's presentation.
"It's Kimmel. And I'll keep it in laymen's terms for the simple-minded." Clearing his throat, "Anyway, Dave started his day with a bowl of corn flakes. After a few hours out in the field, he probably would've needed a good shit." Shufflingly over to the backlight screen, he flipped on the light where x-rays hung, using the file as a pointer "you can see the shit here and over here." Sydney returned to stand across from Jesse. "He had remnants of alcohol in his systems, probably a few beers the night before. Interesting, the lab found pre-exposure prophylaxis in his system."
"Pre-exposure prof?"
"Sorry, I forgot. Keep it simple stupid. Pre-exposure prophylaxis. PrEP, a drug that supposedly decreases the likelihood of getting HIV. It's prescribed to people who have high-risk sexual behaviors. Uh, you know… drug addicts, queers, prostitutes. Though I don't know how anyone can afford it."
Jesse scowled at his great-uncles' word choice, "Yeah, can we use more pc language."
"You don't like the word prostitutes? I suppose whore isn't acceptable either?"
"Don't you take any diversity courses for your job here?"
"Oh, those? I slip the secretary a twenty to take them for me. I don't have time for that nonsense. People are people they're born. They die, they all bleed red. To continue, otherwise, Karfosky here was a healthy white male."
"So, what did he die from?"
"He was shot! Jeeze Jesse, I thought you knew that already." Sydney bellowed.
"When are you retiring?"
"Two more years, I'll be eighty and off to Meh-he-co to find me a sweet senorita to take care of me in my old age." Sydney chuckled, "Been practicing my Spanish. Pollo, you know what that is? Chicken. Fish is Pescado, or is it pescar. Anyway, it doesn't matter once I find an English speaking senorita on the internet. I'll be fine."
"Uncle Sydney, can we get back to the bullet part of your autopsy?"
"Oh sure," Sydney lifted the sheet to expose Dave's left leg. The entry wound was here, in his upper thigh," pointing to the outside of Dave's leg, "with the exit here on the inside. That's left to right to you. The bullet shattered his femur, uh,… thigh bone. But amazingly, his femoral artery wasn't damaged." Sydney shook his head, "Nasty business when a bullet hits the femoral." Sydney covered Dave's leg back up. "The second bullet hit his left lung, causing tension pneumothorax, a collapsed lung. Without immediate medical attention, that will kill a person."
"So, he died from a collapsed lung?"
"Yes and no. Karofsky's lung was gone, as was his bronchial artery. They were complete mush. Not figuratively, but literally, pulp! He also had damage to his heart, aorta, trachea. It's called cavitation.
Jesse took his eyes away from the body on the table to look up at his uncle, "Huh?"
"Cavitation. It's what happens when a high-speed bullet hits a body. It's like running your finger through water, the water ripples. Same here, only the ripple is more violent."
"Yeah, right," Jesse mumbled with a nod, remembering he'd read about cavitation before.
"All of that probably would have killed our victim here if left alone. Say within 15 minutes or so. He'd been dead." Sydney answered. "But your guy panicked and tried to go all Bruce Lee. Using one of those moves in movies, where the hero kills a man with their bare hands. Which only works when your victim is incapacitated and is say… oh, I don't know… a geriatric with severe osteoporosis. Uh, old with brittle bones. And if a neck were that easy to break, chiropractors wouldn't be in business."
"My patience is waning here, Uncle Syd."
"Come over here. I'll show you." Jesse walked over to stand in front of his uncle, who turned him around, then wrapped an around his nephew's neck. "Our victim is incapacitated. He can't breathe, so I tighten my arm around him." Sydney applied pressure to Jesse's throat. "And for added effect since he's not struggling, and we're on the ground anyway, I put my other hand over his mouth and use my fingers to squeeze his nose shut." Jesse grabbed at his uncle's arm with one hand the other to the hand covering his mouth. Sydney released his hold, "a couple of minutes pass, your victim is dead. Irreversible asphyxiation."
"Christ, did ya have to do that?" Jesse growled, "What kinda weapon are we talking here?" He asked as he straightened his jacket and hair.
"I'd say something along the lines of an AR-15. It's a high-velocity weapon, where accuracy isn't key, but internally it can cause enough damage to be deadly. If you want to help me roll him, I can show you the exit wound. Big as cantaloupe." His hands formed a circle inches apart. "Hard to say if he'd been paralyzed, but t9 to t12 injuries, you can be a little more optimistic. But again hard to say since he's deceased." Sydney rubbed the top of his head to think. "You can also see on his chest the marks left from the hemorrhaging, and if you haven't noticed, his chest wall has expanded like a balloon. That's from the cavitation before it exited."
Jesse shook his head, "I'll never understand using an assault rifle for hunting deer. It just defeats the purpose to me."
"Well, anymore, they're more likely to be used in mass shootings. Guys take those guns out to the range, set it to automatic and POW! POW! POW! It's like an ejaculation to them. Anyway, your shooter was probably within 200 meters when he shot your victim. That's roughly two football fields, give or take a few yards." Lifting the sheet back over Dave, Sydney replied, ambling over to collect the x-rays from the backlight to add them back to the manilla folder. "Any more questions?"
"Time of death?"
"8 A.M. give or take a few minutes. That's consistent with the temperature of his liver at the site. The shooter waiting for daylight plus deer usually feed at dawn and dusk. Any clues from the scene?"
"Uh, Dave… they found him at the treeline. He had a backpack, his gun, and what he was wearing. It had rained a little after lunch. Claude had his dogs with him, so they walked all over the place. His truck hadn't been disturbed."
"Dogs. They can mess up a crime scene. What kinda gun?"
".243 Remington bolt action."
"Traditionalist, I like that. If I were you, I'd start talking to his hunting friends or any hunter who was out that day. See if they saw anything."
Yeah, "I'll do that. Thanks, Uncle Sydney. I appreciate you taking the time."
"Not a problem any time, kid. So let me ask you a question while you help put Mr. Karofsky back in the freezer. What's this Ronnie like? Attractive? Is she a redhead? Your Aunt Ruthann always dyed her hair red. She knew I had a thing for Maureen O'Hara. God, that woman was beautiful. She could charm the balls off of a guy. And he'd thank her afterward. Firey, too…"
Jesse, tuned out his uncle babbling on about some actress as he stepped on the table's wheel locks to release the brakes. How was this tied to the information JBI had given him? Or what Finn had told him a few hours ago? And what about the PReP? Dave had been with the new football coach when he'd served the divorce papers. He'd heard rumors about Dave playing for both teams. Jesse needed to add Coach Porter to his list of interviewees.
"Jesse! Jesse! Are you listening to me?" Sydney bellowed. "What's the matter with you? Didn't your mother tell you to listen to your elders?"
"Yeah. Yeah. I'm listening. Uh,… Let's see where to start …"
My Heart Is Like A Broken Cup
Santana sat at her breakfast table, moving the list that laid in front of her. She knew how Dave's Will read. She and Zee were the only listed beneficiaries. Elle was excluded due to neither taking the time to update the document. She wasn't sure, but she thought Ohio law would grant Elle the same as Zee. Santana believed the existing trust she and Dave had for their daughter would suffice, but she couldn't remember. Santana jotted down a note to call Grace.
Santana heard the doorbell. Then her phone dinged a text. She smiled, reading the message. She ran to the door, opening it to see Brittany in a pink and brown beanie cap with ear flaps the ties hanging past her shoulders.
"Hi."
"I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I stop by," Brittany said as she twisted around, with a shy smile.
"In the neighborhood? We're in the country." Santana replied with a laugh, "Would you like to come in?"
Brittany stepped over the threshold, removing her cap, combing out her hair with her hands. The static electricity from her hat and dry winter air made strands of blonde fly outward. Santana closing the door, turned toward her guest. Brittany stepped closer to wrap her arms around the shorter woman. "How are you, babe?" she murmured into Santana's hair.
Santana buried herself in Brittany's arms, closing her eyes, she picked up the faint odor perfume, mixed with the scent of her shampoo. Brittany's body's warmth and the chill from her jacket. Warm hands that had been covered by mittens, contrasted with the redness of her cheeks. "How long were you outside?" she asked.
"I walked the drive a few times. Debating whether to knock. I didn't want to cause problems with Karen."
"You're in luck. Karen's at her sisters' tonight. No clue when she'll be back."
"And the kids?"
"They're upstairs with Dottie, getting ready for bed."
"I guess it's ok if I do this then," Brittany said as she leaned down, tilting her head she placed a kiss on Santana's lips.
Santana wrapped her arms around Brittany's neck, responding to the softness, she felt. Brittany's tongue, dipping in, then flicking back. Santana pulled back, "I missed you." She cooed. She went back for another kiss, nibbling at Brittany's lip. Beneath her wrist, she felt the silkiness of Brittany's hair, Brittany's gentle hands moved across her lower back, her fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans. "Uh,… we can be seen from the top of the stairs." Santana said as she broke away from Brittany. "Uhmm, how about Peppermint Hot Chocolate to warm you up?"
"Depends, do you have marshmallows?" Brittany asked.
"Uhhh, marshmallows Choking hazard, how about whipped cream?"
Brittany rolled her eyes "You're kidding, right?"
"I read it in a baby book," Santana replied apologetically.
Brittany watched Santana shake her head, "No s'mores? Rice Krispie bars? Marshmallow Strawberry Shortcake? No toasted marshmallows over a campfire? She asked.
"Not even that weird fruit salad with baby marshmallows."
"Never heard of that," Brittany replied in amazement. She took a minute to think about her response. "Canned or whipped cream in a tub?" she teased.
Santana gave Brittany's arm a light slap, "You're terrible! Come on, Dottie will be bringing them down to say good-nite."
When Zee saw Brittany sitting at the table, he raced over to hug her in his pajamas with feet. Elle wiggled away from Dottie, reaching out for her too. The five sat around the table, the adults with their hot chocolate heavily spiked with peppermint schnapps. Zee's cup with half chocolate half whipped cream. Elle ignored her bottle as she wiggled to get out of her chair. Brittany noticed Zee seemed unaware of the gravity that had befallen the family Saturday, talked non-stop. Nana Karen flew back with them. Santa Claus. His friends again at school that day. His Abuela and Abuelo were coming to visit. Christmas trees, even taking Brittany into the living room to show her where it would stand, exaggerating the tree's height. He begged to take Brittany outside to show her the Christmas lights at the back of the house. That now sparkled in the cold night air. He settled, instead to look out the windows when his mother opened the drapes.
After Dottie had taken both children up to put to bed. Brittany, getting a good nite kiss from Zee and a sort of slobbery kiss from Elle, she and Santana went into the living room. Santana lit the logs that Dave put in the fireplace, they sat together on the couch. Santana rested her head on Brittany's shoulder, both watching as the fire popped, the logs consumed by the light as it flamed in shades of orange and red.
Santana let out a sigh, "Zee thinks heaven means Dave's on another business trip," she said.
Brittany took Santana's hand in hers. "He's never experienced death before?"
"Some gasping old great uncle of Karen's, but he was a tiny baby at the time. Dave and I didn't even go to the service. Then the old dog that belonged to the kid who takes care of the horses. That time we told him the dog went to live with his mom next to a rainbow bridge."
Brittany let out a chuckle, "My cat, Charity, is there too." Squeezing Santana's hand. "What do the books tell you?"
"Mostly watch out for changes with both. Attitude. Activity level. Reverting to old habits. Or new habits. Asking questions."
"How are you?" rubbing her thumb across Santanas'.
"Uh, numb, I guess. Confused. Why Dave? I don't even know if it was accidental or not. Maybe some guilt for not being here. He may not have gone out so early. Or I could have called him, it would have pissed him off, but one phone call and he might still be alive."
Brittany released Santana's hand, to move her arm around Santana, her other hand taking back Santana's "You can't do that to yourself. Blame yourself. Senseless deaths happen all the time."
Santana wiped a tear with her free hand, sniffed, "You know, we never said we loved each other." She sniffed, "He'd say it as an afterthought before he hung up. I knew he wasn't alone. I never said it back. It was a code. Part of the act." She wiped a tear from her face "He was alone Saturday morning, he said it anyway. He loved the kids and me." she sniffed, wiping the tears falling down her cheeks. "And I hated that I had to marry him. Use him to get my money. And after I found out I was pregnant with Elle and how she came about that night, I didn't give a shit. I just wanted him. And I've fought that battle every second we were together, and now he's gone I still don't know how I feel."
"It's OK," Brittany mumbled into Santana's hair. "It's OK."
"Tonight, at the table. You don't see it, but Zee would glance at me. Make a face. Or said something. There was Dave." Santana took a breath, "Everyone says they're both mini-me's, but Dave's there too. Even Elle whining to get to the floor, it was like Dave whining." She let out a quiet laugh. "God could he whine over the stupidest of things."
Brittany sat as she listened to Santana talk about Dave. She'd hug her tighter as she'd tremble in tears, or chuckle with her over something Dave had said or did. The Christmas lights glowed through the enormous windows, Brittany didn't have to look up to see the portrait picture of Dave with Zee and Santana. She remembered the men and women she had dated, even glad to be rid of, that she still loved in away. She knew too that the transformation from a caterpillar to a butterfly required a part of the caterpillar to die. And it required a struggle to exit its tiny cocoon. This was all part of it.
The fire had died down. Both women now sat covered with a throw blanket when they heard the garage door open.
"Shit! Its Karen." Santana said as she scrambled away from Brittany, wiping her face with her hands. "God, what time is it?" reaching for her phone, "almost midnight! I… I didn't mean for you to stay here and listen to me this long."
Brittany stood up, grabbing the blanket to lay it on the back of the couch, "Really, it's fine."
"You've got work tomorrow. And I've got," Santana stopped, "I guess I don't know what I have tomorrow." Rolling her eyes, "Karen to deal with."
Brittany smiled, touching Santana's face "Call me if you need a break." Leaning in for a kiss, wanting to draw it out longer, only to hear Karen open the back door, the hum of the garage door descending.
"Thank you." Santana whispered, "I… I …"
"Oh, you're up," Karen said as she entered the living room to go upstairs. "And not alone, I see."
"Karen," Santana said with a harsh edge, "You know there are back stairs."
"Yes, For the help. Anyway, I'd have to walk past Zavier's room, and I didn't want to wake him."
Santana felt Brittany's hand go around her wrist, "Zavier" correcting Karen's pronunciation, "has been asleep for hours, I doubt if he'd heard you walk past his door."
"I was just leaving, anyway, Mrs. Karofsky. I can let myself out San. It was good to see you both again." Brittany said as she walked passed Karen to get her jacket on the breakfast table chair. Turning back to Santana, "Let me know if you need anything."
Santana lay in her bed. She'd stayed up long enough to wait for Karen to take the front stair to her bedroom, then she too had gone up the back stairs. She'd checked on Elle than getting ready for bed she crawled beneath the feathered duvet. Santa laid there as her mind went over the evening. God Brittany just sat there holding her as she told stories of her life with Dave. Brittany had to be bored to tears. Probably the last thing she wanted to hear. Santana remembered the kiss. Being held by Brittany. How calm she felt as Brittany used her finger to rub her arm. The gentle touch of her thumb on her hand. When her hands stroked at her hair, it was going on 2 when she felt her heavy eyelids start to close. Only to open when she heard Zee scream over the baby monitor.
Zee sat on his bed, screaming. Tears fell down his reddened face. Santana ran to sit down on his bed only to find he'd wet the bed. Then he started talking about a wolf under the bed that was after him. He clung to her for his life, genuinely believing he wasn't imagining the growling tooth bared animal coming after him. After cleaning Zee up, finding a pair of big boy overnight underpants for him to wear. She tossed the soiled bedding, his pajamas, and hers down the laundry shoot. He now lay curled up next to her asleep. She had to concede that Dave's death was affecting her and their son more than she wanted.
Oh, Who The Fuck Are You?
Looking above him on the bluff that overlooked the river, he could see the Karofsky mansion lit up for the night. The natural white glow now shades of green, red, gold, and blue for Christmas. He recalled the times he'd been in the home. It had actually been impressive, not ostentatious or gaudy. The part that was lived in at least had a homey feel to it — jackets and children's boots by the door. The crudely drawn childish pictures hung on the fridge. A child's table near the kitchen, what was it Cars or Toy Story he couldn't remember. A photographic portrait in the living space, mom, dad, and son dressed in jeans and white shirts.
The parents sitting and the son with long hair down to his shoulders stood between them. He was barefoot if he recalled correctly. It wasn't the boy or dad that was the most striking thing about the photo. No, it was Mom. His eye, well anyone's eye who wasn't blind, looked at her first, aside from her ebony black hair that fell across her shoulders. Her smile radiated, matched with warm brown eyes, her skin tone against the white shirt. Her shirt, any other mom he knew, would have gone for something modest, but not her, it was a wife-beater and stretched across her chest as though the seams were pulled taught. And then there was the father. His shirt hung off him like a loose tent as though trying to hide the man he indeed was to the world. The sleeves rolled up. His smile not that of an honest man, more a smirk, like a fuck you smirk. You think you know me, a loving father and devoted husband. Still, you don't know the secrets I keep or the pain I cause to those around me. Especially those who lack the power I do. And for all my weaknesses, I do hold power.
The man rubbed his hands together to warm them. He removed the backpack that he had slung over his shoulder. Squatting down next to the pile of rocks he'd collected over the weekend, he took out the cloth bags, careful to place a large rock in each. He drew the cotton string tight, making a slip knot to hold the parcel together. He checked his backpack to make sure he'd gotten all the bags filled. Then he placed each into the canoe that he'd seen stashed on the bank during his countless walks along the river back over the last few months. As each parcel went into the canoe, he silently counted to himself. Stock. Site. Barrel. Charging handle. Bolt carrier. The magazine. Gloves. And finally, a bag for each boot the man had worn. At least a thousand dollars worth of equipment that with any luck would disappear beneath the river water forever, tonight. The Ram truck had already returned to his cousin in Virginia. His clothes, burned. The disposable phones were in landfills from here to Seattle to Fort Myers, using fast food bags to dump them in airport trash bins.
He went to the front of the canoe, pushing it down into the water, waded in, then lifted himself into the narrowboat, the ice water seeping through his jogging shoes. The man used the paddle to steer the boat out into the center of the peaceful river. Only the sound of an owl hooting along with the splash of the water as the oar push water beside the canoe could be heard. Once in the middle, he took a bag, checking the knot then feeling the content, the sight. It brought back a memory. The camouflaged man in its crosshairs, lowering his aim slightly, the pressure he used to pull the trigger back, then release it. The slightest kick to his shoulder, the man, bending down. He raised the gun again to his shoulder, centered the camouflage once more, depressed the trigger. The camouflaged man went down. Like then, it brought a smile to his face. With care and reverence, he slipped the cloth bag into the river. He sensed the peace that Celtic warriors must have felt as they slid their swords and daggers into distant rivers thousands of years ago to honor their god.
It would take the man another hour to paddle up the river to dispose of his parcels. Less time to float back down. Then return the canoe to its original resting place, wiping it down in case one of his fingerprints were to be found. He returned to his car, then to his hotel in Columbus, where he removed his shoes, tossing those too into a paper grocery bag then the trash. In his room, he washed the smell of the night air off his body. The stench of the river. And the stink of Lima, Ohio. He checked his clothes for the next day, the blue trousers, pressed white shirt and blue tie, his blue jacket with the wings, a silver around the cuffs, the label designation of Captain. His cap, picking a bit of lint off. Finally, his schedule, DFW first, then HNL. Life was good.
Notes:
Hanukkah started the first Sunday evening in December 2018.
Eagles and the 'Skins did play the first Monday Night Football game in December 2018. Eagles won. (Not a fan of either team.)
Cavitation is actually what happens from a bullet fired from a high-velocity weapon.
Breaking a man's neck – Folks with martial arts or military training say it absolutely possible. Experts with knowledge of anatomy/physics say not possible.