Revelations

Maddie staggered backwards, as if she had been physically hit. "Oh my god," she gasped as she fell into the doorframe. Sara was thinking and feeling pretty much the exact same thing, but she couldn't afford to react as dramatically as Maddie had. Reeling with your emotions never solved a murder.

"Jake turn that thing off," Sara snapped before turning to the girl, who was now crying regardless of her running mascara. "Maddie, calm down. We'll . . . we'll figure this out. Come here," Sara said, gently pulling the girl away from the wall and leading her to the chair in front of Sara's cluttered desk. "Take a moment," Sara said. "Calm down. We are going to have to ask you a couple questions about Gabriel."

"He didn't do it," She sobbed.

"I believe that," Sara said. "With all my heart, I do. But we've got to prove it, and your testimony can help with that. Alright?"

The girl nodded, but was obviously no closer to being calm.

"Ok," Sara said kindly. "We're going to leave you alone for a minuet. Let you collect your thoughts. When we come back, do you think you'll be ready to tell us about Gabriel?"

She nodded again, still gasping and sobbing.

"Ok," Sara said again and then, turning to her partners, nodded her head. "Come on guys.
As soon as they were out of the office with the door closed firmly behind them Sara let go of her emotions. She leaned against the nearest pillar and took a couple of very regulated, very purposeful breaths, she may have been upset, but she was not going to cry.
"Are you alright, Sara?" Danny asked, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Do you need to sit down?"

"No," she said, although her voice did waver. "No, I'm . . . I'll be ok." She turned and looked at her two partners, her face hard and her eyes demanding. "How bad is it?"

Jake looked at Danny, then back at Sara. "It's pretty bad Pez. The security cameras show him and Baxter together, and the barkeep and two waitresses testified they saw the two leave together the night she was murdered.

Sara nodded, "Testified how? I mean, did they identify him by name?"

"No," Danny said. "Everyone called our suspect Kenny. And they all described him as having blue or blue gray eyes."

"Gabriel has brown eyes," Sara said.

"I know," Danny said.

Sara found a determined smile, "Something going on, Danny. Something wired."

"Are there any other kinds of going-on's in your life?"

"I'm going get to the bottom of this. Gabriel could not have committed those murders. The first thing we're gonna have to do, though, is find him and . . ."
"Sara!"

The detectives pivoted and saw Conchobar walking towards them with a small package in one hand and a determined look on his face.

"Hey baby," Sara said, running over to him and giving him a large hug. He was what she needed right now, someone strong and supportive. He hugged her back, but she could feel that he was hesitating, holding back. "What's wrong?"

"Sara I've got a confession to make."

"We're not getting an annulment," Sara said quickly and forcefully with a playful look in her eye. "I don't care what you just did, you made a promise and I'd kill you before I let you break it."

Conchobar laughed and smiled. "Ya, haven't even heard me confess."

"I don't have to," she said firmly.

"Bless ya, Sara," he said as he kissed her on the forehead.

"Hey, hey," Jake said playfully. "Get a room."

"What's that?" Danny asked, noticing Conchobar's package, a regular goldenrod envelope that seemed to have a videocassette in it and was marked in bright red letters 'URGENT!'

"I'da'know," Conchobar said. "It came for Sara this mornin.'"

He offered her the package and Sara took it. Suddenly she was overcome with visions, flashes of things she knew had happened. She saw herself as a nine year old girl watching her father's coffin being lowered into the grave. Then her father was kneeling helpless in a dark ally, Joe Siri shaking his head, ashamed, Bruno Dante smiling, and a built with the image of a bull tattooed on it.

"Sara," Conchobar said, "Y'a'right."

"Ah, yeah . . ." she stuttered. "Danny, Jake, where can we go that's privet?"

"Well, the office," Jake said. "Only right now you've got a sobbing beauty queen in there."

"No," Sara said slowly. "We're going to Joe Siri's house."

"Who?" Jake asked.

"Sara he retired," Danny pointed out.

"Conchobar, will you do me a big favor?"

"'Course," he said. "Sara, is everythin' alright."

"No," she said licking her lips. "Everything is really really wrong. There's a girl in my office cryin' her eyes out. You need to go in there and make sure she doesn't leave. We'll be back in about an hour."

"All right," Conchobar said. "You'll tell me all about wha's really goin' on tonight, won't you?"

"Course, baby," Sara said, pushing herself up on her toes so she could plant a sweet kiss on his lips. "And then you can confess to me."

"Right," Conchobar said, nodding.

"Danny, Jake, Come on," she said heading rapidly for the precinct exit, leaving the three men for a second to stare at one another, bewildered.

She was half way to the exit when she realized that none of the men were following her instructions. She turned around expectantly, "Well?"

Finally, Danny said, "I don't want to be the one to say no to her," and started to follow.

Jake and Conchobar looked at each other for a moment before the rookie cop turned to follow Danny. "Hey, wait up!"

* * *

"Sara," Marie Siri said opening the door and smiling presently. "It's so good to see you."

"It's great to see you too Marie," Sara said as she walked in the room, Danny and Jake at her heals. "I hope we're not interrupting anything."

"Only Blues Clues," Marie said with a smile, nodding towards two grandchildren glued to the TV. "But I don't think Hannah or Sammy even noticed. Danny, it's good to see you too. How's your wife?"

"Li's great, thanks for asking." Danny said a little awkwardly. He'd known Joe Siri as a commanding officer, and had met his wife at formal things like retirement parties or the policeman's ball. But he didn't feel close enough to her to show up on her door and be invited inside when she was babysitting.

"Marie, is Joe around?" Sara asked. "There's something kinda important he needs to see."

"I think he's taking a nap," Marie said. "Could you come back later?"

"Umm," Sara said, "It's kinda important. You think you could wake him?"

Marie was clearly surprised, but, as always, she was helpful. "Well . . . I'll see. Have a seat."

Sara walked into the room with comfortable casualty and slouched down on the couch. Hanna turned her head to see who'd entered, but didn't seem overly concerned. Danny walked around so he could see what was on the TV and get an idea of what he himself would probably be very familiar with in a year or two. Jake stayed awkwardly by the door.

After a few minuets, Joe shuffled out of the kitchen smiling behind his large yawn. "Sara, Danny, to what do I owe the honor."

"Hi Joe," Sara said standing up and giving her mentor a large hug.

"Marie and I were just thinking about you. We were hoping to have you and your husband over for dinner soon."

"We'd love that," Sara said. "But before we make too many plans we need to talk."

"What about?"

"Cop stuff," Jake said tersely.

"Joe," Sara said. "This is Jake, our trainee." The two men nodded at each other by way as introduction. "This is important, Joe, is there another VCR we could use in the house."

"Ah, yeah," Joe said. "In the kitchen, come on."

Soon they were all sitting around the kitchen table facing a small TV/VCR combo that was turned on to soaps.

"What's this about Sara?" Joe asked.

"I don't know, Joe," She said, taking a deep breath and pushing the tape into the machine. "We're gonna find out together."

There was a moment of static and then Sara gasped as her father appeared on her screen.

"My name is Officer James Pezzini. New York Police Department, badge number 7945. The date is February 22, 1984. If you're watching this ... it means that I'm already dead."

* * *

Gabriel was not a romantic when it came to suicide. He thought Romeo had been an idiot, and Juliet not very smart.

He wasn't very romantic about martyrs either. They made great stories for the telling but he always wondered how hard they'd really tried to stay alive. Most of them practically spit in the face of the authority and then acted outraged when the authority spit back. Some of them were really noble innocents, many of them were really rabble-rousers with a death wish.

But as Gabriel stared at the water below him he hoped desperately that he was wrong. That there was something basically good and noble about dying when you could compromise yourself and stay alive. He hoped that all martyrs went instantly to heaven. He gathered his courage and put his foot on the railing of the Brooklyn Bridge.

It would be one quick jump to the other side of the rail then a dive and then . . . then a fall.

It was easy.

He could do this.

No problem, not even a hop skip and a jump, just a hop and a jump.

It was natural.

He didn't have to try.

It wouldn't hurt.

There was no reason to be afraid.

It was the best thing.

When a strong hand grabbed the hood of his sweatshirt and pulled him backwards Gabriel gasped out of surprise and relief. He closed his eyes and started breathing again; he hadn't realized he'd stopped.

"You were very foolish Mr. Bowman, to think you were ever out of my master's reach," Ian Nottingham said. His voice was thick and his presence ominous.

"I prefer to think of myself as hopeful," Gabriel said, his voice was shaking. Suddenly he felt dizzy.

"Is suicide the act of a hopeful man?"

Gabriel closed his eyes and buried his face in hands. There weren't words for what he felt.

"My master wished for me to inform you that you will not die without his leave, no matter how or when you try."

Gabriel looked up to challenge Ian, not because he had any good arguments but because he wanted to, in whatever ways he still could, resist Irons and his influence. But that was not to be. Ian was gone and Gabriel was alone with his horror and his despair and a jump he would not be allowed to make.

* * *

"So," Conchobar said as he starred at the girl across the desk from him. She was holding up a compact and very carefully retracing her eyeliner before she applied more of a pail pink eyeshadow that matched her dress, which was short, tight, and looked like an oversized T-shirt. Her nails were the same sort of pearly pink color, as were her toenails, which her white flip-flop sandals didn't cover. But behind the nails and the makeup she looked frightened and disheveled. He wondered if this is what she looked like when she didn't care how she looked. "Wha' are ya in for?"

"Excuse me?" the girl said, a little surprised that grungy man sitting across from her had spoken.

"I was just wonderin' what a pretty girl like you would be doin' hangin' round a police station."

"Is this a come on?" the girl sighed. "Because the depths to which I am not interested are . . ."

"No, no," Conchobar said quickly. "You're looking at a happily married man. I was just makin' conversation."

"Oh," She said softly. "Well, ah, I'm sorry I snapped at you then."

"Why're you cryin'?"

She took a regulated breath. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not discuss it."

Conchobar nodded, "I understand."

There was a moment of silence then the girl talked in a very regulated way, "I'm here because my boyfriend is missing and I think he might be in trouble. I was hoping Detective Pezzini would be able to help me." She turned on him candidly, "And why are you here?"

"Detective Pezzini is my wife," he said smiling, he couldn't help but smile every time that thought entered his mind. "She asked me to make sure you waited for her."

Another pause, "Medea is aimn dom,1" she said.

"Gaeilge," Conchobar said with raised eyebrows. He hadn't heard good Irish Gaelic for years, suddenly he was transported back to his grandmother's kitchen with the smell of fresh scones wafting through the air and his father's laughter echoing off the cracked plaster walls. "Nar lagai Dia do Iamh2!"

"Nil me'ach ag tosu'ar an teanga a fhoghlaim3," she said.

"De reir a cheile a thogtar na caisleaim4," Conchobar said impressed. "Where'd ya learn it?"

"My friend," she said growing a little misty eyed but somehow staying miraculously composed. "The one who's missing."

"He speaks Gaelic?" Conchobar said slowly. He was starting to get the sinking feeling that he had just seen her lost 'friend.'

"Yes," she said with bitter relish. If she noticed how uncomfortable he suddenly was, he didn't say anything. "It is the only language he knows which I don't and so he uses it at every opportunity."

"Why don' you just learn it," he said, hoping to sound natural, not guilty.

She took a deep breath. "If I learn more than one language at a time I tend to confuse the grammars, and I'm so deep into Sanskrit right now that I . . ."

"Sanskrit?"

"Ancient Hindu."

"Yeah, I know. Um, how many languages d'ya know?"

"I'm fluent in twelve and can muddle my way through fifteen more," she said casually. "I can read over fifty."

Conchobar stared at her, amazed. She looked up at him and smiled, like she was used to being gaped at when she made that confession. "I'm a doctoral candidate studying comparative linguistics at NYU."

"Oh," Conchobar said, nodding, trying not to look surprised that a girl who obviously spent a good deal of time color coordinating her outfits could also be brilliant.

"I know I don't look the type," Maddie said wisely. "That's half the fun."

"I's not tha'a'all," Conchobar said quickly. "I just can't believe such a complete education left out Gaelic, the most important language still spoken."

"Well, then, I suppose my education isn't quite complete yet."

"I should say not," Conchobar said with a smile. "I'll see that Sara find's your friend post-haste so tha' he can teach you a real language."

"Thanks," Maddie said, smiling sadly and swallowing hard as she tried not to smear her newly applied makeup by crying again. "That would be just great."

* * *

Sara was crying. She could feel hot tears streaming down her cheeks. A fire of intense hatred had been lit in her, more than she could ever have dreamed possible. Murdered, her father had been cold heatedly murdered. Not thoughtlessly gunned down, as she thought, but targeted and assassinated. And why? Because he was a good guy in a precinct full of crooks.

"Damn," Joe said softly. "I thought this was over."

"Over?" Sara said, her voice raw. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew, Sara."

"And you just . . ." the detective was so horrified she couldn't find words.

"I just was a coward," Siri said, filling in where she couldn't. "I had a family, I saw what happened to Jim, what happened to you. I couldn't put Marie through that, and the kids."

"You let my father's murderers go," Sara said, her voice filled with more hurt than hate.

"I'm sorry, Sara. If there were a way I could change things, I would."

"There is," Sara said. "You could talk now."

"Now?" Joe said. "They're still as deadly."

"Your wrong," Sara said. "They're more deadly. That's why you have to tell all you know. We have to bring them down!"

"Sara," Danny said kindly, putting his hand on her arm. "What exactly do you expect him to do? Who do you expect him to tell?" Sara turned to Danny, she looked confused, he decided to continue. "I'm guessing that this group you Dad is talking about, the White Bulls, you think they're the one's that killed McQueen."

"Yeah, they are," Sara said without a moment of hesitation.

"Then by your own deductions, IA isn't gonna do squat. Joe would be killed, just like your father."

"I'm not going to stay quiet, Danny. None of us can stay quiet. This has gone on for far too long. Now we have evidence, lots of it."

"What are you talking about?" Jake said. "We don't . . ."

"We have Charlene's testimony," Sara said. "She saw Orlinsiky gun her pimp down in cold blood."

"Who said Orlinsiky . . ." Danny started.

"We have this video where my father makes a detailed confession."

"Sara, all respect," Jake said nervously, because she looked about ready to gun down anyone who tried to stop this new crusade. "But your father could have been paranoid or something. I mean, he could have made all that stuff up."

"He could have, but Joe's bullet proves that he didn't."

"Joe's bullet, Sara, what are you talking about?" Jake demanded.

Sara didn't answer, she just stared at Joe. After a moment he said, very softly. "How did you know about that?"

"It proves it, it proves it all."

"Time out!" Danny said. "What bullet, what the hell are we talking about?!"

"The white bulls killed my father eighteen years ago because he was going to expose them. They gunned him down in cold blood and Joe here knew all about it, but didn't say anything to protect himself and his family. But he did find a bullet casing at the scene, didn't you Joe? Something very distinctive."

Joe nodded, ashamed, "A bullet, exactly as Jim described, with a bull engraved on it."

"The bulls have been operating for years inside the police department as profiteers, justifying murder and theft by murdering and steeling from lawbreakers. The case of Prosporo McQueen is just the latest. But they messed up. Charlene could identify the shooter and I guarantee you that, as soon as we search Orlinsky, were gonna find more bullets to match the one that killed my father."

"But Sara," Danny said, "If what you say is true, and it does make sense, but who can we tell? IA is obviously in on this, and if our witnesses were to step forward they'd be automatic targets."

"That's why we have Jake," Sara said, as if that were the most obvious answer in the world.

"What?" Danny said, laughing as he turned to look at the rookie. "Jake he's just . . ." Danny stopped because Jake had the distinct look of someone who'd been found out.

"How'd you know?" Jake asked.

"Jake you showed me your badge," Sara said, again as if this were the most obvious answer in the world.

"No, Sara, I definitely didn't show you my badge. My badge is in a safe in my apartment."

"Hold on," Danny said. "I didn't by the program, what's going on here?"

"Jake's FBI sent here undercover to expose the White Bulls."

"Sara how do you know that?" Jake said, amazed.

"Jake?" Danny asked, looking at the man he had been sure up-to-this-moment was as transparent as thin air. "FBI?"

"You can protect them, Joe and Charlene, can't you?" Sara asked.

"Ah, yeah," Jake said a little uncertainly. "I mean, if they're willing to go into protection. Sara I still don't understand . . ."

"Don't sweat it Jake," Sara snapped. "You've got your case, all the evidence you need, right here. Right?"

"Ah," Jake stuttered. "Right."

Sara took a deep breath. She looked like she was about to cry again. "Good."

Translations; 1: My name is Medea; 2: Good on you; 3: I'm only begging to learn the language; 4: It takes time to build a castle

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

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