Mark parked his car in the lot, and sighed. In the hazy afternoon sunlight it was hard to believe the horrors he had witnessed in those early morning hours. The archaeology building, nestled snugly at the foot of the rolling campus hills, looked innocuous in the extreme. But the yellow police tape so very much in evidence, was a tacit reminder to all, of the more sinister reality beyond the perfect facade.
There were still police officers combing the grounds. Some faces Mark recognised from his early morning sojourn; others were new. Undoubtedly the ranks had swelled; reinforcements brought in to painstakingly cover every inch of the terrain. On the perimeter press photographers, light bulbs flashing, competed to get the next scoop, whilst T.V. cameramen filmed glamorous reporters, all busy relaying the latest news to the citizens of America.
Mark blinked wearily; no wonder Steve felt so much pressure. His son was heading up this operation, leading the campaign against the terror that had hit UCLM and taken a firm hold. He looked around him; this place was a media circus. College kids were at risk and it was clear that America wanted to know exactly what was being done about it. He sighed, if no break through was made soon, it was clear someone was gonna have to take the fall. Mark shook his head sadly, and resolutely set off towards Schwenk's office. As he walked, he grimly promised himself to do everything he could to make sure that the fall guy would not be his son.
Gaining access to the cordoned area proved a little more difficult than he had anticipated. Security was tight and the officer on duty was not the same young man who had ushered them through that morning. Instead of the respectful youngster, Mark was met with a grouchy middle aged officer, whose 'seen it all before' attitude was matched by his dour expression. Mark smiled amiably, but to no avail. Just as he was about to despair, a familiar voice barked 'Let him through Jackson'.
Turning, Mark faced Chief Masters, who greeted him with a wry smile.
'Dr. Sloan' the Chief sighed 'I was wondering how long it'd be before we had the pleasure of your company'.
Mark smiled at the lean, rangy detective 'My son said it'd be okay for me to take a look around' he offered by way of explanation.
The Chief inclined his head 'Then I guess you'd better come in'.
The response was laconic as ever; but he wouldn't have expected anything else. Mark stepped forward, momentarily dwarfed by the other man's greater height. At 6 foot 6, Master's stature was an undoubted advantage in his role as Chief of Police. Combined with the direct, no nonsense approach and the hard glint behind the eyes, Mark was sure that Chief Masters could effortlessly inspire fear in officers and criminals alike.
In all honesty, he wasn't sure he trusted the man. Although there was nothing tangible, from what Steve had said, he was a shadowy figure with dealings on both sides of the law. Mark was aware that his son had refused a permanent position on the Chief's task force. Whilst he knew little of the man himself, or Steve's motives for refusal, he trusted his son's judgement. As far as Mark was concerned, any dealings with Masters had to be handled with care. Promising himself to heed his own advice, he followed the Chief down the corridor to the office of the late archaeologist.
'Here you go Doctor' Masters said dryly, ushering Mark through the door 'It's all yours'. He turned to one of the uniforms, who hovered by the desk, and spoke sharply 'Jenkins, make sure the good doctor here has the run of the place'.
'Thank you' Mark said, surprised at the co-operation. The police department wasn't always so willing to let him get involved, despite his consultant status.
Looking back over his shoulder Masters grimaced and said darkly 'Believe me Doctor, on this occasion I need all the help I can get'. With that he was gone and Mark was left to contemplate the unspoken implications of their final exchange.
Turning back to the young officer, he took a deep breath and smiled genially 'It's not going so well huh?'
Jenkins looked at him uneasily 'I can't possibly comment on that Sir'.
'It's alright' Mark explained, 'my son Steve is a police officer, he's involved with this investigation'.
The officer's face relaxed into a wry smile. 'In that case, no Sir it isn't going well at all'. The young man frowned 'We have no leads, no suspects, no evidence, no nothing'. He sighed 'The Chief is really cracking the whip on this one. All leave has been cancelled and everyone's pulling double shifts'. He made a face 'My girlfriend is real mad, she had big plans for this weekend'.
Mark smiled sympathetically, obviously it wasn't just Steve who was suffering. 'You know' he continued 'My son said that two of the archaeologists were in here last night, right before the murder took place'.
Jenkins nodded 'Natasha Summers and Nate Johnson, but they both left around 8 o'clock'.
'Oh, that's right' Mark smacked a hand to his forehead. Steve had told him both had left early. But still may be they had seen or heard something before they went. 'Are either of them around right now?' he persisted 'I'd like to have a word with them if I could'.
Jenkins wrinkled his nose thoughtfully 'I think Doctor Summers has been released, but Johnson should still be around. We've been too busy to sign off on his paper work yet, but it shouldn't be long'. He looked at Mark 'I doubt if it'll do any good, but if you'll follow me …'
The officer led Mark to a small tutorial room, which had been converted into an office for interrogation. Outside, another officer was seated in a plastic chair, a newspaper on his lap and a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand. Hearing footsteps he quickly snapped to attention, but once he realised it wasn't the Chief or any other superiors; he slumped back down, his lackadaisical demeanour resumed.
Mark was ushered inside, where a young man was standing by a table. With his spiky blonde hair and 5 o'clock shadow, he looked at first glance not unlike Jesse at the end of a long shift. However, on closer inspection, Mark decided he was more like Steve had been in his mid to late twenties. This man looked rugged, powerful. His physical presence indicated someone used to spending time out of doors, an adventurer Mark decided. Right now he was like a caged tiger, prowling restlessly, muscles tensed, waiting to pounce.
Nate Johnson looked up hopefully at his latest visitor 'Can I get outta here now?' He sighed 'It's been four hours and I've told you guys everything I know'. He looked at Mark pleadingly 'Just sign off on those release papers or whatever it is you have to do and I'll be on my way'.
Mark smiled apologetically 'I'm sorry Mr. Johnson, but I don't have the authority to do that'. He held out his hand 'I'm Dr. Mark Sloan, I work as a consultant for the police department'.
Nate sighed – a doctor? They must think he was sick or crazy – mind you if he stayed cooped up in here much longer he would be. He looked up at Mark 'Believe me Doc I'm not sick.' He grinned, a roguish glint adding sparkle to the blue eyes 'the only thing wrong with me right now is a serious case of cabin fever and I sure as hell know the cure for that one'.
Mark smiled, instinctively appreciating the younger man's spirit 'I'll tell you what he offered reasonably 'you answer a couple of my questions and I'll see what I can do about getting you out of here. How's that?'
Nate shrugged, the old guy seemed kinda eccentric, but then what did he have to lose? He sat down at the table and spread his hands, palms up 'Okay Doctor Sloan, fire away'.
Taking a seat opposite, Mark beamed 'I'd like to know everything you can tell me about Egyptian rituals'.