Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Enterprise characters, and I'm not
making any money from this story.
Warning: This is another dark story. Contains implications of sexual assault.
+++
Chapter 4: Reasonable Doubts
When the attack was over and the men had left, Trip lay where he had fallen, very still in case they came back. When he was sure they were really gone, he curled up in a tight ball, arms wrapped around his bruised ribs. With one shaky hand he reached up and touched his forehead, feeling the sticky, partially congealed blood. He felt like he was moving through molasses. Everything hurt.
Suddenly, Trip heard the door open and close. They were back! He struggled to his hands and knees and crept over into the corner beyond the end of the cabinets.
A voice called, "Hey, kid! Come on out." The guard! Trip could hear her club banging along the edge of the counter, and then she was in front of him, stick swinging loosely from her hand.
"Get up," she ordered. "They're gone."
It took a second for it to register with Tucker what this meant. She knew. She knew what they had done to him and she hadn't even tried to stop them. The realization hit him like a fist to the gut. All he could think about was how much he hated this place and everything in it. There was no justice on the entire planet. He desperately fought back the tears that threatened to fall. There was no way he was going to let her see him cry.
"I said get up!" the woman ordered again, this time raising her club. Trip put his arms up over his head to protect himself just as the weapon came down, landing on his forearm. The next strike caught him on the shoulder as he curled up, hands behind his neck. Two more blows landed on his back, and then the guard hauled him up by his already ripped shirt and shoved him toward the door.
"Where are we going?" Trip asked, trying to keep his voice from breaking. He had heard stories about solitary confinement, and given the way he had been treated so far, it seemed reasonable to assume that might be their destination.
"The infirmary. Now shut up!" The club struck him on the back again, and he fell silent.
+++
Archer had just drifted off to sleep when his commpanel chirped. He reached up without opening his eyes and thumbed the button.
"Archer here," he said sleepily.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Captain," came Hoshi's voice, "but I just found out something interesting about the Aslandian legal code."
"You were reading legal code at 2 am?" Archer asked in confusion.
"Captain, public officials aren't allowed to get divorced."
Archer though about that for a moment. "So. . . Rodrigo couldn't divorce his wife to marry his mistress. Do you think that would be enough for him to want to kill her?"
"It might be."
"I think I'm going to talk to Investigator Dimoc. Maybe I can convince him to look at the evidence again. Archer out."
Archer sat back down on his bed and ran his hands through his hair. He might as well give up on sleep. Since it was daytime on the planet, he decided to go see Dimoc right away. On second thought, maybe I should take T'Pol with me, he thought ruefully. She can keep me from getting thrown in jail for punching a police officer.
+++
Malcolm Reed shifted his weight to prevent his legs from going to sleep. He had been sitting on a bench in the exercise yard for nearly two hours, getting a horrible sunburn while he waited for Commander Tucker. How long did it take to clean one bloody kitchen? He decided he would ask the guard how much longer it might be. He stood, brushed off the back of his pants, and headed toward the door where a guard stood with arms folded.
"Pardon me, sir," he said politely, "how long does it usually take to clean the kitchen?"
The guard stared down at him curiously. "Why?"
"My friend was sent to clean the kitchen. I wondered how much longer he might be."
"He an off-worlder like you?"
"Yes."
"He's in the infirmary." The guard turned away.
"Excuse me, in the infirmary? What happened to him?"
The man smirked. "Rogin and his boys got him."
"What? What did they do to him?" Malcolm demanded.
The smirk widened. "Why don't you ask him? He should be back after a while." The guard walked away, swinging his club. Malcolm walked back across the yard to where his cellmate Finellan was sitting on one of the tables. Finellan, one of the few Aslandians who was shorter than Malcolm, turned to look his way as he approached, squinting into the sun.
"Who's Rogin?" Malcolm asked without preamble.
Finellan's eyebrows went up. "Rogin? Why?" His eyes scanned the yard nervously.
"He put my friend in the infirmary, he and his 'boys'."
Finellan shook his head sadly. "He's bad news, Malcolm. Hope your friend's all right." The man looked around nervously again, then got up and walked away, leaving Malcolm with a growing knot in his stomach. Why did I leave him alone? He thought. This is all my fault.
+++
"Look, I just need to talk with Investigator Dimoc." Archer aimed his most charming smile at the plain, middle-aged woman behind the desk. She folded her arms across her ample bosom and narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.
"He's busy," she grunted. "You'll have to make an appointment."
"It's very urgent that we speak to him. We have information about a murder," T'Pol put in.
The woman frowned. "I said Investigator Dimoc is busy, you'll have to-"
"I'm right here, Shelliak," came a voice behind Archer. He spun around to see Dimoc standing behind him with a jacket slung over one shoulder and a briefcase in his hand.
"Oh, it's you. Archer, right?"
"That's right. I was hoping to talk to you about the case."
"Trial's over, Captain. The case is closed."
"We have some new evidence," T'Pol said. Dimoc's gaze shifted to her as if he was noticing her for the first time.
"Doesn't matter," Dimoc said, shaking his head. When he turned to go, Archer followed him.
"Did you know Administer Rodrigo had a mistress?" he asked loudly. The woman at the desk stopped what she was doing and stared at them, as did several other people in the lobby of the police station.
Dimoc sighed. "Let's talk in here," he said, pointing at a partially open door labeled "Interrogation." Archer and T'Pol followed him into the room and they all sat down on hard metal chairs around a small rectangular table with chipping brown paint. One wall of the room was taken up with an enormous mirror, the rest were bare and painted gunmetal gray.
Dimoc opened his briefcase and took out a notebook and pen. "How did you know about the mistress?" he asked.
Archer and T'Pol exchanged glances. "A neighbor told us. In fact, it was the same neighbor who testified at the trial."
Dimoc stared at him. "Lusha Brevald said the Administer had a mistress?"
"Well, not exactly. She said he had a 'secretary' who only came around when the wife was out. I take it you knew about it?"
"Only after the fact. Rodrigo's been seen around town with a young lady, Miss Kamina Jellin. He claims the relationship is new and that she's 'helping him get over his grief' but it's pretty obvious they've been together for a while."
"According to the bartender, it was not Aliana Rodrigo who met Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed at the bar. We believe it may have been the mistress," said T'Pol.
"Wait a minute, the bartender said that? We interviewed him. Let's see. . ." Dimoc flipped back in his notebook. "Here. Bartender named Urev. He said he saw the off-worlders meet a woman in the bar and leave with her."
"Urev is also an off-worlder. Perhaps he felt uncomfortable speaking with the police."
"I wouldn't know, I didn't do the interview, Gordo talked to him. Look, I know an easy way to resolve this. We found a hair on your Lieutenant Reed's jacket, a long, red hair. We never analyzed it because all the other evidence pointed to your men. If I do the analysis and it comes out as a match to Mrs. Rodrigo, will you drop this?"
"Why are you so eager for us to go away?"
"Frankly, Captain Archer, we're swamped. With the new legislation Administer Rodrigo pushed through, we're spending all our time chasing down and arresting off-worlders for minor offenses, instead of . . ." Dimoc trailed off and looked away uncomfortably."
"Instead of what?"
"Never mind. I shouldn't even be discussing this with you. I'll do the analysis, all right? That's all I can promise." Dimoc tossed his notebook and pen back into the briefcase and stood, clearly signaling that their conversation was finished.
+++
It was dinnertime before Malcolm saw Trip again. After gathering his tray and meal, he spotted the engineer already seated at a table in the far corner. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he made his way to the table. He knew it was unlikely that Trip would tell him what had happened, but he felt he had to try.
"May I sit here?"
When Trip looked up, Malcolm felt his stomach clench at the condition of his friend's face. He tried not to stare at the deep red gash, held closed with a row of neat stitches, above Tucker's left eye. Trip looked away.
"Suit yourself," he said hoarsely.
Malcolm carefully set his tray in the empty space. "Commander, are you all right? I feel horrible-"
Trip interrupted, "What makes you think I give a shit about how you feel?"
Malcolm felt himself near tears of despair. "I-I just-I'm sorry, that's all."
"I don't need your sympathy, Reed." Trip crumpled his napkin and tossed it on top of his nearly untouched dinner. He picked up his tray and walked away. Malcolm watched him go. Being your friend is hard work, Charles Tucker, he thought angrily. He considered skipping dinner and going after the engineer, but decided against it. If Trip didn't want his company, he wasn't going to force it on him. It was obvious the man just wanted to be left alone, which is what Malcolm would have wanted himself under the circumstances.
+++
Investigator Dimoc sat down at the microscope with a sigh. Although it was late and he was supposed to be home by now, he had decided to go ahead and get this little project out of the way before he left for the day. He had to admit he was more than a little curious about what the outcome might be, in a purely intellectual way. At the time of the arrests, he had had no doubt that the two off-worlders had committed the murder, but now he wasn't so sure. The Administer seemed a little too quick to get over his grief.
Dimoc shook his head. What was he thinking? The Administer couldn't have killed his wife. He was one of their most trusted and revered leaders. Dimoc slid the long, red hair from the evidence envelope and positioned it under the microscope. He leaned down over the eyepiece and adjusted the focus.
"Son of a bitch." Dimoc leaned back heavily on the stool. The hair's red color was clearly the product of a bottle, which meant that it could not have come from Mrs. Rodrigo who according to her autopsy was a natural redhead.
"He must have done it while they were in the house. How else could he have gotten the murder weapon in the off-worlder's pocket?" Dimoc said to himself. "And he got away with it too. Now what am I going to tell Captain Archer?"
+++
Trip Tucker pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders, trying to ward off the draft that blew cold on his neck. He shifted slightly on the hard floor. Every movement hurt, and he could not find a comfortable position on the cold concrete. He wondered briefly if he could get away with sneaking into one of the empty beds, but discarded the notion immediately. If Tazmin caught him . . . A lump appeared in his throat at that thought. Why did everything here have to be so hard? He wanted to go home so badly. Home-where it was warm and safe, where no one hit you for minor infractions, where your input was valued and people cared whether you lived or died. Oh, God, he wanted to be there so much. He bit on his lip to keep it from quivering as he tried to breathe quietly and evenly. A tear slid across the bridge of his nose, and he slipped one hand out from under the blanket to wipe it away. Why didn't the captain come and get him? Had Enterprise left without them? Maybe Jon thought he really had murdered that woman! Trip couldn't stop himself from letting out a quiet sob. Suddenly a massive shadow fell across him.
"Get up, boy," a low voice growled.
+++
When Dimoc returned to the precinct the next morning, Archer and T'Pol were waiting for him on the hard plastic chairs in the lobby. The investigator looked a little irritated as he pointed them toward the same interrogation room.
"You did the analysis?" Archer asked before they even sat down.
Dimoc sighed. "Yes."
"And?"
Dimoc shifted in his chair nervously. In fact if Archer didn't know better he might think the man was squirming. "You were right," he admitted finally. "The hair wasn't hers. Your men didn't do it."
The corner of Archer's lip tugged upward in a grin he couldn't suppress. "So what do we do next?"
"Nothing."
"What? What do you mean, nothing?"
"Look, what do you want from me? The law is the law. I'm just a cop, I enforce the laws, I don't make them."
"But you said yourself they were innocent! What is the appeals process?"
Dimoc looked confused. "There is no appeals process. Once a person is convicted, that conviction can't be overturned.
Archer leaned forward, ignoring T'Pol's restraining hand on his arm. "Do you mean they won't be released, no matter what?"
"I'm afraid so, Captain."
Warning: This is another dark story. Contains implications of sexual assault.
+++
Chapter 4: Reasonable Doubts
When the attack was over and the men had left, Trip lay where he had fallen, very still in case they came back. When he was sure they were really gone, he curled up in a tight ball, arms wrapped around his bruised ribs. With one shaky hand he reached up and touched his forehead, feeling the sticky, partially congealed blood. He felt like he was moving through molasses. Everything hurt.
Suddenly, Trip heard the door open and close. They were back! He struggled to his hands and knees and crept over into the corner beyond the end of the cabinets.
A voice called, "Hey, kid! Come on out." The guard! Trip could hear her club banging along the edge of the counter, and then she was in front of him, stick swinging loosely from her hand.
"Get up," she ordered. "They're gone."
It took a second for it to register with Tucker what this meant. She knew. She knew what they had done to him and she hadn't even tried to stop them. The realization hit him like a fist to the gut. All he could think about was how much he hated this place and everything in it. There was no justice on the entire planet. He desperately fought back the tears that threatened to fall. There was no way he was going to let her see him cry.
"I said get up!" the woman ordered again, this time raising her club. Trip put his arms up over his head to protect himself just as the weapon came down, landing on his forearm. The next strike caught him on the shoulder as he curled up, hands behind his neck. Two more blows landed on his back, and then the guard hauled him up by his already ripped shirt and shoved him toward the door.
"Where are we going?" Trip asked, trying to keep his voice from breaking. He had heard stories about solitary confinement, and given the way he had been treated so far, it seemed reasonable to assume that might be their destination.
"The infirmary. Now shut up!" The club struck him on the back again, and he fell silent.
+++
Archer had just drifted off to sleep when his commpanel chirped. He reached up without opening his eyes and thumbed the button.
"Archer here," he said sleepily.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Captain," came Hoshi's voice, "but I just found out something interesting about the Aslandian legal code."
"You were reading legal code at 2 am?" Archer asked in confusion.
"Captain, public officials aren't allowed to get divorced."
Archer though about that for a moment. "So. . . Rodrigo couldn't divorce his wife to marry his mistress. Do you think that would be enough for him to want to kill her?"
"It might be."
"I think I'm going to talk to Investigator Dimoc. Maybe I can convince him to look at the evidence again. Archer out."
Archer sat back down on his bed and ran his hands through his hair. He might as well give up on sleep. Since it was daytime on the planet, he decided to go see Dimoc right away. On second thought, maybe I should take T'Pol with me, he thought ruefully. She can keep me from getting thrown in jail for punching a police officer.
+++
Malcolm Reed shifted his weight to prevent his legs from going to sleep. He had been sitting on a bench in the exercise yard for nearly two hours, getting a horrible sunburn while he waited for Commander Tucker. How long did it take to clean one bloody kitchen? He decided he would ask the guard how much longer it might be. He stood, brushed off the back of his pants, and headed toward the door where a guard stood with arms folded.
"Pardon me, sir," he said politely, "how long does it usually take to clean the kitchen?"
The guard stared down at him curiously. "Why?"
"My friend was sent to clean the kitchen. I wondered how much longer he might be."
"He an off-worlder like you?"
"Yes."
"He's in the infirmary." The guard turned away.
"Excuse me, in the infirmary? What happened to him?"
The man smirked. "Rogin and his boys got him."
"What? What did they do to him?" Malcolm demanded.
The smirk widened. "Why don't you ask him? He should be back after a while." The guard walked away, swinging his club. Malcolm walked back across the yard to where his cellmate Finellan was sitting on one of the tables. Finellan, one of the few Aslandians who was shorter than Malcolm, turned to look his way as he approached, squinting into the sun.
"Who's Rogin?" Malcolm asked without preamble.
Finellan's eyebrows went up. "Rogin? Why?" His eyes scanned the yard nervously.
"He put my friend in the infirmary, he and his 'boys'."
Finellan shook his head sadly. "He's bad news, Malcolm. Hope your friend's all right." The man looked around nervously again, then got up and walked away, leaving Malcolm with a growing knot in his stomach. Why did I leave him alone? He thought. This is all my fault.
+++
"Look, I just need to talk with Investigator Dimoc." Archer aimed his most charming smile at the plain, middle-aged woman behind the desk. She folded her arms across her ample bosom and narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.
"He's busy," she grunted. "You'll have to make an appointment."
"It's very urgent that we speak to him. We have information about a murder," T'Pol put in.
The woman frowned. "I said Investigator Dimoc is busy, you'll have to-"
"I'm right here, Shelliak," came a voice behind Archer. He spun around to see Dimoc standing behind him with a jacket slung over one shoulder and a briefcase in his hand.
"Oh, it's you. Archer, right?"
"That's right. I was hoping to talk to you about the case."
"Trial's over, Captain. The case is closed."
"We have some new evidence," T'Pol said. Dimoc's gaze shifted to her as if he was noticing her for the first time.
"Doesn't matter," Dimoc said, shaking his head. When he turned to go, Archer followed him.
"Did you know Administer Rodrigo had a mistress?" he asked loudly. The woman at the desk stopped what she was doing and stared at them, as did several other people in the lobby of the police station.
Dimoc sighed. "Let's talk in here," he said, pointing at a partially open door labeled "Interrogation." Archer and T'Pol followed him into the room and they all sat down on hard metal chairs around a small rectangular table with chipping brown paint. One wall of the room was taken up with an enormous mirror, the rest were bare and painted gunmetal gray.
Dimoc opened his briefcase and took out a notebook and pen. "How did you know about the mistress?" he asked.
Archer and T'Pol exchanged glances. "A neighbor told us. In fact, it was the same neighbor who testified at the trial."
Dimoc stared at him. "Lusha Brevald said the Administer had a mistress?"
"Well, not exactly. She said he had a 'secretary' who only came around when the wife was out. I take it you knew about it?"
"Only after the fact. Rodrigo's been seen around town with a young lady, Miss Kamina Jellin. He claims the relationship is new and that she's 'helping him get over his grief' but it's pretty obvious they've been together for a while."
"According to the bartender, it was not Aliana Rodrigo who met Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed at the bar. We believe it may have been the mistress," said T'Pol.
"Wait a minute, the bartender said that? We interviewed him. Let's see. . ." Dimoc flipped back in his notebook. "Here. Bartender named Urev. He said he saw the off-worlders meet a woman in the bar and leave with her."
"Urev is also an off-worlder. Perhaps he felt uncomfortable speaking with the police."
"I wouldn't know, I didn't do the interview, Gordo talked to him. Look, I know an easy way to resolve this. We found a hair on your Lieutenant Reed's jacket, a long, red hair. We never analyzed it because all the other evidence pointed to your men. If I do the analysis and it comes out as a match to Mrs. Rodrigo, will you drop this?"
"Why are you so eager for us to go away?"
"Frankly, Captain Archer, we're swamped. With the new legislation Administer Rodrigo pushed through, we're spending all our time chasing down and arresting off-worlders for minor offenses, instead of . . ." Dimoc trailed off and looked away uncomfortably."
"Instead of what?"
"Never mind. I shouldn't even be discussing this with you. I'll do the analysis, all right? That's all I can promise." Dimoc tossed his notebook and pen back into the briefcase and stood, clearly signaling that their conversation was finished.
+++
It was dinnertime before Malcolm saw Trip again. After gathering his tray and meal, he spotted the engineer already seated at a table in the far corner. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he made his way to the table. He knew it was unlikely that Trip would tell him what had happened, but he felt he had to try.
"May I sit here?"
When Trip looked up, Malcolm felt his stomach clench at the condition of his friend's face. He tried not to stare at the deep red gash, held closed with a row of neat stitches, above Tucker's left eye. Trip looked away.
"Suit yourself," he said hoarsely.
Malcolm carefully set his tray in the empty space. "Commander, are you all right? I feel horrible-"
Trip interrupted, "What makes you think I give a shit about how you feel?"
Malcolm felt himself near tears of despair. "I-I just-I'm sorry, that's all."
"I don't need your sympathy, Reed." Trip crumpled his napkin and tossed it on top of his nearly untouched dinner. He picked up his tray and walked away. Malcolm watched him go. Being your friend is hard work, Charles Tucker, he thought angrily. He considered skipping dinner and going after the engineer, but decided against it. If Trip didn't want his company, he wasn't going to force it on him. It was obvious the man just wanted to be left alone, which is what Malcolm would have wanted himself under the circumstances.
+++
Investigator Dimoc sat down at the microscope with a sigh. Although it was late and he was supposed to be home by now, he had decided to go ahead and get this little project out of the way before he left for the day. He had to admit he was more than a little curious about what the outcome might be, in a purely intellectual way. At the time of the arrests, he had had no doubt that the two off-worlders had committed the murder, but now he wasn't so sure. The Administer seemed a little too quick to get over his grief.
Dimoc shook his head. What was he thinking? The Administer couldn't have killed his wife. He was one of their most trusted and revered leaders. Dimoc slid the long, red hair from the evidence envelope and positioned it under the microscope. He leaned down over the eyepiece and adjusted the focus.
"Son of a bitch." Dimoc leaned back heavily on the stool. The hair's red color was clearly the product of a bottle, which meant that it could not have come from Mrs. Rodrigo who according to her autopsy was a natural redhead.
"He must have done it while they were in the house. How else could he have gotten the murder weapon in the off-worlder's pocket?" Dimoc said to himself. "And he got away with it too. Now what am I going to tell Captain Archer?"
+++
Trip Tucker pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders, trying to ward off the draft that blew cold on his neck. He shifted slightly on the hard floor. Every movement hurt, and he could not find a comfortable position on the cold concrete. He wondered briefly if he could get away with sneaking into one of the empty beds, but discarded the notion immediately. If Tazmin caught him . . . A lump appeared in his throat at that thought. Why did everything here have to be so hard? He wanted to go home so badly. Home-where it was warm and safe, where no one hit you for minor infractions, where your input was valued and people cared whether you lived or died. Oh, God, he wanted to be there so much. He bit on his lip to keep it from quivering as he tried to breathe quietly and evenly. A tear slid across the bridge of his nose, and he slipped one hand out from under the blanket to wipe it away. Why didn't the captain come and get him? Had Enterprise left without them? Maybe Jon thought he really had murdered that woman! Trip couldn't stop himself from letting out a quiet sob. Suddenly a massive shadow fell across him.
"Get up, boy," a low voice growled.
+++
When Dimoc returned to the precinct the next morning, Archer and T'Pol were waiting for him on the hard plastic chairs in the lobby. The investigator looked a little irritated as he pointed them toward the same interrogation room.
"You did the analysis?" Archer asked before they even sat down.
Dimoc sighed. "Yes."
"And?"
Dimoc shifted in his chair nervously. In fact if Archer didn't know better he might think the man was squirming. "You were right," he admitted finally. "The hair wasn't hers. Your men didn't do it."
The corner of Archer's lip tugged upward in a grin he couldn't suppress. "So what do we do next?"
"Nothing."
"What? What do you mean, nothing?"
"Look, what do you want from me? The law is the law. I'm just a cop, I enforce the laws, I don't make them."
"But you said yourself they were innocent! What is the appeals process?"
Dimoc looked confused. "There is no appeals process. Once a person is convicted, that conviction can't be overturned.
Archer leaned forward, ignoring T'Pol's restraining hand on his arm. "Do you mean they won't be released, no matter what?"
"I'm afraid so, Captain."
