Morgue Viewing Room

Los Angeles Police Department

Los Angeles

          I stood in the small, simplistic room, Detective Smith at my back. They were bringing the body out.

          I don't know who I expected to see there. Unlike the main Agency's protocol, where deniable operators and officers of a certain level or assignment can't reveal their jobs to anyone, CTU is just another government office. You're free to state that you work for the Counter Terrorist Unit without fear of reprisal. I didn't tell many people, anyway, in the interest of security and not being mocked openly, but I was trying to go through the list of people that did know. Michael knew, my old friend Chris knew, my housemate Leticia and her friends Vaughn and Weiss knew, and I thought my former history professor, Professor Stephen Cox, he might have known … it could be any one of them.

          "You ready for this?" Smith asked me and I nodded without turning round.

          They showed me the body. I took a long moment, studying the details of the face, trying to rack my operational memory. The fact that I lacked instant identification was probably a good sign, a sign that it wasn't anyone I loved, but I kept searching. Detective Smith came to my side, and I turned and looked to him.

          "You don't know?" he said, reading my eyes.

          "I have no idea," I replied. "Which would leave only one solution. I gave my business card to somebody I do know…"

          "… And that person gave it to this guy." The detective nodded, motioning to the coroner's assistant that we were through. "In that case I'll need you to come up with a list."

          "I will." As we walked toward the door, my brain was still racing. "I'll need to ask you a favor."

          "Which would be what?" he said leadingly, holding open the door for me.

          I waited until we fell in stride again heading down the hallway before I answered. "If this does involve me, or someone close to me, I want to be involved in the investigation. An active participant. Any way I can help at all, I want to be here. If I'm somehow responsible for someone's death … well, I know what I have to do."

          "We'll keep you involved," he said, and we let the matter drop.

          As we walked back into the bullpen, he shook his head, letting Sergeant Friday know I hadn't made a positive ID. Catching the gesture, Lex looked at me, and I shrugged, my 'I have no friggin' idea what is happening here' shrug. That only made him arch an eyebrow and get more perplexed. I came back to him and he leaned over to me.

          "Not even a vague idea?"

          "No, what can I say?"

          Our little discussion was interrupted by Sergeant Friday. "If you want to start putting that list together, we can get things started."

          "Oh, yeah, of course." I pulled up a chair, accepted a notepad and a pen, and started racking my brain for names. By the time I reached the bottom of page one, I knew this was going to take a while. If I thought Mason's list was long, I probably should have thought again.

          Later I sat on the stairs leading up to the next floor, hands clasped in my lap, watching the LAPD's Robbery Homicide Division go about its work. Lex was standing next to me, watching everything move in coordinated chaos. Detectives Friday and Smith were busy getting the autopsy report, so we were left to our own devices, trying to knock names off the list. I'd already phoned the CIA's Los Angeles office and Leticia had told me she didn't recall anything, but would ask Vaughn and Weiss, so at least her name was off the list. That made me feel better.

          "At least it's not vampires again," he said, trying to be helpful.

          "Yeah, but you never know," I replied, looking over and up at him. "At least this is something I can handle."

          "You and Michael okay?" he asked, with good reason.

          Michael and I had been together maybe a month now since he had come to Los Angeles, a month after we had met in England. I loved him for standing by me, for going through exactly what I was going through now, for seeing eye to eye with me. But he always seemed to be holding something back. There seemed to be a wall I couldn't get through. And I lied to myself, and we were mostly happy anyway, but it nagged me. We'd had a fight a few days ago. In some dark corner of my mind I was wondering if we could hold out.

          "I suppose," is all I said.

          "You want to talk about it?"

          "There's not much to talk about."

          "Okay," my partner replied, "but I'm here anyway."

          "I know." I was going through my cell phone's address book, checking phone numbers to see if I had missed anyone. It was mostly work contacts, but it was worth a shot if it meant I spotted the one person we were looking for. "And I appreciate that, you know. But let's handle this first." Obviously, I wouldn't be returning to Division today. I had phoned Mason, then Jack, explaining the situation, and I had been given a temporary work release until my affairs were settled with the LAPD. Whatever they were turning out to be.

          Detective Smith was the first one to reappear. "Any luck?" he asked.

          "We've been able to eliminate about a half-dozen names," I said, "but that's not much."

          "Well, at least it's progress." Sergeant Friday was holding the autopsy report, skimming it. "Two shots from a Sig 40, missed the heart on both tries but came pretty close." He looked over at his partner. "Obviously not an expert."

          "That bodes well for most of my coworkers then," I said, and meant it. If any of them were the shooter, they'd have made that shot. Sergeant Friday nodded, granting me the point. "Unless they inadvertantly lead the victim to his killer."

          I flinched involuntarily.

          The victim was 37-year-old Chris Fisher, a programmer for a private security firm. A full background check was being done on him now, and they were going to head out to interview his boss and coworkers. They wanted to know if I wanted to come along on an unofficial basis. I stood, figuring this was the best lead any of us had. "I'm up for it," I said. "Lex, you may want to head back. Jack may need you, especially if I won't be there."

          "You sure?" he sounded skeptical.

          "I'm sure. I'll call if I need you." I nodded, trying to convince him everything was all right.

          "Let's go," Sergeant Friday said, and the four of us turned and headed for the main doors of the homicide bullpen. I checked myself for my cell phone and SigArm, finding I still had both. Hopefully, I wouldn't need either of them, especially the latter. But this is Los Angeles. You have no idea what can happen in Los Angeles. And as it turns out, neither did I.