Uptown Los Angeles

En Route

          Sitting in the back of the police sedan, with the notepad in my inside pocket, I leaned forward with my hands in my lap, pondering. My brain had been going a mile a minute since I realized I didn't know Chris Fisher. I was trying to play Six Degrees of Separation: Who might know him? Who might have had reason to make contact with him? What could have jeopardized him? Unfortunately, since I knew next to nothing about the victim, and wouldn't know if CTU had a make until Lex phoned me back after searching our network, I wasn't getting very far.

          "You doing okay back there?" Detective Smith asked me without turning around from the driver's seat.

I glanced up at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. "I'm doing all right."

"Just trying to figure things out," Sergeant Friday read my mind.

"Yeah, pretty much," I said. "It's my job. It's what I do."

He chuckled. "That's what we do around here."

Detective Smith parked the sedan and the three of us stepped out, Sergeant Friday taking the lead as senior officers do (a matter of protocol that doesn't change among government agencies, apparently). Glass Curtain Security was Chris Fisher's employer, a private firm and a small one, so I suspected CTU probably hadn't contracted out. Detective Smith held the door for Sergeant Friday and myself, and we walked into a decently sized but spacious-looking office. Upon production of our warrant cards, the chief of operations was summoned by a rather unnerved secretary. He kind of reminded me of Victor Garber, which was disturbing. That man is scary.

"Detectives, what can I help you with?" he said, matter-of-fact and quite possibly one of the first people not to stare at me or do a double take when I'm standing there.

"We're investigating the murder of one of your employees," Sergeant Friday explained. "Chris Fisher was murdered this morning."

"My God, that's why he didn't come in." As if to explain, the boss, whose name was Patrick Gabriel, added, "When he was late, I had Patricia phone his apartment and she didn't get any answer." Patricia must have been the freaked secretary. I hung back and observed, not crossing any territorial lines, although Detective Smith seemed to be doing much the same. Listening and observing had saved me more than once, and I had a feeling we came from the same school of education.

"We're going to have to ask you some questions about Mr. Fisher, and we'd like a copy of his personnel file as well, if that's possible," Sergeant Friday was saying.

"Of course it's possible," Gabriel said, leading us into his office. What he told us was basically what you heard all the time: Chris Fisher had seemed perfectly fine until his death, to his knowledge didn't have any problematic dealings, and seemed to be a great person. I listened through it all, hoping for something more than just the usual. Something to get me out of this. Finally, the interview was concluded and we headed back to the car.

"By the book," Sergeant Friday spoke my mind for me.

"Did anyone else think he was going to say Peter Gabriel?" Detective Smith said, and I nodded. "For a minute there. But what I want to see is what Fisher was working on."

Sergeant Friday looked over at me as I reached for my door handle. "Where are you going with this?"

"About a month ago we had a security breach. Our security specialist did a runner." I leaned against the car and recounted the Michelle Dessler story. "Turns out she was working on a highly sophisticated virus that had gotten into our computers. She'd found it and didn't know how to handle it, and she was so scared about making a wrong move that she took the virus and ran, hoping to find a solution and make amends."

"Pardon me if I say that's not what happened here."

"Maybe not to that extreme, but maybe the base motives are the same." I looked at the both of them, trying to assess their take on the situation. "But we won't know without some extra digging."

"We'll negotiate that with Mr. Gabriel."

As I was getting into the car, my cell phone rang. I checked to see who the call was from. It was from work. I answered it immediately. "Frederick, go ahead."

"It's me." Lex sounded like he had something for me. "I called up Mason, got him to do a Division-level unlock for me, and I searched our databases."

"And you got a hit?" I said hopefully.

"Unfortunately, no." He sounded disappointed about that. "But I got another call, confirming a meeting you have on campus tomorrow afternoon?"

"Oh, yeah. It's okay, that's not related."

"All right then. Are you coming back in tonight?"

"Probably just to turn around and leave. I'm sorry about leaving you with everything."

"It's okay."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay then." I hung up and leaned back in my seat, letting out a long breath. "That was my partner. CTU databases don't have anything on Chris Fisher."

"There goes that connection then." Sergeant Friday paused. "We start going down the list."

I nodded, consenting to have my life torn wide open.

I left Robbery Homicide when the detectives did later that night. We didn't have many leads. I'd been able to knock another name or two off the list but for every name I eliminated I usually came up with another I'd accidentally omitted. I was exhausted, overexpended, and not feeling my best. It would be good to go home, take a shower and go straight to bed. Compared to this, I missed my actual job, which was ironic because my actual job was much harder than this.

Detective Smith offered to drive me back to Division, and it was about all I could do to stay awake in the passenger seat.

"A long day?" he said.

"You could say that. I was up at 5:45 this morning, working a shift at Division before you called. And I have class tomorrow, so I'll probably be working late."

"Class?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I'm a full-time college student. Tuesdays and Thursdays, 8:30 to 3:45. It'll take me another hour or so to drive back up to L.A. I can swing by if you're still going to be on shift by then."

"Don't worry about it. We'll pick up on Wednesday." He swung the car into the Division parking lot. "Besides, it sounds like you've got a lot going on in your life already."

"Definitely," I said, then told him I'd see him Wednesday, found my car keys, and walked across to my car. Everyone, including Mason, had probably gone home, so there wasn't any reason to stop in. I just stuck the keys in the ignition, sat there for a moment turning the heater up and the radio down, and set on my way. When I made it home forty-five minutes later, I never said a word, just passed out. I wouldn't sleep that well tonight.