Eric, Wes, Jen, Mr. Collins, Miller, and Dr. Zaskin belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, but I am not and do not expect to make money from this.
Gaby, Jimmy Duran, Frank Kelly, Gunn, Kane, Quinn, Pamela, and Dennis Myers are mine.

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; strong sexuality; violence; mature themes including child abuse and prostitution.

Please review, I'm a feedback junkie.

Sins of the Fathers


Separations

The same bedroom, the same two people, but now it was different. Wes watched Jen move around the room as she picked out clothes, combed her hair, and started to dress, just as he had for months. Today she seemed to avoid his eyes, silently staring into the mirror as she put on earrings. Wes came up behind her and ran his hand down her back, still bare except for underwear.

She raised her face to smile briefly. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah. You?

She looked back at the mirror, her face troubled. "Okay, I guess."

"Jen, what's wrong?"

She picked up her comb and began to run it through her hair again. "Nothing."

"Then why are you combing your hair again?"

She put it down and sighed. "We need to talk."

"About the case?"

"Well, yes."

"I'm sure you'll find something to clear Dad soon."

"Wes…" She sighed. "It's hard for me to work on this case under these circumstances. That's what we need to talk about." He waited, and after a hesitation she continued. "I have to prove that I can keep an open mind."

"What do you mean?"

"I know you can't believe your father had anything to do with this. But I have to consider the possibility."

"What? The possibility that he murdered a woman?" Wes straightened and stepped back. "I'll never believe that. He's just not capable of something like that."

Jen turned to face him. "Most people never know what they're capable of themselves, let alone anyone else, no matter how close. You can never be completely sure."

"I know my own father." Wes heard his voice becoming angry. "I can't believe this. Do you honestly think he could have done it? After everything he's done for you, you're willing to believe he committed a murder?"

"We don't know all the facts… Under the right conditions, people might do something they'd never ordinarily do… All the evidence so far points to him. Maybe something happened, he got angry. If he was drunk, he might not even remember."

"And I guess you think he went to a place like that, in the morning, to get drunk and pick up a middle-aged hooker? If Dad wanted -- wanted sex, he'd pick someone classier than that. Someone he wouldn't have to pay for."

"Some men prefer hookers." Wes's face heated with anger again at Jen's words. "Actually I doubt it was what it looked like. You're right, it's not your father's style. But it could have had something to do with Eric."

Wes turned on her, feeling another surge of resentment. "Now you're dragging Eric into it? You think he was involved?"

"Your father would do a lot to protect him."

She was right. Wes was quiet for a moment. "Maybe he would. But he wouldn't kill anyone." He turned his back on Jen's anxious face.

"Look, I'm not saying I think he did it. But I'm a police detective. It's my job to consider every possibility, every suspect. I can't let my personal feelings interfere. This is exactly what's making this difficult. I can't even discuss it with you in a rational way."

He looked at her again to find her staring into the mirror, her face set and unhappy. "You think I'm being irrational?"

"Right now, yes. But I don't blame you. It's only natural. Wes…" She took a deep breath. "I've discussed this with Lieutenant Quinn. He thinks I need to put some distance between us. By moving out."

"What?"

"He and Jimmy think that's the only way I can avoid too much conflict. And I have to agree with them."

"You mean -- you're going to do it?"

"I'm sorry, Wes. But I think I have to."

"Don't I get any say in it?"

"I... I don't want to hurt you. But this is important to me. And to you. I don't think I have a choice."

"How long have you known about this?"

"He suggested it yesterday. I didn't want to say anything until I decided."

"But…" Wes sank onto the side of the bed. "Move out -- are you breaking up with me?"

She turned and came closer, standing in front of him with a warm smile, raising a hand to touch his face. "No, of course not. This is only for a little while." Her smile faded. "I don't like it any more than you do. But I don't see any other way."

"Just stay off the case, then. Don't get involved."

She dropped her hand and stepped away. "It's my first case… This is important to me, for my career and for your sake. I want to make sure it's done right -- I need to be involved. I need to do this." She stepped closer again as he stood up. "I'll move into a hotel, but we can still see each other." Her arms went around his body. "You understand, don't you?"

"No, I don't." He felt a wave of anger and misery, loneliness already overcoming him. "I can't believe you'd be so ungrateful -- Dad got you that job, you owe everything to him, and now you're turning against him -- and letting it come between us."

"How can you say that?" Jen stepped back and stared at him, pain in her face. "Wes, please… I am grateful. But your father's life could be on the line here. Suppose he's arrested -- convicted -- and I haven't been involved -- we'd always wonder if he's innocent, if I could have done something -- I'd always feel that I let you down. Say it's all right… I can't go if you don't."

"Jen -- it's not all right." He smiled as best he could. "But I understand. I'll live with it, I guess."

"I'm sorry." They looked at each other miserably for another moment before she turned away to finish dressing.


Eric dressed silently, feeling Gaby watching him, avoiding her gaze. He hesitated, adjusting the equipment on his uniform unnecessarily, before turning to face her. She was sitting on the bed, bent over, putting her shoes on. Sadness, the feeling of unavoidable loss, came over him as he looked at the lines of her back and arms, dark hair hiding her face for the moment. She straightened and looked up at him, smiling hesitantly when she saw him watching.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Just about."

"I want to get going."

"Why?" She stood and came up to him. "It's still early. We have time for some breakfast."

"I'm not hungry." He regretted the words instantly as a questioning look crossed her face.

"You, not hungry?"

"I'm just... in a hurry."

"Can't wait to get away from me, huh?" Gaby smiled at him. He tried unsuccessfully to return the smile and looked down at the floor. She stepped closer and raised her hands to his arms. "Eric, I can tell you're upset. I'd like to help."

"I'm not upset."

"The way you're keeping it in, it'll just make things worse."

"I'm fine."

"No, you aren't. You're so tense, it's like you're going to explode any second."

He took a breath, fighting the irritation that rose up. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You can't avoid it forever. I can see how it's affecting you."

"I said I'm fine!" His own anger took him by surprise, flashing through him, then fading as he saw her flinch back from the expression on his face. "Look, I'm sorry," he went on after a moment. "I just... need to get out of here."

"Wait." She hesitated again, then her chin came up resolutely. "Your mother's dead. Murdered. Your father's back, too. You're obviously having problems dealing with it. You really need to talk to someone about this."

He felt his jaw clench as he tried to contain another surge of anger. "Gaby. Just drop it."

"If you don't want to talk to me, why don't you see a doctor? A therapist?"

"Now you think I'm crazy?" His voice was rising again.

She flinched again but went on. "You don't have to be crazy to need help. Please, it's just going to get worse if you don't..."

"I don't need this shit! Just -- just leave me alone."

"Eric, listen to yourself! You have to do something about this!"

"Don't tell me what to do!" Eric shouted. "I'm getting the hell out of here!"

He started for the door. She stepped closer, hands out to stop him, grasping his arm and trying to hold him back. He stopped and shook her off, more roughly than he had intended, sending her stumbling. Guiltily, he took a step toward her, reaching out, then stopped as fear crossed her face and she took another step back. Blindly, he turned away, crossed to the door, left the apartment, running down the stairs, stopping in the building lobby to lean against the wall, shaking, a wave of nausea breaking over him.

Oh, God, something whispered inside him, I'm turning into him... He could see his father's face, twisted with rage, hear his voice shouting, the way he had been the last time Eric saw him, shouting at his mother...

"You goddamn bitch! Where the hell have you been!"

"I was at my mother's! Fell asleep there. That's all!"

"Don't lie! You've been drinking, and screwing around again!"

"No, I swear..."

"Whore! I can smell it on you!"

"Denny, no!"

Eric sat up in bed as he heard the sound of a slap, and his mother crying out. He remembered the night before, his mother gone -- again -- his father sitting in the living room, waiting and drinking, his face getting angrier, his eyes deadlier. Eric had known better than to get within his reach, and better than to ask about dinner. He had fed himself with a few cold leftovers from the refrigerator and a box of crackers. That part had been all right, he was used to it. The scary part was the feeling he had that something terrible was going to happen.

"I ought to kill you, you bitch!"

There was a scream and a crash. Eric shivered. Thin light came through his window. It was barely morning.

"Bastard! It's not like you don't screw around, too! And you have a lot of nerve talking about me drinking when you stink of it yourself!"

"Shut up! I've had it with you, Pam!" There were footsteps, and the banging of a door.

"Denny! Open this door! Let me in!"

Eric got out of bed and went to his door, opening it just enough to see. He saw his mother, crying, shouting, standing at their bedroom door, pounding on it.

"What are you doing in there? What the hell are you doing?" She kicked at the door.

As she looked around she saw Eric peering at her from his room. "What are you looking at?" she shouted. "Get back in there!"

He stepped back and closed the door. Her sobs, cries, and curses continued, and the sound of movement and crashing from inside their bedroom. After several minutes there was the loud bang of their door being thrown open.

"What is this shit? What are you doing?" his mother's voice cried.

"I'm doing what I should have done years ago. Leaving you."

"No, you're not!" The sound of a slap, and a cry of rage in his father's voice.

"I'll teach you to hit me, bitch!" Another blow, the thud of a body hitting the floor. Eric opened the door again, just a little.

"Denny, no! You can't leave!" His mother was on the floor on her hands and knees, crying, tears running down her face. His father was in the middle of the living room, a suitcase in one hand, the other fist clenched.

He looked up at the movement of Eric's door opening, his face flaming with fury. "I've wasted enough of my life on you and your bastard piece of shit son!"

"No... let me come with you... I'll do whatever you want..." Her voice was desperate.

"Too late, Pammy. I've watched you screw every guy in town, pass out at every bar, I've even supported your half-chink kid. I've had enough!"

"But... what are we supposed to do now?"

"You think I give a shit? I hope you starve." He grinned ferociously. "You've always got one way to earn a living. Start charging for it, instead of giving it away for free."

"No... I love you, Denny!" She was back on her feet, grabbing his arm as he started for the door.

"Tough shit." He shook her off, swinging his arm to shove her backwards, off balance, falling to the floor again. He looked down at her and laughed. She started to get up again, falling back as he swung the suitcase at her.

"Get out of here! Leave Mommy alone!" Without thinking, Eric was through the door and running at him, to stand defiantly between them.

"Shit! I've had enough of you, too, brat!" A heavy hand swung at him, striking his cheek, sending him down to the floor next to his mother. They both watched as his father grinned, and then walked out the front door, and out of their lives.

"No... no..." She was still crying.

Eric got up and touched his mother's shoulder. "Don't worry, Mom. We'll be okay. I'm glad he's gone."

"Shut up! Leave me alone..." She pushed him away, gently, but somehow it hurt more than the slap and the fall to the floor. Eric watched her for another moment. Then he went back to his room, and back to bed...

Twenty years later, standing in Gaby's building lobby, Eric straightened and took a deep breath to steady himself as he heard footsteps rapidly coming down the stairs. Almost running, he went out to the street, got into his car and pulled out. He could see her in the rearview mirror. Gaby took a few steps after him, and then simply stood, watching him drive away. Coward, he told himself. But he just couldn't face her.


The exercise room at Bio-Lab echoed faintly with the sound of each punch, hollow smacks, like slaps. He gritted his teeth and hit harder, ignoring the jolt of pain in his fists and the burning of exhaustion in his muscles.

"Eric. I think it gives up."

He glanced behind him at Wes and then turned back to the punching bag, hammering it with another blow.

"Want to go a few rounds? Use some of that energy on me?"

Eric stopped, breathing hard. "Don't think it would be a good idea right now."

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"You look like shit and you're pounding the hell out of that poor bag. What happened?" Wes crossed his arms and smiled as Eric shot him an angry glare.

"None of your business."

"All right." Wes looked angry too now. "Fine. Shit." He turned and started out.

"Sorry." Eric faced Wes as he turned back. "Had a fight with Gaby."

"Sorry to hear it. Not serious, I hope."

"I don't know. She thinks I should see a shrink." He heard the bitterness in his voice.

"She was trying to help. Maybe you do need to talk to someone."

"Shit! You think I'm nuts, too!"

"Oh, come off it, Eric. This has been a big strain on all of us. We should all see a goddamn shrink."

Eric stared at him, surprised and almost amused, until he saw the tension and anger in Wes's face. "That doesn't sound like you."

A grim smile answered him. "Had a fight with Jen. She's moving out."

"You're kidding."

"Wish I was. She said Quinn told her she has to, or she can't keep working on this case."

"Well, then, it's not a problem. She'll be back when the case is closed."

"I don't know. I said some things I shouldn't have. Got mad because she said Dad could have done it."

"She's just doing her job, Wes."

"I know. God, this whole thing has really screwed all of us over, hasn't it?"

Eric sighed, hopelessness settling over him again. "Yeah. Sure has. I said some things, too, to Gaby. Not even sure why I got so mad."

Wes was looking at him, probably trying to be reassuring, but his own dejection was showing. "When this is over, everything will be okay again. Won't it?"

"I don't know, Wes. I don't know."


Jen looked around the dismal hotel room, the room where Pamela Myers had been killed. It was even more depressing than the previous time she had seen it, traces of fingerprint powder scattered around, the bloodstain barely visible on the dark, patterned carpeting. She turned to watch the people with her.

The crime scene unit had almost finished with the room. Jen, Jimmy, and Frank Kelly had wanted to be there for one of the final steps. Luminol had been sprayed over the carpet and other surfaces of the room, and they were ready to see the results.

"Ready?" the unit leader asked.

"Any time you are."

She flipped off the light. The luminol reacted with blood, creating a glow clearly visible in the darkened room. There was a large blotch where the victim's head had lain. They had expected that. As the CSI team photographed the room, Jen stared thoughtfully at a trail of small spots across the carpet.

Jimmy stirred next to her, pointing, almost invisible in the dark. "Right from the door to where we found her."

"Yes. And under her head. And nowhere else."

"Damn," Frank muttered.

"She wasn't hit in this room. Either she walked in, or someone carried her." Jen looked around again. There was no trace of the blood spatter that such a hard blow to the head should have caused. Only the spots, of blood dripping as she was brought into the room and put down on the floor.

"Looks good for your future father-in-law."

Jen scowled, barely able to see Jimmy's grin. "We're not engaged. Yet. And I'm not letting our relationship interfere with this case."

"Sorry. No offence."

"The DA's the one who decided not to arrest Alan Collins."

"And we're taking heat for that. Being influenced by his money and power..." Frank said.

Jimmy frowned. "I had a feeling he was being set up, and now I'm almost sure. This, along with Dennis Myers..."

Jen nodded. They had lifted fingerprints from the phone booth that had been used to call 911, and from one of the coins. Dennis Myers' prints. The photograph of him Wes had given them had quickly produced an identification from a couple of hotel employees. Myers had been there, all right. He had used two different fake names to rent this room and another one on this floor. And that was their next destination.

They walked in, seeing another room almost identical to the crime scene, even down to the smudges of fingerprint powder and a large discolored spot on the carpet. There was a few minutes wait as more luminol was sprayed, then the moment the lights went out.

"There." Jimmy pointed again.

"I see it."

This was almost the same as the first room too. A glowing splotch, a trail of spots leading to the door. But this time, there were also a few spots of light scattered around the central, large area, and there was a blotch on the corner of a dresser standing next to the bloody area on the carpet.

The CSI team leader stepped next to them. "Judging from this, she fell or was pushed, and hit her head on the dresser. She lay on the floor, bleeding, for at least a few minutes. Notice how the main blood pool is larger than in the other room. Someone cleaned it up, but not well enough. And he probably didn't see the small drops against this dark carpeting."

"Then he carried her out."

"Yes. She wasn't bleeding very heavily then, or he wrapped her head in something."

"I'll bet there's more drops in the hallway, going between rooms."

"We'll check that out next. Then he took her into the other room. She lay there for a while, probably alive, making another large bloodstain."

"Interesting," Jimmy murmured.

"That's not all. We also recovered a couple of buttons from her blouse, from this room."

"Meaning her blouse was ripped here. Whatever struggle there was happened here."

"Right."

"You don't think she was killed here?" Jen asked.

She shrugged. "Can't be sure. But my feeling is no. Too much bleeding in the other room. I think she was alive there, but unconscious. She was strangled in there."

"Thanks."

Jen, Jimmy, and Frank were silent until they reached the sun and fresh air outside. They stopped. Jen looked back at that sad building, still beautiful despite age and neglect, trying to imagine what it must have been like in better days. Her eyes fell as she remembered Pamela Myers' face. It had been the same, its beauty worn away by the harshness of time and misuse.

Eric's face came to her mind too, with its resemblance to his mother. Thank God he didn't turn out like that. With it came the thought that she would be seeing Eric soon, at a moment that was bound to be hard for him. They were scheduled to go to the morgue next, to witness Eric's formal identification of his mother's body.