This story and all themes and ideas contained in said story are the sole
ownership of J.L. Scott. Any copyright infringements can be prosecuted in a
court of law.
To borrow a phrase: NYPD Blue no mine......no money, no sue, please? AN: I will warn you now that there is very little story to this. It's basically just an idea I thought I'd spin during the off season. Each chapter is really just more like an impression of a dream than of a real story. Another apology, a name this time. I couldn't catch it, and couldn't find it, so Dr. Devlin's first name is now Allison. If anyone can correct me, please feel free. I'll keep you updated as we move along. Hope you enjoy!
Clark pushed past the "gate" and took a seat at his desk. Sipowitz looked up at him.
"Hey" he said.
"Hey" Clark responded. The squad was in low moods today. The Lieutenant had been in the hospital for two days now, his stats fluctuating from one extreme to the other. They had all been given yesterday off to try to cope, but they had work to do.
"Hey, call just came in. DOA down at Park's" Connie said, pulling her coat on, "Rita and I are heading down"
"We're right behind you" Andy told her. Clark watched them, Connie tried to smile, Andy just nodded at her, telling her with that small gesture that he understood what she was going through. They'd only recently won custody of Connie's niece, Michelle, no thanks to the infant's paternal grandparents. And they'd had to cancel their wedding, which was to be held the night the Lieutenant was shot. Still, through all of that, they'd been there for each other. John supposed he was just a little envious. Okay, well, maybe a lot. Somewhere in him, where he couldn't recognize it conciously, he wished dearly for that kind of relationship. Any kind of substantial relationship that wasn't full of bitterness and restraint. The feeling brought the unbidden thought of his father to mind, and he sighed as he pushed it away and followed Andy out to the car.
The DOA didn't look dead. At least until you got a good look at her neck. She had long red hair that was hanging down to her elbows, light ivory skin covered in freckles. John would bet her eyes were green and her ancestors had grown potatoes on an a cold, green island in the Atlantic. She was sitting in a booth, facing away from the rest of the diner, propped up just like she had maybe fallen asleep or something.
"Who found her?" Andy asked Rita as they took a look.
"Waitress," Rita answered, nodding backwards at a teenage girl who was speaking with Connie, wiping tears away from her eyes. Poor kid. John hated it when it was kids to find the latest senseless act in the 15th prisinct.
"Looks like she's got a pretty bad rash on her throat. Any idea what that is?" John asked. Rita shook her head. Connie had told him she'd put in for a transfer the night the Lieu was shot. He knew it was because of the tension between them, especially after the whole thing with Allison dropping him off the other day. He should've thought about it a little more. No woman was going to move on in a month. That thought made him take a quick breath and store a new question about himself into the back of his mind for one of those rainy nights when the fridge was full of beer and there was nothing but the news to watch on TV.
"Nope." Rita answered and Connie came over and joined them.
"The waitress's name is Angie Perril. She's been working here for almost a year. She says the victim comes in every other day for breakfast before she goes to classes. Angie doesn't know where she goes to school, but she knows she's an art student." She informed them.
"She know a name?" Rita asked.
"Mehgan, but she doesn't know a last name. She said she had an Irish accent, pretty thick"
"Anyone come in with her this morning?" Andy asked.
"Park's is open twenty-four seven. She was here when Angie came in, sitting with a young man, looked about the same age, Irish. I got a description."
"Anyone else see her?" John inquired.
"All the night waitresses are off already, but I got names and numbers" Connie told him.
"Right" Andy took a step away from the dead girl, "Why don't you and Ortiz go back to the office, see if you can find out who she was with. Clark and I'll do the canvas"
"All right" Connie answered and she and Rita took off.
Later
Connie looked up as Andy and John walked in, put their walkie talkies up.
"Did you get anything?" she asked.
"Nothing" Andy answered, "You?"
"One of the night waitresses, Meriland Arbogast, said she saw the couple come in together, arguing. She said the girl's name is Mehgan Kennedy and the guy's name is Patrick Flarhety, both Irish immigrants. She said she heard them arguing, but she's older and doesn't have the best hearing. Doesn't know exactly what they were arguing about" Connie answered.
"There isn't anything on either of them, at least not in the States" Rita added, "But I did a little extra nosing around. They're both wanted in Ireland on various accounts, mostly terrorism."
"Terrorism?" John repeated, more than a little surprised.
"There's a war going on between Northern Ireland and Ireland, mostly between Protestants and Catholics." she explained.
"Possible motive? They brought the war from the homeland to new land?" Andy suggested. Rita nodded.
"It's possible."
"Flaherty lives with a roommate, Bill Connely, American. Kennedy too, same building in fact, with a girl named Lisa Massamino." Connie told them.
"We'll take both of 'em" Andy said, and they headed out again. The buidling was an old brick apartment building, ivy growing up the sides, in a fairly nice part of town, actually. They decided to talk to Connely first, figuring Massamino wouldn't know about her friend's death and they might have to deal with some emotional outbursts from her. Andy banged on the door to Connely's apartment.
"Who is it?" a man's voice asked from behind it.
"Detectives Clark and Sipowitz, open up!" John yelled back. The door cracked and a pale face appeared in the open space.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"We wanna talk, can we come in?" John replied.
"Why?" Connely asked.
"Just open the door, alright?" Andy said forcefully. The door shut and they heard a chain lock being removed before the door swung back open all the way this time. Connely was about Andy's height, skinny and pale with jet black hair that looked like he'd cut it with a razor and without a mirror.
"Whats wrong?" he asked as he shut the door behind the two detectives.
"We're trying to find your friend, Patrick, you seen him lately?" John asked as he perused the apartment. Seemed like a normal bachelor pad, empty pizza boxes on the coffee table, surrounded by a bunch of soda cans, soccer game on the tv.
"Patrick? No, no I haven't seen him since last night man" Connely replied nervously, "He left....he left last night about nine"
"You sure about that?" Andy asked.
"Yeah, yeah."
"Well, you won't mind if we take a look around for ourselves would you?" Andy wasn't really asking as he strode into the back room on the left.
"Patrick say where he was going last night?" John asked. Connely gave him a nervous shake of his head.
"Nah, no, just said he was goin" he answered.
"He didn't maybe say he was going to see Mehgan?" John prodded.
"Mehgan? That girl from upstairs? No, no Patrick, he don't like her. No, no he don't like her at all" Connely answered distractedly. Andy returned from his search, shaking his head. He hadn't found Flarhety. John pulled a card out and handed it to Connely.
"You hear from him, you give us a call, alright?" he told the man.
"He's in trouble again, isn't he?" Connely looked down at the card like he didn't exactly understand what he was holding.
"Maybe. Just give us a call if you talk to him, or if you see him" John repeated a little more kindly. He got the feeling all the lights weren't on in Connely's head.
"What do you think?" Andy asked as they reached the next floor.
"No idea" John answered, knocking on number 36, Massamino and Kennedy's door. A young Italian girl opened the door.
"Can I help you?" she asked without the slightest hint of an accent.
"Detectives Clark and Sipowitz, can we ask you some questions?" Andy asked politely.
"Sure, yes, of course" Massamino answered and stepped back to let them past. This apartment was much different from the one they had just left. Pastel curtains hung around the windows, a spotless white couch faced an entertainment system with all of the glass cupboards closed. There were nick naks sitting on shelves and large canvases hanging on the walls, mostly landscapes of what was probably Ireland as well as several styles of Crusifixes and Celtic Crosses. . Everything was neat and orderly and John thought he could smell lilac. Massamino herself was dressed in a bohemian style white skirt and a short tank top with her long thick black hair pulled back in a single braid.
"Have you heard from your friend, Mehgan recently?" Andy started.
"Mehgan, no, not since last night, about midnight. She works the night shift at the Seven Eleven" Massamino answered worridly, "Is she hurt? Is she mixed up in something? I know she did some bad things back in Ireland, but she doesn't do that kind of stuff anymore. That's why she moved here, to start new, do something better with her life, you know?"
"She was found dead, at Park's Diner, this morning" John told her gently. Her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes got huge.
"No!" she cried, "No! Not Mehgan! She was killed?"
"It looks that way" Andy replied, "Do you know anyone who might want her dead?"
"Anyone from Northern Ireland" Massamino answered, apparently pushing tears back, " I know some of them live around here. She fought them in Ireland."
"Maybe Patrick Flarhety?" John suggested. Despite her best efforts tears fell down her cheeks.
"Yes, he's one. I can't believe Mehgan's dead! She can't be! She was still painting the lavander field!" The girl had gone into shock.
"All right, come on. We'll take you to talk someone" John took her by the elbow and led her out to the car. After they'd dropped her off, they went back to the prisinct.
"Andy, we just got a call from a cell phone" Connie told him as they walked in, "A man, said quote, 'Flarhety has exacted revenge on Kennedy once again'"
"What the hell does that mean?" John said, sitting at his desk, wishing he could just go home and forget everything, the Lieutenant, Rita, his dad, Allison, Kennedy......just everything.
" No idea" she replied.
To borrow a phrase: NYPD Blue no mine......no money, no sue, please? AN: I will warn you now that there is very little story to this. It's basically just an idea I thought I'd spin during the off season. Each chapter is really just more like an impression of a dream than of a real story. Another apology, a name this time. I couldn't catch it, and couldn't find it, so Dr. Devlin's first name is now Allison. If anyone can correct me, please feel free. I'll keep you updated as we move along. Hope you enjoy!
Clark pushed past the "gate" and took a seat at his desk. Sipowitz looked up at him.
"Hey" he said.
"Hey" Clark responded. The squad was in low moods today. The Lieutenant had been in the hospital for two days now, his stats fluctuating from one extreme to the other. They had all been given yesterday off to try to cope, but they had work to do.
"Hey, call just came in. DOA down at Park's" Connie said, pulling her coat on, "Rita and I are heading down"
"We're right behind you" Andy told her. Clark watched them, Connie tried to smile, Andy just nodded at her, telling her with that small gesture that he understood what she was going through. They'd only recently won custody of Connie's niece, Michelle, no thanks to the infant's paternal grandparents. And they'd had to cancel their wedding, which was to be held the night the Lieutenant was shot. Still, through all of that, they'd been there for each other. John supposed he was just a little envious. Okay, well, maybe a lot. Somewhere in him, where he couldn't recognize it conciously, he wished dearly for that kind of relationship. Any kind of substantial relationship that wasn't full of bitterness and restraint. The feeling brought the unbidden thought of his father to mind, and he sighed as he pushed it away and followed Andy out to the car.
The DOA didn't look dead. At least until you got a good look at her neck. She had long red hair that was hanging down to her elbows, light ivory skin covered in freckles. John would bet her eyes were green and her ancestors had grown potatoes on an a cold, green island in the Atlantic. She was sitting in a booth, facing away from the rest of the diner, propped up just like she had maybe fallen asleep or something.
"Who found her?" Andy asked Rita as they took a look.
"Waitress," Rita answered, nodding backwards at a teenage girl who was speaking with Connie, wiping tears away from her eyes. Poor kid. John hated it when it was kids to find the latest senseless act in the 15th prisinct.
"Looks like she's got a pretty bad rash on her throat. Any idea what that is?" John asked. Rita shook her head. Connie had told him she'd put in for a transfer the night the Lieu was shot. He knew it was because of the tension between them, especially after the whole thing with Allison dropping him off the other day. He should've thought about it a little more. No woman was going to move on in a month. That thought made him take a quick breath and store a new question about himself into the back of his mind for one of those rainy nights when the fridge was full of beer and there was nothing but the news to watch on TV.
"Nope." Rita answered and Connie came over and joined them.
"The waitress's name is Angie Perril. She's been working here for almost a year. She says the victim comes in every other day for breakfast before she goes to classes. Angie doesn't know where she goes to school, but she knows she's an art student." She informed them.
"She know a name?" Rita asked.
"Mehgan, but she doesn't know a last name. She said she had an Irish accent, pretty thick"
"Anyone come in with her this morning?" Andy asked.
"Park's is open twenty-four seven. She was here when Angie came in, sitting with a young man, looked about the same age, Irish. I got a description."
"Anyone else see her?" John inquired.
"All the night waitresses are off already, but I got names and numbers" Connie told him.
"Right" Andy took a step away from the dead girl, "Why don't you and Ortiz go back to the office, see if you can find out who she was with. Clark and I'll do the canvas"
"All right" Connie answered and she and Rita took off.
Later
Connie looked up as Andy and John walked in, put their walkie talkies up.
"Did you get anything?" she asked.
"Nothing" Andy answered, "You?"
"One of the night waitresses, Meriland Arbogast, said she saw the couple come in together, arguing. She said the girl's name is Mehgan Kennedy and the guy's name is Patrick Flarhety, both Irish immigrants. She said she heard them arguing, but she's older and doesn't have the best hearing. Doesn't know exactly what they were arguing about" Connie answered.
"There isn't anything on either of them, at least not in the States" Rita added, "But I did a little extra nosing around. They're both wanted in Ireland on various accounts, mostly terrorism."
"Terrorism?" John repeated, more than a little surprised.
"There's a war going on between Northern Ireland and Ireland, mostly between Protestants and Catholics." she explained.
"Possible motive? They brought the war from the homeland to new land?" Andy suggested. Rita nodded.
"It's possible."
"Flaherty lives with a roommate, Bill Connely, American. Kennedy too, same building in fact, with a girl named Lisa Massamino." Connie told them.
"We'll take both of 'em" Andy said, and they headed out again. The buidling was an old brick apartment building, ivy growing up the sides, in a fairly nice part of town, actually. They decided to talk to Connely first, figuring Massamino wouldn't know about her friend's death and they might have to deal with some emotional outbursts from her. Andy banged on the door to Connely's apartment.
"Who is it?" a man's voice asked from behind it.
"Detectives Clark and Sipowitz, open up!" John yelled back. The door cracked and a pale face appeared in the open space.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"We wanna talk, can we come in?" John replied.
"Why?" Connely asked.
"Just open the door, alright?" Andy said forcefully. The door shut and they heard a chain lock being removed before the door swung back open all the way this time. Connely was about Andy's height, skinny and pale with jet black hair that looked like he'd cut it with a razor and without a mirror.
"Whats wrong?" he asked as he shut the door behind the two detectives.
"We're trying to find your friend, Patrick, you seen him lately?" John asked as he perused the apartment. Seemed like a normal bachelor pad, empty pizza boxes on the coffee table, surrounded by a bunch of soda cans, soccer game on the tv.
"Patrick? No, no I haven't seen him since last night man" Connely replied nervously, "He left....he left last night about nine"
"You sure about that?" Andy asked.
"Yeah, yeah."
"Well, you won't mind if we take a look around for ourselves would you?" Andy wasn't really asking as he strode into the back room on the left.
"Patrick say where he was going last night?" John asked. Connely gave him a nervous shake of his head.
"Nah, no, just said he was goin" he answered.
"He didn't maybe say he was going to see Mehgan?" John prodded.
"Mehgan? That girl from upstairs? No, no Patrick, he don't like her. No, no he don't like her at all" Connely answered distractedly. Andy returned from his search, shaking his head. He hadn't found Flarhety. John pulled a card out and handed it to Connely.
"You hear from him, you give us a call, alright?" he told the man.
"He's in trouble again, isn't he?" Connely looked down at the card like he didn't exactly understand what he was holding.
"Maybe. Just give us a call if you talk to him, or if you see him" John repeated a little more kindly. He got the feeling all the lights weren't on in Connely's head.
"What do you think?" Andy asked as they reached the next floor.
"No idea" John answered, knocking on number 36, Massamino and Kennedy's door. A young Italian girl opened the door.
"Can I help you?" she asked without the slightest hint of an accent.
"Detectives Clark and Sipowitz, can we ask you some questions?" Andy asked politely.
"Sure, yes, of course" Massamino answered and stepped back to let them past. This apartment was much different from the one they had just left. Pastel curtains hung around the windows, a spotless white couch faced an entertainment system with all of the glass cupboards closed. There were nick naks sitting on shelves and large canvases hanging on the walls, mostly landscapes of what was probably Ireland as well as several styles of Crusifixes and Celtic Crosses. . Everything was neat and orderly and John thought he could smell lilac. Massamino herself was dressed in a bohemian style white skirt and a short tank top with her long thick black hair pulled back in a single braid.
"Have you heard from your friend, Mehgan recently?" Andy started.
"Mehgan, no, not since last night, about midnight. She works the night shift at the Seven Eleven" Massamino answered worridly, "Is she hurt? Is she mixed up in something? I know she did some bad things back in Ireland, but she doesn't do that kind of stuff anymore. That's why she moved here, to start new, do something better with her life, you know?"
"She was found dead, at Park's Diner, this morning" John told her gently. Her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes got huge.
"No!" she cried, "No! Not Mehgan! She was killed?"
"It looks that way" Andy replied, "Do you know anyone who might want her dead?"
"Anyone from Northern Ireland" Massamino answered, apparently pushing tears back, " I know some of them live around here. She fought them in Ireland."
"Maybe Patrick Flarhety?" John suggested. Despite her best efforts tears fell down her cheeks.
"Yes, he's one. I can't believe Mehgan's dead! She can't be! She was still painting the lavander field!" The girl had gone into shock.
"All right, come on. We'll take you to talk someone" John took her by the elbow and led her out to the car. After they'd dropped her off, they went back to the prisinct.
"Andy, we just got a call from a cell phone" Connie told him as they walked in, "A man, said quote, 'Flarhety has exacted revenge on Kennedy once again'"
"What the hell does that mean?" John said, sitting at his desk, wishing he could just go home and forget everything, the Lieutenant, Rita, his dad, Allison, Kennedy......just everything.
" No idea" she replied.