(Nip/Tuck / CSI:Miami)
by wordwolf
Disclaimers in Part I.
PART IV.
"Well, don't you look like the cat that ate the canary," McNamara observed as his partner entered the next morning. A beat later, he gave his own wry smile. "That didn't come out right, did it?"
"It's not what you think, Sean," Troy answered lightly. "It's better. I checked my e-mail this morning, and found this. Had to print it out so you could see ... "
McNamara took the page.
"Dear Christian, thank you for the most wonderful evening I can remember. I wanted you to start your day with something I was sure you didn't have, and that could never be taken away. This is by Denis Johnson, from me:
Loving you is every bit as fineas coming over a hill into the sun
at ninety miles an hour darling when
it's dawn and you can hear the stars unlocking
themselves from the designs of God beneath
the disintegrating orchestra of my black
Chevrolet. The radio clings to an un-
identified station – somewhere a tango suffers,
and the dance floor burns around two lovers
whom nothing can touch – no, not even death!
Oh! The acceleration with which my heart does proceed,
reaching like stars almost but never quite
of light the speed of light the speed of light."
He smiled and handed the page back to his partner. "Christian, you've never had one like this before." His friend's answering smile was innocent as a child's, and McNamara felt an unaccustomed suspicion. "Wait a minute ... you haven't actually HAD her yet, have you?" When the other turned away without answering, the senior surgeon crowed, "Well, I'll be damned. Christian Troy is actually getting into a relationship! Hell freezes over; film at eleven! "
"Can it, Sean," Troy snapped. "I took her dancing last night, she took me fencing the night before."
"FENCING? So you like chicks with swords. Does Liz know about this?"
Troy whipped back around to him, growling, "If you don't wipe that smirk off your face, I'm going to wipe it off for you, and if you breathe a word of this to Liz you will need extensive facial reconstruction. Do I make myself clear?"
McNamara was taken aback. "I was only teasing, Christian; no need to take it so seriously." He tried to smile again. "She must be a nice girl."
That was when their nurse-receptionist turned up at the doorway of the break room. "Doctors, the police are here."
The two surgeons looked at each other in mutual astonishment. What now? said both men's eyes.
XX
He was waiting for them in the consulting room. Red hair, hooded eyes, extended hand. "Dr. Troy, Dr. McNamara?" They nodded guardedly; each accepted the handshake in turn. "Lieutenant Horatio Caine, Miami-Dade PD Crime Scene Investigation." He showed the badge. "I have a few questions for you."
They all sat down, the two surgeons still guarded, trying to keep the advantage of home ground. "So how can we help you, Lieutenant?" McNamara began coolly.
"You might have heard about two recent homicides, Sunday night and Wednesday night."
"No, as a matter of fact, we haven't." If McNamara had been cool, Troy was utterly freezing. "Following that sort of thing is your job; we have other professional concerns."
Caine ignored the thrust. "There was a connection between the two victims – "
"Lt. Caine, this is a very busy practice," Troy persisted. "Could you please come to the point about what this has to do with us?"
The hooded eyes narrowed. "Fair enough, Dr. Troy. Has anyone come to you recently requesting removal of a tattoo? A tattoo of a large black scorpion?"
The surgeons exchanged a glance. "As a matter of fact, we have been consulted on that matter," McNamara answered carefully. "But in keeping with doctor-patient confidentiality, we're under no obligation to reveal anything else."
"Even if you could save your patient's life?" Caine noted their consternation with secret satisfaction as he brought out a couple of autopsy photographs and slid them across the desk. "The two victims. Do the tattoos look familiar?"
"Jesus." Troy picked up and stared at the pictures, then passed them to his partner. "Identical."
"As you probably have figured out by now," said Caine with a note of triumph, "anyone else with this mark has a chance of being the next victim. Including your patient. I have investigators checking with every plastic surgeon, dermatologist, and tattoo parlor in Dade County looking for people with it. Particularly young women."
"That's our patient," McNamara affirmed. "What do you suggest we do?"
"Tell me everything you know," replied Caine crisply. "We're trying to assemble a profile of the victims: age, background, career, whatever we can."
"Forgive my ignorance of police procedure." Troy couldn't entirely control his tone. "But wouldn't it be a bit more useful to assemble a profile of the killer?"
As Troy couldn't keep from sounding snide, Caine couldn't keep from sounding defensive. "If we had something – anything – to go on, Dr. Troy, we would. The semen found in both victims matched exactly, but the DNA is not on record. At the moment, this is our only lead." He reached into his pocket for another picture. "This is a copy of a photo we found at the scene of the second killing, in the victim's bedroom."
McNamara looked first, shook his head. "Sorry."
But Troy's eyes widened when he took it. "That's him!"
"Who, Christian?" McNamara beat Caine to the question.
"The weirdo from yesterday! I told you about him, Sean: the guy who cornered me at the boardwalk rail, going on about fluids and power and the moon and sick ancient rituals involving screwing a dead horse." He looked up from the picture to Caine. "Screwing a dead horse. I shit you not, Lieutenant."
Caine didn't blink. "Oh, I believe you, Doctor. But I'm a bit more interested in what he had to say about the moon."
"Incoherent nonsense. I had no idea what he was getting at. Something about the new moon going blue, then black. Dark, and dark again."
"Blue moon..." Beside him McNamara was considering out loud. "The second full moon in a month. Then it must be possible sometimes to have the new moon – the dark of the moon – twice in a month, right?"
The criminalist turned his attention to the surgeon. "Thank you, Dr. McNamara. If you'll excuse me a minute, I'm going to have that looked into right now." Out came his cell phone. "Speed? Yes. Listen, get your hands on an almanac or call the University observatory, whichever's faster. I need to know the next time we're due for the second new moon in one calendar month. No, I don't mean a full moon; I mean the dark of the moon. Second in one month." Snapping shut the phone, Caine looked at the senior surgeon differently. "I really am grateful for that insight." McNamara looked both pleased and a touch astonished, as if not believing it could have been his. "What else did he say that could tell us anything, Dr. Troy?"
"Who knows what part of his mystic bullshit meant anything? Fluids – sperm and blood, and how power flows in them. Something about secrets, and remaking everything. The dead horse business – I think that he meant it as some kind of example." His brow knit and voice sharpened. "I really wasn't following too closely until he told me to go ahead and squeeze her dry by Friday night, and then she'd be ready for him to use! I should've hit the bastard."
Caine took it in. "I assume this woman he mentioned is your tattoo removal patient?" When Troy nodded, he asked, "Is it your custom to see your patients, shall we say, outside a professional context, Dr. Troy?"
"Is that any business of yours, Lt. Caine?"
"Not yet," Caine conceded. "Is there anything else you can remember?"
Troy shrugged. "I told you I wasn't listening too hard. He even introduced himself, and I can't remember the name. Christ, I couldn't even remember what he looked like until I saw this picture."
That was when Caine's cool blue eyes took on a gleam. "Ah, yes, this picture. You're sure it's the man who spoke to you?"
"Unless he has a mysterious identical twin."
Caine picked it up, held it up, displaying the image of a slender, handsome blond man in jeans, polo shirt, and expensive shades, holding up a curly-haired little girl. The man was grinning as he raised the child's blouse to display the scorpion image crawling on her. "Dr. Troy, the girl in this picture is Vanessa Pigott-Ross at the age of five."
"Poor little thing. And your point is?"
"The original was found on her bureau. In the bedroom where she was murdered Wednesday night." Then Caine dropped his depth-charge. "Gentlemen, Vanessa Pigott-Ross was twenty-nine at the time of her death. This image is over two decades old."
XX
"One of these days, Jules," McNamara grunted to his wife as he arrived home, "I'm going to have a normal week at work. People who just need some routine cosmetic or reconstructive work done. Who don't need years of therapy, prison time, or curses removed from their families."
"Then you probably should have opted for dermatology rather than plastic surgery, Sean," she replied with a smile and a light kiss.
"With dermatology, I could still have ended up with this patient," he confessed. "She needs the world's ugliest tattoo removed. You can imagine what we thought when a detective showed up today to tell us that there were two other women in town with the exact same tattoo. Both were murdered this week."
"Oh, my God." Julia had to sit down. "What are you going to do?"
He shrugged. "We gave him her contact information. Now it's the cops' job. I'm sure it won't be made any easier by the fact that Christian is seeing her."
That seemed to amuse her and lighten the atmosphere. "I wouldn't be concerned about that. He won't be seeing her for long."
"Don't be so sure." He swung by the refrigerator, poured orange juice, and came to join her at the table. "They seem to be actually dating. He hasn't even slept with her yet." Another shrug. "Who knows, this might turn into a real relationship."
Julia snorted. "I think we can agree to believe that when we see it."
He grinned and was about to reply when they heard small feet and an equally small voice at the entrance to the kitchen. "Daddy? You're home. The man asked me to give you this when you got home."
McNamara turned to his daughter. "What man, Annie?"
"He came to school at recess."
"And they let him on the grounds?" He and Julia exchanged a look, and now it was the little girl's turn to shrug. "What did he look like, Annie?"
Her brow twisted in thought, then she had to shrug again. "I don't remember, Daddy. Anyway, I'm supposed to give you this." She presented a sealed letter-size envelope of black paper. Already feeling cold and a little queasy, McNamara took it as if he expected it to sting him. Watched fearfully by Julia, he tore it open, extracted a black letter written in white ink.
"I hope this note finds you and your family well, Dr. McNamara. This is because you and they won't be as well if you don't keep your hands off my property. To be direct, as I'm sure you must want me to be, DON'T TOUCH THE SCORPION. Do NOT touch it. Let me assure you that I am not bullshitting you. Fuck with what's mine, and I will, I promise, fuck with what's yours."
Unsigned. "Dear God," he gasped.
"Sean?" Julia saw him go pale; she reached for the letter. "Sean, let me see it!"
He pulled the black sheet back. "Please, Julia, not yet. There's someone else who should see it first. Please!" He fairly leaped to his feet and went to the telephone, fishing in his pocket until he found a certain business card. "Lt. Caine? This is Dr. Sean McNamara. Something just happened you need to know ..."
TO BE CONTINUED