Title: Long Day's Journey into Night
Author: Nemo the Everbeing
Chapter 2
James T. Kirk stared at his two senior officers and sighed. They had retired to the captain's quarters to discuss Spock's startling revelation in a more private capacity, and now . . .
What do you do, he wondered, when your first officer and friend tells you that he knew that this was happening in his sleep?
Spock's dream had been vivid, but not necessarily connected. Jim would honestly prefer he not be connected. Still, Spock was a Vulcan, and that race didn't dream much. Even less common were dreams of a violent nature. To dream such a gruesome dream, at the exact moment when the same sequence of events played out elsewhere on the ship, well it was a huge coincidence. Jim believed in coincidence. He understood coincidence. But he damn well didn't trust coincidence.
"Spock," he said after a long moment, "can you account for your own whereabouts during the murder?" He hated asking, but he had to. There was too much evidence to simply presume Spock's innocence.
"I can," McCoy said. His eyes were steel, and sparked at Jim. "If he left the room, I'd wake up. It's happened enough times to know that."
"Are you absolutely sure?" Jim pressed.
"I . . ." Leonard bit his lip, unable to lie. The situation was far too serious. "I think so. When you share a bed, you're very close to one another, and there's a sort of . . . warmth in your head. The father apart you move, the colder it gets." The corner of his mouth kicked up slightly. "The first few times Spock spent the night, he tried to go back to his own quarters before the first shift. I woke up every time."
Spock shifted, obviously uncomfortable about discussing their private lives. Jim understood that especially. He was still a little bit confused by his friends' relationship. Not only the how's and what's of it, but the why.
He had to stick to the subject at hand, he reminded himself. There would be time for side-notes later. "Is it fool proof?" he asked.
McCoy scowled and glared at him. "Dammit, Jim, I don't know! We never tested it!"
Spock stared at Jim levelly, betraying no emotion. "Then we are unable to rule me out as a potential suspect."
Jim nodded, aghast. The thought that Spock, of all people, might be a murderer seemed impossible. No, his first officer certainly wasn't at the top of his list, and he intended to proceed with other avenues of investigation.
He told Spock and McCoy as much, and they both nodded, the doctor with relief and the science officer with fractional trepidation. "Alright," Jim said, "so if we assume you didn't kill Lieutenant Wallace, it was probably someone in telepathic contact with you. How many people aboard this ship qualify?"
Spock frowned. "You and Leonard."
"I take it the bond works both ways?"
"Yes," Spock said, "I would be aware if Leonard left."
"Theoretically," Jim sighed.
Spock nodded.
"No!" McCoy exclaimed suddenly, his eyes lighting up. The other two officers turned to him and he said, "Don't you see? Neither of us had blood on our clothes! Whoever killed Wallace got himself covered in blood. That sort of arterial incision sprays fast and hard. Even if we made like Lizzie Borden—"
"Lizzie Borden?" Jim asked, not following the reference.
"Lizzie Borden," McCoy explained. "Young lady way back when who offed her parents with an axe. The police found no bloody clothing, so the theory is that she did it without any on, and then just cleaned up afterwards."
"And neither of you could have done the same?" Jim asked, dubious.
"Jim, think! That girl had her carotid slit no more than two minutes before Withers found her, which is no more than three minutes before he called us. The time-frame just doesn't work!"
Jim let out a breath. "Good. I hated the thought of the two of you being suspects."
"Thank God for sleeping together, huh?" McCoy asked.
"Amen," Jim said.
Meanwhile, Spock was looking at McCoy with admiration. "Leonard," he said, "that was remarkably logical of you."
"What can I say?" McCoy offered. "It's an infectious disease contracted by bonding yourself to a green-blooded Vulcan. Side effects include nagging, headaches, occasional losses of any and all sense of balance, and the inability to eat red meat." He suddenly frowned. "Though, at the moment I have to say that the last side-effect is all right with me."
Kirk's mind suddenly stalled as it hit a snag. "Wait," he said. "What if one of you used a transporter to get you out of the hall? Spock, could you . . ."
The Vulcan nodded. "If I had prepared ahead of time, I would be able to tie into the transporter controls, scramble my destination appropriately, and clean myself in the allotted amount of time. I could probably even wipe the transporter memory, so there would be no record of any usage."
"Goddammit," McCoy said.
"I am still a suspect," Spock said. "However, Leonard is not. He does not have the technical knowledge or the ability to perform the necessary tasks." Spock actually looked mildly pleased, especially for a man who had just become a prime suspect in a murder investigation.
Jim said, "Even if it wasn't you, someone did slit Wallace's throat barely two minutes before Withers found her. If the killer didn't use the transporter, someone had to have seen something. A crewman doesn't just go walking the halls covered in blood without anyone noticing." He grimaced. "This is a starship! There's always someone on duty. We have to find out who that someone is, and what they know. Even the smallest clue could help."
"If anyone saw a crewmember walking around in bloody clothing, we'll hear about it by tomorrow," McCoy pointed out. Then, he looked back up at Spock. "Is there any way you could be telepathically connected to someone and not know it?"
"I would be inclined to say no. However, evidence indicates that I would be wrong in that assumption."
"Gentlemen," Kirk said, "we need to get to the bottom of this. I won't have my ship become a place in which people fear to live." He paused and breathed, trying to clear his head of all the dangers this sort of thing posed, "But I don't want this to be a witch-hunt, either. We need to be precise, thorough, quick, and above all, quiet. I don't want ship's functions disturbed any more than they're already going to be."
"Agreed," Spock said.
"Right there with you," Leonard seconded, "especially about the fast part."
Kirk's eyes narrowed. There had been some sort of subtext in what McCoy had said, he was sure of it. "Bones?" he asked. "What is it?"
"Jim, I can't say for certain until I do an autopsy," McCoy warned.
"Out with it, Bones. What do you know?"
"When I scanned her," McCoy said, his tone subdued and his face going pale, "there were signs of probable torture before she had her throat slit. I don't think that this was an impulsive act. Someone picked this girl. Probably stalked her, caught her, knew her shift well enough to hold her without having her miss any work and raise suspicion, and only after the sick bastard had played with her enough did he drag her out into a hallway and kill her." Frowning and crossing his arms, McCoy stated in no uncertain terms, "I don't want to toot my own horn, but I'm a damn fine psychologist. I can say for near-certain that whoever we're dealing with has done this before, and will do it again."
"You're saying we've got a serial killer on this ship."
McCoy didn't need to confirm the fact. Everyone knew he was right. As much as it killed Kirk to admit it, he knew that McCoy was right.