Title: Unknown

Chapter 10

Author's Notes: In my universe, he's alive. Moreover, please be aware that Speed's logic is flawed. (Everyone is going to be seriously frustrated with him by the end of this chapter.)

Warnings: Slash and domestic abuse.

-----

After everyone left for the evening, Mark and I curled up on the couch to talk. We didn't really talk about anything important. We just talked.

And it was nice.

Initially, I was leery about having everyone over, but now that the evening is done, life is starting to look a lot better. I mean, Mark and I have finally made it through whatever rocky patch we were stuck in, and I think things are going to be okay now.

I have to admit, though. I'm still pretty ticked about the huddle I found H, Calleigh, and Mark in. Mark said H and Calleigh were just worried, and that they wondered if Mark had noticed anything. I'm glad they care about me. But still, it sort of creeps me out that my friends would pump my boyfriend for information.

Right now, H and I are at Brendan Carver's high school, pumping Brendan's Spanish teacher for information.

"Now, Mr. Clarke," H says evenly, "What kind of student was Brendan?"

Patrick Clarke shrugs. "As a student, not bad. He was bright, engaged. But he was one of those kids who always had to be right. You know what I mean?"

H nods.

Mr. Clarke rubs some lint off the leg of his pants. "And he got overly frustrated when someone disagreed with him."

Leaning forward slightly, H asks, "All right. How did that translate into his social interactions with other students?"

"Oh, he was popular," Mr. Clarke says, cocking his head, "But he could be aggressive."

"What are you saying?" I ask, "He picked fights?"

Mr. Clarke smiles patronizingly. "Brendan was a bully, Detective. He didn't pick fights. He picked targets."

I frown. "Anyone in particular have a bullseye on their back?"

Licking his lips, Mr. Clarke says, "His girlfriend, for one."

H crosses his arms. "Are you saying that Brendan abused his girlfriend?"

"Oh, yeah," Mr. Clarke says, nodding.

Taking a step backward, I lean against the blackboard. It figures. I feel sorry for the kid, and it turns out he's a batterer.

"Who knew about this?" H asks.

"Well," Mr. Clarke says, "I picked up on it. So did the school nurse."

Kneading the muscles in my neck, I ask, "Did Maggie's parents know about it?"

Mr. Clarke stares impassively into my eyes. "Not until very recently. I don't want to say they were naïve. But they did miss some pretty obvious signals."

"What kind of signals did they miss?" H asks.

Standing up, Mr. Clarke walks across the classroom and picks up a stray pencil. Placing it gingerly on his desk, he says, "She stopped hanging out with her friends. She wasn't as perky as she usually was. Her grades started to tank—she'd always gotten at least Bs before. And then I noticed some bruises."

"What action did you take when you noticed the bruises?"

Mr. Clarke lets out a breath. "I asked her if everything was all right. Of course, she said it was." He shrugs. "I couldn't do much else, so I sent her to the school nurse."

"You just let it go?" I say, a little more harshly than I intend.

It kills me. A kid like Brendan beats up on his girlfriend and no one does a thing.

Mr. Clarke stares quizzically at me. "It wasn't quite like that, Detective. The girl was embarrassed, you know? Maggie's always been pretty popular, but she's introverted. She just didn't want her personal life open to the public."

"When did her parents find out what was going on?" H asks.

Rolling up his sleeves, Mr. Clarke says, "From what I understand, the principal called them a couple weeks ago."

I glance at H. If Maggie's family knew about the abuse two weeks ago, why was Mr. Donahue defending Brendan during our earlier interview? It could be that he hasn't been able to acknowledge the truth about Brendan. Or maybe he's concerned that the truth would implicate his family in Brendan's death.

Then again, it pretty much does, doesn't it?

H and I thank Mr. Clarke for his cooperation, and then turn to leave. But just as we're about to exit the room, I stop short.

"By the way," I say, "Maggie has a brother, right?"

"Yeah," Mr. Clarke says, "Collin."

"Is he an athlete?"

Narrowing his eyes, Mr. Clarke nods. "Basketball."

-----

Once in the hall, H turns to me. "You're thinking about that footprint you found," he says knowingly.

"It might figure." I say, pressing a hand against my stomach. Damn. I'm seriously starting to think I've got an ulcer. "Brendan was beating up on his sister. Maybe Collin did something about it."

"All right," H says, nodding, "But let's not jump to conclusions. What we need to do first is confirm what Mr. Clarke told us."

Slumping against a locker, I ask, "You want I should call the Donahues?"

Tugging at his bottom lip, H says, "I'll handle that. Hey, you all right?"

"What?"

H cocks his head. "Your stomach bothering you?"

Letting out a breath, I admit, "Yeah. A little."

"You need something to eat?"

"No, I'm good."

I straighten my body, trying to shake off the gnawing pain in my stomach.

H gazes at me, as if he's trying to decide whether I'm really "good" or not. Finally, he nods toward the door. "Let's swing by the principal's office. Then we'll grab a bite."

-----

The principal, Mr. Haverson, confirmed Mr. Clarke's story. Brendan definitely abused Maggie. In fact, the kid copped to it when Haverson and the school shrink confronted him. According to Mr. Haverson, Brendan "showed real regret for his actions," but the school, "informed the parents of both Brendan and Maggie in order to prevent further incidents."

Whatever.

I'm not surprised that Brendan's parents kept that little nugget a secret.

True to his word, H dragged me to the nearest deli for lunch as soon as we finished with Mr. Haverson. We ordered some sandwiches and took them to a table outside. We picked a busy time of day to come, though. Hordes of people keep spilling past us, making it difficult to have a conversation.

"Feeling better?" H asks, leaning forward to so I can hear him above the clamor.

Pulling a shred of turkey out of my sandwich, I say, "Yeah. A little." The ache is my stomach is still there, but it's less profound. "I guess I did need to eat."

"Good," H says. He takes a sip of lemonade, and then says, "So, I'm going to have Frank meet me at the Donahues."

I bite my lip so I don't smirk. "So, what? I'm barred from interviewing the Donahues?"

"I don't want them to shut down, Speed."

"Fair enough."

Taking a bite of my sandwich, I gaze down at my bandaged wrist. It's gone from throbbing pain to infuriating itch. I can barely fight the urge to rip off my bandages and scratch my wound.

Exhaling, I slump down in my chair. It's a shame Maggie had to be confronted before she got help. She had to see what he was doing to her.

"Speed."

I glance up. "Sorry, H. You say something?"

"Yeah," H frowns, "I'm going to head over to the Donahues now. Why don't go back to the lab and start going over our interviews."

"Okay," I say, "I'll catch a bus." Popping the last of the sandwich into my mouth, I stand up. "See back at headquarters, H," I say.

H pats me on the shoulder. "See you there."

I guess I can understand where she's coming from, though. I mean, my situation with Mark is totally different, but I can relate to Maggie wanting to keep her personal problems a secret. She was probably afraid everyone would pity her, or blame her for Brendan's actions.

Tugging at the bandange on my wrist, I start down the street toward the bus stop.

But still, she's lucky things didn't escalate too far before Brendan died. If things had gone differently, we might be investigating her murder instead of his.