Title: Winter Fun, Chapter Six
Author: Kerry
Disclaimer: yep, anything you recognize not mine
A/N: Hey guys, sorry I've been gone for so long! This chapter took a while to get out…I ended up splitting it into two chapters, so the next should be along relatively shortly. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter Six: Husbands and Diamonds
The Mill Hotel
Killington, Vermont
When Alex unlocked her hotel room later that night, she wanted to do nothing more than pop Joshua Tree into the provided stereo and let Bono's voice carry her to a blissfully unconscious – if uneasy – sleep. Such was a thing you quickly learned as a cop: going to sleep in a quiet room was a feat no longer possible. In surveillance, you were trained too well to listen for every insignificant sound: every soft pattering of footsteps, every snapping of a fallen tree branch. When the same tactics were applied to home life – to every creak as the house settled, to every gust of wind rustling the curtains – the results could be maddening. Hence Alex's rather large CD collection, and hence the fact that the last time she had been at Bobby's, she had seen an air cleaner in his room, the kind usually used for allergies which she knew he didn't have.
She had crossed the room and begun to flip through her book of discs when a deep voice startled her. "Eames." She spun around, gripping the case to her chest, wishing she hadn't already put her gun on her nightstand…and her gaze fell upon Bobby, looking relaxed on her couch. Grabbing a pillow from the foot of her bed, she threw it at him.
"Holy crap, Goren!" He easily blocked the pillow, a cheeky grin lining his face.
"I'm sorry, did I scare you?" It wasn't often that Alex lost her cool.
"What do you want?"
"What did you think of Jem's story?" Alex took a seat at the edge of her queen bed, looking across at Bobby carefully. His eyes met hers steadily: dark pools that gave away a range of emotions if you know how to read them. Alex saw curiosity, but it was overwhelmed by the concern in his gaze.
"That's not what you came here for," she finally responded, speaking slowly without breaking eye contact.
"No, it's not," he responded easily. "But to jump directly to what I came here for would be crass."
"How did you get here again?"
"You stopped for a hot chocolate in the lobby." Right. Well, Alex reasoned, there's no getting rid of him now. Might as well play along.
Their interview with Jem Davis earlier that afternoon – a crowded experience, with the four detectives and their suspect crammed into one interrogation room – had been revealing. Jem, it turned out, aside from being Mandy's ex-boyfriend, was also Paul's ex-best friend. Jem and Mandy had dated all through freshman year, until he had planned to surprise Mandy one Saturday morning but had walked in to find Paul already there.
"Look," Jem had said earlier that day, clearly pained as he made eye contact with Goren, "I hated the both of them from that moment on. Hated them. Mandy tried calling me afterwards – to apologize or explain or something – but I didn't care. I refused to speak to her again, to her or to Paul." He paused to draw in a shaky breath. "But you have to believe me: I would never hurt either of them. I had finally managed to put all of that behind me. I have a girlfriend now; I haven't thought of Mandy in months." Here Alex stepped in.
"See – we all know that's not true, Jem. We've already spoken to Danny and Paul. Danny told us that on Saturday night, she had heard you and Paul arguing in the hallway when she went out for ice."
"She said that Mandy was definitely mentioned," Bobby added.
"Which means that you had thought of Mandy as recently as last Saturday. Incidentally, you had thought of her right before she was killed," Alex finished coolly. Jem had taken a moment to respond.
"Crap," he said, now staring at his intertwined thumbs. "I didn't want you to suspect me any more than you already do, and I hadn't thought that anyone had heard that."
"Always stick to the truth, kid," Decovy barked, startling Jem, who had almost forgotten the presence of the other two detectives: Decovy paced back and forth at one end of the room, while Falver quietly took notes at the table across from Jem. Alex and Bobby had glanced at each other, annoyed at the interruption to their usual interrogation style.
"I don't think he did it," Alex said suddenly, snapping out of her reverie. "What motive did he have?" Bobby raised his eyebrows: time to play devil's advocate.
"He did say he hated her – more than once. Sometimes hatred is enough."
"Then why wait until a year after they had broken up?" Alex looked pensive. "Besides, I don't think he ever really hated her. He was furious at her, sure, but a part of him still loved her. How else do you explain his confronting Paul that night?"
"I heard them out in the hall that night," Jem had begun, still refusing to look any of them in the eye. "Paul and Danny, that is. Convenient how she forgot to add that she was a part of the discussion too. He was hitting on her – Paul, hitting on Danny, when he was going out with Mandy!" Alex could see the hint of tears welling up in his eyes; she couldn't tell if they were from anger, hurt, or both. "Seems like the guy has a penchant for breaking up best friends. To give credit to Danny, she mostly ignored him. Told him he was drunk, and to go back to his room. She left, but he didn't: he was just pacing, up and down, up and down in the hallway. I waited a few minutes, then came out. Maybe I was a little rough on him, but I was fuming. First he steals Mandy from me, then he goes on to break her heart…the bastard."
"What did you tell him?"
"Just to stay away…at least to have the decency to break up with her before making passes at other chicks. He said – he said he liked going out with someone whose father was well-known." He spat out each word as though it was poisonous; now fury filled his eyes. "That's when I hit him."
"And?" Jem sighed.
"I had to remove myself before I completely lost control. I went back to my room; you can ask my roommate if you don't believe me."
"And then you got high." It was Decovy who asked.
"Yes – then I got high." He seemed to grow more confident with his self-defense, straightening his posture and glaring at Decovy head-on. "But it was my first time in ages, I swear. I just needed to calm down, to escape. My roommate offered, and I accepted."
"We'll need to talk to this roommate," Falver spoke for the first time. "Can we have his name?" Jem scrawled a name and number on the proffered piece of paper: a Samuel Jacqueson. "And for the record-"
"Where were you on Sunday afternoon?" Decovy completed, not letting his partner finish.
"I was out skiing. I know," he said, anticipating the detectives' protests. "I know I can't prove it. You can ask my roommate or my friends if you'll trust them. Or the lift attendants. Ask if they remember a guy in a pink ski-suit." He half-smiled at the memory. "Sam dared me to wear it."
"Well, what about his alibi?" Bobby continued.
"It's hardly strong, and of course there is the question of-"
"-the pink ski suit."
"Yeah, that. But I don't think he's our guy." Bobby nodded.
"Someone could have found out about the pink ski-suit and framed him." Alex looked up sharply.
"So you agree with me?" she asked.
"Of course." Alex rolled her eyes; Bobby laughed.
"So, without Jem…that leaves the parents and Paul, who is looking considerably more suspicious."
"And Reverend Aglison. Something about him doesn't sit right with me."
"So in essence, right back where we started from."
"Four suspects, completely unrelated to one another and each with minimal – if any – motive." Bobby paused, then crossed the room and opened the mini-bar. "Something to drink?"
"I think it's imperative." He poured them each a glass of mild red wine, then brought the drinks over and resumed his position on the couch. They sat in silence for a few moments, Alex watching her drink swirl in its glass before sipping it.
"Alex," he began; if she was startled by his use of her first name, she did not show it. Before he could continue, however, she held up a hand to stop him.
"Don't – don't. I won't make you ask." She paused. "I - "
"Alex," he leaned forward, then cradled one of her hands in two of his own. His eyes felt as though they were burning holes in her head, yet she couldn't look away. "Do you remember telling me I needed to trust you in order for this partnership to work?" She nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Well, now it's your turn. You have to trust me, too."
"Of course I trust you." Alex sighed. "Promise not to interrupt me?" He readily agreed.
It was difficult for Alex to begin. "My husband – Michael Hewson – and I were married nearly ten years ago. He was a cop; I was right out of college and had a relatively well-paying job as some executive's secretary. We certainly didn't have a fairy tale marriage, but we were happy….until three years into our marriage, in '97. He was working a stakeout for a case in Narcotics, one that involved diamonds and a huge amount of money. At the time, I demanded to know the details; I've since forgotten them or blocked them out. No point in living in the past.
"He and his partner were undercover to trap the drug-lord. Michael was stationed as bait, with a suitcase full of diamonds; his partner was disguised as some bum on the streets a few blocks down, supposedly ready to jump out at the guy after he accepted the diamonds. But something went wrong, and Michael was shot." She spoke detachedly, staring at their joined hands, but when she looked up, Bobby was shocked at the utter vulnerably in her eyes. "They ended up not only losing Michael, but the diamonds as well. His partner somehow couldn't get to the scene in time.
"The case was brought to trial, and all evidence pointed to the partner. He was only a block away, but he couldn't get there in time? He was also one of four who had known the diamonds were real, the others being Michael, their captain, and the drug-lord himself. It couldn't have been the druggie, because he was found a few days later, killed before any of this had gone down. But apparently there wasn't enough evidence to convict this partner, and he was acquitted. Fled town the next day, big surprise. Haven't seen him since.
"But I know it was him. Bastard didn't even have the courage to come to my apartment – he called me on the phone! Gave me the basics, then hung up – without even a standard 'I'm sorry for your loss'. Four days later, he was late to the service." She shook her head. "I know it was him.
"You're probably wondering where Decovy factors into all of this," she said, glancing up at Bobby again: he was listening intently. "The partner – he was none other than Travis Decovy. Decovy was in the NYPD Narcotics until '97, when he disappeared from the face of the Earth. His reputation in New York was ruined, but I guess a few years later he showed up here.
"And then he has the nerve to call me 'Mrs. Hewson'. Just so you know, I never went by that; I always stuck to my maiden name at work. Work which a few years later involved the NYPD; after his death, I couldn't stand the injustice of the world, and decided the best way to battle it was to join New York's finest. Every bad guy I've shot I've pictured with Decovy's face." She stopped. "You can talk now."
For a moment Bobby remained motionless. It was an awkward position he found himself in: this was the kind of conversation that was held between the closest of friends, not between partners at work. He and Alex – they were co-workers: they weren't about emotion, they were about catching the bad guy. A part of him, though, scoffed at that thought: when had Bobby last allowed himself not to become emotionally involved in a case? But not Alex…Alex was always so controlled. With a jolt, Bobby realized that this was how she must feel much of the time – Alex, the unspoken nurse to his demons. She usually settled the matter with a well-placed snarkish comment, sometimes with traditional but motivational encouragement. But sarcasm didn't suit him…he glanced up at her waiting face.
"Alex…" Again the first name, she noted. "Alex, I'm so sorry." Hesitant at first, he slowly leaned forward and pulled her into a hug. Surprised, Alex allowed her head to gently rest on his shoulder, and Bobby realized for the first time how small she was. Without pulling back from the embrace, he murmured: "If there is any evidence – anything at all, we will find it. And we will get him."
"You shouldn't make promises like that," she whispered, and they were both reminded of the first case they had worked together. Bobby shifted slightly.
"This one I will keep." She didn't want to take comfort in his confidence, but she couldn't help it. They both ignored the single hot tear Bobby felt on his shoulder.
December 25th, 2004
Alex was woken by the irritating shrill of the hotel room phone the next morning. Groggily, she glanced past her gun and holster at the bedside clock: 6:27 AM. Who the hell was calling at this hour…
"Eames."
"Detective Eames, I'm sorry to wake you so early. It's Peter Falver." Alex inwardly groaned, then raised herself on her elbows. Time for business.
"Morning, Detective Falver. Any miraculous confessions overnight?" On his end, Peter grinned. He didn't quite understand Decovy's problem with Eames; she seemed like a fine enough detective to him, determined and intelligent but fun.
"Unfortunately, no. I just got a call from the ME. The results are in on Mandy Turner. However, she says that if we want anything, we have to stop by now. She's got some sort of Christmas obligation in the afternoon." God, it's Christmas today? Alex wondered, flipping open her cell-phone. December 25th indeed. She made a mental note to call her sister and parents later.
"Yeah, it's no problem. Aside from the waking Goren aspect. And where am I headed again?"
Falver hung up the phone five minutes later, having arranged to meet the New Yorkers in front of the medical examiner's office in a half-hour. He rose, grabbing his coat and two cups of the office's so-called coffee, and met Decovy as he exited the elevator.
"Turn around, partner. We're off to the ME. Meeting Goren and Eames there in" – he checked his watch – "Twenty-seven minutes. I brought you coffee." Decovy accepted the drink Falver offered him, watching him warily under heavily lidded eyes. Falver was several years older than Decovy, a 53 compared to his own 42 years, and not for the first time, Decovy was concerned that he was growing soft in his old age. Soft was not something Decovy deemed acceptable in a partner.
"Thanks," he said. "ME has results on Mandy Turner, I assume?"
"None other," Falver replied. He hesitated for a moment as they exited through revolving doors to the street, where they mutually decided to walk the two blocks to the office. "Listen – I spoke to Detective Eames this morning."
"Did you?" Decovy retorted sharply. Running into Eames again had left him unable to sleep easy; she knew too much about his former life – information that could damage his place here in Vermont.
"Mm…woke her up to notify her about Mandy. I – I don't really understand what you find so terrible about her. Do you two have some sort of history?" Decovy gave a short laugh.
"You could say that. Eames' husband was my partner back in New York."
"Oh – so you go back quite a while."
"He died in the line of duty. Made things a little awkward." Still didn't explain his apparent hatred for her – and vice versa. But Falver decided it was best to let sleeping dogs lie; he had seen an angry Decovy before, and had no desire to become further acquainted with him. Time for a change in topic.
"So, what are your thoughts on the Turner case?" They made a right on to Freelin Way.
"I'm favoring the boyfriend."
"Don't you think that's too obvious?"
"Ockham's Razor, my friend."
"Have you looked over Goren and Eames' notes?"
"Not yet."
"Probably should."
"I will, eventually." Falver half-groaned in frustration: on days like today, Decovy was a difficult partner to have. A thought occurred to him as they approached the building; he turned to Decovy and asked in a low voice.
"Have we gotten any – you know – calls yet?" Decovy spun so abruptly that Falver was startled and took a step backwards. However, what Decovy's verbal response would have been, Falver would not learn. At that moment, Goren and Eames stepped out of a parked SUV. Eames pointedly ignored Decovy, offered a quick 'Good Morning' to Falver, and disappeared into the office. Goren, looking slightly sheepish, nodded to both of them.
"Shall we?" he asked, beckoning to the front door. But his gaze at Decovy was cold – something that did not escape Falver's old but keen eyes.
Apartment of Scott and Michelle Turner
New York City, New York
"Yes…yes," Scott Turner sighed heavily, bringing a hand up to massage his temples as he squinted tiredly. "Yes…thank you. We'll be up early tomorrow." He hung up the phone, then sagged back against the wall before proceeding to where his wife lay in their bedroom. She was crumpled on the mattress, motionless; he hated to wake her when she had finally managed to fall asleep. Michelle had been more distraught this week than he had ever seen her; he himself had retreated back into his shell of mourning after that first night. It was how he and Michelle usually handled their pain: this new, open bereavement was something he wasn't quite sure how to manage.
"Scott…I'm awake," Michelle muttered into the pillow. "I heard the phone…" He braced himself as he walked over to the bed and settled himself next to Michelle, one hand lightly stroking her back. This close, he could hear her almost silent tears.
"That was Captain David Thorman of the Killington Police Department." His voice cracked; he swallowed, trying to stay in control. Four days later and none of this felt any more real. "They've – they've found her, Michelle. They've found Mandy." She didn't need to turn around to see the news wasn't good; it was what they had both known, but what they had both refused to accept. Michelle's sobs grew louder; Scott wiped away a few tears of his own with his spare hand. Later, he told himself, later. "They want us to drive up there to ID the body. Thorman apologizes for the inconvenience, but the detectives want to keep her at the scene of the crime, until all necessary investigation has been completed and evidence collected."
"It's not use," she moaned.
"I know," he said, soothingly, still attempting to cover his own emotion. This was the worst of it: "They – they said some sort of acid was sprayed on her, and because of it she is barely distinguishable." At this, Michelle let out a particularly loud cry. With each sob, his wife felt more and more foreign to Scott. He reached for one of her hands with the one that wasn't rubbing her back; at his touch, she pulled away violently, and he felt as if he were intruding on her privacy.
"Michelle, I wish there was something I could do for you," he said softly. "You never let me see you cry. Not when your mom died, or your father…not with your sister…" He paused both in movement and in speech. "Is…is this something to do with Alison?"
It was as if he had pushed the final button to discharge the atomic bomb. Michelle flew off the bed, knocking his hand astray, her eyes wild with rage only heightened by her still pouring tears. Her hands clawed and pushed at him to get off of their bed.
"Get away from me, you son of a bitch!" she cried; he jumped off the bed. "I know you never stopped loving her – even now she's all you can think about. Get out!" As he retreated to the door, she made a half-hearted attempt to throw a pillow at him. It landed halfway across the room. "Get out…"
He was already gone.
So...reviews? lol - thanks to all of those who have already responded, your comments have given me so much motivation and advice! have a great day :)
