Title: Winter Fun, Chapter Seven
Author: Kerry
Disclaimer: If I owned Law and Order, D'Onofrio and Erbe would absolutely loathe me, because I'd have them working all summer long. No rerun episodes! New ones, every Sunday night. 52 episodes a year! (Translation: I own nothing you recognize.)
A/n: Yes! I know it's been a while! I've actually been involved in some other projects – one involving a short story from the perspective of an bitter old man – who, oh yeah, is dead. It's been pretty interesting. But I haven't forgotten about this one…ah yes, I have big plans. insert evil laugh So thanks for sticking around and not forgetting about me – and I hope you're all having a great summer! You already know what the whole thing about reviews is...0:) Always appreciated greatly.
Chapter Seven: Mothers of the Disappeared
The Medical Examiner's Office
Killington, Vermont
Doctor Laurie Janelson lost no time in leading the group of detectives to Mandy's body. "You four are the only ones insane enough to continue investigation today," she tossed over her shoulder as they proceeded down the narrow, whitewashed hallway. Falver inwardly sighed, thinking or alone enough. They came to the exam room, and Laurie turned, compelled to warn them: "I know you lot are detectives and used to this kind of stuff – but it's pretty gruesome." She spoke the truth: Mandy's face was by now unrecognizable due to the acid that had been sprayed on it post-mortem. What features that remained were grossly bloated. It was evident where the bullet had pierced her forehead, but surprisingly, little damage had been done to her countenance as a result of the gun. Her blonde hair remained sleek; the rest of her body was covered with a standard blue sheet.
Neither Goren nor Eames had a visible reaction to the body. But then, Falver reminded himself, they are detectives of the NYPD Major Case Squad. Surely they had seen cases far worse than this. Himself, he loathed the ME's office and all that related to it. It reminded him too strongly of his wife – of a time when he had not been the cop within these walls, but the grieving widower. The medical examiner began explaining the situation to his peers, but Falver's mind was elsewhere.
Peter Falver had not always been the meek, compliant Holmes to Decovy's Sherlock. Once upon a time, he had instead been the annoyingly loud and boisterous officer everyone loved to hate, but missed when he was on vacation during a particularly nasty case. Once upon a time, he hadn't been the short, pot-bellied and balding assistant, but the thin, muscular detective whose commanding presence made up for his height.
"We've identified the acid used: hydrochloric acid. Unfortunately, that doesn't narrow your search down much: the chemical is available everywhere from high school chemistry labs to cleaning products. It's usually harmless, but when administered in such high quantities…" Dr. Janelson said, and Falver was reminded of his wife's overdose. It had been six years ago, but his pain was still fresh, like a cut on which salt was continually sprinkled. Advil: harmless in small amounts, but lethal in high concentrations, especially when taken with the intent to die. Being a cop's wife: bearable at first, when the hours were short and the love was strong, but too much when your husband the cop was not only out all night but had begun bringing the job home with him. When your husband the cop saw the dinner you had spent all afternoon preparing for him and saw only the elaborate meal the mistress had prepared for the rich man before killing him.
"Cause of death was the single gunshot to the head," Laurie continued.
"What type of gun was used?" Decovy asked, moving closer to the head of the cot, across from where Goren and Eames stood. Decovy: he had been Falver's saving grace, or so he told him. Falver had left the force for two years after his wife's suicide, until he was hunted down by the outsider from New York who said "they would make a good team". Falver had needed something to distract him before he too reached for the bottle of pills in the top cabinet, and so he accepted. At the time, he had figured it would only last a few months, at most a year; big city cops were rarely satisfied with the quieter Vermont life. Four years later, and Falver wasn't sure if he had made the right choice. But even more so, he wasn't sure if he cared.
".22 caliber," she responded. "I'd put time of death anywhere between Monday afternoon and early Tuesday morning, judging by the extent of decomposition. Aside from the acid, nothing was too unusual about the body."
"No rape, bruising?" Alex asked.
"Semen was found matching Paul Jamison's DNA," – Bobby and Alex had collected samples from both Danny and Paul before leaving Amherst – "but it appeared to be consensual. Otherwise, the only DNA on the body was Mandy's."
"Can you tell how recently they slept together?"
"Saturday night, at latest Sunday afternoon." Bobby and Alex glanced at each other: that coincided with what Paul had told them, except for the fact that he hadn't returned to the hotel because of an injury. What else had Paul chosen to edit…
"No signs of a struggle, which corresponds with your reports of intact tree branches and shrubs," Laurie said, nodding at Decovy. "I'm no detective, but judging by the body, I'd say she was either caught completely off-guard-"
"Unlikely if they were isolated in the after-hours of the ski day in the middle of the woods – she'd have to be pretty anxious," Bobby contributed.
"Or the killer was not only someone she knew, but someone she trusted," she finished. "Now I have to be closing up: the Christmas turkey won't cook itself. Any questions?"
As Falver followed Decovy out of the room, Alex and Bobby lingered behind slightly. "Do you want to split them up?" Bobby asked, indicating Decovy and Falver with a subtle pointing of his hand as he turned to face Alex.
"Read my mind," she replied, staring at the now-closed door. "I'll take Falver – I doubt Decovy has changed much from the slimeball he was seven years ago, but I'd like to hear your take on him."
"Sounds good." He held the door open for her, but was held back by the medical examiner, whose presence they had nearly forgotten.
"So you two are the detectives from New York," she began as she closed up some files and added them to a pile on her desk. "Good luck working with the infamous duo."
"Decovy and Falver?" Alex questioned. At Laurie's assent, she continued. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, he's a shady one – Decovy, that is. Falver's pretty much a shell of a man after his wife's OD six years ago; he goes through the motions, but isn't half the guy he used to be. They have an excellent solve rate, no doubt about that, but…" She hesitated.
"But what?" Bobby asked, intrigued. She looked up at him.
"Well – they've been on a few cases I thought were pretty clear, but that were left unsolved. Maybe I'm missing something," she shrugged. "But it always struck me as odd. Anyway, I've got to go – good luck with the Turner case." She grinned at them as she ushered them out the door. "But for God's sake – it's Christmas. Try to cut yourself a little slack." Alex laughed.
"We'll try, Dr. Janelson."
"Oh, call me Laurie."
"Well, thanks Laurie – you've been helpful." To Bobby, she added: "You'd better hurry before you lose Decovy." The man was already halfway down the street. Bobby nodded; glancing at him, Alex could see the all too familiar pensive, scholarly look now lined his features. "Falver just turned into that café, so I'm off – I'll meet you back at the hotel around one?" She didn't wait for the response she knew she wouldn't get. Bobby was too far gone inside his head for normal conversation. She only hoped he pulled himself together for his "interrogation" of Decovy.
Detective Travis Decovy had just made it to the intersection of Mountain Road and Main Street – where the medical examiner's office was located – when he was abruptly called back. Recognizing the voice, he made a face of disgust: the over-reactive, touchy-feely detective Eames had somehow wound up with. Bad enough that she had been dragged back into his life…now, this extra, brawny detective was too much.
"Detective Decovy!" Bobby called again, jogging across the road and coming to a stop directly before Decovy. Contrary to the New Yorker's serious countenance in the medical examiner's office, the taller man now sported a goofy-looking grin. It made Decovy want to punch him in the face. "I was wondering, do you have a shooting range around here that I could use?" Decovy looked at him sideways, sizing him up. What kind of game was this guy playing at? It was Christmas Day…and he wanted to go the shooting range…?
"Festive guy you are," he eventually responded. Goren laughed, not so much at Decovy's rather insipid comment as at what the expression on Alex's face would look like when she heard of Goren's excuse for speaking with Decovy. So the shooting range idea didn't make much logical sense…but Bobby was hopeful that it would spark a competitive edge in Decovy – and, in doing so, spark an invite into analyzing Decovy's character.
"Yeah, well, not much better to do, is there? Besides, I want to be ready for this guy when we catch him."
"Or her," Decovy added somewhat triumphantly. Aha, thought Bobby, there's the competitive nature.
"Of course. Either way, I wouldn't want him – or her – getting away." Bobby shuffled back and forth in his stance as he waited for Decovy's response. He knew all these apparent idiosyncrasies – the anxiety, the pre-emptive conclusions – would make him seem inexperienced. With Decovy underestimating him, information would be much easier to weasel out.
"Fine," Decovy replied curtly after a few moments pause. "But only because I have nothing else better to do."
"Doesn't sound like a very good defense to me," Bobby commented as he followed Decovy up Mountain Road. Decovy glanced over his shoulder and gave Bobby an absolutely scathing look; in response, Bobby had to struggle not to smile.
"Your shot," Bobby said an hour later, now clad in a traditional workout outfit: sweats and what he refused to call a wife beater. He stepped aside in the booth the two were using; Decovy stepped forward and aimed his gun towards the target dummy across the room. Bobby watched his index finger curl as if in slow motion. It curled around the trigger, pulled back, release…and bang! Someone's life is over. Sometimes just the fact that such a crime could be committed so easily hurt in itself: what had happened to humanity?
And had these been Mandy Turner's thoughts that fateful last night of December twenty-second? Had she watched her attacker's finger slowly wrap around the trigger, watched it slowly tighten, and then inevitably release…and then watched someone's life end. Her own.
"Why so silent?" Decovy asked, loading more bullets into his gun. He did not make eye contact with Bobby as he spoke.
"Just thinking about the case."
"Ah," Decovy commented, pausing and weighing the gun in his hands, as if weighing his next words mentally. "So…I suppose by now Eames has given you the heads up?"
"What do you mean?" Bobby decided to play dumb in order to get Decovy's side of the story.
"How I was partners with her husband back in New York?"
"Oh, yeah, that – pretty strange coincidence, eh?" Bobby prayed his years of undercover work were taking effect and that his face did not show the boiling fury he felt inside. "Hey – I heard her husband actually died in the line of duty, but I've never really been clear on the details." Decovy gave him a suspicious look.
"How long have the two of you been partners?" he asked, gaze now fixed on Bobby, the gun idle in his open palm.
"About four years now, I believe."
"And you still don't know how her husband died?" He sounded skeptical; Bobby responded by injecting a slightly defensive tone to his voice.
"Yeah…well, it happened long before I met her. And it's not really the kind of thing you bring up in common conversation, you know? She's only mentioned the whole thing once or twice in the whole time I've known her." All true.
"Wow," Decovy responded, looking surprised. "Strong woman, that is." Bobby gave a genuine smile at that comment before agreeing, but it irritated him that the compliment was one coming from this particular ma.
"So…do you know how it happened?"
"Michael's death? Oh yeah – I was actually his partner at the time. I suppose some hold me responsible, even. We were out in an undercover situation that went pretty bad: Mike ended up getting shot, and the perp ended up getting away with a suitcase full of diamonds."
"Damn."
"Yeah. I switched out of New York afterwards, it got so bad. Took a couple years off, then ended up here. Once a cop, always a cop." To add finality to this closing statement, he straightened. Curl. Tighten. Release.
Bang.
Bobby wondered what other purpose the gun the man in front of him now held had once served.
"So," Decovy turned to face Bobby again. "Enjoying the lovely Alexandra?" Bobby raised an eyebrow.
"As a partner, she's excellent…but I'm not sure what you're implying there, Decovy." Decovy laughed.
"Aw, come on – don't play innocent. You and I both know she's a beautiful girl." Woman, Bobby mentally corrected. He had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying it out loud.
"Decovy, I think I need to shower just to wash that thought away." It was not difficult for Bobby to act disgusted: he was, indeed, thoroughly disgusted with Decovy's masochistic attitude and his demeaning comments towards Alex.
"Right – like you don't need a shower already," Decovy replied lightly, scanning over the sweat Bobby had managed to work up during their exercise session. Bobby laughed and hoped the sound was not as hollow as it felt.
"You're right. In fact, I should get going…the locker room is down that way?"
As Bobby washed up in the locker room, he reflected on the past hour and a half of interaction. Alex had been dead-on with her characterization of Decovy – but then, he reminded himself, when was she ever not? The woman proved the age old adage about a woman's intuition every day on the job. Decovy just seemed so…fake. While their conversation had been – for the most part – harmless, whenever Decovy had allowed a part of his actual personality to show through, Bobby had had to bit down his upper lip to keep it from curling in disgust. And that last comment about Alex…well, it was fortunate that Bobby – again, for the most part – was a very in-control man. At least while Alex was around.
Are you enjoying the lovely Alexandra?
The words resonated in his head as he stepped out of the shower and began putting on his suit from earlier that morning. It wasn't the first time he had heard such a comment; the unspoken bond he and his partner shared was oftentimes misinterpreted simply because it was so infrequently understood. He and Alex were partners in ever sense of the word – they always had each other's back no matter the situation – but nothing more.
Had the thought crossed his mind before? Certainly: he was only human. He had a quick flashback to the evening before, when he had for the first time actually, physically held Alex: it had been different, but oddly comfortable. As a rule, he and Alex kept the physical connection to a minimum; the emotional connection was all that was really needed for both. He doubted either of them sought anything more.
When Bobby stepped back outside the building, he found Decovy waiting for him, cell phone in hand. "You take long showers, man," he said, smirking slightly. "And you missed a rather important phone call."
"Mmm?"
"ME's office. Laurie came back to work to pick up some papers she had accidentally left behind – and noticed something rather interesting."
"Get on with it."
"Michelle Turner is not Mandy's mother."
"What?" Bobby wasn't sure if he had heard Decovy correctly.
"Oh, so now you want the explanation. Laurie generally checks the vic's DNA against DNA of reported family members in order to have definite identification – especially in cases like this one, where the victim is so physically defiled. With the parents' DNA that you two brought up, she was able to run some tests: while Scott Turner is undoubtedly Mandy's father, there is no DNA correspondence between Mandy and Michelle."
"Well…that changes things," Bobby finally managed to get out, still caught slightly off-guard. "I'd better go get the word to Eames." Decovy nodded his goodbye, then turned and began walking away. He had made it a few feet before his cell went off again: evidently, however, it was not something that concerned Bobby, as Decovy continued walking. And so Bobby did not hear the voice that told Trevor Decovy without missing a beat:
"Detective Decovy? My name is Michelle Turner, and I understand you are currently investigating my daughter's murder. I need your help."
Apartment of Scott and Michelle Turner
New York, New York
On the other end of the phone line in New York, Scott Turner walked past his wife of twenty-seven years. Still refusing to talk to him, Michelle was instead on the phone with yet another group of detectives. Scott grabbed his coat and told Michelle he was heading out, but received no response.
He arrived at the cemetery with only the vaguest recollection of how he had gotten there. As his feet traced the path he had been down countless times, it crossed his mind that soon he would be burying another loved one here. The thought, thought, did not provoke any tears: today he was numb to all emotion. It was the way he preferred it: numbness he would take over aching pain and sore heart any day.
He came to the clearing that had been formed twenty-one years ago, and for the thousandth time knelt in front of the tombstone, lightly tracing the engravings with a calloused fingertip. It read:
Alison Relm
Born August 8th, 1956; Died September 17th, 1983
Beloved daughter, sister, and mother
May she rest in peace.
Such a simple marking, he thought. But Alison…Alison wouldn't have wanted anything else. Except to have been able to see her daughter grow up…to grow up and mature into his beautiful, beautiful Mandy.
"Alison," he attempted to say, but found he had no voice. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Alison, the girls are coming down tonight. We've decided to – to bury her on Sunday; the medical examiner said that would work. Michelle won't let me bury her next to you, but she will be nearby. I hope – I hope you two are together in heaven now. Alison, isn't she the most precious girl…you would have so loved watching her grow up. And Mandy, you finally get to meet your mother. You look so much like her, you know…" His voice trailed off, and his always perfect posture slumped as he stared at his now entwined hands in his lap. He slowly twisted the wedding band on his left hand as he spoke next.
"Alison…Alison, I'm so sorry for all of this. So sorry…more so than you could ever imagine. I'm sorry for not being there for you…for not being there to protect our daughter…Mandy, I should've been there for you; I should've been able to prevent this…" He choked up, and could no longer speak as he huddled in front of tombstone, shaking with dry sobs. He could only pray for the return of the numbness.
The title for this chapter is borrowed from a U2 song off of Joshua Tree, Mothers of the Disappeared. Thelyrics are:
Midnight, our sons and daughters
Were cut down and taken from us.
Hear their heartbeat
We hear their heartbeat.
In the wind we hear their laughter
In the rain we see their tears.
Hear their heartbeat, we hear their heartbeat.
Night hangs like a prisoner
Stretched over black and blue.
Hear their heartbeats
We hear their heartbeats.
In the trees our sons stand naked
Through the walls our daughter cry
See their tears in the rainfall.
Thanks for reading! Any questions, comments, constructive criticism is all welcome and much appreciated.
