Title: Found
Chapter 8
Spoilers: Still "Hell Night"
Author's Notes: I never found it plausible that Calleigh had some sort of Bionic Vision episode during the "Hell Night" that allowed her to notice the shallow blood marks on the knife that killed Miranda Lopez after only a cursory glance. Come on! Seriously. Rewatch it. There's even a sound effect when Calleigh zeroes in on the knife. LMAO!
For those of you who think Tim reaches his conclusion super fast and communicates his findings mucho-super fast, just remember that our heroes solved both of these cases in less than one night! (And without H! He was off getting Ray Jr. out of his trouble.) ; )
PS: I HOPE my line breaks show up. My format's been coming out wrong lately.
-
After I leave Donnie Lopez, I wander out the kitchen door and into the driveway, closing the door tightly behind me…
Okay, so I just opened and closed a door in front of more than thirty witnesses. That was smart.
No one seems to have noticed, though. They're all too busy complaining about what how inconvenient it was for Donnie Lopez to have gotten himself murdered.
Shrugging, I wander over to Eric, who's wading through the mass of witnesses/suspects. Currently, he's talking (or trying to, anyway) to a juror who, from the looks of things, is giving Eric a hard time. The guy just looks like a smart ass.
"—justice if you ask me," the juror spits.
Eric glances up at the man, a look of disgust ghosting his face. "Poetic justice?"
Inching my body closer, I fold my arms across my chest. Eric's kind of hot when he's being righteously indignant.
"Did you see the pictures of the crime scene?" the juror snarls. "What that animal did to his wife? He got what he deserved."
Eric gazes at the juror. "We're done," he says, watching as the man returns to his fellow-jurors. It's weird. From the expression on Eric's face, I can't tell if he agrees with that prick, or if he's sickened by him. And that scares me a little.
Lately, Eric's been hard to read. Granted, I spend a lot of time avoiding humanity by hiding in the locker room. But I know Eric, and he's gotten grim lately. He alternates between doing a pretty fair imitation of a zombie and walking around with a smiley face plastered where his normal face should be. Eric's always been the kind of guy who keeps things to himself and everything, but I just can't get a bead on what he's feeling.
-
There are so many ways this could go wrong.
I've kind of pulled myself off of Donnie Lopez's murder. Instead, I've decided to reopen the Miranda Lopez case. Consequently, I'm sitting on the floor of a broom closet, a few photos from Miranda Lopez's file strewn across the floor. This may not be the brightest thing I've ever done, but if I want to take another look at this murder, I need some alone time with the case file. And since I can't exactly waltz in and grab it, I've been pilfering it a few pieces at a time, periodically swapping the pieces I'm done with for new stuff.
Maybe it's stupid for me to listen to Donnie Lopez's claims of innocence. But there was something in his voice…I'm not sure what it was. It's not like he asked me to reopen the case, but to be honest, I never really felt right about wrapping up the investigation anyway. The DA was breathing down my neck, and I never felt like I had enough time to look at it from every possible angle.
So far, my investigation hasn't really turned up anything new. I was a little curious about how Mr. and Mrs. Lopez were having a loud argument, and the kids didn't hear anything. I don't know. I always heard it when my mom and dad fought.
Okay. Now what's this? I narrow my eyes at a photograph of Miranda Lopez's body. I've been looking at this picture for an hour, so I blink hard. When I open my eyes, I gaze intently at the knife that's lying discarded by Miranda Lopez's body. The blood on the knife is pretty shallow, now that I'm looking at it. Donnie Lopez is a big guy with a lot of upper-body strength. It seems improbable that he would take such a weak swipe at his wife if he was in a fit of anger…
Huh. Donnie Lopez might just have been telling me the truth.
-
So, now that I have evidence that potentially clears Donnie Lopez's name, what do I do? Lopez had a point. I can't exactly storm into H's office and fill him in. And I can't see me writing a cryptic message on the wall. I guess I could take that punk into my confidence.
Tugging my bottom lip, I sneak toward a conference room where Eric is standing next to a uniformed officer. From what I can hear of the conversation, they've found a suspect they like for Lopez's murder. Down the hall, I see Calleigh rounding the corner with one of the jurors from Lopez's trial. Eric and the uniform walk down the hall the meet them, so I seize the opportunity to run into the conference room and plunk down the photo of Miranda Lopez and the tell-tale knife. I leave it out, so it's visible. All l I have to do now is somehow draw attention to the shallow blood marks on the murder weapon!
I lean against the table, my full weight resting against the table. All I have to do?
-
"Come on, Cal," I whisper into Calleigh's ear. "Just pick up the picture."
This whole interview, I've been trying to reach Eric and Calleigh…communicate with them enough to get them to look at the damn picture. So far, I've had no luck. Calleigh keeps swatting at her ear, though, so apparently I have some kind of presence.
Maybe I could knock the picture off the table somehow. Either Eric or Calleigh will pick it up and take a look. That would work. As I reach for the photo, Calleigh decides to do the same thing. She turns it around and slides it toward her.
"Oh, I see how you are," I smirk. Leaning against her chair, I say, "Okay, now look at the knife. The knife, Calleigh. Look at the blood on the knife."
As I talk to Calleigh, I can half-hear Eric talking to their suspect. I feel kind of bad distracting Calleigh, but Eric can handle it. It's sort of a shame I can't watch him interrogate the guy, though. Eric's confidence in his abilities has grown in the past few years. Now, when he interrogates a suspect, he exudes poise, strength, and a fair amount of animal magnetism.
But duty calls. "Look at the knife, Calleigh," I say. "Come on." I speak louder. "The knife, Cal. Look at the knife. Look at the blood."
I glance up as the uniform leads our suspect out of the room.
"Look at the knife," I say. "The knife."
Calleigh stares at the photo for a long moment, and then rubs her temple. "Oh, God," she says to Eric.
Eric glances at the picture. "What's wrong."
Looking up, Calleigh says, "I don't think he did it."
"Nice work," I say.
"What are you talking about?" Eric laughs nervously. "The guy just confessed. We got him."
"No, not him," she says. "Donnie Lopez. I don't think he killed his wife."
Eric stares at Calleigh, a bewildered expression on his face. "Then who did?"
-
The daughter, as it turns out. Which might explain why Donnie Lopez cleaned up before he called for an ambulance. I've been looking around for Lopez, but I haven't seen him. I'd like to talk to him, ask him how much he knew. Part of me really wants to know if he was a dad protecting his daughter, or if he was just a guy who was wrongfully accused. But I guess I may never know.
I wander through the parking lot, enjoying the night air. It's funny. I never really took the time to enjoy things while I was alive. I pretty much went to work, went home, and then came back to work the next morning. On rare occasions, I would have dinner with Alexx, or Eric would drag me to a club. Even then, I felt like I was in a mad rush.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Wolfe, scooping his car keys off the ground. Squaring my shoulders, I stalk toward him.
"Hey," I say, concentrating on wanting to be seen.
Wolfe glances up. "Hey," he says. He stares at me for a moment, probably trying to place me. He flashes a lopsided grin. "My car works again," he declares.
"Good," I snap, crossing my arms tightly across my chest.
"Um…I think Delko's still inside."
I talk a hard step toward him. "Alexx is a friend of mine," I say.
Wolfe glances at the entrance to headquarters. "I don't know her very well, but she seems nice," he says.
I glare. "Don't get too cozy."
Biting his lip, Wolfe says, "Look, I don't know what I—"
"Don't steal my friends," I bark. Then, I turn on my heel and walk back toward the entrance to the building. As soon as I'm out of Wolfe's sight, I will myself to be invisible again.
When I arrive at the doors into the lobby, Eric brushes past me, so I stop to watch him walk away. It sucks. I've been stuck at headquarters every single night—all alone. I wander the halls, scare a few people sometimes, and try to keep myself sane. Then, I sit in the locker room and wait for the morning shift to come to work. And then I do it all again.
Well, not tonight.
-
Even though I can pass easily into Eric's condo, I wait for him to unlock the door. I don't know…it seems polite. After a few seconds, he pushes open the door and trudges inside, tossing his bag onto the floor and his keys onto a table by the entrance. He doesn't bother to turn on the light. Instead, he just drags himself over to the couch and half-collapses into the cushions.
After about ten minutes, he pulls himself into a standing position and slogs into the bedroom, kicking his shoes off as he goes. When he reaches his bed, Eric drops onto his side, wrenching his shirt off just before his head hits the pillow.
I lower myself into a chair by the window and gaze at the man I love. Talk about lost causes.
After a few minutes, Eric's body starts to tremble slightly, and before too long, I hear the muffled sounds of his sobbing. Whoa. In all the years I've known Eric, I've never seen him cry, and believe me, we've been through some heavy stuff. Licking my bottom lip, I rise slowly from my chair and inch toward Eric's bed. When my foot hits a certain place in Eric's floor, the floorboard creaks slightly, causing Eric to lift himself half-off the bed and look over his shoulder. Shaking his head, he lies back down, curling his body into a ball.
Biting my lip, I ease myself onto the bed, trying hard not to shake the mattress too much. I would imagine that finding your dead male best friend next to you in bed when you're already having a bad day would be a mite unsettling.
Carefully, I drape my arm around Eric's waist. At first, he sort of flinches, but after about a minute, I feel him relax and settle into my embrace. Before long, I can hear Eric's breathing settle into a soft, steady rhythm, and I know he's asleep.
Resting my head against Eric's shoulder, I close my eyes and try to take solace in this small comfort.
