90
Rune Alignment
Chapter 33
"Swear to me you will stay here. Swear," Bobby looked directly into Gleason's eyes.
"Bobby, go to work. You'll be late."
"Swear."
"All right, all right, I swear. Now go. I'll see you this evening."
He put his left hand behind her neck and kissed her warmly, "I'll call you on the new phone. Answer it, ok?"
"Go."
Gleason closed the door to Bobby's apartment. This is nice, she thought.
"Listen to this," Bobby said as he retuned from the audio lab with a copy of the voiceprints and narrative Martin had prepared on Saturday. Deakins and Sledge were talking at Eames' desk as he approached; they stopped talking and looked at him.
Bishop was at her desk, making calls to the INS and Interpol, writing like mad. "Yeah, thanks. Bye." She hung up and walked over to the others.
"Martin noticed an odd distance between the spikes in the voiceprint. At least odd when compared to a print of an American speaking English," Bobby shared.
"But there are many American English languages, aren't there? Like Appalachian English, Texas English?" asked Deakins.
"I asked him the same thing," Bobby responded, right hand illustrating, left hand holding the narrative and print strips. "Martin said, yes there are; but, he said, oral language has vague continental similarities. Meaning, that the nuances within a language have inherent likenesses indigenous to the continent where it is spoken." He looked at them expectantly and saw blank stares.
He swallowed, took a breath, set down the papers, and said, with both hands at the ready, "All right, when someone born in the UK tries to speak English with an American accent, say a New York, or Brooklyn accent, intrinsic parallels remain from his native English, as imperceptible as they may be." Still blank looks. Bobby let his hands and shoulders fall. "He may sound like he's from here, but a voiceprint will show that the accent is fake."
"Ah," said Deakins, nodding.
"Gottcha," said Eames.
"I see," said Bishop.
"Why the hell didn't you just say that in the first place?" scowled Sledge.
Bobby continued, "I have to say, this makes perfect sense. When Gleason and I ran into Elliott at the market on Saturday . . ."
The other four stared at him with raised eyebrows and questioning looks. He waved his hand, as if shooing away their wondering, closed his eyes, shook his head and then continued, ". . . I thought he sounded forced, as if he was trying too hard to sound American.
"Don't you see?" Bobby asked. "This means that the caller has an accent, not an American accent. He's from Europe or, somewhere else, and he's faking an American accent. This narrows the investigation significantly. The caller is Elliott. Elliott is Welsh and he's faking being American."
"That's quite a theory," Deakins said. "We're going to need more than that, though, to prove anything. See what else you can find out about this guy." Deakins walked away.
An assistant handed Bishop a sheaf of papers. "These just came out of the fax machine for you."
"Thanks," Bishop replied, taking the papers and scanning them.
"Well, guess what?" she said to the others, "Elliott T. Baughman has an F-1 visa, meaning he needs to remain a fulltime student to keep his visa valid. The information from his 1-20 university visa application never transferred to the university. It must have been lost."
"Or intercepted," Sledge suggested.
"That's why the university has no home address in New York. The 1-20 gives his address in Wales as Llandewi Brefi in Ceredigion. At least that's how I think you pronounce it."
"He's faking that accent. It's him, he's the caller," Bobby said. "What do they have on him in Wales?"
"Well, he's been a busy bad boy," Bishop said reading, "I called Interpol and the folks at I-24/7 in NCB faxed over what they had. He is in their system, all right, has been from a young age. His juvenile lists cruelty to animals, arson, exposure, and molesting two neighborhood girls. His adult priors include assault, arson, stalking, and public lewdness.' Sounds like this guy has issues."
Bobby stood and took the faxes from Bishop. "It's him. It's Elliott. Elliott's been making the phone calls, threatening Gleason." He looked at his colleagues, "It all fits, the accent, the stalking, the exposures, public lewdness . . . his previous behaviors in Wales foreshadowed what he's been doing here – the stalking, the content of the calls, all of them describing deviant sexual and cruel acts. Let's go pick him up." He turned to go when Sledge interrupted.
"Wait, wait, wait a minute." Sledge had been standing quietly, waiting to explain his map to the others. Bishop and Eames looked from Sledge to Bobby, expecting some kind of altercation.
Bobby stopped, closed his eyes, shook his head and said darkly, "What?"
"How do we know Elliott has been making the calls? What hard evidence do you have? Nothing, you have nothing to pick him up with, it's all circumstantial at best," he offered. "Let's get a voice print on this Elliott and compare it to the prints from the calls; that's hard evidence. Let's wait for Huang's input. Let's see how this guy's priors fit in with Huang's profile. Christ, Goren, we have nothing to hold him with."
Bobby exploded, "What, you're channeling Carver now? We're going to go to the university and pick up this bastard for questioning, understand? Then we're going to bring him back here and question him. We have enough to tag him as a designated 'person of interest.'" Bobby glared at the other man, and then said to Alex, "Eames, are you coming with me?"
She looked from Bobby to Edward. I need to go with my partner, she told herself. Get up; go with Bobby. Get up.
Bobby threw up both hands and said, "Ok, forget it, I'll go myself with some uniforms." He flipped shut his portfolio, picked it up, turned and snatched his overcoat from the coat tree. He headed for the elevators.
"Bobby! Bobby, wait up," Eames grabbed her coat and hurried after him. She caught him waiting for the elevator. "Bobby. . ."
He spun, left hand chopping, and said, "Eames, don't . . . just, just – don't! Don't think you have to choose between Sledge and me. We're partners, you and I, but if you want to change that, it's fine with me." The elevator doors opened he stepped in.
Eames followed him and said nothing. She couldn't believe what he'd just said. Her eyes welled. She was crushed. Then pissed. Finally, the doors opened onto the lobby, Bobby stepped out and started to walk away. She grabbed his sleeve and hauled him to a stop. "You listen to me," she hissed, "I don't know what's wrong between you and Edward, but whatever it is, it better never come between you and me. Do you understand me?"
Bobby looked miserable and nodded.
"Good. Now, we are not going to the university to pick up Elliott Baughman." Bobby started to protest. "No, Bobby, Edward is right. We have no cause. Besides, we didn't clear anything with Deakins. You are acting with your heart, not your mind. If we do anything now, it will spoil any chance later with the Grand Jury." She stared up at her partner. He made intermittent eye contact. She could see him cooling off. "Bobby, you know I'm right. Come on. Let's go back upstairs and formulate a real plan." She tugged on his sleeve. The elevator doors opened and they went back to work.