Chapter Eleven: Dead men do tell tales

Colby still held the phone tightly in his hand even though Megan had already disconnected the call. His boss had missed taking a bullet to the brain by less than a quarter of an inch. He mentally added Don to his list of 'the luckiest sons of bitches alive'. Realizing he hadn't told Megan where he was, he hoped he wouldn't be calling her back right away. He wasin the small private office of the county's Chief Medical Examiner and had been staring at the floor when Megan called. He had just realized that the tiles were green. Not just green, but a revolting shade of sea foam green. He'd been in this office a hundred times over the past two years and he had never noticed that before.

This was the second time he'd been in here in the past ninety minutes. And it wasn't quite seven am. Normally he would be looking at the bizarre autopsy magazines that the M.E. usually had on his desk. But today, he didn't want to look at anything. Especially the body he had been called in to identify.

So he had concentrated on the floor……and it was green.

If today ended the way he expected it to, why did he know he would always remember that?

"I think we've got your guy."

He looked up at the man standing in the door. He was wearing scrubs and still had on his latex gloves. Colby hoped he didn't try to shake his hand.

"I hope not."

"Well, he matches the description for the John Doe alert your office sent out…just like the last one did."

"Then I guess you'd better show me."

He followed the M.E. down the hall to the autopsy room. For reasons he didn't want to dwell on, Colby found himself afraid to walk through the doors this time.

He wasn't a coward. He knew that and had proven it on more than a few occasions. He had seen things…..hell, even done things that had made trained soldiers cry for their mothers. But there was no freaking way he was going to be the one to tell Don Eppes that his younger brother was lying on a slab in the morgue. He wasn't sure if he could. Colby had lost more than a few brothers in arms during his tour in Afghanistan, and he found himself calling on the same strength he had used every time he watched a widow get handed a flag.

Bracing himself for the worst, he stepped up to the metal table in the center of the room. The surge of relief that rushed through him was so powerful, it almost knocked him off his feet. But he maintained his posture and kept his shoulders square.

"Agent Granger?"

Taking a deep breath, Colby turned and headed for the door.

"That's not him. Our guy has more hair."

When he was alone in the elevator, Colby sighed resolutely and allowed his shoulders to slump. How many more times today was he going to have to go through that? They needed to get a picture of Charlie, for the M.E.

He had made it through the lobby and had just stepped out onto the sidewalk, when his cell phone rang.

"Granger."

He fished his keys out of his pocket and headed for the car as he listened to the caller.

"Agent Granger? This is dispatch. 911 sent me a caller requesting to speak to a federal agent. He specifically mentioned the shooting at the Eppes' home in Pasadena. I thought I should patch him through to you."

"Put him through….and stay on the line."

Early morning traffic was starting to pick up and Colby quickly ducked into this car so he could hear the caller clearly.

"Is this an FBI agent?"

The caller was a young man. From the sound of his voice, Colby placed him in his late teens.

"Yeah. I'm Special Agent Granger. I understand you might have some information for me?"

There was an extended pause and for a moment he thought the boy had hung up. When the young voice continued, the information came out in a rush, as if he wanted to spill it all before he changed his mind.

"The guys who shot the FED are in a house on the west side…1216 Dewey. If you get their fast, and I mean you gotta fly….I think you can still save the other guy."

There was a subtle click as the boy hung up his phone.

"Agent Granger?"

The operator had stayed on the line.

"Did you get a location?"

"Yes, Sir. The call came from a residential line. Listed to a Isabel de Gattás."

"West Side?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Notify Lieutenant Gary Walker and ask him to send an LAPD gang unit over there to pick up Mrs. de Gattás' son. They should already have a BOLO out with his description, they just didn't have a name."

"I'm requesting the unit now."

"I don't have GPS mapping…how far to Dewey?"

"If you head up the 110, you can be there in 8 minutes. It runs between 12th and West Pico. There's an LAPD unit five minutes out."

"Send 'em. Tell them not to wait for me. We may not have much time."

The boy's voice had contained such a sense of urgency that Colby was almost sure it was already to late.

He quickly maneuvered his car into the increasingly heavy morning rush traffic and hit the lights and siren. Slowly, but surely, traffic parted like the red sea and he put his foot to the floor, the four cylinder engine straining to keep us with his demands.

"Hey?"

"Yes, Sir."

Good, dispatch had waited.

"Put me through to Special Agent David Sinclair."

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Authors Notes: Thanks for all your comments. This was a short one...I intened to post another later today.

Please comment, even if it is a tiny little chapter... thanks!

Chapter Twelve: If your not scared, you can't be brave