Author's Note: As usual, these chapters are unedited and subject to tweaking later on when I'm a little more coherent. 4 a.m. is not the time to be looking for grammatical mistakes...
Chapter 10
The street was filled with police cars and investigative vehicles. The cul-de-sac was awash in flashing strobes of red and blue as police combed the entire area for clues to Ellen Bainbridge's assailant. Sam pulled ahead slowly until a uniformed officer manning a barricade of police tape and traffic barriers halted her. He held up his hand for her to stop. The flashing lights lit his face at odd angles, giving him a macabre appearance.
"Ma'am," he said, nodding. "Can I help you?"
Her identification badge was beginning to get a solid workout on the night. Sam showed him her credentials.
"Major Samantha Carter, United States Air Force. Detective Garner was supposed to notify you we were on our way."
"That's right, ma'am," he confirmed. "Park over to the right, behind that van."
She saw where he was pointing. The police van was a crime scene investigation unit. The back doors were open, but no one was near it. She parked where the officer indicated once he raised the tape to let her through the barricade.
Rachel viewed the scene. "Dammit," she sighed."
"What?" Sam asked, not understanding the source of Rachel's annoyance. She turned off the engine, and they sat in the darkened SUV.
"The press is here," she said, pointing to reporters standing inside the perimeter of the barricade.
Sam looked over and saw the lights from the cameras illuminating very serious, dramatic reporters, letting their public know of the grim tragedy of the night.
"That was quick," Sam noted, surprised.
Rachel craned her neck against the headrest and closed her eyes. "This night can't get any worse."
Carter knew it could in every way, and the simplest way was for Rachel to see the gore inside the house that was probably everywhere, given the extent of the injuries they witnessed in the ER. Sam had seen what happened with even the most superficial of wounds to the head. They tended to bleed a lot, and it tended to look a lot worse than it really was. Ellen Bainbridge, however, had suffered severe trauma. Judging by the extent of her injuries and Sam's own battle experiences, the likelihood of a massacre seemed assured.
"You sure you're up to this?" she asked cautiously, not as one who has seen plenty of gore in her work at the SGC, but as a friend who knew the ramifications might be too much for Dekker to bear.
"No," Rachel answered, sitting up straight and opening her eyes, "but there are plenty of things in my life I haven't been up for and still had to do anyway. Ellen works for me, and I know it may sound crass and unfeeling, but she works on high-level projects. My – our company," she corrected, "can't afford to have Starsky and Hutch demanding documents and evidence."
Sam knew better. "Is that it?"
Rachel looked out the passenger window. "No," she said again, this time more quietly. "She's a good person, and she's been like a surrogate mother to Holleran. She's taken care of him during some rough times, times when I should have been there after our mother died. I owe her this, Sam."
"And let's not forget that you're pissed."
"That's putting it mildly," Rachel said with a humorless laugh.
"Okay," Sam said, "so that's why I'm thinking you need to let me do the talking when we get in there. The fewer waves we make, the better."
"And if playing nice doesn't work?" Rachel asked, looking to Sam once more.
Sam took a deep breath and let it out sharply. "And if that doesn't work, I'll seal the entire house off and call in our own people. Either way, we're going to get to the bottom of this. I promise you that."
Rachel nodded in agreement. They exited the SUV and headed toward the house, enduring looks from several officers who watched their approach. When they got to the porch of the house, they were once again stopped by another uniform. Carter was not sure what Colonel O'Neill had said to Garner's supervisors, but it must have been a very effective tirade. They were allowed to pass without argument.
The inside of the house was lit brightly as technicians scoured for evidence. A detective in the corner kept glancing over at Sam, obviously curious about her presence. Rachel stood frozen, surveying the scene. It all seemed okay, but there was a distinct concentration of technicians in the kitchen. Some worked near the patio door, dusting its surface with silver nitrate to bring out any potential prints that may have been left there by the intruder. Flashes of light popped off in the kitchen area as evidence photos were captured for the record. Quiet murmurs of conversation relayed observations between one investigator and another.
The detective standing watch over the investigation finally approached Carter and Dekker. Carter immediately took notice of the killer smile, the dark eyes and the perfect physique, though she suspected right away that he never realized he looked as good as he did. He did not resemble a cop. Rather, he looked more like a magazine model that should have been sporting red flannel and hawking camp gear. He was tall, with a chin that was rugged and squared, cleanly shaven. He smiled at them, and his demeanor was much more easy going than Garner's had been. He held out his hand to Sam.
"You must be Major Carter. I'm Jason Shaugnessy, detective in charge of the scene."
Sam returned the handshake. "Nice to meet you, Detective. This is Rachel Dekker. Ellen Bainbridge works for her at Prime Power."
"Ma'am," he said with a nod. "I'm very sorry about all this. If there's anything you need, please let us know."
"You can start by giving us a rundown of what you have so far," Rachel said, a slight edge to her voice that Carter wished was not there.
Shaugnessy weathered her attitude with professionalism. "Of course," he said. "We think the intruder came through the patio door," he said, pointing at the glass double doors that were being dusted for prints. He turned in a circular motion. "We're trying to piece the rest together, but it seems like the entire assault was confined to the kitchen area. We have found some trace evidence in the living room, right by the fireplace, but we'll have to wait for testing before we can get any type of profile on it.
"Over there," he continued, pointing toward the kitchen, "is where the bulk of it all took place. We're still photographing in there, so we'll have to hold off before I can show you any of it."
Carter looked around the room. "Detective Garner said nothing looks like it was taken. Is that true?"
"So far as we can tell," Shaugnessy said with a sigh. "To be honest, we don't know what we're looking for in terms of what should and shouldn't be here. If you could help shed some light on that, we'd be grateful."
"I don't mean to make things more difficult for you," Carter said, "but we're dealing with a highly classified situation here."
"Look, I'm just trying to do my job," Shaugnessy said in defense, though it was more of a plea than a bite.
"I know," Sam said, "so that's why I'm asking that you let us take it from here. Have your people finish up cataloging the evidence and clear out. It'll make things easier."
Shaugnessy smiled that killer smile again, though this time, it was laced with irony. "You do realize a crime has been committed, right? I mean, this is kind of sort of what we do for a living."
"And I kind of sort of work for the federal government. I'm asking you to cooperate with us on this, before it gets taken out of your hands entirely."
Sam's petition bordered on a lie. The government was going to seize all the records from the case in a matter of hours, if protocol was followed. Then, NSA or CIA agents would be on the scene, doing their own poking and prodding for answers, completely eliminating the local police force. Once the agencies moved in, there would be no way to take a look at the crime scene with fresh eyes.
Shaugnessy sized up Carter and gave a chuckle. "I've never heard it put so diplomatically. When can I expect the suits to start showing up?"
Sam could not help but smile. "You've seen this routine before?"
"I was CID in the Air Force," he said. "I've seen my share of government investigations. I tried explaining that to Garner, but he's old school and not very receptive to the idea."
Carter found comfort in the fact. "Then you'll understand when we get picky about things."
"You tell me what you want, and I'll do my best to give it to you, Major."
"I need these people cleared out of here as soon as possible. And I'd like to take a look around, if you don't mind."
"Sure," Shaugnessy said. "The living room and the study have been cleared. You can start there. I'll get them wrapped up in the kitchen and let you know when you're free to looking there."
She held out her hand. "I appreciate it." As she turned toward the study she stopped and called out to Shaugnessy again. "Detective, can we get some gloves, please?"
"Sure thing," he said, returning. He pulled two pairs of latex gloves from his back pocket and handed them to Sam.
"Thanks," she said.
"Thanks for thinking to wear some," he said.
Shaugnessy shuffled off toward the kitchen. Sam heard him as he began instructing the photographers to finish their work. She and Rachel stood in the living room and surveyed the scene. Aside from the technicians at the patio door, everything looked untouched. Nothing had been disturbed or overturned. No drawers were open, knickknacks remained in place on the shelves. There were no signs anything even took place in the living room except for it being a point of entry into the house.
"See anything that jumps out at you?" Sam asked Rachel, pulling on the gloves.
Rachel did the same and looked around the room again. "Nothing. It's like I've always known it."
"We'll come back in here once they're done at the door. Let's go check the study and see if there's anything in there."
They moved to the study off to the right of the fireplace. The room was neat and in order. No signs of struggle there, either. Sam was surprised to see the research equipment in there. She had taken work home, herself, on many occasions, but it had always been in the form of paperwork. Bainbridge apparently did more in her off hours than most.
Sam looked around at the shelves that had been lined with ships in bottles. They had been lovingly placed there, each dusted and pristine. The work on the ships was meticulous. The hours spent making them must have been with a passion for the art.
"Wow," Sam said. "I wouldn't have pegged her for the model builder."
"She's not," Rachel said, walking over to the large desk on the far side of the room. "Her husband used to make them."
"Divorced?"
"Widowed. Stewart and she did a lot of work together. Reminded me of Ronin in a lot of ways. Ellen came to work for me shortly after he died. I don't think she ever recovered from losing him."
On the desk, Sam spotted a picture of Ellen and a man, posing for the camera in a loving embrace. She did not touch it.
"This him?"
Rachel looked over at it. "Yeah. He was really funny. Always had a joke to tell."
"You knew him?"
"Briefly. He did some contract work for my father, which is how I met Ellen."
"I see." Sam looked around the room, her hands in her pockets to curb the urge to touch anything. "Anything look out of place to you in here?"
Rachel looked frustrated. "Hard to say. This is only the second time I've ever been in here. She showed it to me once for my approval for her to do work at home, but that was it. I approved it and trusted her."
"It doesn't looked like anyone searched around in here for anything," Sam noted.
Then her eye caught the microscope on the desk. Slide fluids and supplies surrounded it. She walked over to it, hands still in pockets and leaned down for a closer looked. The light on the stage was turned on, something that stood out to her like a beacon.
"Rachel?"
"Yeah?" Rachel said, distant and looking at something on the other side of the room.
"Ellen's pretty thorough in her research, right? Good lab practices?"
Rachel snorted. "Anal about it, actually."
"So why would she leave the stage light on?"
The question caught Rachel's attention. She walked over and looked down at the microscope. "She has a pattern when she looks at things. She's always complaining about the lab staff's habits, and she's gone ballistic over equipment being left on when it's not being used."
Sam straightened. "She was looking at something, but there are no slides laying around, nothing prepared," she said, taking notice of the items on the desk.
Rachel spun around the room, looking nervous, as if having had a revelation.
"What's wrong?" Sam asked, alarmed.
"Her briefcase. It's not here."
"Maybe it's in another room," Sam offered.
"No," Rachel said, shaking her head. "It would be in here. She secured everything in here."
"Okay," Sam said, putting a hand on Rachel's arm to calm her. "Maybe they took it as evidence." She walked over to the door. "Detective Shaugnessy?" she called.
Shaugnessy discontinued his conversation with the photographers and came to the doorway of the study. "Major?"
"Was anything taken into evidence from this room?"
He shrugged. "As far as we could see, there was nothing to inventory."
"What about a briefcase? Any of your people take that into evidence by any chance?"
"Nope. I've been here since the beginning. No one's picked up a briefcase as far as I know."
The information gave Sam alarm. "Can you check with your people and confirm that?"
"Sure," he said, obligingly. He turned to do ask she asked.
Sam returned to where Rachel was standing at the desk. "Do you know what she was working on that would cause her to bring work home with her?"
"Sam, she's my top researcher," Rachel said, frustrated. "She's got a hand in just about every project. It could be one of a hundred things, or it could be something she was planning on presenting as a new project. She was doing that a lot. She'd work on her own time and bring in these amazing new ideas that were groundbreaking. I guess a lot of that probably came out of this room."
"And there's no chance she forgot her briefcase at work?"
"No, no way," Rachel said confidently. "That damned thing is practically an extension of her body. She never leaves work without it."
Shaugnessy returned to the doorway. "Major, no one has seen a briefcase. If it was here, we didn't take it."
He looked like he was waiting for the punch line, for Carter to say that it was something that should be of concern to him. She gave him no satisfaction.
"Thank you, Detective," she said in a tone that told him he was dismissed. His military training was still strong enough to let him take the hint as he walked back toward the kitchen.
Rachel began checking through drawers in the desk, coming up with nothing significant. The drawers were unlocked, giving Sam pause. If the room was so secure and so important to Ellen's work, then she doubted the desk drawers would be unlocked.
"Look," Sam said, "give your security guys a call at the lab and have them search for the briefcase, just to be sure."
Rachel gave a look of annoyance but opened her cell phone to appease Carter. She explained what she wanted to the guard on duty and snapped the phone shut when she was finished.
"Is there anywhere else Ellen would have kept confidential information other than this room?" Sam asked.
Rachel's eyes remained downward at the desk. "I have no idea. As far as I ever knew, this room was it."
Sam looked out the door and saw the evidence technicians beginning to clear out of the kitchen. She viewed as much of the scene as she knew it so far. Nothing was touched. Everything was in order, except for the light on the microscope. Whatever Ellen was working on was not in the study or the living room. Otherwise, there would have been signs of chaos there. It was all in order and undisturbed.
"I'm going to check the kitchen. Why don't you wait here?" Sam said.
"No," Rachel said, running her hand through her hair and regaining her composure. "I'm in it for the long haul, Sam. I might see something you might overlook."
"Okay," Sam said, conceding.
They waited until all the technicians had cleared out and only Shaugnessy was left. He met them in the living room, stopping them before they entered the kitchen.
"No offense, but you sure you're okay to go in there?" he asked them. "It's pretty red."
"We'll be fine," Sam assured, though she shared his concern when it came to Rachel seeing the aftermath of the attack. "If you'll just close the door after you, I'll let you know when we're finished in here."
"Sure," he said, though the disappointment of being excluded from their search was evident on his face. He walked away from them and took the two short steps toward the foyer.
"Detective," Sam called.
He stopped and turned to them.
"Thanks for your concern," she said, and really meant it.
He smiled that killer smile again and gave a nod. "Sure thing."
Sam took the lead on the walk toward the kitchen. Rachel followed closely behind her, eager to get the moment over with and to move on with their search.
The location of the attack was unmistakable against the pristine white walls and counters in the kitchen. Ellen had been pressed into a corner of the kitchen, where she was struck so many times that blood spatters on the wall streaked upward in a fireworks like pattern. A bloody smear on the wall showed her struggle to reach the phone to make the call for help. A pool of blood on the floor was flush against the base of the counter where the sink was. Bloody footprints marred the cream colored floor where emergency personnel had entered to find and take care of her.
Medical waste was still on the floor where EMTs had tried to stabilize her for the rushed trip to Mercy General. Sam's mind put the clues in motion, the darkened blood evidence telling the story of the assault. Bainbridge had been cornered like an animal and mercilessly beaten. Sam looked at the trail of blood spatters on the counters and floor. She followed them back toward the entrance to the kitchen, where some tiny flecks were visible on the half wall separating the area from the living room.
"She was hit around here first," Sam said, pointing to the smaller blood stains on the wall.
Rachel walked over to where Sam was and looked out into the living room. "Why would she be over here if the phone is on the back wall? If she saw the guy coming, wouldn't she have made a run for it?"
"Maybe she didn't have time," Sam said, pondering. "Question is, what was she doing when she was attacked?"
Sam carefully stepped over toward the food cupboards, avoiding thicker spots of blood on the floor. She opened the doors and peered inside the cabinet.
"What are you doing?" Rachel asked.
"What NID is going to do when they get a hold of this place. I'm looking in all the weird places someone might hide something important."
With that, Sam began to carefully search inside the cabinet, pushing aside cans and boxes. She searched to the back wall with no results. No boxes were open, no false cans with removable lids were found. She pulled out each item one at a time for Rachel to examine more closely, but the initial results did not change. Finally, the bottom shelf was completely empty, and none of it contents revealed a secret.
Rachel's frustration mounted. "You have any success with this method of tearing food cupboards apart?"
"You'd be surprised," Sam said without elaborating.
She felt around the empty shelf, knocking on the panels and pushing against them, hoping for a hidden panel. It was all of solid construction. Sam's heaved a sigh, her hand dropping down on the shelf, itself. Her fingers slid down the back wall and became wedged in a crevice she could not see from her vantage. She quickly pulled over a chair and stepped up on it for a better look, actually putting her head inside the cabinet.
"What?" Rachel asked, seeing the bizarre behavior.
Sam felt down into the crevice and came across was felt like cardboard. She followed the spine of the object until she could lever it up and out of the hole. She brought the notebook carefully out of the cabinet and showed it to Rachel.
"Bingo," Sam said.
Rachel shook her head. "I'm not even going to ask how you knew to look there."
"Lucky guess," she said, turning the notebook right side up. "If I didn't find anything there, I was going to try the freezer next."
Sam put the book on the table and opened it to the first page. The data in it was completely handwritten, with personal notes and thoughts.
"These are projects we've been working on," Rachel said, reading the book. "These must be here home research notes."
"That would explain why it's hidden so well," Sam said, seeing schematics that ranged from electronic to biological.
Rachel turned the pages. Nothing revealing was on the first few. Like Ellen's house and research area, everything was tidy and neat and orderly. The last page in the book, though, was a mass of scribbles and speculation. Where the other projects in the book dealt with things Ellen was currently working on, the last entry concerned the MALP.
"What the hell is she doing worrying about the MALP?" Rachel wondered aloud. "She doesn't even work on it. Didn't want any part of it when I offered it to her."
The notes were hastily written and hard to follow.
"Can you tell what any of this means?" Sam asked.
"No," Rachel said. "She's done this for as long as I've known her. The only one who might be able to decipher all this is Holleran. I know she's shown him some of her private work. Maybe he picked up on her system."
Sam turned the last page over to check the back for any additional notes. She pointed to a lone line written in the margin that had a double underscore, emphasizing its meaning, followed by a question mark.
"What does 'chimera' mean?" Sam asked, pointing at the word.
Rachel straightened in alarm. Her face dropped.
"Rachel?" Sam said with concern.
Rachel's hand went to her mouth, as if to stifle a sound.
"It means," she said finally, standing amid the blood that had come from Ellen Bainbridge, "that Prime Power has been compromised."