A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and the reviews. I know I say that every chapter, but I absolutely mean it every time. Thanks again.
Ch.13: Millions of Hearts Have Been Broken
Jerking his car over to the side of the street next to a pay phone, he got out and jammed some coins into it and called Greg's house. He wiped the sweat off his brow as he felt the heat of the day and tried not to get sick. It wasn't the heat that was making him feel sick, but that he'd killed a man, his friend, and had to leave his body there in that house. The whole thing made him sick to his stomach.
People passed him on the street, a beat cop was on the corner taking into a police phone box, and he stared at him as he heard Greg answer the phone.
"Hello?"
"Greg, is Sara there?" he asked as he tore his eyes away from the cop and looked around the street.
"She was. She left about an hour ago."
"Do you know where?"
"No. I gave her the pictures and she said she had something to do—"
"And you don't know what? She didn't tell you anything—"
"Grissom, calm down, take a breath. I told you, I have no idea. You pay me to be discreet. I don't see anything so I can't say anything. Remember?"
He closed his eyes as he felt his anger threatening his control. "But you did see the pictures, Greg. Now, think. What do you remember?" Greg was silent for a long moment, enough time for him to get angrier as his patience was slipping. "Greg?! This is important—"
"The interior of a room, like a hotel room maybe. A couple of guys. A sign…Room 10."
"What sign?" he asked as he felt the confusion in his head before clarity. "A motel sign?"
"I think, and a door with the number 10 on the outside—"
He hung up on him as he slammed the phone down, waited a second, then picked it back up. More money and more dialing and he felt more sweat on his back and forehead as he tried to breathe. The cop was walking his way. Damn it.
As Juan picked up the phone, the cop asked him, "You got a license to carry?"
"Hola! Thank you for calling—"
"Hang on, Juan," he spoke into the phone as he looked down at himself and realized that he hadn't put his suit jacket back on and he was still wearing his shoulder holster. Pulling out his wallet, he showed the cop his P.I. license before removing his permit and handing it to him.
The cop, Officer Harlow, studied the permit and handed it back to him. As Harlow thanked him and then went to walk away, he stopped him as he asked, "Hey, uh, Officer, when does Officer Stokes come on duty? I know he works nights?"
"We work in twelve-hour shifts, he'll be on at seven."
"Thanks." Going back to the phone call, he told Juan, "Juan, this is Grissom. Listen, when I was there a few days ago there was a car parked out in front of room 10; it'd been there when I arrived. A white Chevy Bel Air. Is that customer still there?"
"Sí."
"When did they check-in? Was it after Mr. Murphy made the call to Lillie Ivers?"
"Let me check." As Juan took in the registry book, he had a sinking feeling in his gut. "They checked in…Sí, they arrived very early that morning after the call. ¿Como supiste?"
"Juan, you have to get them out of there." Thinking about it, the motel and diner, he asked, "There's a backdoor out of the diner, correct? Park your car in the back and have them go into the diner and lead them out the back into your awaiting car. I don't want them leaving out the front."
"Where are they going?"
"Me resbala, just get them out of there. Now. They're being watched." He hung up the phone as he wiped the sweat off his head and let out a breath.
There wasn't much else he could do at the moment besides get to Monterey. He had to get Cassidy. Sara was off chasing the leads she had and all he could do was hope she stayed safe.
Sara's POV
I knew well enough to not go busting into motel rooms. That wasn't what we did or how to do our job. If anything, I was to stake the place out and take pictures and notes of everything. My only issue with that was I had no camera—it was in Gil's car—and I had no car.
A taxi dropped me off and so I went to the office and was checked into room 9 by a snarky old man and then went into the diner and sat at a table by a window with a clear view of room 10. Other than a cup of coffee, I hadn't had breakfast yet.
It appeared that a Hispanic family ran the motel as well as the attached diner as a man—who looked like a younger version of the snarky old Cuban man who'd check me in—by the name of Eduardo appeared as my server. He brought me coffee and orange juice with a pleasant smile and a wink. Not caring if he was or wasn't flirting with me, I went back to watching the room and the white Chevy Bel Air parked in front of it.
My plate of food was placed in front of me, fried egg with Cuban-style rice and beans with salsa. I dug in and hummed my pleasure out loud to the pleased look of Eduardo. "Compliments to the chef."
Eduardo laughed as he walked away, saying, "I'll inform my sister that you are pleased."
I was right; it was a family business. It took me nearly twenty minutes to finish my meal and no one came or went from room number 10. I decided to drink another cup of coffee and if nothing happened then I'd go to room 9 and figure something else out. Or get a cab to the nearest store and buy a camera.
Eduardo suddenly hurried by my table and out the front door and into a purple 1953 Buick Skylark with white walled tires. It was a beautiful car. He pulled away from the diner and I watched as the car went to the end of the parking lot but instead of turning onto the street, circled around the motel and out of sight.
Before I could take another drink of coffee, the door to the office opened and the old man headed in a hurry to room 7. A blond woman opened the door and he went inside. Several minutes later, the door to room 7 reopened and out walked a tall blond and then three other people made my jaw drop. It was Jack and Allison Murphy, and Warrick. This was where Gil had stashed them.
Getting up, I hurried to the front door of the diner as they were walking in. The blond eyed me as Warrick said in surprise, "Sara? Did Grissom send you out here to get us?"
"No. I came on my own. They're in room 10—"
"Yeah, that's what Juan said. We're leaving out the back."
The door to room 10 opened and I saw two men walk out, heading our way. "Better hurry. Here they come."
Warrick glanced back briefly as he said, "They've got guns."
So did I but getting into a shootout was the last thing I wanted. "Do any of you have a gun?"
He shook his head, so I gave him mine. "Sara–"
"Don't worry about me. I'll hold them off. You just get out and away safely."
"I don't even know where we're going."
"That could be a good thing." As Warrick and the Murphy's headed through the diner and out the back door, I walked out the front and right into the two men with guns.
One of them grabbed me while the other headed inside. Before I could do anything, something hard hit me on the back of the head and my vision grayed right before I felt myself falling forward and into darkness.
End of Sara's POV
Walking along the seaside street, looking out at the bay to his right, there were fishing boats out in the harbor that stretched on for miles, but he knew since the fishing industry had all but collapsed in Monterey, they wouldn't come back with much. To his left, it was the epicenter of tourism. Not only for Steinbeck fans who'd read Cannery Row, but for anyone interested in the beautiful seaside city and of course, the Hotel Del Monte. Everywhere he looked there were Spanish style buildings and among the buildings were shops, restaurants, and cafes.
And much like the rest of the country, once the war ended new ideas and dreams were born and took over the shipyards, factories, and defense plants. The factories that had once produced aircrafts, tanks, and weapons returned to producing automobiles. Canneries that churned out cans of sardines to feed the nation would also soon be nothing more than tourist locations and hotels. Peacetime pumped capital back into the country. Where once they had to ration everything from metal, to rubber, from sugar to coffee and gasoline, and canned goods, they could now buy anything and everything that was for sale. New everything. Television sets and appliances to put in their post-war mass-produced houses.
Turning at the Harbor House that was no longer for the fishermen of Fisherman's Wharf but a gift shop, he headed down the pier. He heard seagulls overhead and smelt the fish from the seafood market. Lamp posts with power lines ran the distance down pier on both sides in the distance he saw the bay, beyond the bay the hills and mountains in the distance that were across the bay.
The diner where Cassidy was to meet him was behind the market. It was quiet and out of the way of the bustling main drag of the pier. He turned right on a narrow walkway that ran behind the market. Up ahead was a patio and brick and limestone building that was once a fisherman's tavern that faced the harbor docks. It held only windows in the front and none in the back because it was nestled on all sides but the front with buildings.
Removing his sunglasses, he pulled the door open and held it for a couple coming out before walking in.
~"Come with me my love, to the sea, the sea of love, I want to tell you how much I love you…Do you remember when we met? That's the day I knew you were my pet, I want to tell you how much I love you…"~
It was odd hearing pop music coming from the radio and seeing ice cream shakes on the counter. He liked it better back in '47 when it was a smokey tavern full of drunken fishermen. It'd been a year after his family had been killed and during the Fourth of July weekend he had to get out of San Francisco. He'd headed down the coast and ended up in Monterey.
Having been a Steinbeck fan himself, he decided to visit the city solely for Cannery Row. After talking with a few of the local fishermen, he'd ended up getting involved in a poker game at the tavern. He'd nearly won it too but decided he didn't really want to die that night, so he folded the game to the fisherman with a scar along his face, glass eye, and serrated knife on his belt. Then he proceeded to get really drunk and woke up on one of their boats. It'd been an odd time for him. One filled with foggy forgotten days and whiskey filled nights. Much like it had been this last weekend and every July 4th weekend before.
Cassidy was sitting at a table by the front windows that overlooked the harbor and he saw a similar look of grief on her face. She'd gotten her boyfriend Thomas killed. He removed his hat as he walked over to the table and sat down across from her. She looked tired and worn down but still so young. Thomas had only been in his early twenties, and he knew she had to be the same age. Thinking about it, she was probably only a few years younger than Sara. For some reason, Sara looked older, more mature, and less like an innocent little girl who wandered too far from home.
A waitress, teen girl in a pink dress, approached the table and addressed him as she asked, "Afternoon, sir, may I get you something?"
"Coffee, please," he said as Cassidy already had a drink in front of her.
He ached for a smoke but settled on taking out his pen and notepad. Cassidy wasn't looking at him, but he knew she knew he was there. Her eyes were locked onto something outside the window. He looked and saw the moored-up sailboats, motorboats, and fishing boats. The blue sky was nice and clear, not a cloud in sight. And then there was the emerald ocean and sandy beaches. In the distance the mountains and rows of hotels and beyond that the green hills.
Beyond the hills were more cities and towns just like this one with the same diner on a corner that used to be a tavern of the forgotten steelworker, dock worker, or fisherman. Soon he'd be a forgotten Private Detective with his office being turned into an insurance firm or another law office. It was only a matter of time.
The more his thoughts wondered, the more his longing for a cigarette itched at his nerves until he stood up and went over to the cigarette vending machine next to the jukebox and bought a pack. He wasn't going to smoke a whole cigarette anyway and he'd hand the rest of the pack off to a downtrodden fisherman coming back into port without any sardines to make the money that he needed to feed his family. Everyone here needed a drink so why they got rid of the tavern he had no idea.
He lit up a cigarette as he walked back over to the table to an awaiting cup of coffee and pot that was left. Sitting back down, he offered her one, but she didn't even look his way. Stuffing the pack into his jacket pocket, he followed her eyes across the harbor to the hills and thought of Sara.
When his thoughts strayed to Ray Langston, he drew in a long pull of the smoke and felt the pain in his head all over again.
Looking over at the young girl who'd be involved with R.B. Grayson, stolen from him, and in doing so started this whole mess which involved the death of so many people including his friend, he felt nothing but heartbreak for her and everyone involved. There had been so much death. He didn't want anymore.
"Don't you feel him, even all the way out here?"
Her accent wasn't as pronounced as it had been when they first met, and he wondered if she'd been playing up the part of victim back at Thomas's house. Shaking that thought away, he asked, "Who?"
"You know who. He's hovering over everybody; hovering over the city. Hovering over me all the way out here. I thought I could get away, but I can't."
Picking up the coffee, he took a sip and then asked, "Where's your sister?"
"I had her go back home. She wanted me to come but…I can't run away, can I? He'll find me no matter where I go. Thomas found me in death."
"That's your guilt, not Thomas."
She tore her eyes away from the past long enough to glare at him, saying, "He's haunting me."
"Your memories are haunting you. Trust me. I know what that's like." She let out a breath and went back to searching the distance while he searched for the past in his mind.
As he started thinking he also started remembering. The fog in his memories lifted and he remembered everything, including his conversation with Thomas Harcourt.
They were in the rented room above Slim's Stacks and Jazz. He could smell the breakfast cooking downstairs as Thomas opened the window over the desk. The young man was fidgeting and he wouldn't sit down. He kept rubbing his neck, and head, and his hands together.
"I have nothing to tell you," he said as he rubbed his neck. "I didn't even tell Langston, what makes you think I'll tell you where it's at?"
"Because you can hire me to hang on to it for you and ensure that it doesn't go missing. I'm a neutral party. I'm not the cops. I'm not with the D.A.'s office or the defense. I'll work for you."
Thomas stopped walking as he looked over at him. He looked like he wanted to take him up on the offer, but he was afraid. "How can I trust you? I don't know you."
"No, you don't, but you know Ray Langston. We can call him; he'll vouch for me. Let you know I can be trusted."
"If he didn't trust you, you wouldn't be here."
He glanced over at Sara who was standing by the door. They hadn't told Thomas how they had found him, but the assumption was that Ray had told them. He wasn't about to make him think differently. Looking back at Thomas who was back to fidgeting as he moved all over the floor, he said, "Mind if I ask why?"
"Why what?"
"Why'd you take the camera in the first place?"
Thomas hesitated as he stared at the floor, trying to figure out an answer. He didn't have one. "I just…took it. Saw it on a-ah…I just saw it, so I took it."
He was lying. "From whom? Who's camera is it?"
"I'll only tell that to the D.A.," he said as he moved away to look out the window.
Deciding to let him know that he knew he was lying, he asked, "Who really took it, Thomas? Who are you protecting?"
Thomas tensed as he crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn't going to answer. He needed him to answer. He needed him to trust him; to hire him so he could tell him where the camera was in order to help him while at the same time hopefully using it to get Allison Murphy.
"Sara, do you mind waiting down in the kitchen? I'd like to talk to Thomas alone."
She didn't hesitate as she gave a nod as she opened the door. "Take your time."
He watched her leave and then told Thomas, "I'd do anything for her. You know why?" When Thomas didn't say anything, he told him, "I love her." Turning to look at Thomas, he saw his eyes on him. "Didn't think I'd ever be in love again. I lost my wife and child. They were murdered. Funny thing about grief, about losing someone so suddenly, I used to think I saw her everywhere I went. In the corner diner, at the grocery store, in our house. Heard her voice, her laugh, until one day I couldn't hear her anymore. Even when I do think of her, I don't know if I'm actually hearing her voice or seeing her face at all. She's been gone longer than we were ever together. I honestly can't remember what she looks like."
"How long were you two together?"
"Four years. She's been gone for nine." He studied him and knew he'd hit a chord with him. He was protecting the woman he loved. There was no one else he could be protecting. "I'll do most anything to keep it from ever happening again, whether it's to me or someone else. I want to help you, Thomas."
"There's no helping me anymore, Mr. Grissom." His hard brown eyes fell onto him as he told him, "The moment I stick my head out I'm dead. I've known it ever since I saw that camera and knew who it belonged to. I won't make it to trial. The camera's going to have to speak for itself."
When Thomas looked away from him again, out the window, he was reminded of a poem he'd read. "Sensing death, the buzzards gather—Noting the last struggle of flesh under weather, noting the last glance of agonized eye at passing wind and boundless sky."
Thomas smirked as he looked over at him. "Langston Hughes. We both love poetry. It's the only thing I like to read. We'd stay up through the mornings after work, and I'd read poem after poem to her."
He smiled slightly but then his smile dropped as he glanced out the window onto the street. There were cars and buses going by, people out on the street, walking to and from places. Life was moving on all around them. "The buzzards are gathering. I don't want them to gather around her, and neither do you. If the camera is the only way to do that, to protect her, someone you trust has to be the one to hold on to it for you to ensure that it does make it to trial. You can't leave it up to chance and hope it all works out."
He sighed heavily as he gave a nod. "It could already be gone. I…stashed it in a store."
Wrinkling his head in confusion, he shook his head.
"How much do you charge? I don't have a lot of money?"
Shrugging, he asked, "What'd you got?"
Thomas picked up his wallet and flipped it open and pulled out a couple ones and a five-dollar bill. "Eight dollars."
Reaching over, he took the ones and gave him back two. "Now you have seven." Holding up the dollar, he told him, "My daily rate." He stuffed the dollar into his pocket as Thomas stared at him in surprise.
Then he told him, "Marty's Treasure Trove. It's in a wooden pen box. It had weird markings on it. Egyptian, I think."
"Why?" he asked in confusion.
Thomas nearly laughed as he told him, "I thought I was being followed."
"Were you?"
"Don't know." He tossed the wallet down and looked back out the window. "When you see Cassidy, tell her I loved her."
He could do that. "I will."
As his memory cleared, he peered over at Cassidy as he told her, "He loved you. Thomas. He told me to tell you that. You still have that picture I gave back to you?"
She reached for her purse then caught herself and nodded.
The song changed and a new voice filled the chaos of the day that had been imprinted on his mind. He hadn't been able to think of anything else all day except for the events of the morning, but the woman's voice brought him back to the here and now as he thought about why he was there. It was Billie Holiday singing "It's a Sin to Tell a Lie".
~"Be sure it's true when you say I love you, it's a sin to tell a lie. Millions of hearts have been broken, just because these words were spoken…"~
He listened to the song as he finished the first cup of coffee and then refilled it. "One day, this will all be a memory, but the only way to do that is to talk to me. You'll never be free of him unless you do. And, I'm assuming, that's why you called."
"Can I have one of those now?" she asked as she gestured to the cigarette he was letting burn away between his fingers. He got one out, handed it over, and lit it for her. Her eyes were darting around the cafe now that she was no longer focused on the scenery. "People are watching us. They might think we're dating."
"I don't care."
She smiled slightly as she took a drag then tapped the ash out in an ashtray. "That's what he said when he made it clear in public that he liked me."
"Grayson?"
"Yeah," she said shamefully. "It wasn't for money—"
"I never said it was," he said as he looked over at her before taking a drink of the coffee. "I'm not judging you. I just want to know what it is you have to tell me." As the smoke swirled around her, she leaned on her hand as she stared over at him. Her soft brown eyes on his face and she smiled. He leaned on his hand as he smiled over at her as he said, "You really liked him."
She looked away as she said, "I wasn't supposed to."
"You couldn't help it?" he asked. She gave a nod and took another puff off the smoke. "Why'd you steal from him if you liked him?"
At that question, she tensed slightly as she looked back out the window. Then he saw tears fill her eyes as one broke and fell. "Gwendolyn Brooks wrote: "Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized your luck, and your lives from your unfinished reach, if I stole your births and your names, your straight baby tears and your games, your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches, and your deaths...If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths, believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.""
He stared over at her as that filled his head as he worked out what it meant in relation to her situation and why she'd—...And then it hit him. He blew out the smoke that'd caught in his throat as he said, "You're pregnant." More tears fell and they both took another, longer, drag off the cigarettes and let it out. "And you told him." She gave a nod but said nothing. Rubbing at his head, he felt it pounding.
"I was angry. He'd left me alone in his room to take a call. The safe was open. I took everything. The camera and the gun. The money in the metal box was Thomas's. We were tryna save so we could leave. Thomas was angry and afraid since Grayson knew I was pregnant that he'd kill me or us both. Maybe with Grayson out of the picture for a while we'd be able to leave. Go back home to Lake Charles. We were wrong. There is no getting away from a man like him."
"Sometimes…our best intentions are fraught with disappointment."
"You should be a poet."
"I am. I'm a poet, a scholar, and at heart...a hopeless romantic."
"I'm a woman who outgrew her schoolgirl dress but couldn't afford an adult pair. That was until Grayson. He made me feel like I belonged somewhere and to someone. With him I wasn't some innocent schoolgirl anymore but a desirable young woman. I know Thomas loved me, but he loved the innocent schoolgirl. He didn't see me as anything else even though it was a lie."
"Love tends to blind people from the truth."
"What'd you see when you look at me?" she asked him in a way that made him think it wasn't such an innocent question.
He thought about his thoughts towards her and said, "I see what Thomas saw. You are a little girl, but you're not innocent." There was an anger in her eyes when he spoke those words. She didn't like it that he thought of her as a little girl instead of a desirable woman. "Grayson doesn't love you. He doesn't see a desirable woman. He only sees someone he can use. And he used you in the worst way possible, and you don't even realize it—" She went to smack him. He grabbed her hand and held it in his. He didn't care if the whole diner was watching them now. He was only focused on her. "That night, July 4th, you lied to me. I've been wondering why Zhao headed to the garage instead of going through the backyard. It would have been a faster getaway. But now, I know why. As I was chasing Zhao, Grayson was escaping through the back. They were both there, and I interrupted him as he was smacking you around."
She yanked her hand away and glanced around the diner before turning to stare out the window. She was embarrassed. "How'd you know that Zhao wasn't the one—"
"You're not possibly pregnant with his kid. You also didn't steal from him."
She looked away and shook her head in bitter anger.
"Do you ever not lie?"
Her hand was shaking as she brought it up to her lips. Another tear fell as she told him, "I'm sorry."
"Little too late for that, don't you think?"
"No, you don't understand. Why'd you think I called you today of all days?" She wiped the tear away as she looked at him. "It was to get you away…so he can get her."
He stilled as his body went cold. Staring at her, he realized his mistake immediately. "C'mon, you're coming with me," he said as he stood and waited for her to get up.
Outside, it kept getting hotter.
Sara's POV
I woke up in a chair in a dark room with no windows, a circular poker table with five chairs around it, an ashtray, and a small table lamp sitting in the middle of it. The only light in the room as the corners and walls were cast into darkness and shadow. It was in a study or library somewhere in a house, maybe, I wasn't sure. All I knew was Iwas in deep trouble. The last thing I remember was being at the motel, helping Warrick and the Murphy's get away.
My head was killing me, and I felt the spot at the back where it throbbed and felt something sticky. Pulling my hand away I saw blood.
"I see you're awake."
The voice came from within the shadow of the room. In the dark I saw the burning fire at the end of a cigarette as someone inhaled off it. The man who'd spoken those words stepped out of the darkness and into the light of the lamp and I was staring up into the eyes of R.B. Grayson. With the light coming up from underneath his face, it made him appear even more menacing than I knew him to be.
There was an amused smirk on his face as he reached out and tapped the ash off the end of the cigarette. "You surprise me, Miss Sidle."
"How's that?"
"You don't look afraid."
"Is that…what you like?"
He nearly laughed. "And with a sense of humor. It's no wonder Grissom fancies you." The amusement was gone in an instant and I tried not to show my discomfort; I didn't know if it was working because his eyes were so dull and cold it was hard to know what he was thinking, if anything. They also never once blinked.
Deciding not to press my luck, I wasn't going to say anything unless he addressed me and wanted an answer. A door behind me opened and then shut but I didn't turn away from the deathly stare from the man in front of me.
I was surprised to see an older black lady in a nicely pressed uniform walk over to him and speak too softly for me to hear. Grayson gave a nod as he took a drag off the cigarette then said, "Thank you, Ms. Ethel. You're excused."
The older woman who had to be a maid walked away without a second glance over at me. She did look scared. Grayson moved away from the table as he disappeared back into the darkness of the room. Being left alone was what actually scared me a little. Then I quickly realized that I wasn't alone when the radio turned on and I heard static right before a broadcast.
"...breaking news this half hour as we report once again the devastating news of the death of District Attorney Raymond Langston…"
My jaw dropped as I felt my breath catch in my throat. Langston was dead? How? Grayson walked back into the light and before I could stop myself, I accused him of the murder, "You killed him."
"...Police are searching for a Private Investigator, Gil Grissom, for questioning…"
As the news announcer went on, I grew more confused and worried at what I had heard. They were looking for Gil? Was he there when it happened? Was he hurt?
Grayson tapped the ash out into the ashtray, saying, "I didn't kill Langston, Miss Sidle." Glaring right back at me with that amused smile and those unblinking cold eyes, he told me, "Your boss did."
I felt numbed into disbelief as I stared up at him. He had to be wrong. He had to be lying.
He had to be.
TBC…
Disclaimer songs mentioned: "Sea of Love" by Phil Phillips the Twilights. "It's a Sin to Tell a Lie" sung by Billie Holiday.
