Chapter 9: The Story of Alex
San Diego County Sheriff's Station
Borrego Springs, California
5:45 PM
Bobbi Flannery stood over the sink in the ladies' room at the Sheriff's Station in Borrego Springs. Still reeling from the adrenalized apprehension of fugitive and accused murderer Isaac Matthew Serain, she splashed some water over her face and thoroughly wiped her face with a towel. She was throwing the towel into the garbage can when Morgan Brody entered the restroom. Concern for her friend was written all over the beauteous blonde CSI's face, but Bobbi could still sense a palpable nuance of perturbation coming from her.
"Are you okay?" Morgan asked.
Bobbi sighed deeply before replying. "Yeah," she said, "I'm much better now, Morgan. Thanks."
Morgan then stood at the sink next to Bobbi and the two women looked at each other's reflections in their respective mirrors. "What the hell was that back there, Bobbi?" she inquired with a more serious and pointed tone, "By the time I caught up to you, you looked like you'd seen a ghost. Not only that, but Serain's in his cell right now babbling on about how you mistakenly called him 'Alex'."
Bobbi reluctantly shook her head and cleared her throat. "Alright," she finally said, "You know how I used to work for the LA County Sheriff's Crime Lab?"
"Sure," Morgan replied, "I can actually relate since used to be with the LAPD's lab myself."
"In September of Two-Thousand-Ten," Bobbi began explaining, "I was working a burglary call in East LA, and I found prints at the scene which implicated a career thief who the neighborhood deputies had a ton of dealings with in the past. Did you ever spend time in Maywood when you worked with LAPD?"
Morgan shook her head. "No," she said, "It was on the other side of our jurisdiction."
"Anyway," Bobbi continued, "This career thief's last known address was a house in Maywood. When the deputies and I got there and they knocked on the door, we could hear movement inside and we heard a rear door come open. I drew my Glock and headed around to the back of the house, where I found a fifteen-year-old Hispanic boy holding a thirty-eight snub nose revolver. He pointed it right at me."
"Damn," Morgan said, "I've shot and killed suspects before, but never that young. Did you…?" Her voice trailed off.
"No," Bobbi replied, "By the grace of God, no, I didn't. The female deputy came around to cover me and got the kid to lower his weapon without any trouble. His name was Alex Perdòn. Evidently, he was the thief's nephew and had been paid a hundred bucks to hang out at the house to keep watch over all his stolen swag."
"So," Morgan inferred, "When you saw Serain run like he did, the adrenalin rush made you flash back to that day, which was traumatic for you since you almost shot that boy."
With all the pieces of her mental puzzle now put together, Bobbi nodded. "Yeah," she replied, "Counting my ten years in LA and my eight months with the Vegas Swing Shift before transferring to Nights, I've been a Crime Scene Investigator for nearly eleven years combined. I've pulled my gun probably ten times in my career, but I've never fired it once."
Morgan then put a reassuring hand on her troubled friend's shoulder. "Believe me I know," she said, "It's tough. But are you going to be okay to go forward with this one?"
Bobbi chuckled lightheartedly before lightly nudging Morgan's shoulder. "Definitely," she said.
The two women then left the restroom and went back out into the station's bullpen area. Realistically, this area was nothing more than one large open room furnished by several desks for the deputies, a seemingly obsolete-looking copy machine, and a holding cell occupying the farthest right-side wall. Isaac Matthew Serain stood tall in this cell, holding onto its chipped beige iron bars, and prattling various grievances.
"Hey Stokes!" Serain hollered, "I said I want a public defender, man!"
In retort, Nick Stokes put his hand over the receiver of the phone he was using and glared at the now locked-up fugitive. "…And I said that Detective Valdez and I are working on getting them down here!" he barked, "But we aren't freaking magicians. Now, I suggest you zip it and sit your ass back down on that bench or you'll be asking for some serious trouble, cowboy!"
Sergeant Cole Jameson then cut in and approached the cell bars, sharply pointing at Serain. "You heard the man, Serain" he crossly said, "Park it back down on the bench now."
With that, Isaac Matthew Serain reverted from intimidating fugitive and alleged murderer to a meek 5-year-old kindergartener who had just been scolded for yelling at his teacher. He pouted like a child and did as instructed, plopping down on the derelict beige painted metal bench and sighing deeply.
A now amused Morgan chuckled as she saw this before shooting a look back at Bobbi. "That's classic Nick Stokes right there," she whispered.
Bobbi herself chuckled with an entertained grin in return. "I wish I worked with you guys back then if that's the case," she replied.
Nick finished his phone call and sighed before turning to Bobbi and Morgan. "That was Deputy Marshal Alders from the task force," he explained, "Serain's transport is all arranged. A caravan of SUVs will be here at eight o' clock tonight to escort you guys and our boy to San Diego International Airport. A federal transport jet is set to leave for Las Vegas at Ten-Forty-Five. Catherine will have some LVPD officers waiting for you guys when you land at McCarran Airport."
Morgan feigned a frown as she moved closer to Nick. "So does that mean we'll be bidding you goodbye soon, Director Stokes?" She then flashed a jokey smile.
The San Diego Lab Director then got up from his seat and wrapped his good friend in a hug. "I'm afraid so, Assistant Supervisor Brody" he said, "It goes without saying that it's been awesome seeing you both again."
Their warmhearted embrace was joined by Bobbi and the trio lingered in it for an extended beat before Morgan gave Nick an affectionate gaze. "Our doors are always open for you in Sin City," she said.
Detective Rena Valdez then entered the room and went over to them. "I just got off the phone with Serain's ex-girlfriend Samantha Hoppe," she softly said, "I told her about your Vegas murder case. On one hand, she's majorly bummed that the San Diego DA is setting aside her abuse charge to accommodate the murder case, but she says she's also relieved that this punk will be spending the rest of his days in an iron-bar shit box."
Apparently eavesdropping on what was intended to be a discreet conversation, Isaac Matthew Serain let out a very wicked-sounding laugh from his cell on the other side of the room. "Ha," he said, "All this because you guys say that I knifed some stripper in the Eighties."
With that, all 4 of them turned to face the cell, with Nick stepping close to the bars. "You know what's funny about that, Serain?" Nick disdainfully inquired.
"No," Serain coldly replied, "Why don't you elaborate, Stokes?"
"In all this time that we've had the displeasure of handling your greasy, aggressive ass", Nick said, "Nobody said that Stephanie was a stripper."
