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I'm still deciding how to continue with 'The New Assignment', but I guess there'll be an update on that soon as well.
III.
Special Agent Martin Fitzgerald sat on the couch in his apartment, staring at the blank TV screen. He had sat there and hadn't moved for five minutes, and he was suddenly very aware of it as on the display of his VCR the time changed from 6.11 to 6.12. Outside, the summer was turning into autumn and thanks to the bad weather they'd had for a few weeks it was already getting dark outside. Martin turned his face towards the window. He hadn't switched on the light in his apartment, and, as it had become usual to him, a simple task like standing up, walking across the room and doing exactly that, cost so much energy it seemed close to impossible.
There wasn't a part of Martin's body didn't seem to ache with every movement he made and some of the pain was permanent, even as he sat still.
Click!
The light was being switched on. Martin blinked in the sudden unexpected brightness.
"Mr. Fitzgerald, why are you sitting in the dark?"
It was Amanda, his housekeeper. She was fifty-five years old and pretty plump, but lively and actually surprisingly fit. A lot fitter than him, these days. In fact, right now Martin felt as if he were a hundred years old instead of his actual thirty-four years.
Amanda had from the very first day asked him to call her by her first name because she thought Mrs Keating made her feel old. Meanwhile she stubbornly stuck to her habit of calling him Mr. Fitzgerald which always sounded a bit strange to him.
Obviously she's never been shot in the gut, because then she'd know what really makes you feel old, Martin thought, bitterly, but felt bad about it. Even more so when Amanda put a well-filled plate of food in front of him.
Usually Amanda would come once a week to clean up a little because Martin's job made it impossible to do it himself, regularly. Her husband didn't earn much so she needed a bit of extra-money and Martin paid her well and made sure to be a good and fair employer. However, after he'd been released from the hospital four days ago, Martin had called her up to tell her he might need her a little more often for a while, and ask if that would be okay.
He hadn't expected her to be as committed as she was, though; he'd hoped she could come in trice a week, help him with things he'd do himself usually – such as buyinggroceries, even cleaning the damn dishes…– but just didn't seem able to do alone now. Instead she'd taken to appear every day, fuss about him, cook for him and made sure he ate. Or at least tried to. On most days, Martin's stomach still felt too messed up to absorb any food, but Amanda was usually adamant.
Without much interest he eyed the plate. Amanda had made some filleted fish and potatoes, and the food seemed to stare back at him, unattractively. On a different day Martin would have laughed at the amount she'd brought – it wasn't even half of what he'd used to consider a full meal – but instead he just took the fork Amanda had brought with the plate and started to pick at the food.
Amanda watched it for about a minute before she shook her head. "You really need to make a little more effort, you know? There's nothing left on you as it is, and how do you expect your body to heal if you don't feed it?"
Martin shrugged but didn't answer. He noticed Amanda was holding something in her hands. It looked like a piece of clothing; one of his dress-shirts, maybe. What was she doing with it? She sometimes did some ironing for him but the shirt didn't look like it needed it. It was only when Amanda held it right under his nose, he remembered. It wasn't his it was Danny's.
They'd been on a hunt for some guy they'd wanted to arrest, Martin had stumbled and fallen over – it had been embarrassing, he could still hear Danny who would not stop laughing afterwards – and since they'd been close to where Danny lived they'd fetched some clothes for Martin to get changed without having to tell anybody. (Of course, everybody had noticed after all, because Danny'sclothes just didn't look like his clothes and they hadn't fit him very well, either.)
"This was on your kitchen table you want me to put it in the wardrobe for you?" Amanda asked.
"No." Shaking his head was almost too much for Martin. "It's a friend's. He's gonna come by tonight and I was planning to give it back to him. Although, I'm sure he's forgotten all about that shirt by now."
Amanda nodded. "I'll put back in the kitchen then."
"No, just leave it here." She put it on the back of his armchair and Martin forced a smile. "Thanks, Amanda."
"No problem." She eyed him critically before saying: "I got everything else done, and it's getting a bit late for me. Okay, if I leave now?"
"Yeah, sure." The truth was Martin was relieved she was going to leave him alone for while. No matter how nice she was, he wouldn't be able to bear her fussing about him much longer. But he didn't want to be impolite so he didn't say anything.
Amanda turned to leave, but not without looking at him, strictly. "Eat your food, Mr. Fitzgerald!"
As soon as she was gone, though, Martin pushed the plate away. His stomach churned at the mere thought of eating. His eyes rested on Danny's shirt still lying on his armchair. He sighed.
He'd hardly seen Danny since the… incident. In fact, he'd seen him just once; Danny had come by the hospital one evening, looking tired and very stressed out. They hadn't spoken much; Martin still too weak to talk much and Danny seemingly not knowing what to say – which was a rare thing to happen. After thirty minutes of awkward silence he had left and hadn't come back.
Now Martin didn't know whether he should be looking forward to Danny's visit that night or dread it. Sometimes Martin caught himself thinking that he missed Danny. In fact, he knew quite well that he did miss him, but not the Danny who'd visited him in hospital. He wanted back the friend he'd had before it had happened – and the relationship they'd had; the joking, the laughing, the teasing – hell, even the rare arguments they used to have were better than that awful silence in the hospital room!
But what if this was exactly what it would be like tonight?
Martin's thoughts were interrupted by the telephone ringing. He cursed himself for having forgotten to tell Amanda to put the phone into his reach. Getting up and walk over to the sideboard at the other end of his living room felt like too much for him now.
And the answering machine was quicker, anyway. "Hey… um… hi Martin." He felt his body tense up. That was Danny's voice. "Listen, I'm sorry, but I think I'll have to cancel tonight. I gotta new case and… well, I'm sorry."
………………
Danny put the phone away the moment Detective Rush got into the driver's seat of the car. They'd been so close to the motel she'd suggested to take her car. Danny hadn't minded; right now he wasn't up for driving anyway.
Rush had said she wanted to fetch something from her room and had unlocked the car for him so he could get in. It was getting cold outside these days and it was getting dark early as well. Danny wasn't a big fan of the upcoming winter months but he was careful to not let it show as much as Sam did; her constant nagging about the cold was already enough, the rest of the team wouldn't be able to put up with another one of that kind.
"Important call?" Rush asked, giving him a smile.
Oh look at that, she can actually smile, Danny thought but knew he was being unfair. Rush hadn't been that unfriendly and he was aware of the fact that he hadn't greeted her very warmly, either, but then again, he was still fighting against the bad mood this assignment had caused. He was trying to be polite, and if that wasn't enough, well, he couldn't help it. Unable to smile back he just answered: "No."
None of your damn business, Princess.
What was that? Princess?
Danny shook his head at himself and took a close look at her. Yeah, she did remind him of a princess; the kind of woman who'd get anything she wanted and if she didn't she'd just scream loud enough until she does. And then that dainty body, pale skin, blond hair… She was pretty, too, no doubt about that.
But she wasn't exactly his type. The kind of pretty he preferred; he liked women with curves, that had a little strength in them, physical strength – and looked like it. Hell, he liked women one could have sex with without being scared of burying them underneath oneself, suffocating them.
Sex?
He was actually thinking about Sex?
Something was going to have to happen. Being a man or not – nothing in this situation should make him think about sex.
Luckily, Rush helped him out this time: "Could you please give me directions because you're the one who lives here in New York."
Ha! – there it was again, the icy tone. Thank God – he'd been about to miss it.
The only conversation being made during the rest of their drive was Danny telling her which way to go until they finally reached the house where Linda Guerin lived – the neighbour. Danny remembered the last time he'd been here with Vivian. It hadn't helped them much. Linda Guerin was a wealthy widow in her forties; she was friendly, yet didn't seem too smart, as far as Danny could recall. And she hadn't been able to tell them anything of importance.
Rush parked the car in front of her house and they got out. When they rang the doorbell it didn't take long until the door was being opened and Mrs Guerin stuck her head out, eyeing the two of them, suspiciously. Her eyes rested on Danny, recognition obvious on her face but it seemed like she couldn't quite place him.
So he introduced himself – and left it to Rush to introduce herself, which she did – not without shooting him a spiteful glance, though. Danny ignored it.
""Mrs Guerin, may we come in?" he asked now and when she hesitated he quickly explained why he and Rush were here.
"Oh, right. Sure." Mrs Guerin stepped aside so they could slip past her into the house. Once inside, Danny took in the surroundings. The inside of the house looked very different from the last time he'd seen it; the walls had been painted, and the carpet was new as well. When Mrs Guerin led them into the living-room and asked them if she could get them something Danny noticed that almost all furniture was new. And it looked expensive, too.
Shaking his head at himself, he wondered why this mattered. After all, Mrs Guerin was a wealthy widow and her husband hadn't died that long time ago. Wasn't it normal she was changing the look of her home, so she wouldn't always be reminded of him? It sure was, he decided and turned his attention from the room back to its owner.
"Just a moment, I'll just make some coffee and I also have chocolate cake, if you want", Mrs Guerin said and was about to disappear into the kitchen.
"Mrs Guerin I would prefer if we could do this quickly. Detective Rush and I just have a few more questions and we'll be done in few minutes", Danny quickly replied. He saw the look on Rush's face –What, have I been impolite again? – and then added, towards Mrs Guerin: "Just please sit down, it really won't take long."
"Ok…"
Obviously afraid, he could say something else she wouldn't like, Rush took over: "Mrs Guerin, we need you to tell us if you have ever heard the name Dina Lastrom before."
Silence as the woman was obviously thinking. Finally, she answered: "Yes, wasn't that Amy's friend who committed suicide? That was like… a lifetime ago wasn't it?"
"Still can be important", Danny explained. "Now, this is going to be hard, but… um… has Amy ever said anything that could make you think that Dina hadn't killed herself?"
Mrs Guerin hesitated for a while then she asked: "What… what do you mean?"
"We believe Dina Lastrom was murdered."
For a moment there was a look of shock in Mrs Guerin's eyes, but it quickly disappeared, being replaced by obvious disbelief. "Oh my God! That's terrible." She hesitated. "But… you don't think Amy…?"
Danny felt sorry for her, as he told her what he had to say: "I'm afraid we believe that Amy could have killed her."
"No, that's impossible. Why in God's name would you think she could have done something like that?"
Danny sighed and was about to say something when Rush was quicker: "She gave the police a wrong alibi back then."
"But why would she have to give them an alibi at all, if it was suicide?" Mrs Guerin asked in a small voice.
"What Detective Rush meant was that she lied to the police. And when people lie to the police they usually do that because they've something to hide." If looks could kill, Danny was sure he'd be dead by now but he ignored Rush's spiteful look once more and continued to speak: "So, Mrs Guerin, we really need you to think about this; has Amy ever said something that could make you believe she murdered Mrs Lastrom?"
"God, no!" Mrs Guerin shook her head, insistently.
"I'm not talking about confessing it to you, but was there anything that could hint to the conclusion that she did it?"
Close to tears now, the woman shook her head.
Now Rush interfered: "Now, I think that's enough… I suggest we leave now and if you can think of anything you can give me a call."
Was it his imagination or had she just accentuated the word me in her sentence? Danny watched as Rush handed Mrs Guerin her business card and made to leave. He followed her. Once they were outside and the door was closed behind them Rush turned around towards him, eyes flashing with rage. "What was that about? You couldn't have asked her more directly, could you? Ever heard of being diplomatic?"
"I just think you're getting more out of somebody if you ask directly", Danny defended himself but suddenly felt stupid. Why did he have to defend himself? He'd done this job for years; he was experienced enough to know what he was doing.
"Whatever." With quick steps Rush walked back to her car. "Let's go."
