22
Aligned Design
Ch 50
"Dr. Wintermantle," Lisa, the student assistant called to Gleason as she headed to her first class. Gleason stopped and turned around.
"Yes?"
Lisa closed the space between them. "Dean Boyer was looking for you earlier. She said to ask you to see her as soon as possible."
Gleason looked at the clock in the hall. She had ten minutes before this class. She and the Dean would need more time than that. "Lisa would you let the Dean know that I'll be in her office directly after this class? It's only an hour."
"Sure, I'll tell her." Lisa turned and headed back down the hall.
Gleason figured she knew what the Dean wanted to talk over. She was missing too many classes. She had not intended to be gone all of last week. But, things happen. She would inform the Dean of her new position. The semester was half over; she would see it out and then be gone.
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Bobby walked from the elevators feeling like shit. His head hurt and he was carrying a low-grade anger. That damn shrink, Jesus, he hated talking about stuff. I thought you were supposed to feel better after talking with a psychiatrist, he said to himself. He honestly wished he could just go to the gym and run. Work out. Sweat out all the crap he was feeling. That would be good – run until you can't stand up. Maybe tonight, instead of the range. We'll see.
Sledge was walking from the coffee room as Bobby hung up his coat. "Hey, Goren, how they hangin'?" Bobby ignored him.
"Say, when the boss gets in, Bishop and I want to debrief you and Eames. Lots of good stuff came up over the weekend. You good for that?"
"Yeah, yeah. Where is Deakins?"
"He's not in yet. No idea where he is. Hey, Perkins, where's Deakins? You seen him?"
Bill Perkins walked over to the two tallest detectives at MCS. He told them about Deakins' daughter and her boyfriend.
"No shit. Oh man, is the doer still here? Is he alive?" Sledge asked.
"How is his daughter? Is she ok?" Bobby asked.
"Well, Deakins never made it back yesterday. He hasn't called in, so it's anyone's guess," Perkins said.
At that very moment, Jim Deakins rounded the corner from the elevators. He was walking fast and hard. The three men stepped out of his way as he strode past. Deakins went into his office and shut his door. They watched him elevator his phone. Without a word, the three detectives looked at one another and each moved to his desk.
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"Dean Boyer, Dr. Wintermantle is here to see you."
"Thank you. Ask her to come in, please."
Gleason suddenly felt as she had on the first day of the only primary school she had ever attended – curious and a wee bit frightened.
"Dr. Wintermantle, please sit down." Gleason sat across from the large desk. The Dean began, "Gleason, I was worried when I saw Brandon teaching your classes last week. We had no notification of illness, so I did not know what to think. Is everything all right?"
Gleason looked at the woman who had been so eager to hire her just a year ago. The woman who had encouraged her, had supported her. Now she looked at the woman who had let the regents pull her program out from under her – for no fault of her own.
"I was in Evanston, interviewing. I have accepted a position at Northwestern. I will be on staff in their antiquities department beginning in August."
Dean Boyer was impressed. Northwestern, huh? Northwestern held the honor of being the premier institution for ancient studies this side of the Atlantic. Gleason had landed this position so quickly. Boyer had to admit to a twinge of jealousy.
"My, my; congratulations, you certainly move quickly. What position will you hold, exactly?"
Gleason sensed the other woman's envy. Not vengeful by nature, but being a female human, Gleason replied, "Full professor, tenured. I'll be working interdisciplinary with the linguistics, history, classics and anthropology departments."
Boyer was having trouble hiding her green. Lucky bitch, she thought. "Well, this is quite a step up from our little university. They are lucky to have you. What will this mean for your relationship with that detective fellow?" The Dean was treading thin ice here; she had no business, and no legal right, making inquiries about family concerns. She did not care, however, the claws were out.
Gleason looked at her soon to be former boss and said, "I don't speak of my personal life at work. I do want to thank you, Dean Boyer, for giving me this position when I arrived in the States. It was generous of you to take me on. I have learned a great deal. Brookbine will always have a special place in my memories."
They smiled at each other. The Dean caught the use of 'memories' instead of 'heart.' Boyer didn't say anything, so Gleason said, "Will there be anything else?"
"Uh, no. Not at this time. Thank you for coming in Gleason. We have half a semester yet, so I'm sure we'll talk again."
Gleason nodded and stood up. She turned and started back to her office. She needed to get her bag and head to the restroom, quickly.
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Eames came around the desks with a stack of DVD cases and a folder.
"Hi, how'd it go with Dr. Stephens?" she asked her partner.
"Same. Hey, did you hear about Deakins' daughter?"
Actually, Eames had heard in the ladies' room this morning. "I know, isn't that something. Poor girl. She seems really young, immature for her age." As soon as it was out of her mouth, she regretted it.
Bobby looked at her questioningly, "You've met his daughter? When?"
Eames went red and looked down at the desktop.
"Eames, come on. When did you meet her?" Now he was intrigued.
Alex looked up and said softly, "All right. Last night. At the movies. Deakins and his wife and daughter were there. I ran into them. Ok?"
"You went to the movies by yourself?" He grinned at her; he had a hunch, but wanted to play.
She glared at him and hissed, "What do you think? He told me you know. So stop being so smug."
Bobby said nothing else, but he smiled. They worked in silence for about ten minutes and then Bobby said, "Say, would you ask Sledge for a copy of the briefing notes?" He looked up at her with a broad smile and she threw a pen at him. He ducked just as Deakins stepped from his office.
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Rodgers slid Navicky's and Pangborn's x-rays in large, insulated vinyl envelopes and hung them on the hook at the end of each body's table. She hung the files with her copies of their reports clipped inside on the ends as well. Goren would probably be down later.
At that moment, the courier delivered copies of the ME's reports to the eleventh floor of OPP. They made their way to Eames' desk.
"Here are the ME's reports." She handed one file to Bobby.
"Sledge, Bishop, Goren, Eames – conference room. Bring what you have," Deakins hollered out to the bullpen. The four detectives scrambled to gather notes, reports, files, and all the bits needed to debrief the boss and each other. They sensed he was not happy. Who would be?
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Canvettelli had gone out for breakfast goodies and left the two lovebirds to each other in his flat. He walked half a block and flipped open his cell.
"Yes, hello, I would like to report a robbery; probably grand larceny as well. And perpetuating a fraud. . . . May I speak to a Detective Eaves, or Ears or some such name? We helped each other earlier. . . . Yes, she and I have worked together in the past. That is correct. . . . I would prefer to speak directly with the lovely detective, if I may. Is she available? . . . I see. Well, if you would ask her to phone me back, I would appreciate it so much. Please have her call me at 212-555-0926. . . . I will try to keep the two robbers close to me until she tells me what to do with them. . . . Yes, thank you so much. Bye-bye."
Canvettelli flipped shut his phone and sashayed into Beirman's Bakery. That will show them, that bastard Jenese, him and his friend's sweet little piece of ass. Cann did twinge just a wee bit at the thought of the little man with the great goods. Mmmm, so good! I would not mind another go with that one. Nevertheless, this will teach Jenny to lie to me.
Cann was feeling very proud of himself. Here he was, being a good citizen, apprehending two criminals. The Commissioner would surely want to meet him! And there might be a reward. And pictures in the paper! Interviewed on the news! An exposé in Newsweek! Oh, yes, it is good to do good.
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No one wanted to mention Deakins' daughter. The captain looked like he hadn't slept.
"All right, tell me something good," he said, elbows on the table. "Bishop, what do you have?"
"A lot, actually. Ok, we had a call yesterday from the Melbourne PD regarding a wallet found in one of the vehicles in that pileup. They ran it and it belongs to a Dominic Jenese. They called us because there was a pull on it from here." Bishop looked at Eames and continued, "That's one of the guys involved in that art heist, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it is. Was Jenese in that pileup?" Eames asked.
"Don't know. The fellow said there was one body in the car with three wallets. Here's the paperwork they faxed. Do you want to call them back, or should I?"
"I'll do it. Thanks." Bishop slid over the papers.
"What else?" Deakins asked.
Bishop continued, "Well, the stippling on the slugs from the two bodies found at the storage facility match a stolen registered Glock .22. The registered owner is deceased. That seems to be a dead end." She started to slide the paperwork over to Deakins but he shook his head and waved it away.
"What else?"
Eames started, "Well, we have copies of the surveillance video from the storage facility. There's about seventy-two hours of video to watch." Everyone looked at Goren.
"Yeah, I'll watch it. I like to watch," he said.
Everyone at the table, except Deakins, suppressed a smile; Deakins seemed distracted. Eames slid the DVD cases over to Bobby. An assistant stepped into the room and handed a message slip to Eames.
"What else?"
"Uhm, I want to go look at the bodies. Briefly, both vics died of two gunshots to the head. Navicky's tox screen was clean; Pangborn showed traces of cocaine. Navicky was stage-two lung cancer and probably didn't know it. That's it; nothing else related to the crime."
"What else?"
No one said anything. "Sledge, what have you got on the sailboat?"
"Uh, we checked out a false alarm yesterday. A roll and toss thought to be associated with the boat. Over-eager idiot masquerading as a Coast Guard officer called it in. It was nothing."
"What else?"
Sledge continued, "Later this morning, divers are going down to look at the boat sitting on the floor two miles off the pier. Chances are excellent it's the boat. After they bring it up and determine how it sank, we'll know who look for. Bishop and I are heading out to be there."
"This is a message from Canvettelli, the gallery owner where the missing art was scheduled to go. He wants to talk to me," Eames announced to the group.
"What else?"
No one said anything. No one looked at the boss. Deakins knew they knew what had happened. That kind of news travels fast. He looked down at the tabletop as they did.
"I know you are wondering. Julie is home, she'll heal. Her mother is a wreck, but is strong. The bastard that did it is in custody of the two-oh. He will be prosecuted fully. Now, go do something to move these two cases to the solve column."
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"Dr. Manlowe, it's Gleason Wintermantle."
"Gleason, my dear Gleason! I am so happy to hear from you. Extend my life, will you, and tell me you accept our offer."
Gleason smiled. "Yes, Dr. Manlowe, I accept your offer."
"Oh, my dear, dear girl, you have made an old man very happy. Now, I shall inform the others of our good fortune. Then, we must have you back soon so we may plan your assimilation. Fridays are good days to schedule meetings. Would you look at your schedule and determine which Friday would be good for you to meet with us? We need to meet soon so we can start scheduling and writing syllabi."
"Of course, Dr. Manlowe. I cannot this Friday, perhaps next?"
"That sounds good, my dear. I shall let the others know. Gleason, I am delighted to welcome you. We shall be in touch."
"Good-by Dr. Manlowe."
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"George, Jim Deakins. I, I need your help."
"Of course Jim. What's wrong?"
Deakins squeezed his eyes with his fingers and waited until he could speak without trembling. Dr. George Wang waited. He sensed this was a family situation.
"Uh, my youngest, Julie, she's fifteen. She, uh, she was raped by her boyfriend yesterday. I need someone to talk with her. George, she's out of control. We don't know what to do." Deakins didn't trust his voice to say anything more.
"Jim, is your daughter ok?"
"She has chlamydia and gonorrhea. The doctor said she's been sexually active for six months or so. She, she is a sweetheart one day and then this monster we don't even know the next. It's getting worse. Angie and I are worried about her. We don't know what to do."
"Do you want me to assess her? Or, do you want me to recommend someone?"
"George, you know more than anyone I know. Would you take a look at her? Try to help her?"
"Of course."