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Aligned Design

Ch 52a

Ted had driven Bobby's car to the hospital; Becky had followed in their car. She brought Gleason's purse and had gotten her heart pills from the bathroom cupboard. They found him in the ER. Becky hugged him and told him she was sorry. Becky tried to speak with Gleason, but Gleason would not respond. Ted told Bobby he had removed the stained cushion from the sofa and would try to have it cleaned or recovered. Bobby thanked them both.

Bobby stayed through the night with Gleason, first in the ER and then in her room. She would not look at him, would not speak to him. She did not cry. She answered questions flatly when asked by a nurse or doctor, but otherwise said nothing. She was already in their system from the shooting, and only her address and phone had changed, so her admission was simple.

Bobby left Gleason's side just before dawn Tuesday morning. He thought she was asleep and bent to kiss her, but she moved away. He stepped back and told her he would return later.

Bobby drove to their apartment, showered, and dressed for work. Before he left, he called the university and left a message that Dr. Wintermantle was ill and her classes should be cancelled for Tuesday and Wednesday.

At work, he said nothing about what had happened. Eames had noticed that he was exceptionally quiet, preoccupied. Everyone left him alone. They figured he was in one of his moods. His cell phone range twice and he stood and walked away to take it both times. Mid-morning, he took the surveillance DVDs and his portfolio and went in to begin to watch.

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Eames finally caught Canvettelli on the phone. He sat in Interrogation Room 1. Eames asked Bobby if he wanted to sit in. He stopped the current DVD and flipped shut his portfolio and picked it up. They walked silently to IR1 and he sat beside Eames with his portfolio closed.

"Mr. Canvettelli, you remember Detective Goren." She immediately regretted saying that. The last time Goren and the gallery owner were together, Bobby nearly put the skinny guy through a door. To Bobby, she said, "Mr. Canvettelli called with information about who may have stolen the artwork scheduled for his gallery." Bobby nodded without looking at either of them.

"So, you know who stole the artwork?" Eames said to Canvettelli.

"Yes I do."

Eames waited. She glanced at Bobby who sat looking at the tabletop. "Ok. So, who stole the paintings?"

"Is there a reward?"

"What?" asked Eames, incredulously.

"Is there a reward? I know who stole the paintings. My assistance will help you solve this crime. So, is—there—a—reward?" Canvettelli did a little headshake as he sat back and crossed his arms.

Without warning, Bobby was on his feet, knocking the chair back, off its legs, "You goddamn sonofabitch! Tell her who stole the fucking paintings!" He slammed his hand flat onto the tabletop.

Eames and Canvettelli both jumped and Deakins was out of the observation room and inside the interview room in two heartbeats.

"Goren! Now!"

Bobby stood, breathing hard. He looked at Eames and then looked at Deakins. His hand stung. What, what just happened?

"Now! Detective," Deakins shouted.

Bobby moved to the door Deakins held open and stepped into the hallway. The boss pulled it shut and Bobby leaned against the wall. He wiped a hand over his face and looked at his other, stinging hand.

Deakins was livid, "Are you out of your goddamn mind! What the hell was that? You cannot go off on a witness like that. Jesus Christ, Goren, this is the same guy who threatened us with a suit the first time you verbally attacked him. Are you trying to get bumped back to patrol?" Deakins took two steps away from his detective, turned and put his hands on his face.

Bobby was not sure he knew what he had done. Apparently, he said something he should not have. He looked at Deakins, but did not say anything.

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Dr. Wiley sat across from Gleason. Gleason would not look at her.

"Do you understand what happened, Gleason?" The doctor watched the other woman closely.

Gleason nodded.

"You can still have children. It won't be easy, but – "

"I don't want children," she said softly.

Dr. Wiley was not surprised, but she could tell that Gleason was not upset about the miscarriage; rather, she seemed numb. Dr. Wiley would have Dr. Fairchild, the women's health psychiatrist, talk with Gleason before discharging her. "We'll get you on birth control pills to regulate your cycle." She paused and then continued, "And to prevent what you don't want."

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Canvettelli went six shades of white beyond pale. He stood backed up against the wall, one hand over his mouth, the other over his crotch. Canvettelli began to hyperventilate. Eames guided him to a seat and made him bend over with his head between his legs. For some reason, it made her squeamish to see him this way. "Breath slowly, Mr. Canvettelli, breath slowly. You'll be fine. Breathe slowly." She stood over him with a gentle hand between the man's impossibly narrow shoulders. Canvettelli nodded and Eames had to look away.

Deakins entered the room after sending Bobby to his desk with orders to just sit, do not leave. "Is he ok?" Deakins asked, nodding to the man bent over looking at his own crotch.

Eames nodded.

"Mr. Canvettelli, are you all right?" Deakins asked.

Canvettelli sat up, gasping. He weakly waved a hand at them. Then he nodded. The captain and detective watched the man get himself together.

"Please, please, I'll tell you anything you want. I am sorry I was being tenacious. I will tell you all I know. Do not let that man at me. Please. I am sorry!" Canvettelli kept looking furtively at the door, expecting Bobby to storm back in and finish his assault.

Eames and Deakins shared a look. "All right, Mr. Canvettelli, I'm going to make sure Detective Goren is caged and you tell Detective Eames everything you know."

"I want an escort out when I am finished here. I don't want that beast to even look at me." Canvettelli's eyes went wide with a realization, "Oh, oh he, he doesn't know where I live, does he? Oh my God, what if he comes for me in the night! What if he overpowers me? I am small, slight, slim, and he's, he's so, oh he's so big!"

If Deakins hadn't been so pissed at Goren, he would have shared Eames' smile.

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"Gleason?" Dr. Fairchild stood at the foot of Gleason's bed. She turned, looked and then looked away.

Fairchild recognized it immediately. Apathy. "Gleason, I'm Dr. Wendy Fairchild, staff psychiatrist. Dr. Wiley suggested we talk. How about if you and I go someplace where we can get some tea and talk. Ok?"

Without looking at the doctor, Gleason slid her feet into the slippers they had given her and stood up. She came around the foot of the bed and followed the good doctor.

Gleason sat at the table. Fairchild set down two mugs of tea, and then she sat. Gleason still had not made eye contact. She had not said a word.

"Gleason, Dr. Wiley is concerned because you are not reacting to anything. Why do you think that is?"

Gleason said nothing.

"How do you feel about the miscarriage?"

"There was no miscarriage. I wasn't pregnant."

Dr. Fairchild recognized ADS, apathetic denial syndrome. It was common in these circumstances and would pass in time, in a loving, supportive environment. "Why do you think you were not pregnant?"

Gleason did not respond.

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