Alright, here we are.
First of all, thank you all the reviews and comments! I see more people seemed to have stumbled on this story and I hope to hear from you all soon!
Alidifarfalla: I guess it would be impossible for them not to start accepting that their dynamic is changing, so much is happening to them and they need each other more than ever. Cal might also be thinking that in his conditions he might be an obstacle (more on this coming up), and in the end what matters to him is that Gillian is safe.
Tori: there has been a lot of waiting for things to happen, it was about time they took some action on all fronts
CookieSprinkles: Hi and welcome! Yeah, since I starting rewatching LTM I've had so many ideas coming to me, it's kind of scary! Thank you for the note in your comment, that's a very interesting point! I do know I tend to focus more on what is going inside the characters' heads, or the little gestures they do as they talk ( I visualize a lot, and it helps when I can think about the actors doing it). I guess sometimes I focus on the core of the action more than anything else, but it depends: right when I read your review I was writing something for a new story where things like you mention do add to the events!
Right, now it's time to move on
He had been downplaying his injuries, mostly to himself.
There had been a jackhammer pounding away inside his head since the first attack, switching pace and intensity usually depending on his movements. The bump on his forehead where his head had been smashed on the bathroom mirror had swollen down but felt sore, while the spot he had used to headbutt Warton was still a very painful affair. He was positive his back was a Jackson Pollock of coloured bruises, and his ribcage felt like elephants had been tip-tapping all over it. There were a lot of other, smaller things that he couldn't entirely identify but could clearly feel, especially since he had run out of painkillers, and some of the thinner vanishing cuts hitched terribly. In the grand scheme of things a little itch might have not been that bad, but the bugging sensation didn't leave much of his body that wasn't bothering him one way or the other. And then there was the ankle, swinging from numb to outwardly painful and massively restricting his range of actions.
Yet, even with that long and detailed list of extremely good reasons for him to take it easy, Cal still struggled to accept the fact that he had to stay put in the office while Gillian and Reynolds were out there chasing after Warton. So, he had taken part of the matter into his own hands and tried to make a few moves of his own. They were on their way to the second location, which seemed promising, and since it would take them a while with traffic he had decided to jump ahead and gather information about the last place on their list.
Combining his skills, Loker's penchant for research and the power of Miller's badge number, they had squeezed some pretty juicy information out of a simple postal address. Once they had it all lined up and ready, knowing Reynolds and Foster would have hardly taken the report at face value, Cal dialled the agent's number from his cell phone and Loker patched the call through the lab system.
"I told you we'll call you when we get there!" Reynolds barked at him the moment he picked up.
"Easy tiger! We've got something for you," Cal explained, choosing to ignore the verbal assault.
"Cal?" It was great to hear Gillian's voice, even with that little tone of concern he could tell she had shaken off the effects of the visit to the warehouse site. "Where are you?"
"RIght where you left me, love." He huffed, first annoyed and then ashamed when Loker stifled a laugh at his expenses. "If I thought I needed permission to do some research while I warm up the chair I would have asked you to sign me one before you left."
There was a brief moment of silence on the other side, probably Foster thinking it wasn't nice of her to assume the worst right off the bat, while in the lab Agent Miller showcased his hidden human traits for the second time and grinned, amused by the exchange.
"Are you at the sports centre yet?" Loker asked then, mostly as a way to reveal the conversation was on speaker.
"Nearly there, maybe 10-15 minutes," Reynolds answered then, with a whole different demeanour. "What have you got?"
"We found something interesting on the house in Clinton," Cal announced, taking a theatrical break before sharing the actual information. "478 Park Road, it's the last known address where the twins lived together before being split apart."
The silence on the other hand was self-explanatory; that was a major reveal, something that turned the seemingly random residence into a search hot spot.
"Are you sure?" Reynolds asked then, and Cal rolled his eyes grumbling an insult in between his teeth.
"Seriously? Now I'm no good for research either?!" He scoffed, giving Miller a pleading look with open arms. "A little help mate?"
"HQ digitalized the files we gave them and we've crossed checked them with the latest information." Miller stepped in, calm and professional. "The address came up immediately."
Cal nodded, at once reassured and offended that they would take the agent's word but not his, then he leaned forward on the speaker.
"Happy now?"
"Alright, sorry." Cal could nearly see it, Reynolds in the car shaking his head while Gillian would throw a sideway smile. "Was anybody living there when he had the pass to come and get the ashes?"
"No, the house was empty back then and it had been on sale for a while. Sounds like a good spot to dump some ashes."
"Is anybody living there at the moment?" Gillian asked.
"Yes, the…" Loker typed away on his keyboard and pulled up the information, along with images of the house from a real estate listing. "The Wagners. Jonathan and Marie, married, and their two kids."
"You should send someone to check it out," Cal suggested.
"Cal, all the agents we have are either at the sports centre or on their way there," she explained. "We can't split up now, we are nearly there too."
"I looked up the place online. It's open 16 hours a day, it's a huge complex and there must be hundreds of people coming and going at any given time. It doesn't make for a good hiding spot." Cal could hear his own voice getting carried away, but he was doing his best to balance the urge to communicate his point of view with the need to not sound too manic about it. "This house is - Loker, email the map and the pictures to Foster. This place is in the middle of nowhere, the actual house is off the road and the closest neighbours are 4 miles away with wheat fields and trees in between. If he's hiding somewhere, coming and going, he'd need an isolated place where nobody would pay attention."
"All good points but there's a family living there."
"What if-"
"Lightman, we are at the sports centre now and we're going to check this out first." Reynolds kept shutting him down. "I told you, lots of residents and members of the centre complained about a stranger wandering around the past few days. Let us check the footage, speak with them and we'll get back to you."
"Foster-"
"We're here Cal, we need to focus our resources on one thing at the time."
She sounded stern, but to Cal, who knew all the shades of her voice and then some, it was clear that she was between a rock and a hard place. It didn't necessarily mean that she believed him, but she was certainly open to listen to his arguments. However, she was also the more practical one of the two and it did seem like a waste to abandon a good lead that was within their reach.
Cal sighed and slouched on the chair, the usually natural movement causing pain to stir from his head, his back and chest and the ever present ankle. He stared at the phone then looked up at the images on the screen, pictures of the property and the Wagners' happy family, clenching his jaw.
"How long would it take you to go from there to Clinton?
"I'm not sure, a couple of hours maybe." Reynolds answered.
"Should have asked for a chopper, mate," Cal mumbled. "Any chance you have a couple of agents to spare?"
"Cal, the FBI is on board but we're still after only one man," the agent explained. "Listen, we'll look into this place and get to that as soon as possible. You knew we had to tackle one at the time."
I did, doesn't mean I like it! Cal thought to himself .
"Fine, do your thing then. But as soon as you're down there-"
"On to Clinton, promised."
"And look at the stuff we're sending through, ok?"
"We will, Cal," Gillian promised. "Just share whatever you find in the meantime, ok?"
"Right," he caved then. "Speak soon."
With that they ended the call, Loker then doing as told and sending all they had found on the house in Clinton and its occupants to Reynolds and Foster. After the call, which had proved to be far less useful than what he had thought, Cal felt somewhat spent. When they had found the connection between Warton and the house he really felt like they had hit the jackpot, he had felt energised and in no small part thanks to the fact that he could contribute something to the cause. Being turned down, by both Gillian and Reynolds, had put a dent in his enthusiasm and sucked away the rush of energy with it.
"They're wasting their time." Surprised, dragged out of his bleak thoughts, Cal looked up at Miller who had spoken and was now staring at the information on the big screen. "The sports centre…sure, they might find something there but I think you're right. This house would make a much better hiding spot for someone who needs to lay low."
Loker and Cal looked at each other, frankly appalled that the man could say so many words in one go. Cal recovered first from the shock however, too intrigued by the not so subtle way in which the agent had just declared his allegiance.
"What about the family?" Loker asked then.
"What do we know about them?" Cal asked back, pointing at the picture.
"Uhm, let me see." The young man flipped through the notes. "Right, Jonathan Wagner is a mechanical engineer who works for an architecture firm, and his wife Marie is a math teacher at the same school where the kids go."
"How old are the kids?"
"The boy is four and the girl is six years old."
"Do we know what's been going on with them?" Miller enquired, and Loker missed the way Cal's grin widened as he frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"Warton showed up first on Saturday," Lightman pointed out, exchanging understanding nods with the agent. "What if we want to find out what the Wagners have been up to since then?"
"You think he might have-"
"Sure as hell does look like the kind of man who could," Cal mumbled, fear running through him at the thought, fear for himself and the family. Then he stood up and paced back and forth for a bit, staring at the screen and eventually landing his eyes on Miller. "Any chance we can have someone to check on them, local police or something?"
"I could put in a call for a welfare check, but we'd have to give them a reasonable explanation for it."
"Guys, what are you talking about?" Loker whined all of a sudden, not liking the way the two men were bouncing ideas and suggestions off each other. "Reynolds said to wait, they'll get to the house next."
"What if it is too late then?" Or already is? Cal shut him off with renewed energy, then dismissed Loker and addressed his attention back to Miller. "Can't you just tell them it's FBI business or something?"
"It doesn't work like that," the agent shook his head, and Cal could swear he sounded like he didn't like that reality a whole lot. "Besides, it might be dangerous."
"I'm not going anywhere near it, in case you're worried about getting a dressing down."
"For the family," Miller pointed out then, flashing some of the sphinx seriousness he had become known for. "If you're right, if he's there, a police car showing up would immediately alarm him. And considering who we're talking about, there's no telling what he might do if he sees a threat coming."
Cal liked the way the man reasoned, although him being right also meant that his approach had to be discarded. Miller was right, twice: he was right to give his theory more than an afterthought and he was spot on in his analysis in the situation as well. After having been shut down, Cal found the fact that someone was on the same page with him extremely refreshing. However, the satisfaction for the intellectual vindication was short lived because it seemed that all they could do was still just wait for door number two to be opened.
"How about a phone call?"
Lightman and Miller looked at Loker, who had spoken with the contrite voice of someone who had been sitting on the solution for a while but didn't feel comfortable with sharing it. The young man was on his chair, turned towards them but looking elsewhere as if he didn't want the attention his suggestion brought to him. And frankly, looking like he regretted even speaking out.
"What?" Cal asked.
"A phone call." Loker sighed and shrugged. "We have the number. We can call the house, see if they pick up."
"What if they do?" Miller asked. "It's not like we can just ask if they are ok."
"We won't," Cal explained. "All we need to do is to make them talk and listen."