Chapter 17
Evidence
Grey barely had her feet on the ground before the familiar pumping of a shotgun had her looking down her rifle's sights.
An elderly man approached, shotgun held firm in dirt-stained hands. Fierce yet faded eyes stared her down, his dark, withered face drawn into a sneer. He positioned himself between Grey and the greenhouse, fifty feet separating them.
There was no fear on his face. Grey would have been impressed if his actions didn't reek of stupidity.
"I'll give you five seconds to get off my land," he barked.
It was a ballsy opening line noting the Vertibird still circling above.
"Five," he yelled, clearly uninterested in giving them time to respond. "Four. Three—"
Grey thought it amusing until she heard the click of the Paladin's safety behind her.
"—two—"
She saw the woman then, head darting from the greenhouse, eyes widening and gardening spade tumbling toward the ground. She leapt toward the man, hands reaching for him, tanned features wrought with terror.
Grey immediately stepped in front of Danse and raised her hands.
"—one!"
The shotgun fired.
The twisted birch to their left exploded, bark and pellets spewing from the weathered wood. Dogmeat shook his head as splinters flecked his coat.
Grey felt Dense at her back, the muzzle of his rifle bobbing against her spine. He re-engaged his safety.
The elderly man lowered his shotgun, but just slightly. A bemused look overtook his sneer. He'd made his point after all: that he wasn't to be jerked around, by raiders, by Super Mutants, or by them. It didn't last though.
The woman smacked him upside the head and began cursing him out, arms gesticulating and eyes wild.
Grey smirked beneath her helmet and activated her external comm. As much as she enjoyed a show, she had bigger fish to fry.
"Hey, lovebirds. Let's make a deal."
—
"A deal?"
Mitchell sat back in her chair, hands tightly folded in her lap. Grey could see the skin whiten as her nails pressed against knuckle.
"Deal, bargain, arrangement, whatever. It's all just semantics."
Mitchell furrowed her brow. "I'm assuming from your inflection that that was a joke."
Grey smirked, adjusting her weight on Mitchell's desk. "How astute of you."
Mitchell maintained eye contact, face disapproving. "I don't do 'deals', Lieutenant. From what I hear, that's your speciality, not mine."
So Mitchell did have a sense of humour. Imagine that.
Grey continued to smirk. "You know, you may really want to add a few personal touches to this office. Some photos, a rug. You know, something to give it a little personality."
Mitchell's expression didn't falter but her hands did loosen, ever so slightly.
"Fine, whatever gets you off my desk and out of my office. What sort of deal are you proposing?"
"Oh, the type where you actually give me the witness statements and canvassing reports relevant to my goddamn witness, and, in return, I don't tattle to the head teacher about his star pupil not sharing."
Mitchell's furrow deepened. "I gave you all the files, Lieutenant."
"No, you gave me the files relevant to the immediate aftermath of the attempted murder. What I'm looking for are the statements attached to Sergeant Anders' testimony. Anything regarding the alleged incident three days before the offence. Those files."
Grey had cycled through a series of emotions after Anders told her about what he'd witnessed. When it was all said and done, it was the irritation that stuck, and it was all directed at Mitchell. From her dinner discussion with Anders a week prior, Grey had assumed him witnessing something was just a ploy to inject himself into the investigation. But no, the damned fool actually did witness something. The same something that Cantrell had told her to get straight and usable for trial.
Grey had practically memorized the James case file she'd read it so many times, but there had never been any trace of Anders' witness testimony, let alone any investigation into or follow-up on his claims. Occam's razor would dictate that the likely answer was that Mitchell simply forgot to include it in Grey's file copy. Except Mitchell forgot nothing. The woman was too thorough for such a colossal oversight. No, Grey was convinced there was something else going on and she wasn't interested in playing fifty questions with the world's most repressed pencil pusher.
Mitchell robotically pushed her chair back from her desk, rose to her feet, and pivoted towards her file cabinet. With striking accuracy, she retrieved a thin letter-sized folder. She handed it to Grey.
It held a single page transcript. Mitchell and Anders. Him telling her, in vague, intentionally fragmented terms, that he saw Walsh and James arguing three days before the attack. Except Grey knew this story already, and it wasn't what she was after.
"I think you misunderstood, Lieutenant."
"No," Mitchell said as she sat, hands again folding. "I did not."
Grey stared at her for a minute. "Is this another attempt at humour or—"
"I cannot give you what I do not have, Grey. I'm also none too partial to doing your job for you."
So that's what was going on. Grey looked at the transcript's timestamp. Ten days ago and two weeks after the offence occurred. CID's investigation had concluded by then, so any further investigating was at the judge advocate's expense. And Mitchell? Mitchell didn't leave the office except to sleep and piss. That and she didn't play well with others. Fine for a litigator, but poor for an investigator. At least she recognized her limits, or Cantrell had identified them for her.
Grey's involvement suddenly made a great deal more sense.
"I work better when actually given some semblance of a directive, you know."
"I'll keep that in mind for the future. Now, if we're done?" Mitchell opened one of her file folders, signalling Grey's dismissal.
Grey slid from Mitchell's desk and headed for the door. "Yes, ma'am."
—
Grey leaned back in the rusted patio chair, the tips of her boots dangling inches from the burning campfire. Dogmeat laid beside it, head resting in his paws. The smell of mutfruit was heavy in the air, a confusing mix of earth, blackberry, and grape. The woman—Pat, as she'd introduced her—passed Grey a glass of cold burgundy liquid before taking a seat. Each movement was announced with creaks and squeals, the two-hundred-year-old lawn chairs making their age well known. Grey was pretty sure she and Nate had purchased the same set when they moved to Sanctuary Hills. And to think she'd given the salesman a hard time when he joked the furniture could withstand a nuclear winter.
She sipped the mutfruit juice as she watched the two men below. Danse had shed his power armour and was kneeled down by a water pump, brow furrowed. The shotgun-toting farmer was trying to explain the problem with the mechanism, hand movements becoming more pronounced with each failed attempt. Danse tightened one of the bolts and water spit from the base. Grey smiled. She almost felt bad about pimping out Danse's mechanical knowledge to get the farmers to play nice. Almost.
"This brings me back," Pat mumbled as she watched the men work. "Baker really hasn't been the same since…" Disquiet crept across her hooded eyes. "Well, it's been a while since we had company."
"Have you been here long?"
Pat gave a faint smile. "When traders ask me that, instinct is to say, 'Nah, only a few years', but then I look in the mirror and get a cold, hard dose of reality."
"Time's funny like that," Grey mused.
"You're damn right. When I was a girl, spent all my time wishing my days away. Couldn't wait until I turned sixteen and Daddy let me leave home. Except sixteen comes and Daddy has no intention of letting me go. 'The Wastes are dangerous, girl, and I'm not letting what happen to your brother happen to you.' Looking back on it, I know he just wanted to protect me, but back then I felt caged. Didn't fancy staying in the same shitty rusted town forever, eating the same swill, fucking the same ugly-ass settlers. Then one day, Poppy walks into town, all honey and sunshine. I'd never seen a girl so beautiful or so brave. Alone, traveling the Wastes, nothing but a pair of denim shorts, a tank-top, and a plasma gun to her name. I'd hide away in the local bar, wanting nothing more than to hear a snippet of her tales as the local men circled her like starving mutts. I was trying to live vicariously and all that shit. But then she plunks down next to me one day, no prior words ever exchanged, and she says, 'I'm leaving town tomorrow and so are you.'"
Pat's expression warms, wrinkles deepening. "I think I fell in love with her that day."
"You took her up on her offer, I imagine."
"I don't think I'd ever thought less about a decision. Packed my bag that night, stole my Daddy's old 9mm, and never looked back. Poppy and I were lovers for a while, but friends for longer. We traveled town to town, had our share of adventures and scares. When we were twenty or twenty-one, got caught by slavers out 'round the Capital Wasteland. Thought we were done for, but then we got talking to some of the other captives and we hatched a plan. Poppy distracted the guard who was sweet on her while two of the guys snuck up on him and grabbed his keys. We stole away before the other slavers noticed, and while some of the captives made their own way, three of them stayed—Mike, Juliette, and Baker.
"We continued our vagabond ways from Pennsylvania through the ruins of New York. We'd just entered the Commonwealth when we realized Juliette was pregnant. And shortly after, Poppy, too. We all made the decision to settle down then, find a place to raise the kids. A safe place. Tried Diamond City first, but some of them upper stand folks thumbed their noses at us. Didn't understand how five people could live together, love together, raise kids together. Then one day Poppy runs home, stomach so large you'd think she was ready to birth a brahmin, and says some trader told her about an abandoned farm up north. We hitched a ride with that trader, found this place in worse shape than it is now—if you can imagine that—but the look on Poppy's face… We knew we were home."
The lawyer in Grey wanted to ask what had happened to Juliette, Poppy and Mike, but the widow in her knew better. She knew what this world did to good people.
"Sounds like you and Baker have a lot of history."
Pat gave a laugh. "Yes and no. Baker, he always fancied Poppy, as did I. They had a few kids together, and Mike and I ended up with a set of twins—still can't remember how that happened—but Baker and I were always a bit distant. We got along, mind you, but no kids or anything. Not that that actually mattered. The kids—seven of them when it was all said and done—thought of us all as their parents. Did get mighty confusing when one of them called out 'Mom' though."
Pat took a swig of her juice and offered Grey a refill, which she politely refused. It was a distraction for what was to come. But Pat had started her story now, and Grey knew that once the floodgates opened, they were often hard to close.
"We had many good years together, the five of us. Raised most of the kids, saw them off to build their own lives, but then the tragedies hit. It was Juliette first. She left one day, headed into Malden to trade some goods back when there were merchants to trade with. And she simply never returned. We went out looking, night after night. Asked every trader or scavver who passed by the farm. But she was gone. Mike was next. Yao guai and its cubs wandered into the greenhouse, ate our brahmin. Mike goes out there with his rifle, shoots a cub and gets mauled by mom." She shook her head. "Fucking moron."
"I'm sorry for your loss," Grey said automatically, but Pat waved her off.
"Too many years ago to still sting, girl. But thanks. Honestly, it tore Poppy up worse than it did Baker and I. Not that we were happy about the loss. We loved him, that fucking ass. But Poppy didn't quite recover after that. After thirty years together, Poppy had become attached. For all her independence and fearlessness in her youth, she'd grown to rely on us, too much at times. With Mike and Juliette gone… well, she started to lose her spark. She wasted away day by day. Traveling doctor couldn't find a cause; no disease or condition he'd ever seen before. She'd just… lost her will to live, I guess. A year later, we buried her out back, right beside Mike. Baker and I thought about leaving then. Gave Diamond City another long, hard look. But…"
But we couldn't leave. It was a sentiment Grey couldn't understand. Her mother had barely been in the ground two weeks before her father moved them to New York City. Jasper had accused their father of running away, but Grey understood. There was nothing for them there anymore. Nothing but painful reminders. Grey had felt the same pangs of unease as she'd lingered around Sanctuary, Preston determined to draft her into his little colonial reenactment squad. She'd needed to get out of there. Every inch of the place reminded her of what she'd lost—what was stolen. So like her father before her, she ran.
"What did make you stay?"
Pat shrugged. "First it was the kids. What if they come back looking for us? What if they want to lay down roots here too someday? Then it was the cost. The effort. Then we had a good harvest. Couldn't leave caps in the ground to rot. We always found an excuse. But I don't know. Baker and I had built a life here, and even without the others, we still had what we'd all built. And even as it rusts around us, we still have our work, and we have each other. Plus the kids do visit every year or so, so that keeps us on our toes."
Would Shaun have kept her in Sanctuary if he hadn't been stolen? Grey quickly banished the thought.
She instead fixed her sights back on the men, Baker seeming to grow inpatient, his body language stiff, lips pressed thin. Danse continued to work with quiet dedication though, sweat beading across his brow but hands unrelenting. He was a calming force on Baker she realized, keeping him focused, temper contained.
Pat had realized this, too, a smile returning to her face. "Nice to see him playing nice with others."
"Is that a novelty?" Grey asked with a laugh.
"Sometimes."
"So Baker played nice with the Brotherhood soldiers three years ago?"
Pat's attention snapped to Grey, smile torn from her face. "Excuse me?"
Grey gingerly took another sip of her drink. "Baker isn't an idiot. Surviving this long in the Wastes more than confirmed that. He's a bit hotheaded, sure, but he wouldn't train his rifle on two heavily armed individuals without knowing we weren't innately hostile. So he knew we were Brotherhood and he knew what that meant. Combine that with the fact that the Brotherhood only arrived in the Commonwealth a few days ago and their patrols haven't worked this far north yet…" She picked an uncrushed mutfruit seed from her drink and threw it in the fire.
Pat frowned. "So what's your point?"
Grey gave a half-hearted shrug. "No point, per se. I'm just here for information, namely anything you can tell me about the soldiers that passed through here three years back."
Pat wasn't so easily soothed, but she did move off the edge of her seat. Grey wasn't surprised to see the woman's fingertips graze the pipe rifle propped against the side of her chair. If she was in Pat's position, she'd probably do the same thing.
"We're just looking for answers, Pat. Tell me what you know and we'll be out of your hair."
Pat swung her hand up into her lap. The rifle remained on the ground.
"They were friendly enough for metal giants, I guess. Hadn't seen a suit of power armour since I was a fresh-faced girl, and suddenly there was half a dozen polished suits walking up to my front door. Traded some caps and ammo for food and purified water. One of them chatted to Baker briefly. Nothing of substance. And then they left."
"Did they mention where they were headed next? Maybe a landmark or rendezvous point?"
She shook her head. "They were pretty tight lipped, but I can tell you they headed south, down the road," she said, hiking her thumb over her shoulder, "and towards the roundabout."
Well, it was something at least. Grey began to stand.
Pat stuck out a hand. "I wasn't finished. Few hours later, as the sun starts to set, Baker runs into the house, grabbing his rifle. Says he can hear gunfire in the distance. First thought is raiders—it's always goddamn raiders—so we grab our guns and get stationed by the greenhouse. But the sound doesn't get any closer. If anything, it starts moving away, farther south. And then there's this silence. Baker then gives a shrug and starts to pack up, but suddenly the ground shudders like a pack of angry behemoths were racing towards us. Over the top of the roof I saw this flash of orange and smoke just billowing up. Biggest explosion I'd ever seen. And then it was over. Just quiet."
"Did you investigate or—"
"Fuck no," Pat all but spat. "Too close for comfort, but too far for us to see or care to see what happened. Though if you want my humble assessment, it was nothing good."
Grey asked a few more questions, if Pat had seen anyone else in the area, if she knew what type of explosive it may have been, how far she reckoned the explosion was from Greentop Nursery, but she didn't get very far. They mindlessly chatted for a bit after that, waiting for the men to finish up, but the conversation was terse. Grey had ruined any goodwill with Pat by following a heartfelt confession with an interrogation. That and what she had learned had her retreating into her own head, mulling over the few scant facts she did have and hypothesizing Artemis's likely fate.
As the water began to flow from the pump, Danse pushed himself to his feet, knees tender and skin slightly burnt. Grey strode towards him, combat rifle in hand and Dogmeat at her heels.
"We have a lead. Let's suit up and go."
He ran the back of his hand across his sweat-stained brow and smiled. "Outstanding."
