4.04 - Two Truths and a Lie
Vivian's birthday comes with an unexpected surprise. Internal Affairs is investigating a copper at Fifteen, and they need Gail to solve the case. It's dejá vu all over again.
"Boss, I have an idea you're going to hate."
Gail looked up at her door to see a very nervous Pedro Nuñez. "Pedro, you know very well those are my favorite words. Come in and tell me why you're making me swear." She gave him her best grin, knowing full well it wouldn't make him feel better.
The young detective essayed a smile. "I was looking for ... Um. This." He put down a piece of paper with three circles.
"Pedro, that's my kid's handwriting," said Gail as she looked at the disturbingly neat script of her daughter.
"Yeah, she made a, er, Venn Diagram for me. And I was looking at it. For the intersection." He scratched his ear. "See, she was right. I should look for people who know a lot about art, a lot about forgery, and a lot about Nazis."
"Is the hate idea that you need a warrant?"
Pedro shook his head. "No. Well. No. See. I realized I also needed to look for people who knew about insurance. Art insurance."
Oh. Gail stopped smiling. "Why?"
Her detective froze. "Well. If someone has the art, I figure they're either a Nazi or he stole from a Nazi. And either way, they have to hide it. So who knows better about hiding rich stuff than the people who get paid to insure it?"
That was not the path Gail would have followed. "Who's your lead suspect?"
He winced. "That's the idea you're gonna hate."
"Try me," Gail said, wearing her best poker face.
Pedro twitched. "Ms. Paretti. She's ... um. She knows a lot about art and forgery. And she says she doesn't know a lot about Nazis but... She said she was related to you."
Ah. Hence he was worried. Gail leaned back thoughtfully. "You want to talk to Clara. Clara Armstrong. She's 90 if she's a day, but she'll remember this." She rattled off the number and was pleased to see Pedro scramble to write it down. "And talk to John. He ran a deep background on her anyway."
"He... you suspect her?"
"Not in so many words. You're the third person who has informed me they get the wiggins from her."
Pedro looked a little relieved. "She's just weird, ma'am. I wish I could explain why."
"You're not the only one, Pedro."
He sighed. "Small blessings. How's the decrypting going?"
"Mostly slowly. He was pretty consistently complicated. I'm still flummoxed that damn DNA wasn't a match." Gail had been quite sad when Holly informed her the Leistikow DNA didn't even come close as a distant family match, and they didn't share the markers used to determine Walter was Jewish. It was positively depressing.
Sympathetic, Pedro nodded. "I'll keep on this. I have a couple other suspects on my short list."
"How's Trujillo going with the Hoffman family? She was gone before I got back from my budget review." She gagged and Pedro laughed and blushed.
"She's okay," said Pedro. "Followed the money on the people hired to do the Hoffman's work."
"How did he get away with not going to meetings or ... anything?"
"Said he had social anxiety, and worked better by email. His work was good and he wasn't important enough to care, I guess. There's a job for everyone." Pedro shrugged. "I like getting out of the house and stuff."
"Most people who work from home get out more than you think. Still. I thought the agency was a dead end."
"It was, but Trujillo's a god with payroll. She talked to the company who payed out, and they helped her trace the accounts back. Bank to the Caymans, so she's tracing everything that goes in."
"Hah," laughed Gail. "See who else got hired through the same setup, see who the other fake personas are, find the common threads. Good. Good plan. And yours?"
Pedro gestured with his paper. "Follow my incredibly short list of people who fit my Venn diagram. Study them. Match 'em up with what Trujillo finds. The overlap is our criminal."
"Do it." Gail waved her hand and was pleased to see Pedro take it as the dismissal it was.
The part that actually did bother Gail the most, with the whole forgery stuff, was the possibility that Sandy was pretending to be the real Sandra who married her great uncle. What if ... If she was a fake, what happened to the real Sandra? Tristan Fairchild had died two months after the divorce, in a car with a floozy.
"No," muttered Gail. Because if she was going to steal an identity, she'd do someone who was dead. It was easier to steal a baby's identity, but ... She herself was the spitting image of Miranda, Tristan's grandmother.
Gail picked up her phone. "Hey, Holly. How far do relations have to be apart before your alleles get all wonky?"
Her wife sighed loudly. "Mid-day phone calls from you are never what I expect," muttered Holly. "How far? Because if this is about the Leistikow's—"
"No no. It's me to Mom to grandma Antonia to her brother Tristan."
Holly hesitated. "Wait. Sandy's first ex husband?"
"Miranda Fairchild's grandson."
"Hang on... was Tristan a ... um."
Bless, Holly was trying to be delicate about the idea that Gail was descendant from bastards. Alas, just her Peck family. "Miranda kept her name and gave it to her son, who had Antonia and Tristan. It was a massive scandal at the time. She didn't want to end her career as an actress."
"Your family tree is bewildering, Gail. And complex."
"Hell, we get weirder."
"Suddenly really happy we adopted. So..." The doctor trailed off. "It would be easier to match Elaine. But yes. How does that get you closer to Sandy?"
"What if Tristan's not dead?"
Her wife fell silent, and Gail could hear her remove her glasses. "Interesting."
That was Dr. Stewart at her finest. Gail had come to a conclusion Holly wouldn't have, at least not naturally. "If Tristan isn't Tristan, we have a whole fucking shit show on our hands. If he is..."
"No worse than before. Excepting for where your family is aghast that you're floating the idea of exhumation."
Gail didn't worry about that. "No Fairchilds left. It goes Antonia, Mom and Eli, me and Steve and Eli's kids. So long as the eldest surviving child says it's okay, and she would because she's a Peck, it's no problem. If I'm right, I'm awesome. If I'm wrong, it's the Peck genes and they can hate me some more. No big."
Holly sighed. "Honey," she said cautionary. "They don't hate you."
"They don't understand me. I'm their freak show. It's fine." Gail knew she was brushing it aside, but it was still hard for her to get Holly to understand that Gail legitimately did not care. It bothered her, of course, but she didn't have a lot of affection for people who acted like that in the first place.
Scratch that, she didn't have a lot of affection for people in the first place. Holly was, and likely would always be, the main exception. And kids. Who weren't really people yet. And since they'd picked up Vivian as a kid, she would always and forever be a kid in Gail's heart.
Ugh. Damn it, Holly. Made her a sap.
"Anyway, I know why Gran hated me," continued Gail.
"Did we shift from science time with Dr. S to couch time with the Pecks?"
"I look like her mom."
Holly paused. "True. Disturbingly true."
"Right! And Antonia was a drunk, cranky, bitch. But Miranda was, apparently, worse in the end. So boom, she gets a grandkid who is the spitting image of her venomous mater dearest."
"Nice." Holly sighed. "Do I have an exhumation order yet, honey?"
"No. I'm gonna let Pedro run the dogs down and figure out if I really have to. He's also talking to mom's cousin Clara, who actually knew Tristan."
"See, that's where I get confused. If Antonia married in, why doesn't anyone know Tristan as anything but the annoying, rakish, playboy brother in law?"
"Clara dated him in school. As much as people who do cotillion and coming outs can."
Holly, naturally, broke up laughing. "You were so pretty!"
"Ooookay, now I'm hanging up."
"Your dad was so funny, presenting you like that," continued Holly. "He looked so scared. Elaine said she threatened him. Which is a potent threat."
"Hanging up!"
"Love you too, Gail."
"Wow. Ego much?" Gail laughed. "Love you." She hung up and grinned.
Progress on cases came in many ways. While Gail didn't really want to find out that a respected insurance agent was a scam artist and a forger, it would be an amazing story no matter how she looked at it.
Her mood deflated a heartbeat later when SIU walked in. Behind them, Gail saw a room filled with nervous detectives. To the best of her knowledge, none of her people were facing an inquiry at the moment. She was about to be blind sided and Gail did not like that in the slightest.
"Can I help you?" She eyed the three investigators.
Before speaking, the youngest closed the door. "We need to speak about Constable Duncan Moore," said the oldest in the most grave tones Gail had ever heard.
It took all her willpower, but amazingly Gail managed not to blurt out 'Gerald.' But. She was, indeed, well and truly blindsided.
"Your kids are gonna love this story," said Sue.
Vivian looked up from her work to eye her boss. "Why does everyone assume I'm having kids? It's not like I can accidentally get knocked up at thirty seven and have a shotgun wedding while pregnant with twins."
Beside her, Sabrina and Duane laughed at the very specific jab.
Sue though, Sue sighed. "The more you work with me, the more you're like your mother."
"I really don't know why you all felt it would be any different." Vivian handed her tablet to Sabrina. "Speak to me of my brilliance, mentor."
"You were so soft spoken and reserved as a child," lamented Sue.
"She's pretty reserved now when she's not being brilliant," said Sabrina. "Wait a second... the safe bomb was a design from a book?"
Vivian smiled. "Surprise. I knew it looked familiar."
Leaning over them, Sue read. "Okay. So not only is it non-original, its fake non-original. Where did the good ones go?"
"Actual bombers are rare," said Sabrina. "Yeah, this is good. She's right."
"Alright." Sue hesitated and Vivian's Peck radar made a noise. "Jules, she'll do." The lieutenant pointed at Sabrina and Vivian knew for sure what was about to happen. "Lets go sort the rest out."
Sabrina stared as their bosses left the ready room. "What the fuck just happened?"
"You're being groomed for promotion," said Vivian. It was the same as when Traci was getting ready to move to Guns & Gangs. When Noelle was promoted to Inspector. Sue was stepping off the line.
Everyone looked at Sabrina. "Yeah, she's the best," agreed Duane. "Think Jules will be the new Loo?"
"No way," said Vivian. "Chuck at Thirty-Four. He's got more years. Jules'll be next section lead though."
"Thus spake a hundred years of policing." Duane clearly agreed.
Sabrina looked gobsmacked. "Wait, so me what?"
"Squad lead. And next sergeant. You get to take classes." Vivian grinned.
"Fuck," muttered Sabrina. "I did too good a job with you. I should have let you fail."
"Hey, now that I'm off probation, I get to go back to the regulars." Vivian grinned.
"You're that excited to go back to patrol?" Duane poked her arm.
Vivian felt her smile grow. "Actually yes."
Most, if not all ETF officers served at least a quarter of their time on patrol. They rotated through since it would be terrible to have everyone who was capable of defusing bombs not working at the same time. Or working in other places. The catch was for Vivian to be able to go back on patrol, she had to have her ETF tie cut. That way she'd be available for emergencies while in blue.
"The ceremony's this Friday. When are you ditching us?" Duane looked amused.
"By ceremony you mean everyone punches my arm until I can't feel my fingers? Yeah, can you do my left arm?"
"Sure, but why?"
"Cause I'm ditching you Saturday for five days, and I'd kinda like to use my right hand on vacation." Vivian wiggled her fingers.
Sabrina choked a laugh.
Duane didn't seem to get it. "Five days, huh? What the hell are you going to do for five days?"
Vivian arched her eyebrows. "Duane, on a scale of Peck, how much do you want me to talk about my sex life?"
The slow realization crossed his face and horror set in. "For five days!?"
"Three, really. And I'm sure there'll be food involved." Vivian picked up her tablet. "Sabrina, when do I get my new schedule?"
Sabrina eyed her. "Why are you asking me?"
"Really?" Vivian turned to Duane. "When to the schedules for tie-cut rooks come out?"
"Fuck if I know."
Gesturing with both hands, Vivian said to Sabrina. "That's why."
"Jesus, Duane." Sabrina rolled her eyes. "Takes no time at all. You'll get the new shift data tomorrow. I wish you'd warned me about Collins, by the way."
Uncle Nick? Vivian frowned, "What's wrong with Nick?"
"He's a stickler for rules."
It was very odd to see someone call Nick a rules stickler. "He can be, I guess. But his heart is right. He's ex-Army." Vivian's tablet pinged and she tapped open the police app. "Oh. New schedule is now. McNally wants to see me."
Andy was waiting in her office with Nick. "Welcome back, Peck. And you don't pay the donut fine when you're on patrol."
"Thank god, or my mother would make me go broke." Vivian grinned and closed the door. "You know I'm taking my birthday off, right?"
"Yeah, I know. But I'm short a patrol officer, so this is good timing."
"Oh?" Vivian looked at Nick and then Andy. She knew their faces well. Something was wrong. Really wrong. It wasn't a pregnancy or a freak injury.
Nick eyed Andy. "We should tell her. Before Gail does."
"She wouldn't," Andy replied, both certain and a little doubtful. "Would she? I mean, she moved out..."
"Peck laws supersede police ones." Nick was absolutely sure. "Duncan's suspended. IA investigation."
"Oh. That's not good," muttered Vivian under her breath. There was no way Gerald was actually guilty of anything. "Anything you want me to look out for, to help him?"
"Actually," Andy said softly. "It's more what you need to watch out for you." She paused. "Wow, you didn't even think for a second that Duncan did anything wrong."
Vivian waved a hand. "The one time he did anything stupid or dangerous, he was venal and self involved, more than actually criminal."
Nick looked like he was holding back a laugh. "So this what happens when a Peck is a raised by someone sane."
"I seriously question you calling either of my moms sane, Uncle Nick," drawled Vivian.
"She gets more like Gail every day." Andy grimaced. "And speaking of our sociopathic blonde hero... She's investigating it."
She blinked a few times. "Gail's investigating Gerald? She was his TO... oh god, don't tell me you're involved, Andy."
"No, thanks for the vote of confidence! Wow!" Andy looked offended.
Okay, yeah, Vivian walked into that one. She had a decent recovery though. "You believe in the abject honesty and purity of the universe, Andy. That people are good and everyone who deserves it will get a happy ending. That's why it drives Gail nuts. It's the opposite of how she sees things. Oh and worse? Good things usually do happen to you, after the most epic see-saws ever. It's drama all the time and you're cheerful about it."
Andy looked stunned while Nick nodded, understandingly. He had dated both of them, after all. "Oh." She looked at Nick. "Really? That's all?"
"Do not try to fix it, Andy," said Nick, firmly. "Gail doesn't want it fixed. Hating that part of you makes her feel better about her life, and it doesn't hurt anything. She'd still take a bullet for you."
When Andy opened her mouth, Vivian cut in. "It's true. She respects you. And she's loyal. So you can't get much better than that."
Andy sighed loudly. "Oh. That explains why she brought me donuts this morning."
"Oh! Any left?" Vivian leapt on the chance to get out of the dramatic conversation. So many times, conversations with Andy went that way.
That worked. Both Andy and Nick laughed a little. "How are you so casual about this? Gail's going to be targeted for running an internal investigation. You know how messy that is." Andy looked a little overwhelmed. She also pushed over the donut box.
Of all things, Vivian quoted Bill Peck. "Anything less than a murder charge isn't worth getting out of bed for. And not even then, depending on the person." Vivian shrugged and rescued the lonely old fashioned donut.
She was a little worried. Vivian hadn't even been a Peck for a decade yet, but she did know that there was a big fat target on her ass, just wearing the name. While Gail did scut work for IA, Vivian would likely be ostracized for it. And it would be a little worse since Vivian was a traitor to patrol, going to ETF.
When she'd had thoughts about ETF, serious thoughts, it was Elaine and not Gail she'd turned to. Her grandmother had sat her down and seriously listened. Elaine was great for that. The sheer depth of policing knowledge in the woman couldn't be measured. Because Vivian had wanted the understanding of why departments hated each other. Besides the whole budget stuff.
It was a world of policing that fascinated her, and bored Gail to tears. Elaine, knowingly, explained it all without asking why Vivian was interested. She probably knew Vivian had deigns on a future that looked less like Gail, detective extraordinaire, and more like ... Well. More like Elaine.
Was it weird to have a plan and not want to explain it to her mothers? Probably. But she had to talk to someone who wouldn't judge and there was no way she was going to consider talking to, oh, Andy.
"Well," said Andy, dubiously. "Just watch out, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Get outta here." Andy sighed and shook her head. But as soon as Vivian opened the door, she spoke up again. "Oh, and happy birthday. Welcome back."
Vivian smiled. "It's a pretty cool present, gotta admit, Sarge."
How it wasn't a conflict of interests to exhume her wife's great uncle, Holly would rather not know. What she knew was that the Crowne's office had determined it wasn't, and she had a court order approved by her mother in law to exhume Tristan Charles Fairchild.
The problem with the order was that it was winter. It was February and the ground was frozen through. Not all the way down, but exhumations in winter were chancy at best anyway. Gail had quipped about how it made a person regret the headways made in global warming and mentioned it was good that Tristan hadn't been cremated. Then she dropped the bomb that Tristan was in a family mausoleum.
"Sorry... what?"
"Entombed. Antonia had him crammed in. Worked out anyway, since Mom said she doesn't want to be buried there, and god knows I won't. Viv could be, if she wanted..." Gail looked thoughtfully at the wall. "Nope. Not mentioning it."
"I've never opened a crypt before," admitted Holly.
Gail smirked. "You, Dr. Stewart, are excited by something new."
How well her wife knew her. "Hush. Did the cemetery give you the okay?"
"Yep. Just call 'em and tell them when you want in." Gail waved a hand and slouched on the couch.
Holly half reached for her phone. She eyed her wife's posture and expression. Gail was staring out the window with a frown. "Why are you depressed?"
"I have ... I have another case."
"Okay." Holly pushed back from her desk. "Want to talk about it?"
"IA."
Oh. Holly got up and sat beside Gail on the couch. Her wife put her head down on the back of the couch. "Dry run for SIU? Or Elaine's old job?"
"Nah, that's going to be the kid's race."
They both saw it in Vivian. The desire to not just appear right but to enforce it. After she got her nerves out in ETF and figured out how to work with people, she'd be good at it. Vivian had the tenacity and strength of mind, Holly felt. She'd grown into being able to withstand the pressure, to boot.
"Then why you? Is it Fifteen as a whole or..."
"Just Gerald. They think he's on the take." Gail closed her eyes. "And it looks bad."
Holly reached over and gently brushed Gail's hair. "How bad?"
"Really bad. His bank account looks like Viv's." And Vivian, unlike a great many people, tended to scrimp and save. "He's got a lot more than makes sense."
"What happens..." Holly trailed off. "God. Remember when they thought Steve was on the take?"
"The bane of gang work." Gail opened one eye. "God, I really hope this isn't related to his weird talent."
"Dare I ask?"
"He's really good, ridiculously good, with junkies."
That was a weird talent. And a man who was clean, seeing as the cops took drug tests with shocking regularity, and was handy with junkies, implied something. Factoring in the fact that he had a surfeit of money and it looked bad. "When's the last time drugs went missing from inventory?"
"This morning probably," sighed Gail. "It's always a problem. And yes, that's my tomorrow."
"That's your next month. Are you checking his house?"
"Yeah. I gotta figure out who anyway, since all you guys know Gerald."
"You don't have to oversee it or anything?"
"I have to assign someone to do it. Just in case. I got 'em to let me use Zander, since he's on my LGBT task force, and never worked with Gerald."
Holly blinked. Both Zander and Gerald had been at Fifteen at the same time. "Wait, was Z a rook when Gerald was undercover?" That had been one of the more interesting concepts. Gerald undercover. He'd apparently done alright at it, but Chloe never asked for him again.
"Correct-a-mundo. Full points to the Doc." Gail's joking voice was weak. "This sucks. And I have to go."
Naturally Gail made no motion. "Honey. I love you."
"I'm going," groaned Gail and she got up. "I'm baking something tonight."
"Whatever floats your skirt," Holly said, malaproping her clichés.
"Whatever pumps sunshine up your boat," replied Gail. She got all the way to the door before turning around and coming back to kiss Holly gently. "See you tonight."
Holly watched Gail leave and smiled. "Hate it when she leaves, love watching her go."
"Heard you!" Gail's voice echoed down the hall and someone laughed.
She was supposed to hear her, and Holly laughed as she closed her office door. That was likely to be the only work related business she got to see Gail for until the exhumation, which wouldn't be for a week or so, depending on Holly's caseload. Which Holly should really be working on.
Holly sighed and knuckled down at her desk, working through the myriad molasses of reports, reviews, and basically everything but an autopsy.
"Dr. Stewart?"
The voice of Pete Chundray, her new assistant ME, cut in just as she closed her laptop. Holly nearly jumped out of her skin. "Jesus, Pete. How long were you there?"
"Uh." He looked at the clock. "A 'damn it' and a 'goddamn it, Wanda' ... so about four minutes."
She cracked a smile. Pete was so damn soft spoken and quiet. Thoughtful. He made a person forget he had a sense of humor. "Come on in, what's on your mind?"
"Protocol question. I know you're, uh, married to Inspector Peck."
Oh dear. She gestured at the door and Pete closed it. "If this is about the exhumation case, I had my own trepidations, but the Crowne's office said it wasn't a conflict since we're not looking to see if Tristan's— Mr. Fairchild is involved."
Pete shook his head. "No! No, ma'am. I've read about both of you. Your case notes. It's ... It's incredible how far you've both gone to, uh, recuse yourselves when needed. No. I just... is Officer Peck with ETF...?"
"Vivian? That's our daughter." Holly obligingly turned her photo of them and (then) Prince William for Pete to see.
"So... does she..." He stopped. "If she labels something for a specific lab tech or pathologist, is that normal?"
Holly blinked. Vivian had done that? "No—" Now Holly stopped. There were reasons cops would request specific people do work. "Oh. Well. Besides the obvious passing her cases to people on the take," she said flippantly, "ETF does tend to try and fast track casework by directing their samples through our lab. I can only imagine Vivian's presence there has led to them making even more targeted."
Looking relieved, Pete exhaled. "She asked that a hair sample be passed to, well, me."
To Pete? Immediately, Holly knew why that had happened. "Oh my god, I'm sorry, Pete. That's my fault." She covered her mouth. "I was telling— We were talking at dinner, and I got excited about you. I pulled out your paper on hair analysis."
Pete's expression shifted to stunned. "You showed your daughter my papers?"
"Just the one published last year."
He turned a little pink. "She read it?"
"She did. And I can only assume she thought of you when she found a hair..." Holly sighed. "I will talk to Sue about reminding her minions not to jump the queues though." Especially the minion named Peck, who was more and more like Elaine every day. Not that it was a bad thing.
"I don't mind, it was just... It was weird having someone recognize me for that."
"There's a strange sort of educational nepotism around Fifteen," explained Holly. "Which is probably my fault."
Pete looked impressed. "You got a whole division to figure out how science worked? Shit, that's amazing."
"Gail's a bit of a force of nature."
"I haven't really worked with her yet."
A lightbulb went off in Holly's head. Yet. "I'm giving you her current case," she announced, and reached for her laptop.
"Uh. Me?"
"She's working an IA case and needs someone who doesn't know the officer."
Under his breath, Pete muttered 'Oh.' Then he jiggled his head. "But I'm two months in and I've heard about Gail being—" Pete cut himself off and his eyes went wide.
"This will be good for you, Pete. Gail can be a pain in the ass, but she's brilliant. I'm not saying this because I married her. She's honestly one of the sharpest minds you're ever going to work with. Outside of the lab."
Pete still looked a little suspicious. "But for IA."
Ah. Well. That was the right thing to be worried about. "You already work for me, Pete. If you're worried about being dragged under, don't. Gail won't ever let that happen to anyone else."
He arched his eyebrows. "That sounds... That sounds like a story I may get out of her after this case, huh?"
"More or less." Holly tapped up the work order right away and sent a message to Gail telling her the situation. Gail's reply was a thumbs up. "All good. She'll call you when she's ready." That, of course, was not what Gail had said, but it was what she'd do, so Holly felt pretty safe on that regard.
And Pete? Well he just smiled a little awkwardly.
Eventually he'd get used to how they worked. Holly was sure of that.
Even as a rookie, Gail hated inventory. Oliver used to assign her to it every time she was troublesome. In other words, she was regularly stuck with the gig. One of her greatest delights, transferring to Major Crimes, had been the lack of stupid, smelly, inventory.
Naturally she was standing there again. And she couldn't hand it off to a baby D or anyone else. No. She had to do it herself. With a sigh that her ancestors felt (and fuck them by the way for her other case), Gail checked the list with what was in the room.
As she'd implied to Holly the day before, drugs went missing all the fucking time. It was a depressingly daily occurrence. No one ever stole them all at once though. Usually it was a small enough amount that it would go unnoticed for weeks or months, and then it was chalked up to spillage or samples or whatever.
Everyone knew what was really going on.
There were dirty cops.
There were cops addicted to drugs.
There were cops who killed.
Just like everyone else, cops were good and bad and everything in between. Today she didn't care about the general druggies on the force. That wasn't Gail's business any day of the week if she could help it. No. Today she needed to know it Duncan Moore was a dirty cop. If he was addicted to drugs. If he'd caused a death. Deaths.
The worst part was she could believe it either way. Even though she'd known Duncan for years, she never really knew him. Not like Dov or Nick or Ollie. They'd never had dinner, they'd never sat together outside the Penny in a truck and talked about life. She hadn't backed him up when he tricked McNally (and yes, she did think it was justified, as Andy had been a terrible TO and handled everything badly).
"How many more bags of cocaine do we have to sample?" Her sidekick held his latest bag up.
The Assistant Medical Examiner, Pete Chundray, looked put out. The task was well beneath his skill level and rank as much as it was Gail's, and she felt like she understood his annoyance.
"Unless you have the magical ability to detect tampering, seventeen." She accepted the bag back, marked the seal, put it on the shelf they'd designated as clean, and picked up another. "Cocaine sample fourteen, one-four. Taken from the Johnson Panty Raid."
"Don't you mean Party Raid?"
"No. I remember this one. Group of roving panty raiders. High schoolers hitting up parties with the girls having sleepovers. Found this in someone's drawers drawer. The parents caught the raiders and the coke, called the cops."
Pete wrinkled his nose. "My girls are never having sleepovers. Ever."
Smiling, Gail scanned the label, marked it, and handed it over. "How are they settling in?"
"About as well as expected. Mid year transfers are hard, but they finally feel challenged at school."
"Good. Keep 'em working hard but not overworked." She watched Pete open the bag, take a sample with his tricorder (and damn it Holly, now she couldn't remember the fancy name for it) and seal it back up.
"That's what we think. Sample fourteen, negative." He handed the bag back. "God, can you imagine doing this without these scanners?"
Gail sighed. "Yes. I did it four times, once when my brother was a suspect."
Pete did a double take. "They let you investigate your brother?"
"They were looking into me as well. There was a question as to if all the Pecks were on the take." Gail eyed the fifteenth bag. "Sample Fifteen, one-five. Taken from Dr. Joseph Koester's minivan on New Year's Eve." The color looked wrong to her. She scanned it and held it over.
The ME eyed it as well. "Fifteen has abnormal discoloration. This could be attributed to spoilage, contamination, cutting, or tampering. Is the seal still valid?"
"Scanned clean," said Gail, calmly.
"Uh... Okay." Pete opened it and took a sample. "Cut with soap... Please tell me he didn't use it?"
Gail pulled up the report and snorted a laugh. "He did. He was arrested for reckless driving with bubbles coming out his nose."
They shared a look and both laughed. "That's horrible. It's also not a match." Pete resealed it and handed the bag back.
As they repeated the process and whittled down the bags, Gail was reminded of how Vivian detested the phrase 'the last place you looked.' It was a fair cop, Gail felt, but policing was one of the few places where a person did keep looking even after they had found an answer.
"Twenty two... is a match," said Pete, a little shocked.
Gail looked over. "Percentage?"
"96.4." He tapped the machine. "It doesn't give much higher."
"Damn lawyers," muttered Gail. "Okay, bagging two-two." She labeled it and put it in the evidence bag she'd saved earlier. "On to two-three."
"Hey, why do cops say two-two and not twenty-two?"
Gail blinked. "Individual digits are easier to hear and recognize. Also faster for longer numbers. That's why we announce our badges. Eight-seven-two-seven. Six-two-seven. One-two-two-seven. Four-seven-two-seven." She shrugged. "That would be mine, my brother, our mother, and my kid, by the way."
"That's a lot of two-sevens."
She smiled. "The numbers aren't reserved. Unless you die in the line, we don't retire them, but they do like to keep things in the family. McNally wore her dad's numbers for a year." Gail scanned and read off the next sample. "Sample twenty-three, two-three. Found by officer LeGray on a routine check of an abandoned bag on Dunn."
Pete took the bag and his sample. "Twenty-three is negative. Okay but... you're all ending in 27."
"Oh, right." Gail sighed. "That's someone's idea of a joke. Pecks normally don't do shit like that, but my mother was kind of a figurehead here for a long time. So..." It was odd and she knew it. When Steve had received his badge, it had been with no few raised eyebrows. When Gail had received her own, it was clearly a thing.
Contrary to popular belief, Gail had not asked anyone to give Vivian 4727. She actually would have been a little happier if Vivian had a more unique number all her own. Still. It cemented Vivian as one of their Pecks, as opposed to the other, more dangerous and less trustworthy kind.
"I don't get the joke," muttered Pete.
"Don't worry about it." Gail sighed and pushed through the last of the bags. "Okay..." she trailed off and stared at Pete. "Can I ask I favor?"
The doctor paused as he was bagging up his tools and samples. "I'm not covering up—"
"Oh god no, Pete. I ... usually I manage to work these cases with Holly, and I'm used to bouncing ideas off her." Gail gestured between herself and Pete.
He looked at her, confused. "You want to ... You want me to help you solve the crime? Is that even legal?"
Gail smiled. "It's been a long time since someone was innocent around here, Dr. Chundray. You can say no."
The young doctor (older than Holly when she'd taken the position, and older than Vivian, but still young to Gail) put his tricorder tool away. "How's it work? We sit in here and talk?"
"Ew." Gail looked around. "I hated inventory as a uni. No, I was thinking food and my office."
"If you order Indian, I'm walking."
One order of tacos later and Gail was perched on her desk, staring at her wall. Pete was meticulously connecting pictures and events, drawing colored and dashed and dotted lines, as was appropriate.
"I think I'm glad he's innocent," decided Gail.
"He sounds pretty useless," said Pete, drawing his last line.
"Well. He is pretty useless most days." Gail smiled and cleaned off her fingers.
Pete just scowled. "Okay. None of this makes sense."
Gail looked at the wall. "Oh, yes it does. So start with the drugs. Duncan had nothing to do with the case there. It was Farley and Finch who worked that case. Farley just for transferred to Thirty-Four, in an exchange for Thomson without a P." Gail closed her eyes. "The drugs were legit picked up from a guy serving a dime up province. He was a chronic user. No big shock. Didn't roll over on his dealer, again, nothing new here. The only reason the cocaine was still stored here was we'd pulled it back with a plan to use it on a UC op. Also normal." She sighed. "Now," continued Gail. "The confusing part is Gerald."
"Gerald?"
"Duncan. Long story. Duncan never so much as touched the case. He was at a wedding in Newfie when it went down. Besides that, Duncan can't tell a convincing lie. Made his undercover stint hella fun. But. At the same time, he has a weird affinity and a line to our junkie." Gail tapped a finger to her lips. "Maybe that's the thread. I never asked him why he was good with junkies."
"Who? Duncan?"
"Yeah. I use him sometimes when I need to wait out a tweaker. Whatever reason, they like him. Talk to him." Gail hopped off her desk and went to the door. "Hey, Davey. Go get me Gerald." She closed the door without waiting for an answer and went back to the wall. "The thing is, Petey, everyone knows Gerald has a knack with junkies. They like him, talk to him. So if I wanted to finger someone for drug theft, I'd pick the most gullible, idiotic, copper I could. And extra points for him already being involved in two cases his rook year."
"Do you give everyone a nickname?" Pete sounded exasperated.
"Yes. Not the point. The point... the point is two points. Point the first is the drugs, Duncan is an easy target. Point the second is the money, Duncan probably got inheritance, except the timing is off. His mother's still alive. His birth father and his step father aren't. Birth father died in a skirmish in Afghanistan. Al died of a stroke..." Gail paused.
Al. Al had died and left Duncan a lot of weird stuff. Books, mostly, which the moron didn't read and Gail had borrowed and kept. A house, small and tidy, which Laura didn't want. She moved to Florida. Some money, but most of it went to Al's widow as it should. And the car. Vivian had stolen the car, with permission, a year and a bit ago. A car that the force had bought from him on the QT.
"Okay, now your face is scaring me, Peck," said Pete.
"Fuck, I'm an idiot." Gail grabbed her desk phone and rang her main guy in accounting. The second it picked up, she jumped on him. "It's Peck, listen, how much did we give— spend. How much did we spend on the Volvo that Peck and Collins stole for the arson case?" She listened to the quoted price and exhaled. If he'd put it in a money market account, with interest, it would work. "Send me the papers for the car. All of them. If I'm not cleared, run it through IA and tell them it's about the Moore case."
As Gail hung up, Pete snorted. "Do you ever wait for a reply before hanging up?"
"Waste of time." Gail grabbed a red pen and circled the money, writing 'car' beside it. "I know where he got the money. We ran an arson case a while back, hooked into a car thing. We needed a Volvo that matched certain specs to get in. Al, Santana the old chief, he had one. Left it to Duncan when he died. We paid him for it."
"That much!?" Pete was shocked.
"It's actually a good car. But no. That amount only works if he dumped it into a money market or an IRA. It's only been a year. I bet accounting had him put it in a blind investment. High interest, safe, but no touching it for a year."
Pete looked interested. "Like a savings bond?"
"Yes! Excellent, Repeat!"
"I think I like Petey better..."
"Don't get to pick your own nick, my boy," she sang, and wrote down money market, savings, IRA, and bonds. The knock at the door ended the jam session. "Hey, Wall. Save to case IA-4271 and opaque." The wall went white and Gail grinned her most evil. "God I love that thing. Come in!"
The door opened and Duncan walked in, looking lost. He was still in uniform. "Ma'am?" The idiot reached for his badge.
"Nuh uh. Sit. Couch. Davey, skedaddle." Gail dismissed him with a wave and noticed Todorkoi standing outside. "Hisa, get going. I'll take it from here. Grab some food before you report back to McNally." She made sure the officer actually went to the elevators before closing the door.
"What about him?" Duncan pointed at Pete as he sat down.
Gail looked at Pete. "Up to you, Petey."
And Pete looked at Gail. And then he looked at Duncan. And then he sat down on a desk chair. "I'm a witness. Make sure she doesn't beat you."
She snorted and locked the door. "Duncan. I have one question for you."
"Just one?" He seemed surprised and looked around. Craning his neck, he tried to see the board and looked disappointed it was greyed out.
"Just one. It's a big one, though. And it's one you've never talked about in the ... Jesus, Gerald, how long have I known you?"
"Of me or known me, boss? Cause I don't think you actually know me know me, but that's kinda me too." Duncan turned to Pete. "I don't really get along with folks here. Everyone used to hate me."
Under her breath, Gail muttered. "Used to is being very optimistic."
"Gail hates everyone," Duncan informed Pete. "It's normal."
Pete held up his hands. "I'm just the witness."
"Duncan, for fucks sake, stop blabbing." Gail sighed. "Drugs, Duncan. We need to talk about drugs."
"I'm clean ma'am." He was sincere but she heard it. Finally she heard it. She heard that catch in his voice. There was something else in his story.
"For how long?"
Duncan and Pete both looked surprised. "For how long?" Duncan repeated the question. That was something Gail taught him. Whenever there was a question, buy time by repeating it. But she waited him out. It didn't matter how long it took. She could wait. After almost five minutes, he sighed. "It was just in junior high, high school. Long time."
"Before Al," said Gail quietly.
Duncan, morose, nodded. "After my old man died. I did some dumb shit. But I swear, I'm clean! I've never missed a drug test!"
Gail smiled. "I know that, Duncan." She sat on her desk, swinging both legs and drumming her heels against the back. "Tell me."
He hesitated. "But..."
"Duncan. I'm not busting you for this. I need to know."
The sad truth was she needed that whole picture. She needed to know how bad it was. She needed to know why. She needed to know how anyone might know. Because it was one thing to be targeted for being an idiot and it was another if they knew he was a former user. This could be a case of Duncan's past coming back to haunt him.
It wasn't an easy ask. It was hell of an ask. She was asking him to confess to crimes. Even though it was years, decades since then, the answers could take his badge away and they both knew it.
Duncan looked at his feet. "Coke. Weed." He sighed. "I knew a kid in school. He could get you pretty much anything. I didn't like cocaine. It ... I felt like my heart was gonna explode. Only did it a couple times. And weed made me super paranoid. And stupid."
Somehow Gail held the snort inside. "Why'd you stop using?"
"Didn't like it. I stopped using before Al married my Ma. Just ... Didn't stop helpin' them."
Oh? Gail arched her eyebrows. "After you stopped you helped?"
"Yeah. Made a couple quick bills, pushing kids around." Duncan looked embarrassed. "I went real straight though, senior year."
When had the wedding been? Gail did the math, reminding herself with a wince that she was five years ahead of and seven older than Duncan. Ouch. "Your mom married Al when you were a sophomore."
He nodded. "Wasn't Al... well. It was Al. It wasn't Al. Y'know?" When Gail shook her head, Duncan went on. "Senior year, I was kinda cleaning up, right, and my buddy Jake and I did hoops. Strictly pine pony guys."
Sports. Ugh. Gail nodded. "Sure." She had a vague idea that meant Duncan had been a bench warmer. It only mattered because it meant he wasn't the star, so he wouldn't have had many eyes on him. It was easier to get away with things if someone wasn't the focus.
Duncan twisted his hands together. "I used to smuggle drugs between schools. Used the games as covers." He paused and she waited. Out of the corner of her eye, Gail saw Pete fidget. But she waited. "Jake OD'd. At a party. And Al ... He never yelled at me about it. I didn't know ... You know I didn't know? I called him. Not my mom. He helped me figure out what to do." Duncan sighed deeply. "Thats why I do this, y'know? This... I gotta. Al could've tossed me, locked me up. He didn't. He helped and ... I wanna help too."
The idiot looked so sad. If Gail had a maternal bone in her body, she might have hugged him. Uncle Al had bailed him out, helped him cover up an OD, and took care of the Jake guy. Well. Al was a good guy.
"Duncan," she said slowly. "Anyone from those days still around?"
"Um. Yeah. Why?"
"Still talk to 'em? Hang out?"
"Yeah. We talk on Facebook all the time. They were gonna come over, help with my new wheels."
She wanted to facepalm. "Names?" A confused Duncan rattled them off and Gail walked around to her laptop. "You know, you're an idiot, Gerald," she told him, pulling up the records. Then she pulled up Farley's records. "You know Ed Farley?"
"Yeah, we went to junior college together." Duncan looked even more confused than normal.
"Right." She picked up her phone and asked her IA contact to pick up Farley. "So here's your deal, Gerald. You're a patsy."
"Huh?" He looked at Pete and then Gail.
"A patsy. A fall guy. The goat. Farley knew your history and stole the drugs, planting trace in your locker. He knew you got the new car, using the pay off from the old one, which of course you can't tell anyone about yet, so your bank account jumps and looks weird. Like you sold some kush for cash and deposited it."
Duncan looked agog. "But I didn't!"
"I know. You're too dumb for that, Gerald. You'll get your gun back tomorrow. Go home."
He stared. "Home?"
"Yeah. Home. An order. From me. You're innocent."
Duncan jumped to his feet. "I can't believe it!" He moved as if to hug her.
"Touch me and I break your arms, Gerald." The idiot showed some sense and hugged Pete before running off. Gail rolled her eyes. "Sorry," she said to Pete, and tapped in her laptop. She passed the information to IA and let them know she'd found the guilty party. "Well that was fun."
"You know," said Pete slowly. "I used to wonder why someone as brilliant as Dr. Stewart would marry a cop."
Gail stiffened a little and looked up. "Oh?"
"Yeah. You don't generally hear much about them being smart. You hear about thugs and abusers and crazies."
She sighed. "God knows that we have enough of those."
Pete looked a little abashed. "Yeah. But... I've worked with a lot of detectives. Even the smart ones are cops first. They have this idea that the cop part is bigger than the brain. You're different ... I don't think I've ever met anyone like you before, Gail."
Arching her eyebrows, Gail wasn't sure how to take that. "Thank you?" She let her tone be bitter and acid.
"You scare the hell out of everyone. You're not approachable. You're dangerous. You dismiss things with a wave, and you don't care if it hurts people's feelings. And you just charge forward."
"Okay," snarled Gail and she closed her laptop. He was on thin ice with her.
But Pete smiled. "Thing is, you do it all because you do the right thing without fear. You care. You're loyal to cops, but to people too. You see things. I mean, Jesus, how the hell you connected all those dots so fast? That was incredible. You are ... You are way more of a match for Dr. Stewart. You're like... You're her equal."
Scientists didn't often praise Gail. Most of Holly's lab tolerated her at best, though that was probably because she made them cry with bizarre requests. They didn't like her. They dreaded her. She was outright feared by a few of them.
"Oh," she finally muttered.
"This works better if you know I worship Dr. Stewart's work," he added, flushing.
Gail smirked. "Just keep in mind she's married." Before Pete could recover and explain, Gail added, sympathetically, "Everyone should have a crush on my wife. She's incredible."
Pete exhaled. "I'm sorry. I'm... I'm really good at shoving my feet in my mouth."
"You'll fit in fine."
"Do you need me for anything else?"
"Nah. You mind telling Holly what went down?"
Pete shook his head. "I might brag about you."
"Well that's to be expected," said Gail, dismissively.
That seemed to work for Pete, who laughed as he left.
It took Gail another two hours to sort out the state of Duncan. IA was delighted and a bit shocked that she'd solved it in four days, happy to arrest Farley, and content with her letting Duncan go. Barely content. They were annoyed she'd declared fiat, but agreed with her decision. As it should be.
Then she went down to tell Andy what had happened, and they called Duncan back to the station to officially give him his gun back right away. No sense in waiting. That quickly turned into party planning. It was a Friday anyway, and those things tended to just happen on their own. If Duncan being cleared of all suspicion was a party reason, then so be it.
As soon as she walked out of Andy's office, she bounced right into her kid. "Hey, stranger."
Vivian smiled. "Hi. Heard you rocked IA's world."
"I am pretty awesome." Gail grinned and looked at Duncan hugging Chloe, who hugged back.
"I'm glad Duncan's innocent," said Vivian, hitching her bag to her shoulder.
"Me too," confessed Gail. "You guys outta here tonight?"
"Tomorrow. Tonight I have to get my arm punched a million times." She rolled her eyes.
Gail smiled. "Congratulations, by the way. Cut loose." Her daughter blushed a little. "You know about Sue, right?"
The younger officer nodded. "Yeah, figured it out on Monday. When?"
"Next month. She's taking the office. Jules will take, get this, Inspector."
Vivian's eyes widened. "Whaaat? They're fixing it? No more random Lieutenant?"
"I know, right?" Gail grinned. "Makes it easier to sort out ranks and shit. So yay for that."
"Brave new world." Shifting her bag, Vivian asked, "Are you coming? Tonight I mean..."
At that, Gail hesitated. "Do you want me to?"
Her daughter looked thoughtful and a little uncertain. "I don't know." She frowned and looked over at the officers hugging Duncan. "If I say no, how does it sound?"
"Sounds like my kid is growing up," said Gail quietly. "You're going to the Hopper? By the big building?"
"Yeah." Vivian gnawed on her lower lip.
"Tell you what. If the Gerald party finishes up early, I'll come by. But... I should be here for this."
And Vivian looked a little relieved. "Okay. Okay, that sounds like a plan." Gail smiled and punched Vivian's left shoulder. Hard. "Ow!"
"I'm proud of you," she said while her kid cursed. "You did a good job. You're a great cop. And I'm really proud to be your mom."
Vivian scowled. "Did you have to hit so hard?" She rubbed her arm and then very lightly tapped her fist to Gail's shoulder.
"They're going to pummel the hell out of you tonight, child. I'm getting you ready."
"I know." Vivian turned a little pink. "So it's really real now."
"Just the first day. Nothing major. You're still a rookie, even if you're cut loose."
The younger officer nodded. "I know. I'm probably always going to be a rookie at some level."
"Nah, not always." Gail grinned. "Gerald maybe."
Vivian rolled her eyes. "I can't believe he got rung up like that. Who did it?"
"Can't tell," noted Gail. Her daughter snorted but nodded. They couldn't talk about it here. "You know... if Jamie sticks around, we're going to have to switch to lunches sooner or later."
With a wince, Vivian nodded again. "I know. I've been thinking about that. It was easier with Mom, huh?"
"Lots. Probably why most Pecks marry cops, I imagine."
Gail had been quite relieved not to have to keep so much of her knowledge under wraps when dating Holly. The doctor had simply never asked about the situation, or rather, never asked how Gail knew things. It wasn't until much later that Holly realized not everyone was quite so informed. At that point, Gail explained the deal. They could keep talking about all things or they could stop, but if Holly wanted to be let in on the backroom conversations of Pecks, it was an all or nothing deal.
As for Vivian, most of her life now she'd been in on the secrets only Pecks knew. Like she knew the real story behind why Sgt. Bailey in ETF had resigned. Or what happened to Donovan Boyd. Or why Sam was transferred, and no it wasn't because of Andy. Those things were talked around the table casually, easily, discussing them as one did the weather or the president or the sports.
But Jamie wasn't a Peck. She wasn't a cop. She was a firefighter who didn't have access to the majority of the information a cop or a pathologist did. Hell, Jamie barely knew about the common things. Shay did, but when she'd been eight, her father had been shot undercover and had to stay undercover in a skeezy hospital, nearly dying of infection, just in order to keep the case alive.
In retrospect, Gail felt that moment was what made Shay not want to be a cop. The amount of sacrifice involved, at least for a Peck, was smothering. It bothered Gail on a bad day. Now she was so used to being under water that she, like a fish, felt that was normal. A person didn't notice what was normal for them, and a Peck regularly shouldered more responsibility than a normal cop.
Things had, of course, changed in the last thirty years. The seedy underbelly of corruption and venal self aggrandizement had been patiently washed away by Gail and her brother. After Elaine had retired (and what a shit show that had been), and after they had made their peace, Gail had sat down with her mother to understand what was really going on, what her father had really done, and what needed to happen for it to end.
While Gail hadn't talked to her father after that one day, she did have a hand in his career trajectory. With the help of her friends, and woe befall anyone who told Andy she was a friend, Gail had set up roadblocks to prevent the back-room Pecking from continuing.
Imperfect though it was, the shady deals that controlled the force evaporated before Vivian stepped foot in the academy. That was all she'd prayed for. To give her daughter a real chance to be the cop Vivian dreamed of being, Gail sacrificed her name for what it was supposed to mean.
Jokes aside about how she never wanted a rank higher than Inspector, and admissions of how she feared herself with that much power being true, Gail knew her own career would be halted where it was for what she'd done. It was, conversely, the same reason IA trusted her enough to investigate Gerald and his stupidity.
Well. It was a sacrifice Gail would make again. And wasn't that what a parent was supposed to want and be like anyway? The pelican piercing its own breast to feet it's youth? A stupid, stupid myth, but absolutely Peck, through and through.
Gail looked up the inches at her daughter's face and smiled.
"You're creeping me out, Mom," said Vivian, not really sounding bothered.
"I love you, kid. I'm proud of you."
Vivian flushed. "I had some good examples to learn from."
"Yeah, you did." She smiled. "We're having a dinner for you when you get back."
"You don't have to."
"I know," said Gail quietly. "But you're my kid. This is how it works." She sighed. "Go get your arm punched and have fun at the cottage, okay?"
Now her daughter grinned. "I will. Thanks." They both hesitated. In public, in the station, there was no hug. But they shared a look that said yes, they understood the moment.
With an awkward laugh, Vivian headed out front, where Gail could just see a familiar group of ETF loons waiting. So her daughter was finally a full fledged (rookie) ETF officer. No more babysitting from the older and experienced nut jobs. She was expected to stand on her own and succeed on her own.
Gail was sure Vivian would be just fine.
"I did not expect that," muttered Vivian as she finally got them both inside and the heat on. "I need to call Gail before the station does."
"Just a bit of snow," Jamie said, laughing. "Jesus, I'm glad I got a car with four wheel drive!"
The drive up from the city had been perfectly boring until the near whiteout conditions between town and house. The cops, in their four wheel drive vehicles, had checked on them twice during a drive that took almost an hour. Normally it was a quick half hour jaunt to town, if they took the scenic route. That day, today, was absolutely not normal.
Vivian grinned. "It'll make skiing awesome tomorrow. You just wait." Picking up the landline, she was relieved to hear a dial tone and called her cop mom.
"You live!" Gail had clearly been waiting for the call. "Holly! They made it."
"Now how do you know I didn't leave Jamie somewhere in the cold?"
"Your last name is Peck, not Donner. Happy birthday. There should be some food. The service said they'd make sure you had something."
"We're good. Stopped in town and picked up the usual. Jamie's insisting on cooking."
"Tonight?"
"Nah, tonight is ribs and a fire and cupcakes. Give my love to Mom."
"What about me?" Gail huffed and Vivian could hear the indignation on the blonde's face.
"Eh. I could do better. Love you too."
"Happy birthday, you ungrateful shit. Tell Jamie she's my favorite. Love!" And Gail hung up, laughing.
Vivian grinned. "Mom says she likes you best."
"I'm adorable. Start a fire? I'll serve up."
"I love a girl with a plan." Vivian opened the grate and started to set up the fire. "Hey, how come I always make the fires?"
From the kitchen, Jamie said the most obvious answer. "My training makes me try to put them out as I build them. It's practically Monty Python."
"Sounds more Benny Hill..."
"Who's that?"
Vivian glanced over and sighed. "Insane fat Brit who runs around to very fast, silly music." Her girlfriend hmmed and said nothing. "Do we actually have anything in common?"
Jamie laughed. "No, not really. Except reading. And sex. You're incredibly old school. You actually like Old Fashioned donuts, which I thought no one did. You're ... quiet." She brought over the sandwiches. "Do you ever get over it? Being ... uh. Fostered?"
Her face got hot and Vivian was grateful for the fireplace. "I don't know. Maybe." She paused. "No. I do know." Vivian sighed and sat back on her heels for a moment.
"Sorry. I know it's not birthday talk. But I was... I was trying to make sense of stuff, like the donuts and like... You totally love good food and have great taste in music and art and you have depth of all that. You're incredibly interesting. So why do you, uh, stint yourself." Jamie took a deep breath. "And the whole foster system thing makes sense."
Slowly, Vivian got up. She wasn't sure what to say.
"You're mad..." Jamie looked uncertain and crossed her arms, nervously.
"No, no I'm not, Jamie." Vivian took her coat off and tossed it onto a chair. "Honest. I'm not."
Jamie didn't seem to buy it. "You're annoyed."
"No." Vivian sighed. "Beer." She went to the fridge. "It's not fostering. That didn't help, but it was my birth parents." She glanced over and Jamie was silent. "They fought about food. Lots of stuff. But food. And I was pretty undersized as a kid. Apparently I was close to malnourishment. So... I never really got the whole pigging out thing. Gail kept trying to let me know it was okay, but that just never stuck."
Taking one of the beers, Jamie mumbled an apology. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"You should. You can. It's not — I don't mind, Jamie. I really don't." Vivian essayed a smile. "You're my girlfriend. You're supposed to want to know this stuff."
"Does it bother you? Other people eating ... you know. That's a stupid question. Gail. Right."
Vivian laughed a little. "It doesn't bother me when someone else ... indulges. I just get kind of sick to my stomach if I try. So I don't. I eat a piece of pie, it tastes great, I'm good."
Jamie was quiet for a long moment and then sat down. "Well that sucks."
"I guess. I don't have any other way for my head to be." She sat beside Jamie and kissed her. "I'm not mad, James. Not even bothered."
"Mmmmn, don't call me James. It's a boy's name." They kissed again. "And no Jams either."
"Spoilsport." She grinned and kissed her girlfriend's cheek. "Okay. Food. Because I am Gail's child." Vivian winced as she reached for the plate. "Ugh, I hate my team."
Jamie grinned and pushed Vivian's sleeve up. "The purple looked better on the tattoo than the green does." Her cool fingers traced the pattern of the conch shell and then Jamie wrapped them around Vivian's upper arm, drawing her in for a slow, soft, kiss. "Eat."
"Should I put on music?"
"I'm kinda digging the weather noise." Jamie tucked her legs up under her, grinning.
They could hear the wind whipping around the house, snow battering the windows and walls. It was completely different than the sound of the rainstorm the previous summer, Vivian felt. Rain felt hard and harsh. This was a peculiar mixture of soft and heavy. The sound was gentler even though the cold was slipping in the cracks, whisking the heat away from them and the house.
In the quiet of the storm, they ate. When a sudden whoosh and thump startled Jamie, Vivian laughed. The firefighter had never heard the sound of snow falling from an evergreen tree. Certainly she'd never heard it landing on a deck. So they ate, and Vivian teased Jamie, and they settled on the couch together, watching the fire.
Eventually, Jamie suggested they shower and get in the bed, with a heavy implication in her words. No lie, a small thrill ran up and down Vivian's spine. Jamie took the first shower, letting Vivian stoke the fire and clean up the dishes.
When she got out of the shower, Vivian was surprised to find a distinct lack of Jamie in the bedroom. She frowned at the bed. No down blanket. The down mattress topper was on, and the flannel sheets and the pillows, but the comforter was missing. And the door to the living room was still open. Vivian glanced out and nearly dropped her shirt.
Lying by the fire, reading a book, was Jamie. Naked. Under the comforter. Her bare shoulders were visible, implying the nakedness. The fact that Jamie's pajamas were on the bed made it a strong likelihood.
Vivian quickly dried off the rest of the way and left her pajamas in her room. She joined Jamie, scooting in behind her, under the warmth. "You put a sheet down."
"Hmm. I did. Don't want to wash the rug."
"Smart." Vivian pressed up against Jamie's bare back (yep, totally naked) and kissed her shoulder before looking at the book. "The Well-Wishers Club. I like that one."
"Is it yours?"
"Holly's. Lily sent them copies when I was six. We added them to the books here when I was ... eleven? There's a whole rule about no serious books."
Jamie looked up from the book. "I brought my tablet..."
"No permanent serious books. It's all young adult and romance novels. Those are Holly's, mostly. I think the ones with dudes on the covers are Elaine's, but she won't say."
"Okay. That's funny." Jamie put her book down and scootched around. "It's really innocent."
"Well. It was an innocent time." Vivian smiled. "Hi."
"Hi." Jamie grinned and kissed Vivian softly. "Like my nest?"
"Very fluffy. Filled with pretty girls."
"Just pretty?"
Vivian felt the heat in the nest rise. "Beautiful." She kissed Jamie again and added, "Good color choice for the sheets." Jamie had, by intent or accident, grabbed the seersucker blue and white sheets from the linen. The previous summer, Vivian had been delighted to see how Jamie's brown skin looked against the light colors. It was even more amazing in the firelight.
"Can we not talk about sheets?"
"I was thinking it makes you look incredible."
Jamie hummed happily. "Well. That's okay. Come here." Reaching up, Jamie ran her fingers through the back of Vivian's hair, pulling her close.
It was definitely Vivian's most memorable birthday thus far.
After, they watched the fire die down in the silence of the night. Vivian found herself lying comfortably against Jamie, her head resting on Jamie's shoulder. "I'm not squishing you, right?"
"Hmm. No." Jamie yawned and wrapped her arm around Vivian, drawing her closer. "Down blanket was the right choice," she added.
"Yeah." Vivian smiled and closed her eyes.
"We should go to bed."
"No," she pouted. "It's my birthday."
"We're going to wake up cold and sore."
"I can put more logs on. We can cuddle."
Jamie snorted. "In ten minutes, you're going to fall asleep and be an island and get cold."
"Maybe I'll cuddle," essayed Vivian. Her girlfriend scoffed. "Can't we just lie here?"
"Yeah, okay." Jamie's hand played across Vivian's back, drawing random patterns. "Let's lie here for a while."
Eventually the hand stopped moving and Jamie started snoring. Vivian smiled and hunkered under the blanket, tugging it up to cover them more. Being taller, that was a little harder for her. "This is nice," she said softly.
Jamie, sound asleep, said nothing.
"I really like this. Us. All of it. It suits."
As Jamie snuffled in her sleep, Vivian paused and watched. It was probably creepy but she was really liking the quiet moments like that. They weren't quite the same as her moms moments, but they were things that fit way better for her and her head. And Jamie. She seemed to like it.
"I like you," she told the sleeping woman. Then, mostly to herself, Vivian whispered. "I think... I love you."
The house was silent. An admission of such depth felt like it should be more monumental, and yet just saying it quietly in the dark made it less daunting and overwhelming.
There. She'd said it.
Jamie snuffled again and scrunched herself into the blanket more, whining a little in her sleep.
"Okay, come on." She kissed Jamie's forehead and nudged her. "Wakey wakey, fire girl."
"Cold. Bad idea."
"I know." She wrangled Jamie up, wrapped in the down blanket, and nudged her to the bedroom. Vivian lingered to toss another two logs on the fire and then washed her hands before finding Jamie had just lain on the bed, still wrapped in the down comforter. "Bed hog," she muttered.
"Cold." Jamie looked at her, belligerently. "You're weird."
Vivian nudged her over and got under the blankets and flannel sheets. "I'm weird?"
"You ran around naked and it's freezing."
"That's why I'm in bed again." Vivian yawned and kicked the blankets into place better.
"You like the cold."
"I do," she admitted. "It's pretty out there with the snow."
"That's true. Are we really going skiing tomorrow?"
"I am. You can come if you want."
"Never been." Jamie burrowed into the blankets. "Don't laugh if I suck."
"I won't," promised Vivian. She kissed Jamie's forehead. "Sleep." Closing her eyes, Vivian relaxed and let sleep start to wash over her.
The last thing she heard before she fell asleep was Jamie. Four soft words, breathed into the night. "I love you too."
"Happy birthday," said Holly, and she popped a noisemaker at Vivian the second the door opened.
Vivian gave her most put upon smile and turned toward Gail, a paper ribbon clinging to her hair. "Really?"
Of course Gail popped one as well, making sure to get the laughing Jamie, hiding behind Vivian. "Happy twenty-six."
"This is adorable," announced Jamie, and she shoved Vivian inside and quickly dumped her jacket in Vivian's arms. "Thanks for baking, Gail."
"You're welcome. How'd you like being snowed in?"
As Gail and Jamie chatted about the snow and wandered into the kitchen, Holly helped Vivian pick off the detritus from the poppers. "You look good," said Holly.
"Thank you?"
"It's a compliment. Don't be all Gail."
Vivian rolled her eyes. "Mom. Blowing things up at an ETF officer?"
Holly huffed. "Blowing things up at my daughter who loves it. And telling someone who's usually deep and thinking all the time that she looks good. Happy. I'm fishing for details about the long weekend, idiot."
To her surprise, Vivian blushed. "I said the L word," whispered the girl as she hung the coats up.
If Holly had been holding anything besides trash, she might have dropped it. Years of living with Gail, who loved to surprise and shock, was the only reason Holly didn't betray her feelings and cheer. "Oh? What did Jamie say?"
"Um. I thought she was asleep. But she wasn't. And she said, y'know. She said it back."
When Vivian had told Jamie about her birth family, Holly felt like her heart leapt free and flew away. It hurt to hear, but at the same time she was weightless. It was exactly like falling in love with Gail, or maybe becoming abruptly aware how in love she'd been. Everything was calm and normal, and then suddenly, all at once, she felt everything.
To know that, for years, Vivian had struggled with the basic concept of love between adults who weren't family, and now to see her progress to recognizing what she had and what it meant... Surely this was the truest indication of being a successful parent? Maybe not the truest. But right then and there, Holly felt like she'd done it. She'd raised a child to be an adult, and she'd done so well.
Holly wanted to jump and hoot and hug her daughter tight. None of that was what Vivian needed at the moment. Vivian was on the edge of embarrassment, not for having told Holly, but for taking this long to understand something Jamie had probably sorted out much earlier.
"Good," she replied to Vivian, her voice quiet. "Otherwise I'd have to fight her, and I think she can kick my ass."
Her daughter laughed. "I know she can. She's taking a kickboxing class with Christian."
"Oh Jesus," groaned Holly. "Jamie, seriously? Kickboxing?"
"Your kid swings like fucking Tarzan over muddy water and I get shit for martial arts?" Jamie sounded faux offended.
Gail barked a laugh. "I didn't know you could get offended by exercise, Stewart."
Holly flipped Gail off, to more laughter.
The house quickly filled with more family, including Steve and Traci, Oliver and Celery, Elaine and Gordo, and even John and Janet. When Jamie asked why only grown up friends were coming, Vivian explained most of her peers were scared of Gail. And Matty had to work.
Of course, Holly knew that Vivian would have a smaller to-do at the Penny or some similar bar with her friends later. Maybe even at her house (though unlikely). Vivian wasn't really a fan of birthday parties. She'd had one big one, once, and the next year asked for something smaller. Could they just go to a movie or a sports game?
The onslaught of her family friends was not overwhelming, though. They rotated through, none staying more than an hour, and by eleven everyone was gone. Vivian insisted on helping tidy up before she and Jamie also left. It wasn't a big party, but it was family, and it was appreciated. That was, Holly felt, enough.
"We got one weird kid, Doc," said Gail as she turned on the dishwasher for it's last load.
"Coming from a sociopath, that's rich." Holly smiled from her perch on the kitchen island, drumming her heels on the cabinets.
Gail pouted. "You don't love me anymore."
"I love you every day, and twice on Sundays," countered Holly.
Her impudent wife stuck her tongue out. "She hates her own birthday parties. At least I have historical reason to hate mine."
That was true. "I suspect it's because she hates being the center of attention."
The blonde huffed and leaned back against the sink, looking at Holly amusedly. "What do you know that I don't?"
"Quite a lot of things. I can recite the digits of pi pretty far, and I know all the elements. I can dissect a human, determine cause of death, and I make a better cappuccino than you do." Holly looked innocently up at the ceiling.
If Vivian hadn't seen fit to mention the ILU bomb to Gail, Holly wasn't going to out her.
"Fine. Keep your secrets." Gail crossed her arms and huffed.
And Holly, Holly stopped swinging her legs. She held her hands out to Gail. Come here, she said in her movements, and Gail heard the words in the silence. Holly smiled, looping her arms around Gail's neck, drawing her close.
It was a comfortable way to exist. Gail's hands on her waist, a firm grip that rooted her in place. Her wife moved incrementally closer, easing between Holly's legs so that their foreheads could touch. And then, with sinuous grace, Gail pressed herself up against Holly as much as possible.
"Hey," she said softly.
"Hey," replied Holly. And she kissed Gail chastely.
The return kiss, surprisingly, was anything but. Gail was practically wanton. There was no preamble or warning. It was just raw desire.
Sometimes it made Holly marvel, how much Gail still wanted her. To be desired was such a powerful feeling. It weighed on Holly more than the pressure of being loved. Love was easy after all this time. Her love for Gail was comfortable, like the quilt they still slept under in winter. It was well worn, well cared for, and a gift to treasure every single day. She could easily show love in a moment, rubbing Gail's shoulder or toes, getting her a towel. Normal things. Caring for Gail.
But the passion, that was different. Gail still stole Holly's breath with a motion or a look. She stopped Holly cold in her tracks with a smile. She kissed the sense right out of Holly's mind sometimes. Gail still made her think of nothing but Gail. Holly forgot the doubt of being a middle aged mom, of not being the fit and attractive woman she'd been in their thirties.
All because Gail still kissed her like that.
Perhaps sensing Holly had not expected the kiss, Gail backed off a little. "Hey," she said again, giving room and space for Holly to say no, or not right now.
"Hmmm. You said that already," said Holly, firming up her hold on Gail and pulling her close again. The fact that Gail still was aware of implied consent between them was one of the many reasons Holly adored her.
This time, it was clear to both that the unexpected direction of the evening was quite welcome. The wicked smile of Gail Peck at her most impish flickered across the other woman's face. "Wanna go upstairs?"
"Very much." Holly tilted her head and kissed Gail again, languidly. "I just want to torture you a bit more first."
"Such sweet torture, may I suffer it gladly and eternally." Gail's eyes drifted closed and she drew the kiss out.
The many myriad moods of Gail Peck were mysterious, mercurial, and monumental.
Holly mentally congratulated herself on the alliteration.
Then she forgot her skill with words, as the requirement for a nimble mind were replaced with clever hands and skillful mouths. And her world was, for a while, just Gail and just Holly, and nothing more. And it needed to be nothing more than what they were and what they had.
After, as Gail ran her fingers through Holly's disheveled hair, she spoke. "So. The kid told Jamie she loved her."
Holly smiled into Gail's sternum. "Hmm. She did."
"I guess we don't suck as parents."
"Guess not."
Gail laughed, a soft rumble that ran down her body. "We're terrible, you know. Staying up late on a school night."
"I'll write you a note," said Holly, smothering a yawn.
"Good. Cause this smart ass doctor was going to exhume a body for me."
"Autopsy's ..." Holly paused, lifted her head to regard the clock, and then slid off of Gail. "Tomorrow. Not today." She rooted around under the pillows and found a shirt, wriggling into it before returning to spoon her wife.
"Good. Good." Gail yawned and snuggled backwards until she was pressed up against Holly. "Sleep. Love."
Their hands found each other across Gail's bare stomach and Holly inhaled the familiar smell of the blonde. Sweat, yes, and sex, but also that wonderful scent that was just 'Gail.' That never failed to short circuit her brain.
Another day and a night passed quickly, with Holly dealing with an exhumation from a crypt. She was delighted to be able to finally mark another cool kind of work off her list. There were, at this point, few things left she'd not managed to work on in her tenure as a pathologist. As it should be. Anyone who worked that long would, eventually, get to see more things.
The crypt had been remarkably well kept, something even the groundskeeper had commented on. The Armstrongs took good care of their grounds, having it dusted and cleaned and checked regularly. Apparently, after every major weather event, someone came out to inspect the place. And, surprisingly, they weren't yet running out of room.
Gail explained that the majority of Armstrongs went for cremation. Part of that was why she'd been interested in the idea when it came up. Take up less space. An odd thing for the rich to be concerned with, but Holly had learned long ago not to try and read too much into the things Gail's family did. They were, to the nth degree, weirdos.
The following day was just as fun in a totally different way, for Holly at least. The casket sat on the table and Holly maneuvered the robot into place. "Everyone ready?"
Gail had her mask in place, as did Trujillo and Pedro. "Stink the place up, Doc."
Her wife was in a much better mood, having determined and proven Gerald's innocence. It was something to be happy over, no matter how much someone did or did not like the man. And frankly, Holly enjoyed working with happy Gail much more than Gail being all grumpy.
Most people were scared of happy Gail. With good reason. A Gail in a good mood meant she was armed and cheerfully dangerous. She had ideas. She had wit. She had sarcasm.
Those were some of Holly's most favorite things about Gail, to be honest.
"How bad is the smell going to be?" Pedro looked nervous.
"Shouldn't be too bad. He was burnt in the car accident," said Gail laconically. "I found the photos."
"From the paper?" Trujillo asked.
Gail smiled. "Family album. I forget the Armstrongs are just as weird as the Pecks."
"Goodness knows how," muttered Holly, and she attached the arms properly. Suction took hold, the ventilator turned itself on automatically, the casket seal popped and lifted off with ease.
God how she loved her toys.
"Ugh," said Pedro, pinching his nose through his mask. "Oh my god that reeks! I thought— You said it wouldn't be that bad!"
As one, Gail and Holly spoke. "It's not that bad."
Holly scowled at Gail who raised her hands in an expression of surrender. "Thank you, Inspector. Considering Mr. Fairchild here has been dead for over sixty years."
"Actually he's been dead almost seventy years. He died at nineteen."
Trujillo eyed Gail. "How old is Ms. Paretti anyway?"
"Eighty." Gail paused. "Eighty-three. She was sixteen. Total child bride."
"Wait a second..." Pedro started counting on his fingers. "How the ..."
"Let me help," said Gail. "My great-great-grandmother was Fairchild. Her son kept her name, as did his kids, one of whom was my grandmother. She was nearly twenty-five years older than Tristan. Second marriage. He was closer to my mom's age."
"Jesus," muttered Trujillo. "Boss, I got six sisters and three brothers and god knows how many aunts and uncles, and my family isn't half as messy as yours."
"You're welcome." Gail smiled ear to ear.
Holly shook her head and looked at the body. "Hey, was Tristan a ... Was he a big guy?"
"Nah, kinda built like Eli."
"Well. Then." Holly carefully made sure the lid was safely disconnected and then switched arms to the one for the body. "The body's just ... higher up than I thought it would be."
She'd tried not to sound worried, but Gail was probably too used to it. "What's wrong?" Gail's funny humor had faded and she was all work.
"Maybe they used pillows, since he was in the car accident." Holly shook her head and studied Tristan's face and tried to diffuse Gail's concern. "He looks like ... he kinda looks like Eli's older son. Logan. How did you and Steve escape with non-WASP names?"
"Peck. Holly, what's wrong?"
Holly sighed. "Well... Okay. There's too much person. And the smell."
Without being prompted, Gail leaned in and inhaled. "Okay, I just smell dead guy."
"There are two scents." Holly directed her robot lifter over and reached in first to check. "Huh." Well. She wasn't wrong. "Gail, did Tristan get buried with a pet?"
"No," replied Gail, flatly. "Can you get him out without..."
"We are about to find that out," murmured Holly, and she maneuvered her robot around. The robot wasn't going to work. This was going to be hands on no matter how she looked at it. "I need help..." Holly pulled off her gloves and picked up the wall phone. "Hi, Pete, I have a two-fer in here. Who's free?"
"Me. Taylor..."
"Yes! Both. Taylor has tetrachromacy. Bring tools."
Pete sounded surprised. "Okay. We'll be right there." And he hung up.
When Holly looked over to the cops, she saw them incredibly calm and patient. Gail had taken a stool though. "Sorry," said Holly.
"Can't hurry science." Gail smiled. "You need people hands for this, otherwise you might never be able to tell the bodies apart."
Thank god her wife understood.
"If it's a body," Holly said carefully.
"Always cautious." Gail didn't seem bothered by the correction. She probably wasn't. For a cop, Gail had incredible patience around science. When the door opened and Pete came in, Gail grinned. "Hey, Petey."
Pete sighed. "Is there any way to make her stop with nicknames?"
Smiling, Holly shook her head. "She still calls me lunchbox, and it's been twenty five years."
"It has not—" Gail stopped abruptly and looked vaguely horrified at the passing of time.
Holly smirked. "I stand corrected. You can make her stop." With fresh gloves on, she waited as Pete and Taylor kitted up. "He's pretty fragile," she warned as the two younger men took position.
"Can't be worse than my archeological last month," said Taylor. "Much less smelly."
"How old could it be if it still smelled?" Pete sounded amused.
"Found in a tar pit."
"Okay, ew."
They carefully lifted the body up and eased a sheet under. As expected, it fell apart, but the sheet caught most of it. Within half an hour, they had body A, presumably Tristan Fairchild, on a table.
"That," said Gail, peeking in the casket. "That is a second body."
Holly pushed her glasses back into place with her wrist. "Yes, it is," she agreed. "Approximately five feet, six inches. Female, based on the hips and what's left of the fabric... let's see. Pete?"
"I have the gurney," he replied. "That's amazing. Two bodies, one casket. Inspector, are your cases ever normal?"
Gail smirked. "Never, Petey. Stick with me and you will always be entertained." She sighed though. "Well shit. I was hoping that this wasn't Tristan and we had some weirdo on on hands. Who the fuck would that be?"
"Did he have a mistress?" Holly and her fellows worked methodically to pick the presumed woman out of the casket. "Oh, Taylor, remind me to look up this mortuary."
"They went out of business twenty years ago," said Gail. "And no, Tristan did not have a mistress, according to the family. Not that it means much." She quirked her lips. "God, I wish it was Christmas. I could have a hell of a time with this at Eli's party."
"You are an actual five year old, Gail Peck." Holly picked up the second person's skull. "I have hair. With a bulb. Taylor?"
The young pathologist leaned over. "Blonde. Not as blonde as you, Inspector."
"Mine comes from a bottle," said Gail blithely.
"Yeah, this doesn't."
"Oh. Right. You see extra colors," muttered Gail. "Creepy ass mutant."
Taylor grinned. "There's going to be some contamination... what color was Tristan's hair?"
"Reddish blonde, like my brother. But he had short hair. Buzzed." Gail tapped her phone and held up a picture of Tristian posing with his sister. "Antonia's the one in the dress."
"Damn, you come from a line of lookers, Inspector." Taylor tapped on the phone to zoom in. "Unlikely to be his," he said slowly. "The formaldehyde though..."
Holly nodded. "Do what you can, Taylor." She carefully put the hair in an evidence bag and frowned. Why was there a second body, female, in the coffin? Logically it was to hide a dead body, but who would need to be hidden? It had to be someone somehow related or tied to Tristan. And the only possibilities were rather chilling. Holly sighed as she stupider the two bodies. "It'll be a couple hours until we know anything."
"Do want me to stick around?" Pete pointed at himself.
"Actually... if you wouldn't mind, can you do the autopsy on Tristan?" Holly glanced at Gail and arched an eyebrow.
Her wife blinked. "Pedro, Mari, head on back. If anything cool comes up, I'll call." The detectives were too well trained by Gail to question, and simply nodded, heading back to Fifteen. Once they were outside, Gail coughed. "Hey guys? Can I have a moment?"
Taylor, used to Gail, nodded. Pete was confused, and Holly heard him ask as they stepped outside, if 'they' were seriously going to have a romantic moment in autopsy. Taylor was quick to reply. "No, they probably just figured out who the woman is. It's creepy. They're both super smart, but get 'em working together and it's like genius level."
Gail totally ignored them, which was rare. "How tall is she?"
Measuring the femurs, Holly sucked her lower lip. "Five feet, six and a quarter. Her right leg is a little shorter. Definitely a woman, based on the hips. She's got nice clothes..." Holly trailed off. "It's impossible, right?"
"Fucking unlikely." Gail messed with her phone and pulled up a photo. "Okay, here. Sandy and Tristan. He's five and ten, with those shoes ... make him ten and a half. She's add two in heels. So ... yeah. Yeah, that really could."
"Gail." Holly pulled off her gloves with an angry snap. "You're trying to tell me that this woman is Sandy Paretti?"
"No." Gail spun her stool. "Here's my story. That's Sandy Fairchild. Before she changed her name. She and Tristan died in the car accident, and our Sandy ... isn't Sandy."
"That's insane. She could be anyone. And we don't have Sandy's DNA to compare her to."
Gail sighed. "No. And no family. God. I was just hoping that Tristan faked his death."
Glancing at the other body, Holly sighed. "Well. I don't know if that's Tristan."
"Good point," muttered Gail. "Possible."
"Improbable."
"But plausible."
Holly sighed again. Because it was. It was totally, absolutely, 100% plausible that this was the real Sandy. "None of that explains this shell game with the paintings."
"No, it doesn't." Gail paused. "Do we have our Sandy's DNA?"
Right away, Holly knew. "You want me to check if she's related to ... Walter?"
"Or anyone else involved in this, to be honest, yeah."
"We don't, Gail."
"I'll have to get it, legally, and without her knowing." Grimly, her wife pointed out the obvious. "We can't tell anyone."
"No. We can't." It was going to be a long few weeks while they sorted this out, realized Holly.
Well. Wouldn't that be interesting.
Yikes! Is Sandy who she says she is? Is she a lie? If she's Sandy, then who was buried with Tristan!? And who took the damn painting and replaced it with a forgery!?
The mystery gets deeper and deeper.
This is, by the way, the chapter I finished at the end of NaNoWriMo 2016, marking my first successful attempt ever. I feel rather pleased that I averaged 1887 words a day for 30 solid days. My trick was taking 30 minutes every morning and then an hour every night, and just writing. Surprisingly, a lot stayed in the story after the initial writing, but a lot of twists came up as I wrote. It just all worked.
